Wonderful, but clumsy.
You walk in to the sizable Elephant Stage Works mainstage and you see this beautifully wrought set: a kitchen and living room with a window upstage, a wall with what is clearly someone else's bedroom behind it, and the living room of the guys *upstairs* fer Pete's sake! There's also a skylight gobo projecting downwards and lots of faux exposed brick. Done with lots of love, I thought....
The play starts and you see some wonderful acting. Playwright Timothy McNeil plays the lead--Early, this nice man from the south who has moved to LA to get a new start and is clearly a little haunted. Louis Jacobs is his drag-queen next door neighbor, Frieda. Mim Drew is Early's dominating, pushy sister trying to get him set up (her husband and son also well played in one scene by David Franco and Jeremy Glazer, respectively). It's all rock-solid and you feel very much like you're watching through that forth wall into their lives. Lovely!
And then you start to think.... Where is that skylight if they have upstairs neighbors? And the upstairs neighbors are musicians whose only job is clearly to cover some short costume changes, and as such add nothing and to some degree become a distraction (are these guys in the script or was this a director's concept?). And where's the bedroom in this realistic apartment? (We see the one next door, after all). And that post that is supposed to separate the kitchen and dining room...isn't that supposed to be a wall?? Why are they walking through it and not using the doorway they built???
And if you're going to use practical lighting on stage...why are you using interior light cues to tell us how we should feel about the scene??
You're left with the question did the set and lighting designer actually read the play before the designer for it???? It just seemed so...oddly sloppy! And worse: NOW I'm thinking about THIS stuff instead of paying attention to the play!!
An otherwise terrific, emotionally absorbing piece of theatre. One of the best-acted I've seen in LA this year, if a little over-written in spots--so why the sabotage when they clearly have the budget to do better? Weird choice but still worth seeing.
Bottom line: B+
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
"The Life and Times of Tulsa Lovechild" at the SpyAnts
First things first--yes, this is actually the name of the play. But in all honesty, it's neither about the life nor the times of a woman unfortunately named Tulsa Lovechild. What Greg Owens' play IS is a collection of quasi-caricatures of American types that with its 10-second scenes and frequent location changes (with projected titles) feels like something low-budget found late-night on IFC. There's the committed hippie, the paranoid CIA operative, the wacky immigrant, the dumb-ass trucker, the shallow beauty contestant, the evil preacher-man, the pretty-boy actor, the kid soldier in 'Nam, and let's not forget the side-show freak. It would appear they're all somehow symbolic of the "American Experience", and they all converge on an interstate motel called "Bob's". Even the most three-dimensional character in the piece, Tulsa--the daughter of two hippies-on-the-lam--feels a bit staid in her post-summer-of-love cynicism (OK, more specifically: yes, there is a character by that name, and her story IS the spine of the piece, but the plot really is about 60% concerned with all the other characters).
The play pretends at depth, commenting on war, the government, the death of intellectualism, religion and the nature of celebrity...but kept making me think of "The Love Boat", with its multitude of unrelated plot lines and over-stuffed cast of characters. And this is part of the problem: you're not with any of these characters long enough to really get to know them, and as a result you just can't bring yourself to care about them--at least not enough to sustain you for two hours.
Here's what made me nuts about this evening: the cast was mostly excellent. (Special kudos to Lori Evans Taylor as a thoughtful, believable Tulsa.) Kelly Ann Ford's direction was subtle, smart and made the most out of a tiny playing space--it was, in fact, the standout element of the evening. And the real killer for me: the dialog was terrific and often very funny! But the sum was simply not equal to the parts. It all just felt so wasted on this silly and sometimes sanctimonious road picture--sorry, PLAY--that felt like one man's attempt at being the winking Jack Kerouac for his generation.
Bottom line: C+
'Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
The play pretends at depth, commenting on war, the government, the death of intellectualism, religion and the nature of celebrity...but kept making me think of "The Love Boat", with its multitude of unrelated plot lines and over-stuffed cast of characters. And this is part of the problem: you're not with any of these characters long enough to really get to know them, and as a result you just can't bring yourself to care about them--at least not enough to sustain you for two hours.
Here's what made me nuts about this evening: the cast was mostly excellent. (Special kudos to Lori Evans Taylor as a thoughtful, believable Tulsa.) Kelly Ann Ford's direction was subtle, smart and made the most out of a tiny playing space--it was, in fact, the standout element of the evening. And the real killer for me: the dialog was terrific and often very funny! But the sum was simply not equal to the parts. It all just felt so wasted on this silly and sometimes sanctimonious road picture--sorry, PLAY--that felt like one man's attempt at being the winking Jack Kerouac for his generation.
Bottom line: C+
'Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
"Betty Garrett--Closet Songwriter" at Theatre West
For anyone unlucky enough to not know who Betty Garrett is: she is a real American musical theatre gem of the old school. To watch her work is an education in how to do it right. I won't list her credits here--just go IMDB her now. Go ahead. Or better still, go to IBDB.com, the Broadway database.
OK? Good.
So it seems not a complete surprise that anyone who would live in a world of music for as long as she has would have tucked away at least a few ditties of her own making. And so she has put together a charming show at venerable Theatre West (which she helped establish many moons ago as a workshop for New York actors wanting to keep their chops up on the TV coast) where she gets to trot out these pieces and explain the whys and wherefores of writing them, cabaret-style.
First the bad news. First, she ain't really a songwriter--she's an amateur in the best sense of the word. What comes out is a fascinating amalgam of American songwriting through the majority of the 20th century. Having been soaked in the stuff, she can't help but have picked up the flavor of everything she has ever come in contact with. So as the evening goes on you hear bits and pieces of every major composer's style, so you can guess when a song was penned, as a result. This one's a little Rogers and Hammerstein, that one's a little Sondheim.... Imagine if Christopher Guest had made a movie about an ol' Broadway hoofer who secretly has been writing show tunes -- this would be the soundtrack. Comedy and all.
