The Damon Supremacy

I am not a pop-culture vulture, so I am loathe to weigh in on the brouhaha surrounding People magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" issue. But I do wonder: how do they know? Has someone from the magazine examined every man alive to make sure?







(The answer to that is no. I am pretty sure I have not been examined lately by anyone from the press...and I asked my mailman. He wasn't examined either)







Everybody knows that "sexiness" is in the pants of the beholder, but no matter. I can say without hesitation that Matt Damon is the most underrated film actor of his generation. Forget about the Bournes... go back to The Talented Mr. Ripley. His work is flawless.

Autumnal Theatre Droppings, Classical Edition

Everyman Theatre has offered its first ever Shakespeare production, "Much Ado About Nothing." The pleasing show is dominated by strong performances by veterans Carl Shurr as Leonato, Wil Love as Dogberry, and of course Deborah Hazlett as Beatrice. It was a hoot to see uber-veteran Vivienne Shub steal her scenes (in drag!) as Verges, assistant cop. The other members of the large ensemble may falter a bit, but several had their moments, and I am sure that this Baltimore theatre's next classical offering will be even better.

The opening tableau in Edward II at The Shakespeare Theatre Company gave me a start. I thought Evita had just died, but no, it was just the old king. (This was not the first image which, oddly, reminded me of that Lloyd-Webber opus. In one sequence, Edward's queen is rousing the rabble from a scaffolded platform via an echoing microphone, though she thankfully does not sing. And a scene among the powerful nobles as they plot Edward's downfall was reminiscent of the Argentine Generals trying to remove Peron. The only thing missing was the rocking chairs...). But these momentary glimpses fell to the side as soon as the big royal masque was performed; like a mis-placed Gay Pride float, the stage teemed with flouncing fawns, drag queens, and plenty of male decolletage. It was an introduction to the king and his favorites which clearly startled the high-brow crowd who can afford seats at the new Harman Center, which The Shakes now inhabits.

We don't like the king much in the first hour or so of the play, and the rebellious nobility seems justified in their protestations. But soon enough, the aristocracy turns ugly, and by Act II, we are on the side of the king and his lover; nobody deserves to be treated like that.

I can say that Edward II is the best thing I have seen at The Shakes in over a decade. With precision and skill, director Gale Edwards moves through the tale of the monarch who lost his throne due to his obsessive love for a favorite. It's a very strong ensemble, with two standouts surrounding the leading performance of Wally Acton. Jay Whittaker as Edward's brother Kent negotiates his character's shiftings of allegiance with honesty (and he wins the Best Spit Award. All of us in the front row were sprayed at least once during his performance). And Vayu O'Donnell is a knockout as Edward's favorite Gaveston, who leads the king to ruin but looks great doing it (the giant "Angels in America" wings notwithstanding). For the first time in many shows at The Shakes, I did not have problems with any of the women (for some reason, they tend to cast showy, stagey actresses with little depth but who can accentuate their vowels). The women here, however, were quite good. The smaller roles were filled with smart actors, including a really creepy turn by James Konicek as the hitman hired to eliminate the king in a, shall we say, penetrating way. (Apparently Marlowe did not invent the horrific way in which Edward meets his end). Floyd King, David Sabin, and Fran Dorn, long-time stalwarts of the company, are underused but effective in their cameos. Maybe they have more to do in the "Tamburlaine," which runs in rep.

This was my first visit to The Shakespeare Theatre's new Harman Center for the Arts, and the theatre looks quite stunning. I look forward to seeing a show with the thrust configuration, which we were apparently supposed to be seeing during this Marlowe Rep. Word on the Rialto has it that somebody made a huge budgeting boo-boo, and failed to account for the change-over of the space from Proscenium to Thrust. So, both shows are apparently in the Proscenium mode. (Actually, the theatre is calling the current configuration "End stage," rather than Proscenium, as it does not have the arch framing the stage. But it's the same look from the audience's perspective.)

Anyhoo, some poor schnook is out of a job because he forgot that it costs money to reconfigure the space from "End" to "Thrust," which was the initial concept for the Rep. That's OK, I'm out of a job, too, which gives me all this free time to see all this local theatre.

Theatre Droppings: Ambition Edition

Ambition was a central theme in two plays I saw this weekend.

I sometimes think that a limited design budget is the catalyst for some really creative thinking. Theatre Alliance at the H Street Playhouse works on a relative shoestring (I know, I've worked there), but you would never know it from their latest production, "Ambition Facing West." Tony Cisek has filled the playing space with a set of wooden platforms of varying heights, and placed the whole unit in a bed of white gravel. The setting totally suits this story, which spans generations and geography, and suggests a waterside dock from which characters long to journey and change. (That dockside feel is aided greatly by Ryan Rumery's terrific sound design). You might think I walked out of the show humming the set, but in fact, I left the theatre humming the Direction. Jeremy Skidmore has cast his show extremely well, and placed at its center two of DC's finest actresses, Amy McWilliams and Jennifer Mendenhall. From them all things flow, and this quiet and gentle play crept up on me and won me over.






