QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey NIE WIEDER

Zeitgeist Stage is honoring the 35^th anniversary of the Holocaust play, BENT, Martin Sherman’s frightening, ultimately redemptive play about the gay men who perished, along with the Jews and gypsies, in Hitler’s concentration camps. Director David Miller’s production (running through Oct. 11^th) features two powerful performances by Victor L. Shopov and Brooks Reeves as the imprisoned men who will be each other’s salvation.  

Zeitgeist is known for its tightly knit, compact productions in the Black Box at the BCA. For BENT they have moved to the comparatively spacious Plaza theater, next to the box space but with the move come some complications. The first scene in Max’s living room makes it seem like a sprawling penthouse. Just using the imaginary bathroom takes precious seconds to get offstage. And placing the decadent, cross-dressed cabaret chanteuse (whom Miller uses for running satirical effect) in front of the apartment space puts “Greta” much too close to the audience.

Some opening weekend jitters distracted from the story early on but by the time Shopov and Reeves are the sole players on stage (except for the Nazi guards), the horror and the beauty of their relationship carries the play toward its chilling conclusion. A lovely performance by Robert Bonotto, as Max’s closeted uncle is one of the pleasures of Miller’s productions. Mikey DiLoreto, too, scores points as the dancer who, like the uncle, thinks the Nazis won’t come for him.

Thomas Grenon is terrifying as the sadistic lieutenant who forces Max to perform unspeakable acts in order to save himself. Shopov’s transformation, in response to Reeves’ luminous humanity, more than makes up for the small production problems. This is a major play which deserves to be seen. The German phrase, “Nie wieder” meaning “never again” serves as both apology and pledge but we know full well that it has happened again, all over the world.

QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey FAR FAR AWAY

FAR FROM HEAVEN (@ SpeakEasy Stage through Oct. 11^th) is a musical remake of the 2002 Todd Haynes movie of the same name—which itself is an homage/remake of the 1955 Douglas Sirk Technicolor soap opera, ALL THAT HEAVEN ALLOWS (which was also adapted, brilliantly I might add, by Rainer Werner Fassbinder but that has nothing to do with this). They all center round a woman whose “picture perfect” life is turned upside down—who then turns to her gardener for support, thereby scandalizing friends, family and, it seems, the whole world: Certainly, her whole world.

The scandal in the 1955 film stems from the difference in their ages and social positions: The housewife is considerably older and wealthier than the gardener. In the 2002 FAR FROM HEAVEN movie, the scandal is race and social status. I’m swept away every time I see the corny Rock Hudson/Jane Wyman vehicle (Turner Classic Movies loves Sirk) but the musical, alas, just didn’t do it for me. It should have. The book by Richard Greenberg avoids a whitewash of the 1950s. I grew up in the homophobic, racist, republican decade: No picnic if you were poor or gay or African-American. All I can say about the ‘50s is thank God for the ‘60s.

Director Scott Edmiston and music director Steven Bergman have a talented cast to interpret the material but the problem, I think, with FAR FROM HEAVEN is the material. No matter how you approach it, you’re still stuck with Michael Korie’s impossible lyrics. Poor Jennifer Ellis rhapsodizes about “Heaven [having created] Connecticut” and being “sure they broke the mold.” It’s supposed to show her naïveté but it’s so bloody bland and it works against the story. Ditto her dialogue: She wants to go to Florida because everything there is “pink!” Good Lord.

Scott Frankel’s score is so dissonant, I didn’t think I could weather another distorted merry-go-round plunge down the scale. I had high hopes for the song, “What’s it like being THE ONLY ONE” (for the white housewife and the Black gardener) but then they did it to death. Charles Schoonmaker’s period costumes (some more 40s than 50s) are gorgeous, especially the chocolate/mocha/beige cocktail dresses and I got a kick out of David Connolly’s hipster, jazzy “chair” choreography for the guys on a bench outside the office.