Next, sadly, this is Theatre West. In all my years as an LA theatre watcher, I have found Theatre West consistent in its inability to put on a "great" show. They can take great material and make it adequate. They can take second-rate material and mate it as good as it could be. But never "great". And this falls under the latter category. For starters, out of a company of nearly 200 members (according to their program) it seems they can't round up enough of them who can sing (and by "sing" I mean carry a tune well AND act it at the same time) to put together a musically respectable eight-person musical. Of the seven cast in this who weren't Ms. Garrett, really only four made the grade or squeaked by. The direction was solid enough to get the remainders past it, but still: *really???*
Now the good news: it's Betty Garrett! This woman is more entertaining on her worst day than most so-called celebrities on their best. She's not 100% solid on her feet anymore, and her voice has weakened with the years, but the woman knows how to perform! And yeah--the songs aren't great. But they're mostly fun, if a little ham-fisted. And yeah--the rest of the cast sings a lot, which as I stated above results in a very mixed experience. (VERY mixed). But at the end of the night I wasn't sorry I came. And they got to extend their run, so I guess I'm not alone in that.
Bottom line: B-/C+
'Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr
OK? Good.
So it seems not a complete surprise that anyone who would live in a world of music for as long as she has would have tucked away at least a few ditties of her own making. And so she has put together a charming show at venerable Theatre West (which she helped establish many moons ago as a workshop for New York actors wanting to keep their chops up on the TV coast) where she gets to trot out these pieces and explain the whys and wherefores of writing them, cabaret-style.
First the bad news. First, she ain't really a songwriter--she's an amateur in the best sense of the word. What comes out is a fascinating amalgam of American songwriting through the majority of the 20th century. Having been soaked in the stuff, she can't help but have picked up the flavor of everything she has ever come in contact with. So as the evening goes on you hear bits and pieces of every major composer's style, so you can guess when a song was penned, as a result. This one's a little Rogers and Hammerstein, that one's a little Sondheim.... Imagine if Christopher Guest had made a movie about an ol' Broadway hoofer who secretly has been writing show tunes -- this would be the soundtrack. Comedy and all.
Next, sadly, this is Theatre West. In all my years as an LA theatre watcher, I have found Theatre West consistent in its inability to put on a "great" show. They can take great material and make it adequate. They can take second-rate material and mate it as good as it could be. But never "great". And this falls under the latter category. For starters, out of a company of nearly 200 members (according to their program) it seems they can't round up enough of them who can sing (and by "sing" I mean carry a tune well AND act it at the same time) to put together a musically respectable eight-person musical. Of the seven cast in this who weren't Ms. Garrett, really only four made the grade or squeaked by. The direction was solid enough to get the remainders past it, but still: *really???*
Now the good news: it's Betty Garrett! This woman is more entertaining on her worst day than most so-called celebrities on their best. She's not 100% solid on her feet anymore, and her voice has weakened with the years, but the woman knows how to perform! And yeah--the songs aren't great. But they're mostly fun, if a little ham-fisted. And yeah--the rest of the cast sings a lot, which as I stated above results in a very mixed experience. (VERY mixed). But at the end of the night I wasn't sorry I came. And they got to extend their run, so I guess I'm not alone in that.
Bottom line: B-/C+
'Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr
Thursday, November 1, 2007
"The Mystery of Edwin Drood" at The Sacred Fools Theatre Company
After years of watching the development of the Sacred Fools Theatre in LA, I have come to a conclusion. They're the LA Theatre scene's equivalent of Madonna. They aren't brilliant (but certainly not without merit), they are very, VERY ambitious, they don't do heavy stuff, they think very highly of themselves, and they are ingenious at self-promotion. I have gone back to see show after show there--largely due to friends in their productions--and the experience is almost always the same: the place is packed (although usually about half the audience seem to be company members; possible due to the fact that they NEVER cast their shows with a majority of company members,, interestingly); the lobby is nicely set up in a theme to reflect the mainstage show, the show itself (inevitably a critic's pick) can usually be described thus: "bing-bang, flash-smile, wacky-wacky, nudge-nudge, wink-wink, ta-da!", and I walk out entertained...but forgetting what I had done that night the next morning.
Now don't get me wrong: I think it's great that an LA theater has even bother to find a style and really brand themselves. And while I don't love their style, per se, their consistency has garnered them an audience; and in fact when they do fun, light, glossy material they are quite terrific (as opposed to when they try to be heavy. Again, like Madonna, it only ends up laughable).
So to no surprise from me, their version of the flashy, theatrical, and shallow "The Mystery of Edwin Drood" is great fun. Executed with real authority by a terrific cast under the bang-on direction of Douglas Clayton, it had an infinity more going for it that the truly tedious Broadway tour of "Light in the Piazza" this past year at LA's huge Ahmenson Playhouse. For those of you who don't know "Drood" (and I suspect that's most of you) this c-grade musical takes it's title from the name of a book that Charles Dickens was in the middle of writing when he died, thus leaving it unfinished. The as-is story is presented in the "Drood" show as a performance by 18th Century music hall performers (and all that that entails), where we-the-audience take on the role of their audience, if you will. When they get to the last bit Dickens wrote it becomes an audience participation exercise and the performers give the audience options for the inevitable "who done it". When the guilty party for that night is chosen, the cast plays out the last scene for how that version of the story would end. The result is a different show every night.
The effect is all very Brechtian, with the audience constantly being reminded of the fact that they are in a theater watching a show. The flip side of this is that the audience never ends up being able to get caught up in the plot (such as it is) so we're left, frankly, not caring about the characters at all. Not aiding this is a wildly (and widely) styled series of songs, almost none of which you can hum upon one hearing (the exception being one particular number which gets repeated a lot, since, I suspect, the composer/writer/lyricist Rupert Holmes knew from the get-go it would be the only potential hit in the show).
So, substance and a real human emotion are really lacking here. But there is still a lot to love in this production. On top of a wonderful cast and inspired stage and musical direction (this latter by Bill Newlin, with a terrific small ensemble off to one side), the Fools' tight space is used to superb effect, setting up small playing areas in the house, and putting two "box seats" for the audience on stage, which has been turned into an opium den by set designer Joel Daavid. You can not help but have fun with the whole circus of it all!
But like the circus, you might ooh and ahh while you're there...and might not remember much the next day. I didn't. But I had fun while it lasted. B.
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Now don't get me wrong: I think it's great that an LA theater has even bother to find a style and really brand themselves. And while I don't love their style, per se, their consistency has garnered them an audience; and in fact when they do fun, light, glossy material they are quite terrific (as opposed to when they try to be heavy. Again, like Madonna, it only ends up laughable).
