"Beacon" at the Irish Rep Writer: Nancy Harris Director: Marc Atkinson Borrull

(Closed as of November 24, 2024) ACTORS ROLESKate Mulgrew BeivZach Appelman ColmSean Bell DonalDavid Mattar Merten RayAyana Workman Bonnie Review by Kevin Martin (Closed as of November 24, 2024) "For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ". - Shakespeare All now closed up following a lengthy run, this staged work of over-busy emotional intelligence couched in the miscalculations and conflicts of both heart and mind - penned by Nancy Harris - didn't dissapoint. While the flow of the evening's loaded information was a little tough at times to follow, it nonetheless felt like a property worthy of strong reflection. Coming out to this oceanside from the esteemed Druid Theatre of Galway of a few years back, "Beacon" is more than a one-plot kind of setup. On the night that I attended (just days before its folding), "Beacon" moved along with an updown, downup energy felt througout the roughly 2-hour evening. The play slowly unloads (with some care). The lead character Beiv (Kate Mulgrew) is a well-known painter of large canvases who arrives from life in Dublin at her (Irish) West Cork abode, a hideaway of sorts located on the actual coastal edge (right smack in front of a wavy, smashing surfside, - a video looped, extremely effective visual). The studio/place contains huge windows looking out at the ocean, a do-over design done by Beiv. As to why she comes here could be due to a very nasty deed she herself may have committed in the past. That comes out toward the end, and it takes a good while getting there. Before that emergence, we find that Beiv's U.S. residing, tech-software career son Colm (Zach Appelman) and his new American bride Bonnie (Ayana Workman) have stopped in to visit this windy wintry locale as part of their honeymoon (go figure). It turns out that Colm, who has a cold relationship with his self-occupied mother-painter, is looking for answers, as per his late father's unexplained death. He is seeking these answers - if any - from Beiv. Almost nobody has a rosy past, - or present, this work seems to be saying, as the play brings out other issues such as the harsh, unexpected discord between the newlyweds, from which Bonnie suddenly goes missing (another disappearance). There is also the return to memory of a long past sexual affair between Colm - who for the most part has moved on with his life - and Donal (Sean Bell), a local chap who does handy work around Beiv's place and who had known Colm since their shared youth. There is also the high strung local podcaster, Ray (David Mattar Merten), investigating unsolved (perhaps criminal) cases in the island's vicinity. And so forth. While there is a lot of story detail to unpack in a short time, "Beacon" remains a good, smart effort, with bravery in the attempt. "Beacon's" acting was mostly fine, with the exquisite, skillful, energetic Kate Mulgrew leading the pack. Sean Bell impressed as the wounded, bravely expressive Donal. Overall, the play is bold but overambitious and absent the rage. In the early part of the play, when Bonnie meets Beiv, she comments about menstration while gazing at one of Beiv's canvases, all painted in near-reddish tones with circular brush strokes, and set up on an easel: "You can really see the female rage,” says Bonnie. Replies Beiv, correcting her: "It's blood orange". +++++++++++++++++++++++++

Gaviota

"GAVIOTA" (The Seagull) at BAM (Fisher Hall)
