Theatre Droppings: L.A. Noise

I can't seem to go very long without a theatrical fix. I just gotta get into a theatre and see something dramatical. My buddy Judy is the same, and arranged for me to attend three local offerings during my L.A. Holiday stay.

I have been curious about A Noise Within since I lived in L.A. 15 years ago; even then, they were a theatre company to watch. They seem to specialize in language-heavy plays, with an emphasis on Shakespeare, and they have grown into a very well-known company. This season, they are doing two sets of rotating repertory, a pretty ballsy feat in this economy. Perhaps their seasons have always run this way, I don't know. But this winter, they've been presenting Richard III, Crime and Punishment, and Noises Off, as part of a season they are calling "On the Wings of Fate!"


Take a look at that play list, and you may scratch your head a bit at the last offering. Not really sure what the hilarious backstage farce Noises Off has to do with Fate, winged or otherwise, but nevermind. A Noise Within certainly needed a comedy to offset the cynicism of R3 and the gloom of Crime and Punishment. Yikes.


Judy arranged an outing to Noises Off. I have seen the play a couple of times, including a major production at Arena Stage a few years ago, and a high school production, directed by Judy herself, back in the 80s. The play is always lots of fun, and in the hands of this Noisy Gang, the show is a scream. I particularly enjoyed Jeff Irwin and Geoff Elliott, the latter playing the director of the show-within-the-show, as well as actually directing the show. Got it? Anyway, he's got the Michael Caine accent down pat, and it works well for the role. In fact, everyone was well-cast, but the production suffered from one huge miscalculation. Take a look at this set:


It fulfills the requirements of Noises Off perfectly, with stairs, balcony, lots of doors and a window or two. It's the traditional box set for the show. What you don't see from this shot is, this production is actually performed on a three-quarter thrust stage. Try as they might, the company has been unable to move much of the lunacy onto the thrust. It's simply the wrong configuration for this kind of show. About half the audience is sitting on either side of the thrust, and are missing some of the comic bits. More than once, we heard the audience roar with laughter at a bit which we, buried stage right, could not see.



A Noise Within's space is upstairs at a Masonic temple, and they may well be forced into the thrust staging with all their shows. If that's the case, they should have postponed producing Noises Off until completion of their own theatre, where this farce could be splashed across a proscenium stage, where it is most effective.


My second theatrical outing in LA was to A Bohemian Shindy. That's what the one-night only evening was called, don't ask me exactly what it means. Here's how the producers described the event:

Certified talents, flavorful works, and corruptable vibes. Ingredients include a food installation and cocktail paring,live music, short film, clowns, burlesque, dancing, slide shows, one-acts, death defying interludes, a DJ and more! Park the camel. Join the Shindy.

The evening consisted of about a dozen different performance pieces; some were one-act plays, but most were more unusual items such as the rap artist who performed his first number in a polar bear suit. The first act included a couple of filmed pieces, with a slideshow about New York City being particularly endless. The two actual one-acts were the standouts, including one directed by Judy. Yellow, by Jose Rivera, was a very brief (only 10 minutes or so) but pointed examination of wartime patriotism. The show starred one of my old friends from my salad days, Barbara Hancock.

Barb and I were pretty tight for several years, during a period in which we both were studying with the late, great acting coach Bobbi Holtzman. Since then, Barbara has left acting behind to pursue other interests, but has been kept in the theatrical loop by her husband, the terrific character actor Sam Anderson. Sam's had a very long career in TV, film, and on stage, and has been a recurring actor on Lost since its first season. The two of them together, playing husband and wife, were very special. Adding to the significance of the event was the cameo appearance of the couple's real-life son, Ben, whom I have been teaching at Notre Dame High this week. The theatre is so incestuous!

I left this Bohemian Shindy at intermission, and understand that the second act was actually more enjoyable than the first; according to the single-page program handed out to the audience (a program in which director Judy's last name was misspelled, it was that kind of production), I missed some fun clowning and something called an aerial hoop solo. (?)