So to no surprise from me, their version of the flashy, theatrical, and shallow "The Mystery of Edwin Drood" is great fun. Executed with real authority by a terrific cast under the bang-on direction of Douglas Clayton, it had an infinity more going for it that the truly tedious Broadway tour of "Light in the Piazza" this past year at LA's huge Ahmenson Playhouse. For those of you who don't know "Drood" (and I suspect that's most of you) this c-grade musical takes it's title from the name of a book that Charles Dickens was in the middle of writing when he died, thus leaving it unfinished. The as-is story is presented in the "Drood" show as a performance by 18th Century music hall performers (and all that that entails), where we-the-audience take on the role of their audience, if you will. When they get to the last bit Dickens wrote it becomes an audience participation exercise and the performers give the audience options for the inevitable "who done it". When the guilty party for that night is chosen, the cast plays out the last scene for how that version of the story would end. The result is a different show every night.
The effect is all very Brechtian, with the audience constantly being reminded of the fact that they are in a theater watching a show. The flip side of this is that the audience never ends up being able to get caught up in the plot (such as it is) so we're left, frankly, not caring about the characters at all. Not aiding this is a wildly (and widely) styled series of songs, almost none of which you can hum upon one hearing (the exception being one particular number which gets repeated a lot, since, I suspect, the composer/writer/lyricist Rupert Holmes knew from the get-go it would be the only potential hit in the show).
So, substance and a real human emotion are really lacking here. But there is still a lot to love in this production. On top of a wonderful cast and inspired stage and musical direction (this latter by Bill Newlin, with a terrific small ensemble off to one side), the Fools' tight space is used to superb effect, setting up small playing areas in the house, and putting two "box seats" for the audience on stage, which has been turned into an opium den by set designer Joel Daavid. You can not help but have fun with the whole circus of it all!
But like the circus, you might ooh and ahh while you're there...and might not remember much the next day. I didn't. But I had fun while it lasted. B.
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
"And Neither Have I Wings to Fly" at the Road Theatre Company
Let me say for starters that this is simply my favorite piece of theatre from the Road. While I unfortunately missed their two biggest hits from the last year, I have seen my share of shows there. The Road has an extremely unusual and lucky situation whereby all their rent is paid by the city, which means that their actors' (sizable) dues and donations can go straight into production elements. The result is that very often the best work on their stage IS the stage. And while Desma Murphy's set for "And Neither Have I Wings to Fly" is lovely (the interior and exterior edges of an Irish country home), the play is a first-rate piece of theatre.
Ann Noble's drama revolves around the Donnellys--an Irish family in the 1950s coping after the death of the mother. The youngest daughter is slated to marry a nice--if ordinary--young man, but bumps into a traveling actor she once had a crush on, putting her feelings into a tailspin. Meanwhile, the older daughter continues to put her life on hold--as she did throughout her mother's illness--in order to be the stabilizing force in everyone else's life. The father is just trying to catch his breath.
There is little new here, per se, but the sum of these parts very much does add up to a greater whole. From the first scene Scott Cummin's nuanced, straightforward and utterly solid direction sucks us into the world of the Donnellys. These are all people you can relate to with believable human-sized needs; a familiar, real family dynamic. It didn't take long for me to feel like these were not just actors in a play, but...well...old friends, the way the characters in your favorite book take on that quality. You need to know what happens to them and you're sad they're gone at the end of the play. If that isn't the hallmark of great theatre I don't know what is.
Ultimately it's a play about family, love, letting go and being true to yourself. These big, fat, universal themes--as well as the solidity of the script--should place this play up there with the best new American works. And this inaugural production should go a long way to getting it there.
Two other things I loved: 1) the casting. The sisters look like sisters. The one daughter's fiance and his brother look like brothers. You get so used to just overlooking this idea in entertainment media (whom would YOU rather cast: the better actor or the one who looks like the star actor's relative?) that when it's so noticeably right it's quite striking. And 2) Ms. Noble's performance in the role of older sister, Eveline. So often when a playwright acts in his own play he is SO concerned that the audience get EVERY SINGLE DETAIL that the performance becomes overwrought and unwatchable. Not so with Ms. Noble. An experienced pro, she knows this character down to the bone and she shows her to us as a three-dimensional person: good, bad and ugly and all of it as real as it gets--down to her can-do, ungraceful walk. It's a standout performance in an exceptional cast.
If you read this while "And Neither Have I Wings to Fly" is still running, I can not urge you strongly enough to make the time to see it. A!
'Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Ann Noble's drama revolves around the Donnellys--an Irish family in the 1950s coping after the death of the mother. The youngest daughter is slated to marry a nice--if ordinary--young man, but bumps into a traveling actor she once had a crush on, putting her feelings into a tailspin. Meanwhile, the older daughter continues to put her life on hold--as she did throughout her mother's illness--in order to be the stabilizing force in everyone else's life. The father is just trying to catch his breath.
There is little new here, per se, but the sum of these parts very much does add up to a greater whole. From the first scene Scott Cummin's nuanced, straightforward and utterly solid direction sucks us into the world of the Donnellys. These are all people you can relate to with believable human-sized needs; a familiar, real family dynamic. It didn't take long for me to feel like these were not just actors in a play, but...well...old friends, the way the characters in your favorite book take on that quality. You need to know what happens to them and you're sad they're gone at the end of the play. If that isn't the hallmark of great theatre I don't know what is.
Ultimately it's a play about family, love, letting go and being true to yourself. These big, fat, universal themes--as well as the solidity of the script--should place this play up there with the best new American works. And this inaugural production should go a long way to getting it there.
Two other things I loved: 1) the casting. The sisters look like sisters. The one daughter's fiance and his brother look like brothers. You get so used to just overlooking this idea in entertainment media (whom would YOU rather cast: the better actor or the one who looks like the star actor's relative?) that when it's so noticeably right it's quite striking. And 2) Ms. Noble's performance in the role of older sister, Eveline. So often when a playwright acts in his own play he is SO concerned that the audience get EVERY SINGLE DETAIL that the performance becomes overwrought and unwatchable. Not so with Ms. Noble. An experienced pro, she knows this character down to the bone and she shows her to us as a three-dimensional person: good, bad and ugly and all of it as real as it gets--down to her can-do, ungraceful walk. It's a standout performance in an exceptional cast.
If you read this while "And Neither Have I Wings to Fly" is still running, I can not urge you strongly enough to make the time to see it. A!
'Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Monday, October 22, 2007
"Canned Peaches in Syrup" at the Furious Theatre Company
So, it would seem this is what is passing for great contemporary theatre these days, if you are to believe some of the critics of LA: a play that recycles television but with a wink at literature and a nose-punch of "meaning" so that you know it is not only "literate" but "relevant".