GAVIOTA: Theater in the "Square"...? November 21, 2024 Review by KEVIN MARTIN Conceived and Directed by Guillermo Cacace Produced by Romina Chepe Adaptation; Juan Ignacio Fernández (based on The Seagull by Anton Chekhov); ACTORS ROLES Paula Fernandez (Arkadina) Marcela Guerty (Tricorin) Clarisa Korovsky (Masha) Romina Padoan (Nina) Muriel Sago (Kostia) Dramaturgy: Juan Ignacio Fernández Assistant Director: Alejandro Guerscovich What with the sweet-raspy, soaring, hauntingly gorgeous voice of Chavela Vargas singing down on us as we take our seats (general seating for all), one may rightly suspect a theatre evening of intense creativity is about to unfold, and you wouldn't be wrong. Although it may not be a perfect gem of a production, this all-female "Gaviota" sparkles nonetheless. Astutely directed by Guillermo Cacace, "Gaviota" is a skilled, innovative and smartly realized effort by Spanish-speaking actors in this very re-fashioned version of Anton Chekhov's play "The Seagull" while keeping the audience's full attention. This is a good thing because its staging format is not what one normally expects of a Chekhov production, thus rendering the evening performance as something of a surprise. Alas, although not an utterly perfect production in any traditional sense, it manages to compensate by showing boldness of execution. This is cleverly demonstrated by the willlful discardment of the period costumes, sets and scenery typical of Chekhovian visions. In its place for the entire (app.) 90 minutes of the show where the action of this production employs the sole use of a very big square wooden table - taking place in the countryside - and around which sit the characters of "Gaviota"/The Seagull, acting out the story by sitting in place rather than moving about on cue, as would normally happen according to stage instructons in any official, original Seagull text. But does that boldness of execution satisfy? Basically yes, as wherin the director's program note itself suggests the value of "...{opening} ourselves to our guests/public {in order} to share the precariousness of a work table". The key word here for me is "precariousness". Fortunately, all the actors' characters at this table are strong and clear in their expression, even if I could not see all the faces of the actors at work. (More about this below). As it is presented, that big work table is actually its own stage. Interestingly enough, the large platform helped me to imagine, at times, the characters' moving about. Being all done in Spanish (my own kind of speaking Spanish is "so-so" at best), I was generally able to follow the sequences of the action of "Gaviota", having been already familiar with Chekhov text, reading it and seeing it done over the decades in a number of venues, including in London with Vanessa Redgrave and her daughter Natasha Richardson, and then again several years after that at the National Theatre with Judy Dench, et al. This "Gaviota" manages to bring forth the essence of Chekhov's Seagull in the entagled, overlapping needs and wants of the characters scarred by emotional unfullfilment - including love unrequited, which is a large element in the Chekhov universe, especially unrequited love of the artist. We find Nina, a young lady falling in love with Trigorin while seeking success and fame as an actress, but Trigorin the writer is the younger lover of Arkadina who is a well-established, famous actress herself. There are other areas of the story that have this perplexity, too. As for the seating: my limited seating arrangement allowed me to see the famed writer Trigorin (or "Tricorin", played by a very strong Marcela Guerty) directly across the table from me in the 3rd row. I was able to see much, but not all, of Kostia (Muriel Sago) and Arkadina (Paula Fernandez Mbarak) who sat together; their mother-son exchanges were totally forceful and memorable. I could not see Masha (Clarisa Korovsky performing here as (maybe a reshaped characterization) the studious observer of emotions; this is smoothly done as she then responds with dramatic effect to a query regarding her habit for wearing black: "I'm in mourning for my life"). I could barely see Nina the "seagull" (acted quite nicely by Romina Padoan). The lighting was basically good but did not seem to be a production priority. These little distractions were not helpful - to me - as an audience member but I survived it, and (yes) survived it gladly. ===========
Herein Gods and Mortals Clash!