The final production I caught in L.A. was arranged by Judy to be a surprise to me. Sunday afternoon, we drove down to the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood to see Alan Cumming's cabaret act, entitled I Bought a Blue Car Today. Cumming has been on everybody's radar for quite a while, winning the Tony for the revival of Cabaret a decade or so ago, and appearing in films such as the X-Men franchise. I was thoroughly enchanted by this guy, whose vocal stylings are much smoother than one might expect, judging from his strident vocal performance on the cast album of the aforementioned Cabaret. His choice of material was eclectic and smart, and he interspersed his songs with hilarious stories of his interactions with America At Large (he's Scottish by birth). He related the tale of his appearance on a Macy's Thanksgiving Day float, and his appointment as an Officer of the British Empire (the OBE) by Princess Anne. His interaction with the audience and with his own band was endearing and self-effacing, and if he weren't already married, well, I might park my camel and join HIS shindy anytime...

Friday Dance Party: A Very Leather Christmas

This must be the month for confessions. Last week, I revealed the unease I had, and still have, with puppets in general and Muppets in particular. Might as well go whole hog and now confess an even greater evil: the King of Rock and Roll leaves me cold.

In my own defense, if I need one, the period during which I became aware of popular music coincided with the 8 year career slump Elvis endured during the middle of the 1960s. I was a Beatles fan (and Monkees, too, let's be brutally honest here), and stylings by groups such as the Mamas and the Papas were also on my radar. Elvis seemed like an oldie to me. I never really got over the feeling that Elvis and his music belonged only in the 1950s, even after his big comeback in 1968.

Presley had spent most of the decade in a string of forgettable films, allowing his music to suffer accordingly. He had not had a number one hit in 6 years, had not performed in front of an audience since 1961, and had not appeared on television since 1960. His self-titled comeback special in 1968 is credited with putting him back on top, with the show's soundtrack cracking the Top Ten, and the show itself becoming NBCs top-rated program of the year.

I don't remember that special, and would not have watched the thing anyway, but several clips are roaming around, which show an Elvis which surprises me. In the following moment from the special, there are no gyrating hips nor vocal pyrotechnics. Here, he sits simply and sings a couple of Christmas tunes, surrounded by his acoustic band and a few adoring ladies. He comes off as downright endearing in this clip, and while I have never thought he was a great looker, in this shot, he is pretty smokin'.

Merry Christmas from the King:

California or/a Bust

A holiday trip to Los Angeles has become a bit of a tradition in recent years, and I've been looking forward to this one since booking a flight last summer. My car rental was secured at roughly half-price (thank you, Priceline), and my dear friend Judy, who runs the drama department in a private high school out there, enlisted me to teach her students during the week. (Not only does it help allay the cost of the trip, it allows me to write the whole thing off. Plus, it's fun.)

I hit a major snag the week or so before taking off. A car was stolen from our condo's private parking lot, signalling yet again the joys of urban living. Very, very frustrating to know that one's own car, parked in one's own parking space (which is fully owned by each condo owner...I have a deed for my spot, and pay separate property taxes on it), is unsafe from the scum who make living in a city so trying. I had planned to leave my car safely parked in my own private spot for the 10 days of my trip; this seemed no longer logical. So, I came to the reluctant decision to leave my car at the airport, where it is surely safe but also very expensive.

I drove to National Airport (still can't bring myself to call it Reagan National) very early Saturday morning, under a steady, cold rain. I understand DC received several inches of snow later that day, but for now, it was just dark, wet, and yucky. As I pulled into the economy parking lot, I noticed the shuttle bus right ahead of me. This bus would take me from the faraway lot to the terminal, and as it was before 6 AM, I had a hunch there were not many of them roaming the lot. In an effort to park and get myself to one of the pick-up kiosks before this lone shuttle left, I slid into a spot, hurriedly hooked my new Club onto my steering wheel (again, thank you DC car thieves), popped the trunk, and dashed through the freezing rain to the closest pick-up hut.

Without locking my car.

I have hopes that, with the Club clearly visible, and the car itself in a "secure" parking lot, my Honda will be waiting for me when I return. Stay tuned on that one.