For me, the acid test is whether or not other musicals cross my mind while I’m watching. I’m truly sorry to say they did and when Maurice Emmanuel Parent boards the train for a better life in Baltimore, all I could think of was: He’ll meet John Waters and be in a much better musical there.

QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey Funnier Than Ever

Director Leigh Barrett’s production of the Maltby/Shire revue, CLOSER THAN EVER (playing @ New Rep through Sept. 28^th) soars when the women are front and center. (Barrett has split the songs among two male and two female singers.) The men mostly have the angst ridden and sentimental songs but the women get the plum comic numbers. When you have Barrett and Kathy St. George interpreting the material you’re home free.

Well, not necessarily. A couple of months ago I saw an ill fated production of COMPANY. I could hardly wait for Barrett’s “Ladies Who Lunch.” It’s always the showstopper. I’m sure it would have been, were it not for a sinister sound system which entirely cut out the audio on the “Ladies,” leaving the audience in misery. So here’s kudos for New Rep’s acoustics and their impeccable sound system (something I used to take for granted).

Some of the songs are ho-hum but a few are inspired: Barrett’s cheeky “The Bear, the Tiger, the Hamster and the Mole” is a scientific rundown of the female of the (animal) species, where “the male has control for one moment only,” (and that would be the mating moment). We’re in hysterics even before the song arrives at the ambidextrous oyster who can fertilize her own eggs, thank you very much!

St. George acts the heck out of the not so demure “Miss Byrd” who flies away at lunchtime, unseen, to refresh her, let’s say, enthusiasm for the rest of the workday. And St. George sizzles in her sexy paean to the musicians who play the bass fiddle: She purrs, she scats and she playfully messes with John Styklunas’ hair as he’s accompanying her on base. The incomparable Jim Rice on piano makes the show tick and he even sings a little harmony.

Brian Richard Robinson gets laughs with “What Am I Doing” (up on her roof) as the guy who can’t move on and David Foley gets to tug at our heartstrings with the tender “Fathers of Fathers.” The singers spend a good deal of time pushing Jon Savage’s multiple doors into place or carrying on (what look like) heavy stuffed chairs and I began to worry that someone would pull a muscle. This is, after all, a show about “getting older” and one would hope, wiser than that.

See CLOSER THAN EVER for the ladies who are indeed funnier than ever.

QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey SWEENEY TODD as EVERYMAN

A SWEENEY TODD without camp? Who knew Sondheim’s exquisite musical had so much to say about the human condition? Director Spiro Veloudos’ SWEENEY TODD (playing @ Lyric Stage through Oct. 8^th) is still Grand Guignol but this Todd is human, a reflection of the sorry state of the world.

I’ve seen a passel of SWEENEY TODDs (It’s my favorite musical) and never once did I consider Todd to be anything but the bogeyman parents invoke to make naughty children behave. Never once did I connect myself emotionally with the “demon barber.” Not once did I feel he was real. The macabre material always felt like fantasy to me—which served to keep the horror at bay. The outrageous humor, too, allowed me to distance myself. Now the musical resonates way beyond Victorian England to our very own “desperate times.”

As I watched, I thought of the Innocence Project: Todd was imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. I thought about the corruption which eats through our justice system: The powerful judge in the musical has gotten away with rape and more. Even Ferguson came to mind when the parish officer instructs a policeman to clear the street and “bash” a passerby’s “head” in. And I thought about the depth of Todd’s pain, losing his whole family. When Christopher Chew as Todd discovers too late a loved one’s true identity, you cannot stop his despair from passing across the footlights and into your stomach. Chew makes Todd’s descent into madness the only path he has.

As much as Todd wants to “wish the world away,” it intrudes at every turn. He’s come home from Botany Bay to find his wife and child and instead finds that Mrs. Lovett has kept his razors all these years. Amelia Broom as Mrs. L seduces him into resuming his old profession, lies about his wife and even initiates their cannibalistic partnership. (I had always accepted them as equals before. Now I’m much more keenly aware of Mrs. L’s machinations. What a difference a fresh approach can make!)