"The Half-God Of Rainfall" New York Theatre Workshop
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New York Theatre WorkshopReview by - Kevin M. MartinAugust 15, 2023
If there is one play anywhere in NYC during these dwindling weeks of summer that ought to summon the enjoyment of intelligent ticket-holders (hello, out there?), then the brilliant acting and striking production values that shine within this finely staged epic production should resonate well after leaving the theatre. Done as a sort of workshop motif - albeit very persuasively, with actors self-describing their characters directly to the audience - "The Half-God Of Rainfall" moves rather provocatively due to its eventual, overall unity of effect, allowing it all to come together, section by section. While not exactly perfect, it gets awfully close (perhaps the script could be slighlty trimmer). But THGOR moves along at good speed nonetheless, and it sticks to the memory for all who pay attention. And yes, attention should be paid. Nigerian-born British playwright and poet Inua Ellams (author of the successfully produced play, "Barber Shop Chronicles" at the UK's National Theatre) skillfully demonstrates a craft of both dramatic and tragi-comic storytelling and poetry as he mixes Greek and Yoruban mythology with very contemporary living. With a positively clear direction by Taibi Magar, Ellams manages to pull it off. Weaving together these elements (storytelling and poetry), THGOR tells us a tale of our half-god, Demi (acted bravely by Mister Fitzgerald); Demi did not have a very cheerful childhood; but, loving basketball, he grows to be very physically, athletically blest. In THGOR, Demi becomes an athlete of grand ability and aspiration ala Michael Jordan style and influence (who could be a mightier "flying" god-like sports hero than MJ)? Demi, it turns out, is a modern, or contemporary child version born into the world from violent rape by the god Zeus, shown as an ultimate authority symbol of expoitative power and imperialistic abuse toward powerless innocents. (Here, Zeus is played with a cold, righteous entitlement by Michael Lurence). Zeus's crime impregnated Demi's Nigerian priestess mother, Modúpé; apart from cold-blooded murder, is anything more evil than cold-blooded rape? To get away from it all (it ain't easy being victimized and stigmatized by rape), Demi is taken away from his Nigerian youth by his mother and brought to the USA where he will hook up with the Golden State Warriors (yes, those Golden State Warriors), of which the great mortal athletes themselves are god-like in their basketball prowess. Perhaps, somehow or in some way, Demi will now help restrieve his whole personhood and that of his mother by avenging the pain and abuse thrust upon them by Zeus? Modúpé - acted impressively by Jennifer Mogbok - is a single mom violated, though noble and courageous, as she truthfully, and with raw will, succeeds near play's end at sharing a powerful and disturbing memory of the past violence she endured. It is a moment of absolute, sheer anti-oppression condemnation.
In the smart overall mix of THGOR, there is Hera (well acted by Kelley Curran) as Zeus's wife. She, too, clearly has her reasons for bitterness. Here you will also meet Sàngó, Nigerian god of thunder (and ego-enemy to Zeus, watch out!), very ably put by Jason Bowen.
We also encounter the Nigerian deieties who bring forth the larger narration with a chorus sensibility. Early on, we meet both Elegba (Lizan Mitchell, who grabs our attention from the start) and Ozun (a radiant, articulate Patrice Johnson Chevannes all garbed in bright, brazen blue); each helps to narrate the eventual rise of Demi into the magic sportmosphere.
Throughout THGOR, witness the bold imagery of ancient Greek warrior-gods intermittently reflected in a huge semi-circle - as well as the swampy, rich, dirt ground surface along with real rainfall (thank you very much), - exquiste choices of scenic design; original stage lighting by Stacey Derosier is memorable and works perfectly.Effective scenic design as well as sound design come from Riccardo Hernández and Mikaal Sulaiman, respectively; Linda Cho gives costume design a wonderful fit. Projection design by Tal Yarden and stage movement by Beatrice Capote deserve praise. Above (excellent) photo is from Joan Marcus
There is much to appreciate and learn from this approximately 95 minute intermissionless work. Too bad it can't run another 6 weeks.