This was my interpretation of the mostly well-acted new play "Canned Peaches in Syrup" at the otherwise terrific Furious Theatre Company in Pasadena. Just as I hate movies where I can see the pitch meeting in the film making, I hate plays where I can see the playwrights age and influences when I'm in the audience. Alex Jones clearly grew up on lots of American TV, as his "dystopian" fantasy is little more than an overlong episode of "The Twilight Zone". It's set in a not-too-distant future (aren't they all?) where the apocalypse came with an environmental whimper, not a bang, and what appears to be left of humanity is roaming the plains looking for food, staying out of the sun, and avoiding their cannibal counterparts...or if you're a cannibal, searching out their vegetarian counterparts. I awoke 15 minutes into the play (no kidding--that's how fast this thing made me fall asleep) wondering when Burgess Meredith would show up to liven things up. Because beside the snail's pacing, two of the characters on stage are named "Ma" and "Pa" and they speak with a drawl, and that can only mean one thing...yes, the end of the world only occurs in the American West...ever!! Go take a look at IMDB and look for apocalyptically plotted cannibal movies and you'll see how often this is the case! Go on...I'll wait.
See!? And since they're from that region, they are uneducated, paranoid sheep (seems the books didn't survive this holocaust). Because aren't they ALL uneducated, paranoid sheep in Oklahoma, where the play is set? No? Funny...sure seems that way from movies and TV.... Sure would be way scarier for people in the largest city in the country to see how much we'd be screwed if this happened in a CITY. But I digress.
But wait...this sounds kind of familiar in another way. A family...Ma and Pa...surviving in a dust bowl.... Could it be...? YES! It's a STEINBECK reference! That's how you know it's clever! Except that it really isn't. The similarity to literature ends there and you're left with a whole lot of characters you just can't give a crap about. Which reminds me: it also seems that this playwright watched "Deadwood". A whoooooole lot of "Deadwood". If the F-bomb were really an explosive, it would go a long way to explain why there's no life left on the planet in this play, as "fuck" and words that subtlety make up a vast majority of the dialog. A VAST majority. Now, I am no prude by anyone's scale, but I believe very much in the notion that there's more mileage in the creative use of our language, especially if a piece is set in the future where it might have evolved (see: "Firefly"/"Serenity", where it's done right). But the similarity to HBO's excellent western continues on in only one other way: two of the characters in this thing seem to be lifted right out from that show (for anyone who cares: William Sanderson's EB Farnum and Robin Weigert's Calamity Jane). Although, to be fair, this might be the director's fault for allowing two of his cast to go SO close to imitation that that was the only thing I was left with in watching them. But that's as close as "Peaches" comes to imitating great art of any kind.
Finally, what passes for the plot revolves largely on a "Romeo and Juliet" situation: a cannibal falls for a vegetarian and gives up his people-eating-people ways, much to the disgust of his peers. (See?? The IS hope for humanity!)
Now if all of this sounds sort of intriguing, I can't say as I blame you--it sure did to me when I read about it. But I gotta tell ya, the play--called a "farce" by the LA TIMES--lands with all the subtlety of a cinderblock to the noggin. Because on top of all the above, no scene is written with brevity in mind. Many of the BIG SCREAMING ENVIRONMENTAL MESSAGES are repeated over and over and over and over and over again. My issue: we all saw Al Gore's movie--or at least know the message-- thanks, plus we read the newspaper, AND we listen to NPR, ANNNND we live in Los Angeles where this message is hammered into us on a daily basis...we GET IT!! (Take the play to Texas, huh? Maybe they can use it!) I'm a fan of Issues plays, but the best of them are about people we can relate to, set within the Issue. That's how we learn to care about the Issue--through the characters and how the Issue effects them. Not so in "Peaches in Canned Syrup", where the Issue--the destruction of the environment--is a constant, so we never really get a chance to see how it effects our heroes, other than by comparison to how we live now.
Which brings me to my final annoyance with this play: the title. In the play there is a can. Of peaches in syrup. That plays an important plot point. But when it is finally dealt with--the title object, the precious tin of what-is-left-from-better-times--it is handled by both director and playwright with such nonchalance that it made me want to throw them another can and make them do it over.
Bottom line: a perfect example of everything wrong in contemporary theatre with the exception of the fact that the cast was largely watchable, the production values were high (apart from poorly thought out lighting choices) and the damn thing was at least not about teenagers losing themselves to drugs, like everything else lately.
And still...not the worst thing I have ever seen. (See my post about "Godislov" for that.) There are bits that work very well, some performances that do hit home, and the set design is really sharp. And maybe that's why this production made me SO crazy: it had so much potential to be powerful, but floundered in all the usual places, instead.
Oh...and did I mention the "preacher man"? Can't have a western wasteland without one of those.... C+
--HDSQ,Jr
This was my interpretation of the mostly well-acted new play "Canned Peaches in Syrup" at the otherwise terrific Furious Theatre Company in Pasadena. Just as I hate movies where I can see the pitch meeting in the film making, I hate plays where I can see the playwrights age and influences when I'm in the audience. Alex Jones clearly grew up on lots of American TV, as his "dystopian" fantasy is little more than an overlong episode of "The Twilight Zone". It's set in a not-too-distant future (aren't they all?) where the apocalypse came with an environmental whimper, not a bang, and what appears to be left of humanity is roaming the plains looking for food, staying out of the sun, and avoiding their cannibal counterparts...or if you're a cannibal, searching out their vegetarian counterparts. I awoke 15 minutes into the play (no kidding--that's how fast this thing made me fall asleep) wondering when Burgess Meredith would show up to liven things up. Because beside the snail's pacing, two of the characters on stage are named "Ma" and "Pa" and they speak with a drawl, and that can only mean one thing...yes, the end of the world only occurs in the American West...ever!! Go take a look at IMDB and look for apocalyptically plotted cannibal movies and you'll see how often this is the case! Go on...I'll wait.
See!? And since they're from that region, they are uneducated, paranoid sheep (seems the books didn't survive this holocaust). Because aren't they ALL uneducated, paranoid sheep in Oklahoma, where the play is set? No? Funny...sure seems that way from movies and TV.... Sure would be way scarier for people in the largest city in the country to see how much we'd be screwed if this happened in a CITY. But I digress.