Music director Jonathan Goldberg makes Sondheim’s glorious dissonances soar. The singing is enhanced in the intimacy of the small Lyric stage and Janie E. Howland’s black, receding, almost disappearing set piece: The chorus becomes the set, moving about in Franklin Meissner’s foggy purples and muddied reds. Rafael Jean’s dark, layered costumes mirror the hues in Meissner’s lighting.

The singing is superb, with exciting performances all around but special attention must be paid to Phil Tayler as the innocent Toby who slowly realizes that Todd is killing his customers. Tayler makes Toby heroic and that’s a significant change from most productions. Davron S. Munroe, too, makes Todd’s mountebank rival a posturing know-it-all deserving comeuppance.

Sam Simahk and Meghan LaFlam are lovely together as the lovers in peril, at the hands of Paul C. Soper’s evil judge. Every musical number reverberates but I’m still humming the judge and Todd’s “Pretty Women” and LaFlam’s bird song and Simahk’s lovely “Johanna” and marveling over the two quartets. And of course, there’s the inimitable “A Little Priest.”

QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey Swinging for the FENCES

When you think of August Wilson, the powerful men in his plays spring to mind—men like Troy Maxson in FENCES, for whom life is an everyday struggle. There is, of course, Ma Rainey but aside from the Blues singer, you wouldn’t automatically cite him for his women’s roles. After watching Gloucester Stage’s sinewy production of FENCES (playing through Sept. 7^th), I’ve changed my mind. He’s written a heck of a part for Rose Maxson, Troy’s invincible wife. (I’ve seen many productions of FENCES where Troy is the sole dominating force. The difference at Gloucester is Jacqui Parker.)

Rose’s towering presence informs every scene. Even when she’s not on stage, she figures in almost every conversation. It’s her strength, Troy says, that “carries me through to the next Friday.” And, when her faith is tested, it’s Rose who saves the family. After seeing Jacqui Parker’s tour de force as the rock solid Rose, I like the idea of “balance” in director Eric Engel’s production. It tips in Troy’s direction when he disciplines his son rather harshly, making family decisions on his own. Then it tips the other way when the “greater good” is in the balance.

There’s plenty of suffering to go around in FENCES. Daver Morrison as Troy captures the frustration and disappointment of being passed over (as a child, by his father; as a ballplayer, by the segregated leagues; at work, by his white bosses) and he manages to convey the fear of being abandoned (as his mother had done) all while he postures his braggadocio. You can see perfectly well where his past will lead him. Pity is, he can’t see it. Instead, he builds a fence to keep his family in. (Rose believes in spiritual fences; She sings “Jesus be a fence around me” as she hangs out the wash.)

Troy alienates just about everyone: He won’t listen to advice from his best friend (Gregory Marlow), he belittles his older son (Warren Jackson) for being “lazy,” and he denies his young son (Jared Michael Brown) the chance to play football, a decision which reverberates far beyond “sports.” He can’t see that he’s done to his son what racism did to him, denying him the chance to cross over from the “Negro Leagues.” The color barrier was broken but too late for him. “You’re born with two strikes on you,” he says, using baseball metaphors as if it keeps him in the game.

Wilson packs FENCES with metaphors, none so prevalent as Troy’s severely damaged brother, Gabriel, (Jermel Nakia) who in this production is physically disabled as well as mentally challenged. He’s usually portrayed as a sweet, childlike presence but at Gloucester he’s an unpredictable, flailing accident waiting to happen (which made me wonder why no one took him under their wing). One of the best performances in the play is turned in by Bezawit Strong as the character with the ability to heal any wound. She’s simply luminous.

QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey

THE LOWER DEPTHS

The subway was the A.R.T.’s brilliant choice for Beckett’s ENDGAME some years ago, although the playwright kicked up a fuss. George Bernard Shaw isn’t around to object to Flat Earth’s subway setting for PYGMALION (slumming through Aug. 30^th) and indeed, I wouldn’t if it worked but it doesn’t.