MetroStage's "tick, tick...BOOM" is anchored by the charming and buoyant performance of Stephen Gregory Smith as Jon, the stand in for writer/composer Jonathan Larson. The central theme of the show, angst over turning 30 without much financial or artistic success, can be applied to lots of artists turning lots of ages, so, for me, the plot never really ignited. But boy, the music did, and in the larynges (yes, that is the plural of larynx) of Smith and his two cohorts, the point is made. I have only seen Stephen "in support," as they say, but he makes a winning case as the kind of quirky leading man to whom everyone can be attracted. And tiny spitfire Felicia Curry, whom I have never seen, makes a meal of a handful of different characters, and then shakes the rafters in her final solo. Matt Pearson's role of the gay best friend (the show was written in 1990, so that's not as trite as it now sounds) drops a bombshell near the end of the piece, one which from today's advantage, we can see coming. The CityPaper review of this production complained about this sudden diversion, but from my seat, the revelation motivated our hero to continue his quest for artistic expression. As Jon sits down at a discarded piano and plunks out new notes, we can imagine Jonathan Larson doing the same, and coming up with his Pulitzer winning "Rent," in which AIDS is a haunting presence.

Autumnal Droppings, Part II

I had hoped to start the weekend off by catching the "Naked Cabaret" performance at the Warehouse, but their final shows were unexpectedly cancelled. I was greatly disappointed to miss it, as I'm sure Steve Cupo and his gang were putting on a good show (fully dressed, the title refers to emotional nudity).







Saturday night, I caught the wonderfully wacky Ray Ficca in "The Jungle Book" at Imagination Stage in Bethesda. The story is familiar to anyone who grew up in the sixties, since the Disney cartoon was a classic. (Nobody actually reads Kipling anymore, do they?) This version was a more academic, less overly comical approach, and even livewire Ray, as the villainous tiger Shere Khan, was more subdued than in other, more comic pieces. I appreciated the fact that director Kate Bryer chose a costuming concept which allowed the actors to be seen, rather than be hidden by Animal Wear. The house was full to the brim with kids and parents, who eagerly joined in the audience participatory moments in the piece.













Sunday afternoon I made the schlep out to Front Royal, VA, to catch the world premiere offered by Wayside Theatre in their temporary home: "Shadow of the Raven: The Stories of Edgar Allen Poe." This new piece is very much a hybrid, with lots of laughs and even a puppet show which goes terribly wrong (Punch decapitates Judy). It also aims for some frights, turning a bit Gothic in Act II. The action throughout is interspersed with music and song, the whole thing springing from one of Wayside's longtime artistes, Steve Przybylski (I wouldn't venture to pronounce that last name without coaching). I'm not qualified to judge music, but I particularly enjoyed the goofy round-robin among the characters, as they each sang Poe's poem "Annabel Lee" to the tune of a different popular song. I also enjoyed the presence of the writer / composer himself onstage, dressed as Harpo Marx and occasionally insinuating himself into the action. The whole piece is held together by the solid performance of my buddy Larry Dalke, ably supported by Vaughn Irving, both of whom I worked with in "Black Coffee" a year ago. Vaughn enthusiastically made the most of what is largely a reactive role. (And his Punch-and-Judy Snuff Puppet Show is pretty funny.)



I've already written about the temporary digs the Wayside folks have fashioned out of an industrial building, and I was impressed again by the roominess and the landscaped charm of the place. I just hope their audiences follow them to Front Royal...

I'm Missing a Gene...

...in fact, more than one, but the one I'm thinking of tonight is the "Love Of Halloween" Gene. All others in my tribe have it, but I do not.

Halloween was never one of my favorite holidays, though I enjoyed it well enough as a kid. I grabbed this still photo from an old home movie from those medieval times, depicting one of the several Halloweens in which I went begging for candy as a clown.

That outfit was hand-sewn by my glorious Grandmother, and was so well-made that it was handed down for many many Octobers. I believe both my sisters in turn wore the thing, though I imagine I carried it off best. Orange always was my color.










By the time I hit my teens, Halloween was just an excuse for a party. I've uncovered a few snaps from those years, all of which reflect a grumpy attitude from yours truly. This must have been a costume for a party in college, and what a bad mood this particular Saint Peter was in that night. Perhaps it was the unusually cool weather in Heaven: note the pink turtleneck. (That's another gene I do not have that others in my tribe do: a fashion sense).






Here's a snap from around the same period, dressed as some sort of Roman Something, busy on the phone at the Sears Complaint Department, where I worked through college and beyond (no wonder I was grumpy). Note the recurrence of the turtleneck.




It seems to have taken orders from a boss to get me into any kind of costume during those years. Here's a half-hearted effort to be a hillbilly at my first waiter job (note the guest check in the left hand, and, once again, the grumpy attitude).

(this must have been during my Tommy Tune period...)

In this last photo, I have clearly given up on any kind of creativity regarding the holiday. Rip a hole in a sheet, slap on a mask, and be done with it all. (I have fond feelings toward this pic, however, as it was the last one I can find with my mother...I do have THAT gene).