But wait...this sounds kind of familiar in another way. A family...Ma and Pa...surviving in a dust bowl.... Could it be...? YES! It's a STEINBECK reference! That's how you know it's clever! Except that it really isn't. The similarity to literature ends there and you're left with a whole lot of characters you just can't give a crap about. Which reminds me: it also seems that this playwright watched "Deadwood". A whoooooole lot of "Deadwood". If the F-bomb were really an explosive, it would go a long way to explain why there's no life left on the planet in this play, as "fuck" and words that subtlety make up a vast majority of the dialog. A VAST majority. Now, I am no prude by anyone's scale, but I believe very much in the notion that there's more mileage in the creative use of our language, especially if a piece is set in the future where it might have evolved (see: "Firefly"/"Serenity", where it's done right). But the similarity to HBO's excellent western continues on in only one other way: two of the characters in this thing seem to be lifted right out from that show (for anyone who cares: William Sanderson's EB Farnum and Robin Weigert's Calamity Jane). Although, to be fair, this might be the director's fault for allowing two of his cast to go SO close to imitation that that was the only thing I was left with in watching them. But that's as close as "Peaches" comes to imitating great art of any kind.
Finally, what passes for the plot revolves largely on a "Romeo and Juliet" situation: a cannibal falls for a vegetarian and gives up his people-eating-people ways, much to the disgust of his peers. (See?? The IS hope for humanity!)
Now if all of this sounds sort of intriguing, I can't say as I blame you--it sure did to me when I read about it. But I gotta tell ya, the play--called a "farce" by the LA TIMES--lands with all the subtlety of a cinderblock to the noggin. Because on top of all the above, no scene is written with brevity in mind. Many of the BIG SCREAMING ENVIRONMENTAL MESSAGES are repeated over and over and over and over and over again. My issue: we all saw Al Gore's movie--or at least know the message-- thanks, plus we read the newspaper, AND we listen to NPR, ANNNND we live in Los Angeles where this message is hammered into us on a daily basis...we GET IT!! (Take the play to Texas, huh? Maybe they can use it!) I'm a fan of Issues plays, but the best of them are about people we can relate to, set within the Issue. That's how we learn to care about the Issue--through the characters and how the Issue effects them. Not so in "Peaches in Canned Syrup", where the Issue--the destruction of the environment--is a constant, so we never really get a chance to see how it effects our heroes, other than by comparison to how we live now.
Which brings me to my final annoyance with this play: the title. In the play there is a can. Of peaches in syrup. That plays an important plot point. But when it is finally dealt with--the title object, the precious tin of what-is-left-from-better-times--it is handled by both director and playwright with such nonchalance that it made me want to throw them another can and make them do it over.
Bottom line: a perfect example of everything wrong in contemporary theatre with the exception of the fact that the cast was largely watchable, the production values were high (apart from poorly thought out lighting choices) and the damn thing was at least not about teenagers losing themselves to drugs, like everything else lately.
And still...not the worst thing I have ever seen. (See my post about "Godislov" for that.) There are bits that work very well, some performances that do hit home, and the set design is really sharp. And maybe that's why this production made me SO crazy: it had so much potential to be powerful, but floundered in all the usual places, instead.
Oh...and did I mention the "preacher man"? Can't have a western wasteland without one of those.... C+
--HDSQ,Jr
Monday, August 27, 2007
"Godislav" at Miles Memorial Playhouse
I want to tell you everything I can about this. But I'll try to be brief, and I think you'll thank me for it. It's taken me a week to get the stink of this play out of my hair and only now can I bare to conjure up the memory of this abortion of a piece of theater.
Highlights: a small fistful of competent actors. The female lead NOT one of them (one "Lily Sauvage". Must be her real name, no?). A really interesting space in Santa Monica, where the set was placed on the floor of the house rather than on the stage. Good use of that space (despite being able to hear the people in the park outside)! Some good music cues at the top and bottom of the acts.
Lowlights. I don't have time nor energy to list them all. For starters, this "script" by one Nancy Beverly was a complete insult to an audience. In brief: young film maker sets his life and career on making a documentary about a man he has been lead to believe is a Chechen doctor who lived through the atrocities of their war with Russia. The mans ends up to be a fraud and in the process of dealing with this the film maker gets his life back on track. The first act (an hour, which should have run about 40 minutes...the time added on by the aforementioned Ms. Sauvage's need...to...pause...and...sigh...a...lot) was mostly in flashback as the characters try to find out why the young film maker has disappeared mysteriously. Act II: oh...he had hit his head while swimming. He's fine. Seriously--you dragged us through an hour with flashbacks to tell us it was NOTHING?! HOW DARE YOU????!!
Next: the script really ends up dealing with the "relationship" between the film maker and his girlfriend, who was so desperate to find him in Act I. Yet the title is the name of the non-Chechen our film maker wastes his time on--the most interesting part of this train wreck, to be sure. It's accidentally a perfect title for this play, as we have been conned into thinking that this play is going to be about something real and substantial, like war in Chechnya. Instead, it's all a fake and we have to settle for over 2 hours about these people whom we could care less about. Why don't we care about them? For starters, we can not buy them as a couple for two seconds. The actress spent more time on her fashionable hair than the role, it seemed, and comes off like a just-over-the-hill goth. The guy--"West Wing"'s really quite good Peter James Smith--comes off really effeminate. On top of the fact that they behave, as a result, more like room mates than lovers, they *never once* in this less-than-two-year relationship of theirs actually utter the phrase "I love you". Or anything close to it. Forgive me my life experience, but my memory is such that into only two years if you aren't still using terms of affection you ain't together no mo'. Yet here we are being told we need to care about this couple's love even though they clearly don't, and inform us of this in every moment on stage. in this I blame the writer for being clueless, the director, Susan Lee, for not forcing the issue, and the actors for not knowing better. Ugh.
Next: everyone in this play talks exactly the same. No one has a unique voice. And it's all on-the-nose and dry and deadly.
Next: the Chechen sounded Irish.
Last: there were four themes in the play. FOUR. Any one of them you could have written an engaging play about: parents and children, lovers who lie or hide, the war in Chechnya, refinding your dreams. Sadly, Mz. Beverly tried to cram them all into one script. Actually, considering how dully any of these was handled in "Godislav", maybe it's just as well. I have seen other work from the producing group of Playwright 6--it's why I came. They're usually quite good. But after this I'm crossing them off my to-do list. I want my two hours back. With interest, if possible, for mental cruelty. F.