My luck continued to hold as I boarded the first, and longest, leg of my trip. I had chosen my seat, always on the aisle, online, but the airline had, quite sneakily, hidden the fact that it was one of those rows which backs up to a bulkhead. The seats do not lean back. The disappointment of sitting five hours straight, in a chair which did not recline, was compounded by the huge man who plopped into the seat in front of me. Without a doubt the fattest man on the flight, and the rudest, too, as he immediately reclined his seatback into my face. Other than take-off and landing, it remained in that position, with his seat about four inches from my head, and crammed against my knees so that even crossing my legs was out of the question.

This charmer also provided olfactory entertainment when, about four hours into the flight, he opened a huge bag of Beef Jerky and filled the cabin with the obnoxious smell. I had no idea Beef Jerky smells like human excrement, but it does. He passed the bag across the aisle to his wife, waving the fumes in my direction.

I despise the strangers with whom I am forced to travel, and this guy is a perfect example why.

The one hour flight from Phoenix to Burbank was, by comparison, a dream, and I had just enough time to get rid of the giggles I had from my Phoenix Airport layover. I was there less than an hour, and during that time, I caught two glimpses of the strangest sight I've ever seen in an airport. This character made me wish I had mastered the technique of snapping pictures surreptitiously with my cell phone, though the way this guy was acting, he probably would have posed for a picture had I asked him. But who wants to approach someone dressed so inappropriately?

See if you can picture it. He was a tall middle-aged man, over six feet, with short, nicely combed, gray hair. He had very broad shoulders which were accentuated by the 80s-style shoulder pads he wore under the bright red blouse which stopped just below the breast. He also wore very tight hip-huggers, also bright red (I guess it was a set), which rested just above his butt and clung to his trunk so closely it was apparent he wore no underwear. And what religion he wasn't.

The clothes were clearly meant for a woman smaller than himself, and created a huge gap in the mid-drift area. No, we were not treated to his sagging belly; he had covered up the middle torso with a black corset. You think I'm making this up, but I assure you, in this outlandish outfit, he marched up and down the terminal, glancing from side to side to make sure he was being noticed. And he was. I've never seen so many double-takes, giggles, and astonished stares.

He clearly loved every minute of it. What possesses some poor soul to seek that kind of attention in a public place?

Back to Burbank, where I picked up my rental car and headed out to lunch with Judy. We had a swell time catching up, and planning a bit for her classes to begin on Monday. It was late afternoon before I drove up the cul de sac to my hosts' home, where I was greeted with a distinct surprise. Stay tuned.

Friday Dance Party:The 12 Muppets of Christmas

With Sesame Street turning 40 this year, the Muppets seem to be everywhere. I never watched Sesame Street, as I already knew how to count when the landmark series premiered, but everyone is aware of its existence. The show introduced the world to Jim Henson's creations, the Muppets.

It's time for me to make this confession: I don't like the Muppets. Here's a bigger confession: I don't like puppets of any kind. They make me very uncomfortable.

My first experience with live action puppets (as opposed to the cartoon variety, more on that in a mo') was being bored to tears by Kukla, Fran, and Ollie. This trio had a lot of success in the 40s and 50s, but by the time I ran into them, their heyday was over. They were hosting a Saturday (or was it Sunday?) afternoon anthology series called The CBS Children's Film Festival. The program featured hour-long films aimed at children (they were often foreign, if I remember correctly), which was enough to keep me tuned in. Unfortunately, somebody thought kids needed something familiar every week, so Kukla, Fran, and Ollie provided that hook. They were a real snooze-fest. But at least they did not make me uncomfortable.

I blame Walt Disney for my discomfort with puppets. Sometime in my childhood, I attended one of the re-releases of one of Disney's classic animated films. One particular scene in this film so disturbed me, that I had nightmares. To this day (quite a few decades later), I can lay my distaste for any kind of puppet or marionette squarely at the feet of this guy:
Not only was it creepy that this poor little kid, Pinocchio, became disfigured by a growing nose, but when he started to turn into a donkey, I freaked. I saw this film once, at least 45 years ago; I have not seen it since.

