Herein gods and mortals clash! "The Half-God Of Rainfall" New York Theatre Workshop

REVIEW by Kevin M. Martin August 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 (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 Workshop 79 East 4th Street NY, NY 10003 Tel. 212-460-5175 tickets@nytw.org

Theatre REVIEWS - featuring "Brits Off Broadway"

Review by KEVIN MARTIN "we were promised honey"! by Sam Ward; from Brits Off Broadway; YESYESNONO Productions - until May 21 - produced at 59E59 Theater Writer/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 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. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "DIMANCHE" Review by KEVIN MARTIN An enterprize of great pith and moment unfolds in BAM's presentation of "DIMANCHE" Review by KEVIN MARTIN
Above: 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
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 Chevannes and Joe Grifasi Endgame 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. ====================

Off-Off-Broadway

Nutcracker Rouge
“Hey you flabby, arm-chair people - after you see "Nutcracker Rouge", get thee to the gym!
Art should inspire, nothing else. It should make you both feel and THINK. "Nutcracker Rouge", presented by Company XIV and directed by Austin McCormick, does that.
T'is the Season that visionary, director, and choreographer Austin McCormick brought to the NY stage a blend of excellence in theatre art, via Pytor Tchaikovsky's timeless "Nutcracker" - with a do-over that works with a sharp, enthusiastic appeal to our present time of social change, ala gender-bending energy and creativity, traditional motifs of style and presentation, and excellence of execution. Combined, you get a holiday treat unexpected, un-threatening, but all engaging. Herewith, thanks to the ensemble's excellence that will stick to your memory for a good while, you will find waiting a complete trove of superb movement, story-telling, dance, and music. McCormick's drive toward the finish line of holiday surprise is on full display, as he boldly, successfully experiments with both new forms and routine expectations. NUTCRACKER musical selections of the original (e.g., Waltz of the Flowers) are given perfect attention and effect as the cast of dancer/characters weave their finely tuned bodies and souls effortlessly through and about the air, allowing this "Nutcracker Rouge" to soar swiftly along in the magically appointed Minetta Lane theatre - and not a Minetta minute too soon. McCormick's magic moves well at nearly each and every moment; by employing a melange of raw-energy acrobatics (raw in its barest sense), classical ballet, French Can-Can, double-entendres freshly expressed, elements of rock, jazz, and night-club vocals, the director helps us to see things differently, perhaps more fascinatingly, than we might have expected. Ribaldry - New York Holiday style, is here to stay. These nearly 2-hours of surprise enjoyment (that's what a creative director should do anyway: surprise us; this is what happens here) go nimbly by, but you will enjoy it. "Nutcracker Rouge" is intelligent, gutsy, and done with sheer originality. The cast and crew deserve high honors for their dedicated, skilled energies and talent. All here are totally professional and giving; to name a few that do this are Laura Careless in the part of Marie Claire, giving her character precise care and vulnerability every step of the way; Shelly Watson as Mrs. Drosselmeyer, in a style of singing this story along with power and grace and enthusiasm, and Ms. Watson does it brilliantly; as Mr. Drosselmeyer, Jeff Takacs is utterly engaging as he works along side Mrs. Drosselmeyer as a "co-host" of sorts - accented by a '70s hard Rock look, realized with perfect humor and intelligence. Also not to be overlooked are Zane Pihlstrom for the exquisite, uncrowded set design (Minetta lane is not a Broadway house), and for giving the story a comforting albeit luring appeal, but always (for lack of a better phrase) sucking us all into the land of Marie Claire/Nutcraker Rouge imagination. Complementing this is the light design from Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew, with a smooth, subtle, and well-thought out arrangement of mood and atmosphere, appropriate to the inventiveness of the director's effort. This production with its cast of physically powerful, soulful, talented commitment is just about flawless. Let it suffice that Tea Party folks, anal types should drag themselves to Minetta Lane for some crazy, funny, sensual, surprising entertainment - if you think you can still get a TICKET. 'Ya better hurry, last performance is Jan. 5.”- Kevin Martin
MANIPULATION
This "MANIPULATION " is a form of seduction. Cristina's World (Who's the puppeteer and who's the puppet)? Review by Kevin Martin
“Mexican-born Victoria E. Calderon (I have never heard of her 'til now, but I am very glad I did) has written a little gem of a new play - a mere 70 + minutes long, and it shines. Directed with lightning sensitivity and worked through (good, REAL acting is work) by an utterly fine cast, this scenically well-designed, enchantingly sounded, excellently costumed, smartly lighted 'MANIPULATION" in fact shines - glows - on all sides in this production.