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Highlights: a small fistful of competent actors. The female lead NOT one of them (one "Lily Sauvage". Must be her real name, no?). A really interesting space in Santa Monica, where the set was placed on the floor of the house rather than on the stage. Good use of that space (despite being able to hear the people in the park outside)! Some good music cues at the top and bottom of the acts.
Lowlights. I don't have time nor energy to list them all. For starters, this "script" by one Nancy Beverly was a complete insult to an audience. In brief: young film maker sets his life and career on making a documentary about a man he has been lead to believe is a Chechen doctor who lived through the atrocities of their war with Russia. The mans ends up to be a fraud and in the process of dealing with this the film maker gets his life back on track. The first act (an hour, which should have run about 40 minutes...the time added on by the aforementioned Ms. Sauvage's need...to...pause...and...sigh...a...lot) was mostly in flashback as the characters try to find out why the young film maker has disappeared mysteriously. Act II: oh...he had hit his head while swimming. He's fine. Seriously--you dragged us through an hour with flashbacks to tell us it was NOTHING?! HOW DARE YOU????!!
Next: the script really ends up dealing with the "relationship" between the film maker and his girlfriend, who was so desperate to find him in Act I. Yet the title is the name of the non-Chechen our film maker wastes his time on--the most interesting part of this train wreck, to be sure. It's accidentally a perfect title for this play, as we have been conned into thinking that this play is going to be about something real and substantial, like war in Chechnya. Instead, it's all a fake and we have to settle for over 2 hours about these people whom we could care less about. Why don't we care about them? For starters, we can not buy them as a couple for two seconds. The actress spent more time on her fashionable hair than the role, it seemed, and comes off like a just-over-the-hill goth. The guy--"West Wing"'s really quite good Peter James Smith--comes off really effeminate. On top of the fact that they behave, as a result, more like room mates than lovers, they *never once* in this less-than-two-year relationship of theirs actually utter the phrase "I love you". Or anything close to it. Forgive me my life experience, but my memory is such that into only two years if you aren't still using terms of affection you ain't together no mo'. Yet here we are being told we need to care about this couple's love even though they clearly don't, and inform us of this in every moment on stage. in this I blame the writer for being clueless, the director, Susan Lee, for not forcing the issue, and the actors for not knowing better. Ugh.
Next: everyone in this play talks exactly the same. No one has a unique voice. And it's all on-the-nose and dry and deadly.
Next: the Chechen sounded Irish.
Last: there were four themes in the play. FOUR. Any one of them you could have written an engaging play about: parents and children, lovers who lie or hide, the war in Chechnya, refinding your dreams. Sadly, Mz. Beverly tried to cram them all into one script. Actually, considering how dully any of these was handled in "Godislav", maybe it's just as well. I have seen other work from the producing group of Playwright 6--it's why I came. They're usually quite good. But after this I'm crossing them off my to-do list. I want my two hours back. With interest, if possible, for mental cruelty. F.
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
"Power" at Theatre Banshee
Let me say up front: I have seen a number of Theatre Banshee's productions and I feel them simply to be the most under-rated theater company in LA. Period. I would rather see one of their lesser shows then almost anything at the giant Ahmenson. They are that good, even if relegated to life in Burbank.
This said, I have to admit that their production -- the west coast premiere -- of Nick Dear's play "Power" is not one of my favorite offerings from this company. Again: still very damn good, but with some problems.
First strike: the script. It's a great concept--basically, it's about the personal politics surrounding the maturation of Louis IV. Louis is handed a lot of power at a young age and tries to figure out what to do with it. Ultimately he figures that what he needs to do is take it away from everyone else and truly set himself up as the ultimate power in France--forget this parliament crap. So, it's a political play, and as with many plays about the nature of politics, it's very talky. Which I don't have a problem with so much as it's talky AND not heavy on plot. Yes, things happen, but it takes a long time for them to do so, and mostly the characters talk about things they want to do rather than doing them. The wheel of The System, it would appear, moves slowly. Also, Louis--while a vital element to the story--is almost a supporting player, as the story really focuses more on his various advisors shucking and jiving to get what they want from either him or Anne, the powerful Queen Mother. Still the point the play makes is interesting: power is a two way street--you can take it, yes, but it must also be given. A universal truth, to be sure. (And watching the disturbing breadth the administration of George W. Bush has gobbled one has to wonder--in light of this play, possibly the point of producing it?--when exactly the American people and the Congress are going to stop these megalomaniacs from taking power away from us, the people? But I digress.)
Second strike: Steve Coombs, who plays Louis is a solid enough actor (there are no even *average* actors at Banshee, it seems), but he feels a little at sea throughout the play, even as his character is growing into his role as king. Not helping him is this annoying actor habit of putting one or both of his hands behind his back in every scene. "See--I'm royal! And casual!" he seems to be saying. What it really says, of course, is "I'm an actor who has no freakin' idea what to do with my hands". I wonder why the director didn't jump on him for this.
Third strike: David Pavao as Louis' brother, Philippe. From the first scene in the play we are told in no uncertain terms this guy is really, REALLY gay. This is an important plot point, but Pavao can't seem to get past playing the role as little more than a big ol' queen (as it were). He just doesn't find any more depth to this guy than the fact that he's gay, he minces and he's very uncomfortable around the women he has to deal with who aren't his mother. Somehow the fact that he's still required to put up the front of a marriage and family doesn't bring any extra levels to the performace. OK--he's gay AND unhappy much of the time because he HAS to hang out with his wife in court, as much as he'd rather not bother. To be fair, it's a funny caricature, but a caricature nonetheless.
Forth strike: the set changes were a little on the long side, and there were lots of them. The set was very effective, and they certainly did a LOT in a small space, but with every scene requiring either a cart to spin or a background to be unfolded, it didn't help the otherwise fine pace.
Fifth strike: even though the production was well-paced and McKerrin Kelly's direction was certainly solid, the play itself could stand to lose about 20 minutes.
On the other hand: the rest of the cast is terrific, the cherry on top being the awe-inspiring Matt Foyer as super-rich finance advisor Fouquet, the man who built Versailles. Foyer is in my mind one of the very best actors I've ever seen--in or out of LA. Why he's not a household name is nothing short of criminal. He's one of those actors who just makes everything seem so effortless. Also, in typical Banshee style the set is lovely, elegant, efficient and relatively simple, while never looking even a little cheap (this despite the length of the changes). Laura Brody's costumes were also lovely and effective--never upstaging the actors, but giving lots of that wacky zazz that made the British Court make fun the French Court. The sound design by Mark McClain Wilson was also solid, smart and note-worthy.