New York Theatre Workshop79 East 4th StreetNY, NY 10003
Tel. 212-460-5175tickets@nytw.org

"DIMANCHE" at BAM/Fisher

Review by KEVIN MARTIN An enterprize of great pith and moment unfolds in BAM's presentation of "DIMANCHE" Above Photo: Sicaire Durieux, left, and Sandrine Heyraud in “Dimanche” at BAM Fisher The current spasm of artistic fire in the production of "Dimanche" has been burstingly afoot at BAM's Fisher Hall since last week - albeit (sadly) for a limited run. Sitting there to witness razor sharp acting by 3 exquisitely skilled artists of body and soul, I muttered internally that I am having an "Ah-Ha" moment, where it suddenly happens (though infrequently) that the senses of the performers' air of dramatic expression (containing both wit and pathos on a physical level that is breathtaking) are so well realized, that it spills onto the entire audience. The powerful theme is environmental - as in the changing climate patterns now afflicting planet Earth along with its inhabitants, whether 2-footed, 4-footed or otherwise; one may derive a clear warning given off by these 3 chroniclers. The finely tuned message is shown to all who see/watch this uniquely conceived production: we are all at risk. Flamingoes, polar bears, and humans - and probably all living creatures - botanical and zoolligical - are really all in one, big perilous, ecological danger zone. With its effective, economic lighting (Guillaume Toussaint Fromentin) and strong scenography (Zoe Tenret), "Dimanche" vividly reminds us that we are now being - and have been for decades perhaps - plagued by real, wild science-fictionish storms of rain and wind as well as melting ice bergs and warming/rising oceans and you name it. In presenting this universal message-of-the-moment for the masses, these utterly brave and gifted actors, Julie Tenret, Sicaire Durieux, Sandrine Heyraud (or Thomas Dechaufour) - as well as Shantala Pepe, Christine Heyraud, Julie Dacquin (or Sophie Leso), give us a series of dynamic vignettes illustrating the atmospheric changes occurring all around us - but here, it is all dramatically heightend to get the point across. Example: the great mama polar bear (puppeteer brilliance) that loses her cub when the ice-berg chunk they have both been resting upon suddenly splits apart in two to cause their ineveitable, horrifying separation from each other. Oh, yes, our great big oceans are suffering indeed. Another very powerful example: the family turkey dinner and its attendants literally getting pulled away by Monster Nature's hyper gale force roaring through the front door of their remaining home - (right through the dining room, no less), - well it's enough to forget about cooking for quite a while, for sure. I won't tell you more than that here. Suffice it to say that you will be lucky to see this production. Simply put: this very fresh and almost dialogue-free experience just might blow you away, too. May 2023 Actors, writers, and directors of "Dimanche": Sandrine Heyraud, Julie Tenret, and Sicaire Durieux: PC Stephanie Berger
"We Were Promised Honey"
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Review by KEVIN MARTIN "we were promised honey"! by Sam Ward; from Brits Off Broadway; YESYESNONO Productions - until May 21 - produced at 59E59 TheaterWriter/Actor Sam Ward gives us a good look at ourselves in a one-man stage (no caps) creation: "we were promised honey"!
Sam Ward sits pre-show, pre-set quietly in an audience corner seat as theater goers arrive in dim light, while an actual audio airport ground control recording of very plaintive concerns that occurred one summer day in 2018 is piped in - giving us to hear the voices of flight aviation personnel discussing and alarming the action of a quite suddenly up-in-the-air baggage handler (the late Richard Russell), who had just absconded from the runway to the skies - in plain sight - with an empty Alaska Airlines aircraft. This is the show's starting prompt that weaves into a larger moment on the wonderings about our human futures. Ward is casually attired in a white t-shirt, plain slacks and is himself ready for take-off. He keeps everyone involved. This crisp monologue of 65 synchronized minutes is an existentialist, reflective (and very effective) offering of sorts - by the actor Ward cooly posing as part prophet, part preacher and part social counselor. In his very intelligent, theatrical oration on the modern condition, he does away with any fourth wall, and instead invites a few 59E59 audience members to participate in his proposed view of the long-term fate of our human species; like the atmosphere in this square space, it is a dim view - one that is also ultimately doomed to a sun burnout that will take place a few billion years from now. That said, he suggests that, meanwhile, amid the warming planet will be the comings of great into-the-clouds tall towers of "office blocks" along with eerie down-under-inside- the-earth shopping centers that hawk "mini-fridges and freezers", perhaps for the much needed comfort of future mankind - somehow, but all of it indicating a very clinical, soulless world; such features upon a barren earthscape would be commonplace. Ward's thought out darkish challenge: humaniity is in something of a downward spiral much of the time, though maybe not all of the time. His function is of a carny barker of the spirit.My sense is that Ward proffers us a reminder - urged by his own vision - to anyone involved in the listening (and it's all about the listening) that this life in general is frightfully possessed of a woeful destiny awaiting us - one that is clearly inevitable. But is it a terrible destiny? (By nature, each audience member has the freedom to ponder Ward's messaging). Interestingly, this did not feel like depressing stuff, but rather an imagination born of a lively, human insight on open display, worthy of, and beckoning, our common attention and concern. We all know that the strongest oak will fall, but maybe it's good to be reminded. And as per the title, the future may not be so sweet.