Taking place (somewhere) in the faux-modernist, expensive apartment of Cristina and Mauricio in Latin America, 'MANIPULATION" bespeaks itself metaphorically, perhaps, of the unrest curdling through at least some of the daily lives of women, as personalized in the experience of one Cristina (adroitly felt by actor Marina Squerciati). Fatherless Cristina, the main protagonist of this sparkler, is married very young to the very moneyed, successful Mauricio. As far as I am concerned, - and partly excepting Cristina's poor-ritzy mother's view of the world (this role of Beatriz is played luminously by Saundra Santiago), this is not a "feminist" play; but, rather, a sort of "marriagist" one: the belief that marriage, still a must-try thing to do in society, leaves many spouses believing in, and fearful of, being locked in - though often admitting furtively that the institution of marriage is really just all too much, and all too other-centered for some folks to bear. Yes, we can all be quite selfish at times.
Mauricio applies his manly-ish, husbandly interest (ala "you have all the money you need") toward lonesome, under loved Cristina with that oft-infamous carnal habit of quick get-it-over-with sex, while all the while offering patchy assurances of his love, Mauricio-wise speaking. But Mauricio, as rendered by the perfectly-tuned craft of Robert Bogue, is a guy with his own problems. In fact, it really isn't ONLY Cristina who is lonely (she lives out all her deeply repressed needs and regrets with high wired mental flashes that are the actual play itself); everyone is lonely. I am lonely, you are lonely, we are all lonely, even if we do love, for love sometimes goes missing from life's emotional tool box. Cristina hooks up with Luis (done extremely right by Rafi Silver) a gifted pianist with hands that only a Cristina could love but which speaks volumes of her erstwhile lonely marriage. And so, 'MANIPULATION" makes me wonder - reminds me again, that there may not be any exit from this field of occasional, sometimes strangeness we call living, and that whether there are ghouls standing by us as we continue our daily function or whether there is something better than this, who knows? There are literally a few ghoulish types lurking in Cristina's world, to be sure. Cristina, who later finds respite in Poeta (a young, impoverished poet, so-named, and done just right by Brendan McMahon), goes to see a shrink and tells him that she fears her husband. As a possible comment on modern therapy - and medication - the shrink does not really help Cristina, and instead exasperates the same fear she feels toward Mauricio. The shrink, "Dr. Lublitz" is deftly brought out by Jeremy Stiles Holmes, and he's quite a shrink, and indeed, is clearly unfulfilled himself, no less. As per Cristina's lament to Dr. Lublitz, well, therein lies the rub; how can we love something, or someone, that we fear? Alas, we really can't, and don't. The dramatic effects by the exquisite light and sound work almost perfectly; one very minuscule complaint is that the lighting transitions were ever so slightly long.
If a dream itself is but a shadow, then this "MANIPULATION" casts a big one; Cristina's vivid dream reflection of living is painful and true. We see, at play's end, that Cristina is in a museum (what better place is there to house the human condition?) gazing into a very famous painting that, ideally or otherwise, sums up her existential woe. What she sees, and observes, in some certain measure, is all of us, you and me, - and it's not pretty.
All the actors, including Gabriel Furman as Alejandro, have made it clear: the play's the thing.”

International Theatre and Art Info/Reviews

Coming Soon