So: worth seeing? You bet! Great? Not quite. Although I would love every producer in LA to go to it, if for no other reason to see how a play is *supposed* to be produced. B+
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
This said, I have to admit that their production -- the west coast premiere -- of Nick Dear's play "Power" is not one of my favorite offerings from this company. Again: still very damn good, but with some problems.
First strike: the script. It's a great concept--basically, it's about the personal politics surrounding the maturation of Louis IV. Louis is handed a lot of power at a young age and tries to figure out what to do with it. Ultimately he figures that what he needs to do is take it away from everyone else and truly set himself up as the ultimate power in France--forget this parliament crap. So, it's a political play, and as with many plays about the nature of politics, it's very talky. Which I don't have a problem with so much as it's talky AND not heavy on plot. Yes, things happen, but it takes a long time for them to do so, and mostly the characters talk about things they want to do rather than doing them. The wheel of The System, it would appear, moves slowly. Also, Louis--while a vital element to the story--is almost a supporting player, as the story really focuses more on his various advisors shucking and jiving to get what they want from either him or Anne, the powerful Queen Mother. Still the point the play makes is interesting: power is a two way street--you can take it, yes, but it must also be given. A universal truth, to be sure. (And watching the disturbing breadth the administration of George W. Bush has gobbled one has to wonder--in light of this play, possibly the point of producing it?--when exactly the American people and the Congress are going to stop these megalomaniacs from taking power away from us, the people? But I digress.)
Second strike: Steve Coombs, who plays Louis is a solid enough actor (there are no even *average* actors at Banshee, it seems), but he feels a little at sea throughout the play, even as his character is growing into his role as king. Not helping him is this annoying actor habit of putting one or both of his hands behind his back in every scene. "See--I'm royal! And casual!" he seems to be saying. What it really says, of course, is "I'm an actor who has no freakin' idea what to do with my hands". I wonder why the director didn't jump on him for this.
Third strike: David Pavao as Louis' brother, Philippe. From the first scene in the play we are told in no uncertain terms this guy is really, REALLY gay. This is an important plot point, but Pavao can't seem to get past playing the role as little more than a big ol' queen (as it were). He just doesn't find any more depth to this guy than the fact that he's gay, he minces and he's very uncomfortable around the women he has to deal with who aren't his mother. Somehow the fact that he's still required to put up the front of a marriage and family doesn't bring any extra levels to the performace. OK--he's gay AND unhappy much of the time because he HAS to hang out with his wife in court, as much as he'd rather not bother. To be fair, it's a funny caricature, but a caricature nonetheless.
Forth strike: the set changes were a little on the long side, and there were lots of them. The set was very effective, and they certainly did a LOT in a small space, but with every scene requiring either a cart to spin or a background to be unfolded, it didn't help the otherwise fine pace.
Fifth strike: even though the production was well-paced and McKerrin Kelly's direction was certainly solid, the play itself could stand to lose about 20 minutes.
On the other hand: the rest of the cast is terrific, the cherry on top being the awe-inspiring Matt Foyer as super-rich finance advisor Fouquet, the man who built Versailles. Foyer is in my mind one of the very best actors I've ever seen--in or out of LA. Why he's not a household name is nothing short of criminal. He's one of those actors who just makes everything seem so effortless. Also, in typical Banshee style the set is lovely, elegant, efficient and relatively simple, while never looking even a little cheap (this despite the length of the changes). Laura Brody's costumes were also lovely and effective--never upstaging the actors, but giving lots of that wacky zazz that made the British Court make fun the French Court. The sound design by Mark McClain Wilson was also solid, smart and note-worthy.
So: worth seeing? You bet! Great? Not quite. Although I would love every producer in LA to go to it, if for no other reason to see how a play is *supposed* to be produced. B+
Til next time!
--HDSQ, Jr.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
"How the Other Half Loves" at the Odyssey
After years of frustration of going to plays in the LA area and leaving the experience either elated or angry--only to find out that a critic from one of the local papers had reviewed it feeling the exact opposite from me (or couldn't string a sentence together, or spent the entirety of the review in a plot description/cast list)--I began to think that I might need to set some records straight in my travels and possibly...*possibly*...raise the level of current Los Angeles theatrical journalism a tad. We'll see. But after kicking this idea around for a while I finally find myself booted into action by the show I saw this week. So this, friends of the theater, is how I begin my postings.
No--they will not all be pans, I promise (a few weeks ago I saw a superior production of "Boy Gets Girl" at the Attic Theater, and the "Soda Pop" at the Ark Theater is terrific!! If they're both running--GO!!).
So:
I'm going to assume that anyone reading this blog has an appreciation for the stage, as well as more than a little background in it, and so I won't bore you with lots of details you can simply look up elsewhere. Suffice it to say, Alan Ayckbourn is a wonderfully funny contemporary British writer who has a taste for very creative convention-bending stage concepts. In "How the Other Half Loves" he uses one single room set as the locale for two different couple's homes. Both couples appear on stage at the same time, even though they are in reality miles and even days apart. The couples cross each other's paths, end up doing some of the same things near each other, and so on. Great fun! And when there is the oh-so-British-sex-farce case of mistaken identity involving a liaison, hi-jinx ensue as a third couple come over to both of their houses on two different nights...at the same time in the space on stage.
OK. Now that we got that out of the way, I will say this: director Barry Philips keeps the action moving. Mostly. But he doesn't trust his audience to get the joke. Apart from the occasional, dreadfully obvious "wah-waaaah" music button to let us know something kwazy just happened, he has the two "homes" lit differently, so that when Couple A is talking, it's lit one way, and when Couple B is talking, it's lit a different way. Y'know...in case we couldn't understand that they were two different places, even though they take up the same room. The effect is infuriating, as the whole joke of the concept that Ayckborn is playing with is the use of The Space on stage. He WANTS it to all feel like parallel lives! The two rooms need to get all mooshed together visually and allow us to fill in the blanks. But with this annoying back and forth of the lighting, the director forces the audience to separate the two homes in our heads. Killing the joke. Pity.