I recall only one fun Halloween once I became an adult. A creative friend threw a party in which everyone was to come as their favorite villain or murderer. I came up with the perfect costume (wish I had a pic). I attended the party as Alex from "A Clockwork Orange." The outfit required only one eye made up with false eyelash and mascara, a bowler hat, a cane, and white shirt and slacks. I was a hit at the party and at the bar afterward...





I'm certain I have not dressed up for Halloween in over 20 years, and I'm sure I know why. I spend so much of my life dressing up in silly clothes, pretending to be somebody else, that I am just not in the mood to do it for fun.















Is there such a thing as a Halloween Grinch? That would be me.

Theatre Droppings, Autumnal Edition, Part I

With those Mice and Men finally put to rest, I am feeling the urge to check out what everyone else is up to around DC.

While performing the Steinbeck, I was able to take a few busman's holidays and catch a couple of local shows. The first was one of my favorite Sondheim musicals, "Merrily We Roll Along" at Signature Theatre. "Merrily" has always been a problematic piece, since it's told in reverse chronological order. So, we meet the leading characters when they are middle aged, jaded, cynical, and drunk. Hard to care about people like that. But the score may be Sondheim's most accessible, and most heartwrenching. After its well-documented failure on Broadway, the authors tinkered with the thing for decades (I saw one of the first remounts in La Jolla, CA way back when, with Heather Macrae in one of the leads...it wasn't much of an improvement, but it did alert producers that they were better off casting actors who could carry the "mature years"). They have apparently finally settled on a finished script, which received an excellent production at the Kennedy Center's Sondheim Festival a while back. Raul Esparza and Michael Hayden were stellar as Charley and Frank.

The Signature production had glowing assets in its unusual set and in Will Gartshore and Tracey Olivera playing Frank and Mary. I also enjoyed the actress playing second wife Gussie, whose name I cannot recall but was apparently a replacement for the original performer who had left the show. I did not get much chance to see the performance of the woman playing Frank's first wife, other than her bitter rendition of "Not a Day Goes By" on the courthouse steps. I hoped she was able to lose the crummy and distracting wig for Act II, as she "youthened" into the ingenue who first captured Frank's heart, but I don't know, as I left at intermission.

The Sig made one large miscalculation in the gent playing Charley, who seemed to be playing at the role instead of relaxing into it. As Charley carries a lot of the heart, and the hurt, of the piece, his quirks, which did not seem organic, made it difficult to relate to him.

I was sorry to miss the terrific section of Act II in which the gang begins their careers, including one of Sondheim's sharpest numbers, "Bobby and Jackie and Jack," about the Kennedys. And I will always think of that final sequence on the rooftop, as the very young Frank, Charley, and Mary announce that it is "Our Time" while Sputnik zooms overhead.

At KenCen, I wept at that moment of youthful optimism. I hope the Signature production was able to create the same.

I also caught another musical, this one in Baltimore, the aptly titled "Menopause the Musical." No one could be surprised at what this one is about, it's all there in the title. The production was a strong one, and the show could be enjoyed by all, though it is clearly aimed at women approaching "that certain age." Parody lyrics are placed upon existing songs of the sixties, and they are all a hoot. The show has been a huge success all over the country, so I suppose I don't know what I'm talking about when I say that the writers have shortchanged their show by creating characters meant to be archetypes (they carry names such as "Earth Mother" and "Iowa Housewife"). But the highlights of the show, at least for me, are the few times that the characters reveal something specific about their lives, talking about their children or their spouses or their mothers. These instances feel like the only real moments in the piece, but they are few and far between. The terrific cast includes my buddy Barbara Pinolini, veteran belter Monica Lijewski, and hilarious Jen Timberlake, and they do a bang up job. I, and the other three men in the audience, enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, and the large contingent of women in the house went wild.

Coming up next, more Autumnal Droppings: a kid's show, a spooky tale, a Shakespeare, a Marlowe, and a BOOM...

Of Mice and Men, the megamix...

The reviews are in for our production of the Steinbeck classic tale of Dustbowl Depressives. They are, as they say, "mixed-to-good," with only one real pan, which ironically, is being quoted in our ads. And even that poor response, from the Washington Times which nobody in the arts reads anyway, has done what every other critic in town and in cyberspace has done, which is rave about the performances.

And for the actors, that's a good thing.

The money review, The Post, was pretty much a rave, with the critic singling out each and every actor in the play. Except me. But I'm not bitter. I'd rather be ignored than panned.

No such luck for me in this online review, though I have to thank the critic for at least mentioning that I was really really good in something else. But, "out of his range" in this one. I don't dispute that for a moment.

And the reviewer hit the nail on the head when he claimed Christopher Lane is giving a "towering performance " as the gentle giant, Lennie. He is. Take a gander at this snap from the moment in the play which Aristotle would call the climax: the moment after which the ending becomes inevitable.

(That's Chris Lane towering center stage).

Of the various other reviews out there, my favorite has to be from the Citypaper, whose critic was attentive enough to catch the very subtle twist I have been giving my role of "Whit." Hey, the role is written for a kid in his 20s, and since those days are long gone for me, I had to do something to make "Whit" my own...