Puppets, marionettes, even that Insult Dog, all give me the creeps. The only hand-manipulated character I can stand is this one, though we don't see too much of her these days since her handler is, you know, dead:



Otherwise, leave me alone. I'm not the only one to have mixed feelings about puppets in general, and the Muppets in particular. Hardly anybody remembers that, back in 1975, the Muppets were part of the Not-Ready-For-Prime-Time Players. Yep, they appeared in every episode of the first season of Saturday Night Live, but it was not a good fit. The actors and writers hated them, with one writer noting, "I won't write for felt."

Jim Henson soon created The Muppet Show, and his characters finally became successful as adult entertainment. But not for me. Though I can pick Kermit, Miss Piggy, and Statler & Waldorf out of a crowd, the other Muppets are foreign to me, and I intend to keep it that way. (The Muppet Show has already provided a previous Dance Party, the one with Juliet Prowse.)


I know I'm in the minority here; everybody in the world loves The Muppets. So, to kick off the holiday season, the Friday Dance party presents twelve of them, plus John Denver, who kind of looks like a Muppet himself. Somebody, please, tell me: What is the attraction???

The Activist and the Actor

Here are a couple of people who only showed up on my radar after their recent deaths:

Alice McGrath

1917-2009

She was only 24, and ill with pleurisy, when defense attorney George Shibley knocked on her door in 1942. He was beginning a trial which would become infamous for its racism and xenophobia, and he needed some administrative help. 22 young Mexican Americans had been accused of murdering a Mexican farmworker near a swimming hole in southeast Los Angeles. They were labeled "zoot suit gangsters," after the long coats and pegged pants young men of such ethnicity were fond of wearing. The boys were not allowed to speak with their attorneys during the 13 week trial, and were prevented from changing their clothes or cutting their hair during the first month of what became known as the Sleepy Lagoon Trial. The judge was openly contemptuous of the defendants, and the jurors were not sequestered, giving them access to sensational publicity surrounding the case. Alice McGrath was appalled at the overt racism apparent, and when 10 of the guys were convicted of murder, and the rest of lesser charges, she joined their appeal team.

Two years later, the verdict was overturned for complete lack of evidence. McGrath's participation in the case was later celebrated in Zoot Suit, a musical drama which had a brief life on Broadway and was turned into a film starring Edward James Olmos, with Tyne Daly playing a fictionalized version of McGrath. (You knew there had to be a theatrical angle to this story, didn't you?)

McGrath went on to a lifetime of social activism, including decades working with Nicaraguan hospitals and homeless. She died this week at the age of 92.

Bet you don't recognize this guy, who died recently at the age of 87:

Jan Leighton

1921-2009

It would surprise everybody to know that he has played more roles than any other actor in the world. At least, the Guiness Book of World Records said so, in 1985 (as of that year, the number was a staggering 2,407). Though he began as a stage actor, appearing on Broadway in Wildcat with Lucille Ball, he reinvented himself as an impersonator, available for personal appearances, industrial work, screen and television spots, and print ads. He researched all his characters, and usually furnished his own costumes. He appeared often in TV commercials, playing Castro or Einstein or Washington or Lincoln. In one bank commercial alone, he played Clark Gable, Groucho Marx, FDR, and Teddy Roosevelt, all complaining about check charges. Other commercials included performances as Alexander Hamilton (how do you play Alexander Hamilton??), Bach, Dracula, and Frankenstein (or rather, Frankenstein's monster).

In what may have been a career highlight, he even played Mr. Whipple's twin, for Charmin toilet paper.

His print work included shots as Kissenger and da Vinci, and he even graced the cover of Time, as Uncle Sam. He claimed he would go anywhere to play anyone, and was hired to appear, in person, as Vince Lombardi and Babe Ruth, as Mozart and Ghandi, as Sherlock Holmes and Charlie Chan, as Scrooge, Bogart, Charlemagne, and Darwin. Wyatt Earp and John Wayne were in his repertory, as were Walter Cronkite, Ernest Hemingway, and General Patton. Folks say his Margaret Thatcher was pitch-perfect.