Also a pity is the fact that despite the fact that the Odyssey is a big, grown up theater company with income and a budget and three spaces and subscribers and the lot, they still can not seem to find the money to either a) hire actors who can do a goddamn British accent or b) hire a goddamn dialect coach to fix the actors they have. While most of the cast is either super at this need or at least close-enough-that-we-get-it, Scott Roberts and Greg Mullavey (both well-traveled thespians, it seems) turn in accents that can best be described as "fancy American". When will Los Angeles theater producers ever learn that the audience will NOTICE!? Every time these two actors open their mouths, the very British dialog just plops on stage like dirty, wet rags. You can see them focusing on the accent, making their character work poorer for it, and they both become really quite tedious to have on stage throughout, as a result. Which is a real shame as there are otherwise some terrific performances. Tracie Lockwood's working class tinder-box-of-a-mom is hilarious and real, as is Kate Hollinshead's ultra-mousy middle-class Mary Featherstone. (Oh, and here's a point: they pronounce this name "fetha-stown". Am I crazy or should this be "fetha'stun" in a real English accent? I could be wrong.) Everyone else: totally solid performances.
But the critic at Playreviews.com who came to see this accused this lot of having "perfect English accents." It's uninformed comments like this that got me to start this blog. Doubt she's ever heard an English accent. It might seem like a funny thing to harp on, but it just...keeps...happening. On the other extreme, at the same theater, last year's awful "Equinox" featured two British actors who could certainly sound English but couldn't act to save their lives, let alone the play. (Amusingly, it was the one American--the always excellent Caroline Hennessey--who turned in the only great performance as well as a dead-on accent). At least when the Odyssey produced "Among the Thugs" a few years ago, they actually cast some American actors who actually CAN do the accent! And a few different regions, to boot! And they won an award for that show. Hm.... Coincidence?
But back to the Ayckborn. The set was the last piece of "they spent money on that?" It was workable...until you started to think about it. This is supposed to be a place inhabited by two different families from opposite sides of the class spectrum, yet the two sides barely looked different! One is a tidy, large, upper-class home and the other a small, baby-chaos working-class home...but there were virtually no signs on stage that this was the case. It was all...in the middle. The designer just didn't put enough thought into it. She could have really gone to town. That would have been much more use in "separating" the two homes than the useless light shifts.
Bottom line, this was a C+ show. Other than what I mention above, it needed some pacing improvement and someone to kick the director in the head about a few important details. But this is often the case, I'm afraid.
Til next time.
HDSQ
No--they will not all be pans, I promise (a few weeks ago I saw a superior production of "Boy Gets Girl" at the Attic Theater, and the "Soda Pop" at the Ark Theater is terrific!! If they're both running--GO!!).
So:
I'm going to assume that anyone reading this blog has an appreciation for the stage, as well as more than a little background in it, and so I won't bore you with lots of details you can simply look up elsewhere. Suffice it to say, Alan Ayckbourn is a wonderfully funny contemporary British writer who has a taste for very creative convention-bending stage concepts. In "How the Other Half Loves" he uses one single room set as the locale for two different couple's homes. Both couples appear on stage at the same time, even though they are in reality miles and even days apart. The couples cross each other's paths, end up doing some of the same things near each other, and so on. Great fun! And when there is the oh-so-British-sex-farce case of mistaken identity involving a liaison, hi-jinx ensue as a third couple come over to both of their houses on two different nights...at the same time in the space on stage.
OK. Now that we got that out of the way, I will say this: director Barry Philips keeps the action moving. Mostly. But he doesn't trust his audience to get the joke. Apart from the occasional, dreadfully obvious "wah-waaaah" music button to let us know something kwazy just happened, he has the two "homes" lit differently, so that when Couple A is talking, it's lit one way, and when Couple B is talking, it's lit a different way. Y'know...in case we couldn't understand that they were two different places, even though they take up the same room. The effect is infuriating, as the whole joke of the concept that Ayckborn is playing with is the use of The Space on stage. He WANTS it to all feel like parallel lives! The two rooms need to get all mooshed together visually and allow us to fill in the blanks. But with this annoying back and forth of the lighting, the director forces the audience to separate the two homes in our heads. Killing the joke. Pity.
Also a pity is the fact that despite the fact that the Odyssey is a big, grown up theater company with income and a budget and three spaces and subscribers and the lot, they still can not seem to find the money to either a) hire actors who can do a goddamn British accent or b) hire a goddamn dialect coach to fix the actors they have. While most of the cast is either super at this need or at least close-enough-that-we-get-it, Scott Roberts and Greg Mullavey (both well-traveled thespians, it seems) turn in accents that can best be described as "fancy American". When will Los Angeles theater producers ever learn that the audience will NOTICE!? Every time these two actors open their mouths, the very British dialog just plops on stage like dirty, wet rags. You can see them focusing on the accent, making their character work poorer for it, and they both become really quite tedious to have on stage throughout, as a result. Which is a real shame as there are otherwise some terrific performances. Tracie Lockwood's working class tinder-box-of-a-mom is hilarious and real, as is Kate Hollinshead's ultra-mousy middle-class Mary Featherstone. (Oh, and here's a point: they pronounce this name "fetha-stown". Am I crazy or should this be "fetha'stun" in a real English accent? I could be wrong.) Everyone else: totally solid performances.
But the critic at Playreviews.com who came to see this accused this lot of having "perfect English accents." It's uninformed comments like this that got me to start this blog. Doubt she's ever heard an English accent. It might seem like a funny thing to harp on, but it just...keeps...happening. On the other extreme, at the same theater, last year's awful "Equinox" featured two British actors who could certainly sound English but couldn't act to save their lives, let alone the play. (Amusingly, it was the one American--the always excellent Caroline Hennessey--who turned in the only great performance as well as a dead-on accent). At least when the Odyssey produced "Among the Thugs" a few years ago, they actually cast some American actors who actually CAN do the accent! And a few different regions, to boot! And they won an award for that show. Hm.... Coincidence?
But back to the Ayckborn. The set was the last piece of "they spent money on that?" It was workable...until you started to think about it. This is supposed to be a place inhabited by two different families from opposite sides of the class spectrum, yet the two sides barely looked different! One is a tidy, large, upper-class home and the other a small, baby-chaos working-class home...but there were virtually no signs on stage that this was the case. It was all...in the middle. The designer just didn't put enough thought into it. She could have really gone to town. That would have been much more use in "separating" the two homes than the useless light shifts.
Bottom line, this was a C+ show. Other than what I mention above, it needed some pacing improvement and someone to kick the director in the head about a few important details. But this is often the case, I'm afraid.
Til next time.
HDSQ
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