"THE HABIT OF ART"
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At the very well produced Brits Off Broadway, playwright Alan Bennett succeeds in digging deep into the world of art and thus explores 2 artists who inhabit it: W.H. Auden and Benjamin Britten. Review by KEVIN MARTIN
The play is a play-within-a-play whilst we watch and listen and get rightly amused, and finally moved. First done almost fifteen years ago back in the UK, it is a flawless production by the Original Theatre Company - and very smartly directed by Philip Franks. ¨The Habit Of Art¨ is a play that points mainly at the creative genius of Auden - with a little glance at the vulgar or unkempt manner of his urine-stained living habits (who´s perfect? ) as well as exposing you to a cogent look - Alan Bennett style - into the hearts and minds of two always-shall-be-deeply-revered 20th century British artists: poet W.H. Auden and composer Benjamin Britten. Alan Bennett´s play presents itself as a "play" taking place in a play (the title of which is referred here as ¨Caliban´s Day¨) that imagines a perhaps final encounter in 1972 between the two men in Auden´s ¨untidy little flat in Oxford¨, in which they unpack their souls with bittersweet commentaries on craft, professional ambitions, and feelings of insecurity; all of this is well performed/rehearsed by a group of actors and they are fully up to the task. Some ¨actors¨ assigned to this task are absent, as is the ¨director¨and so the efficient, acutely aware and dynamic stage manager (Veronica Roberts) and her loyal assistant (Jessica Dennis) both fill in energetically. Neil is the¨playwright¨ (Robert Mountford), who by the way is justifiably alert to any 3rd party interferences. Within the confines of a dank, dingy backroom rehearsal space of undone, dusty furnishings (superb set by Adrian Linford), the ¨cast¨gathers for a run-through of the ¨text¨ created by Neil. This is a 2-act production and generally devoid of any boredom. Throughout this play within a play, the main characters of Fitz as Auden and Henry as Britten (Matthew Kelly and Stephen Boxer, respectively, both brilliant) feed into a litany of personal concerns over their artistic past and present lives with a shared worry that does not give in. Britten clearly frets that his new (anticipated) opera on Thomas Mann´s¨Death In Venice¨ is having real problems. Upon saying so, Auden eagerly jumps at the moment and offers to write the libretto, but it is already written. Britten´s great terror - in part - lies in his creating the musical elements, while Auden, who is getting closer and closer to his final days, desperately wants to remain productive with pen and paper: when the character Humphrey (played by John Wark) who is in the job of Britten´s official biographer but who at first is mistakenly taken by a now forgetful Auden to be his expected ¨rent boy¨, asks Auden if he has been working, the reply from the poet shows his plain sagacity: ¨Am I dead?¨, he bellows. ¨I work! I have the habit of art.¨ For both, it's all about perseverance, in spite of the slings and arrows of worry or uncertainty that hang in the shadows. There is certainly much more to seeing this production than seen here. There is one week left to see it.