Director Devon Jones sends a passing parade of transit transients through the London tube in his adaptation but they only serve to upstage (by rocking and mumbling to themselves) the toffs who inexplicably prefer the stench of claustrophobic tunnels to an aboveground carriage or hansom cab.

Every scene has been transferred to a subway station. Henry Higgins’ mother now holds court underground. So do the royals: Even the grand ball where Eliza passes for a duchess is six feet under! Aside from the foolishness of the reset, there’s the slap in the face to GBS. His whole point as a dramatist and social reformer is the deleterious effect of class distinction. Put everyone in the subway, elbow to elbow, and there isn’t any distinction.

Henry Higgins might descend the depths for his research but his mum never would in a million years, nor would the other upper crusters in the play. They would expire before dressing themselves in public. Higgins is lucky no one pinched the rented jewels he places around Eliza’s neck in King’s Cross station: He evidently didn’t hear the loudspeaker warnings which pepper the play.

I tried to suspend my disbelief but those announcements kept reminding me of the disastrous setting. Even a knockout performance by Stephen Turner as Eliza’s father and fine turns by Katie Bond (as Henry’s mother) and Tom Beyer (as Pickering) couldn’t bridge that famous gap.

SMILE AND THE WORLD SMILES WITH YOU

A much more successful use of cross gender performance can be found in the NEW EXHIBITION ROOM’s ironic SMILE (already closed). Half a dozen actresses portray both male and female roles with gusto in this raucous and moving tale of feminist empowerment. The young women have come together for a weekend of “defensive” yoga to center themselves and unnerve the enemy. The “downward dog” now has a nasty kick.

No longer do women have to “smile” when a stranger commands it. “No” means “NO” after this seminar. Pity is, it’s only fiction.

QUICK TAKE REVIEW By Beverly Creasey Emperor of the Absurd

John Kuntz’ epic history of our United States (from a rodent point of view) is a hefty undertaking. Circuit Theatre commissioned Kuntz to write them a play and the result is THE ANNOTATED HISTORY OF THE AMERICAN MUSKRAT (scurrying around the BCA through Aug. 16^th). Tony Kushner’s ANGELS IN AMERICA separates Part 1 from Part 2 but Kuntz’s “Muskrats in America” stretches out from Part 1 to Part 17 in one sitting. (There may be in fact more than seventeen divisions but I lost count in the frenzy and Kuntz didn’t even include furrier king John Jacob Astor’s rise to power (literally on the backs of the muskrat and the beaver.)

Kuntz leads us on a mad (practically endless) journey from moonwalks to mass murder, from the first Thanksgiving to the latest slaughter on the “Hunting” channel. We meet harried presidents, their agitated wives (although he leaves the last six presidents out of his “history”), restless patients under video surveillance and best of all, a raccoon remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s REBECCA.

Director Skylar Fox’s consummate cast jumps effortlessly from one absurdist scene to the next. You can’t blink or you might miss a flock of flamingos riding across the stage. Then you’re treated to Simon Henriques as Dame Judith “raccoon” Anderson. Simply hilarious! But Kuntz can just as easily depart from his comic stream of consciousness to reference manifest destiny, Wallace Stevens, Trayvon Martin, Lewis and Clark and dubious behavioral science experiments. Then it’s back to the Captain and (Allison Smith’s) Tennille (for their muskrat song, of course!).

Fox (the director, not one of Kuntz’s anthropomorphized characters) adds delightful, whimsical touches like animal appropriate spit takes or a window (with flower box) which zooms in the moment it’s mentioned in the dialogue and yet he can stop our laughter cold when Jared Bellot applies blackface and tells us “the history of Black people in America.”

Kuntz’s “cautionary tale” (or “tail” as the case may be) embraces Justin Phillips’ depressed Pat Nixon, Smith’s manic Betty Ford, Anna Nemetz and Henriques’ crazy cat owners with semi-automatics, Sam Bell-Gurwitz and Alexis Scheer’s disturbing fantasy lives and Edan Laniado’s dreadfully ineffectual attempt at talking down a suicide. Who would combine all this Americana in one play? John Kuntz, of course.