He had an average face, which allowed for elaborate make-up transformations, and he reveled in the anonymity of his work. The NY Times claims that, when asked how he was doing, he would reply, “I’m alive and well and living in someone else’s face.”

Theatre Droppings: Greed and Lust

This past weekend, I popped into two of the major DC hotspots to catch their current offerings, each of which examines one of the deadly sins.

Ben Johnson's favorite sin was avarice; his stories are populated with characters whose greed makes them easy dupes for the con men at the center of his plays. The Shakespeare Theatre Company resurrected one of those chestnuts, The Alchemist, which I caught on its closing weekend. The show got good reviews for its design elements (not unusual for The Shakes; they spend buttloads of money on the look and sound of their productions) but received only middling notice for The Alchemist's overall effect. I read a couple of pieces which thought the show lacked, I don't know, "pop." I think I disagree with those comments, though I do think director Michael Kahn had better luck with the first Johnson he directed for The Shakes, Volpone (the fact that I was in it has NO BEARING ON MY OPINION WHATSOEVER).

That previous show (at right,) had the advantage of a supporting cast made up of the best Shakespearean farceurs around: Floyd King, Ted van Griethuysen, Philip Goodwin, Wally Acton, Emory Battis, and Helen Carey (who won the Helen Hayes for her role in the show) all helped make Volpone accessible to the modern audience. With The Alchemist, Kahn did not have the use of that terrific company of classical clowns, so the production may not have measured up quite so well. (The title role in particular would have been a great fit for Floyd, but he was already attached to the next show at The Shakes.) Placing the action of The Alchemist in modern day caused a few bumps in logic, but I laughed much more than I expected to, and several of the performances were top-notch. Kate Skinner was effective as the prostitute with the heart of a cash register, and David Sabin was a hoot as a horny, over-the-hill knight. Michael Milligan was central to the action as the servant who masterminds the scheme to dupe the locals (and he looked pretty fine in those skin-tight military trousers), and fresh-faced Alex Morf made a great impression as a young social climber.

I think the reviews were too hard on this production; it fulfilled everything Ben Johnson could have wished.

Out at Olney Theatre, Camelot is settling in for a holiday run. This tribute to another deadly sin, lust, needs judicious pruning, and the gang at Olney has done quite a bit (that drip Morgan Le Fey is completely gone, which is always a good thing). Still, I find the show overlong in spots; Lerner and Loewe always had trouble keeping their shows to an endurable length, and the episodic quality of the show's source material translates to the stage like, well, a series of episodes. The music is swell, and is delivered by a nice-sounding cast and an orchestra of only six people (it sounds like many more).

To my knowledge, I have not seen either of the leading men before. Aaron Ramey fulfills all the requirements of Lancelot, and when he opens up on his big ballad, "If Ever I Would Leave You," there's no doubt why he was cast. I had trouble, though, with the King Arthur of the piece; he carried a sullen, morose quality with him throughout the performance, a choice which does not serve the early scenes, in which we should be charmed by Arthur's boyish lack of confidence. I have seen Patricia Hurly, who plays Guenevere, before, though only in a straight play (Doubt). She sounds terrific here, and can't be blamed for the fact that my mind kept hearing the incomparable Julie Andrews during her numbers. I could not get Dame Julie out of my head, a problem I also had with Evan Casey's turn as Mordred. Roddy McDowall (left) created that role in the original production, which also starred Richard Burton and Robert Goulet, and his brief performance on the original cast album made me put Mordred on my list of roles to play. Never got the chance, unfortunately, and how did this get to be about me?

The show is swiped by a friend of mine (go figure), Bill Largess, whose Pellinore is hilariously effective. His expositional scene as Merlyn works well, too, and he earns points for being able to act in a costume which is all gown and hair. This guy looks like Cousin Itt's grandfather on the way to part the Red Sea, but Bill makes it work.

The show could probably use a few more ensemble members, but in this economy, let's be glad Olney is even attempting large-scale musicals, while their infinitely wealthier competitor, Arena Stage, is sliding by with The Fantasticks, an eight character chamber musical more suited to high school drama departments. And really, you can't beat Camelot's score, which is one of the best of the old chestnuts.