"Endgame"
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Off BroadwayAmong the very finest stage productions of 2023 (so far) is: ENDGAME, by Samuel Beckett which closed on April 16, after a lengthy and very successful run at the Irish Repertory Theatre
Top: Samuel Beckett; Center: Bill Irwin and John Douglas Thompson;Bottom: Patrice Johnson Chevannesand Joe Grifasi by Samuel Beckett Directed by Ciarán O'Reilly The Irish Repertory Theatre (Extended Through April 16) Review by KEVIN MARTIN No doubt that Samuel Beckett - as much as ever (even though he is long passed through this veil of tears), still reigns as king of the universal monarchy of fatalistic wit. This is evident in "Endgame's" ethereally wierd, absurdist playland of exisential fear and longing. The current production, which is intermissionless, is staged very persuasively by Ciarán O'Reilly. "Endgame" is a frightful, yet oft glee-contained expression of spiritual needs and wants which invariably haunt the mortally preoccupied lives of characters existing in a somewhere-shelter-like place of barren, borderline trashy surroundings. This "invariably haunt" descriptor affects all four characters: Hamm (John Douglas Thompson), Clov (Bill Irwin), Nell (Patrice Johnson Chevannes), and Nagg (Joe Grifasi). Each role is richly espressed by the actors, with seeming effortlessness. As to the play's action, we are witnessing a post-apocalptic display of poetic lamenation within the confines of a shabby, industrially rotted interior space of concrete, coldly graced by a drab pair of quite small prison-cell-ish windows, spaced widely apart from each other by several feet and fitted high up on the back wall, suggesting for sure that, regardless of the point that Clov has a step ladder on hand, any escape from this assigned realm of human futility is very unlikely, to say the least. The harsh, impressive scenic design, done brilliantly by Charlie Corcoran, kind of reminded me of many an inner city downtrodden and/or abandoned apartment building spaces (including back courtyards) that I had once often seen, first hand, upon my urban strolls in Gotham over the years. In this Endgame world environment of the same, manservantish Clov opens up the play's dialogue with a still-sleeping Hamm (blind and bound into a wheelchair of sorts, but also one who comes to domineer all things and persons effectively): "Finished, it's finished, nearly finished", says Clov, "it must be nearly finished... I'll lean on the table, and look at the wall, and wait for him to whistle me". Clov exits. Thus, the modes of behavior in the coming interaction(s) will soon become apparent; that of a bossy boss-type (Hamm) vs. an obvious "bossee" type (Clov). Hamm awakes, removes his face veil only to present himself in dark sunglasses (Annie Sullivan-style) literally opens up (read "yawning") and says to himself, "Me - to play", followed by another yawn while lamenting: "Can there be misery loftier than mine? No doubt" and then soon quickly whistles for Clov, - quickly -, as per the whistle power. Alas, Hamm starts out by berating Clov, and then asks him what time it is: "Same as usual". Exchanges ensue between the two - and then later to include Hamm's parents: Nagg (a needy fellow like his son) and Nell (more cheerful than her husband). Nell and Nagg happen to reside legless, alas!, in trash bins, and their talking brings to mind our own basic helplessness, so irretrievably knotted to the human condition. As the play barrels along smoothly to its mortal end, the conversant Hamm wags openly of his unloving (unloved) life and of the belief that perhaps no one in this world has ever suffered as much as he, we find Clov being attentive to the detail, while feeling sadly stuck in his own real time. Constant obedience to Hamm lends Clov no salvation from his circumstances. (Does Clov plan to hang around forever and ever - being so unliked)? Meanwhile, Hamm's own parents, Nagg and Nell, make periodic visits, popping up out of the trash bins (like kids' Jack-In-The-Box toys of yesteryear) - and, like the high back wall windows within view, are both spaced apart well enough that husband and wife can never touch each other. They each banter - sometimes with humor and sometimes not - with their son Hamm about life's woes and missed longings ("Oh, yesteday, yesterday...", gushes Nell as she reflects aloud about her - and perhaps anyone's dire existences that can't be helped). These moments serve as true samples of the earthly ordeal of man, and maybe even more so in this age of human alienation (a key theme in this play), pollution, income inequality, race hatred, war, nuclear threats, climate disasters, gun violence, political and social animosities, and on and on. "Endgame" is a warning system of words to anyone desirous of personal self-reflection. In Beckett's dark humor - you will hear words like: "Nothing is funnier than unhappiness" (Nell). Yet fittingly, our collective mortal fates so aptly well-put here serve to hint back to Richard II's clear lament - in part: "Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, make dust our paper and with rainy eyes write sorrow on the bosom of the earth....". This is a production extremely worth seeing - and well rounded out with smart costuming by Orla Long, effective lighting by Michael Gottleib, and original music/sound by M. Florian Stabb.

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