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January 2006
‘Charley’s Aunt’ @ Theatre in the Square
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Charley’s Aunt.” Through Feb. 26.
One attends a warhorse comedy like “Charley’s Aunt” hoping for an unexpected spark, perhaps a shred of contemporary relevance or, better yet, a performance that captures the farce’s fabled fizz.
This show, by George, doesn’t have it.
Directed by August Staub, Theatre in the Square’s production exudes the kind of dry archival respect for a classic that pays fealty to its tradition but does little to bring it to engaging life. Without some clever reinvention, the Victorian-era relic first produced in 1892 feels hopelessly dated, a genial trifle, and one that’s largely laughless.
The plot: Two Oxford chums (Jack and Charley) recruit another pal (Lord Fancourt Babberley) to pose as Charley’s aunt and serve as chaperone on an important date with their girlfriends, Kitty and Amy. The identity theft hits knee-slapping heights when Amy’s uncle and Jack’s father both fall for “her,” and then the real aunt —- from Brazil (“Where the nuts are!”) —- shows up on cue.
Of the cast, Christopher Eckholm comes closest to inspiration, playing Jack with a dreamy bonhomie reminiscent of Bertie Wooster. His marching, guardsmanlike entrance down the theater aisle to “The Eton Boating Song” may be the show’s funniest moment. For most of the evening, however, “Charley’s Aunt” tries, unsuccessfully, to outrace Father Time.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays. 2:30 and 7 p.m. Sundays. Also 2:30 p.m. Feb. 22. Through Feb. 26. $18-$33. Theatre in the Square. 11 Whitlock Ave. Marietta. 770-422-8369. www.theatreinthesquare.com.
The verdict: Jolly wooden show.
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‘Wait Until Dark’ @ Aurora
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Wait Until Dark.” Through Feb. 12
When the lights go out in what’s supposed to be the terrifying final scene of Aurora Theatre’s “Wait Until Dark,” the audience lets out a few titters and laughs, but nary a scream or gasp.
Those who remember the chilling movie version of Frederick Knott’s 1960s thriller stage play will wonder where the excitement went.
The Aurora’s earnest, physically appealing cast, directed by Freddie Ashley, glides through the performance too glibly to build suspense. Because they never reach a higher level of illusion, pulling the audience out of itself, a lot of glaring holes in the script are revealed. What was shocking and innovative in the 1967 movie starring Audrey Hepburn and Alan Arkin now appears obvious, contrived and absurd.
Set in the chic, deteriorating New York of the 1960s, the play makes the era seem clunky and outmoded. From the vantage point of our connected time of cellphones, e-mail and iPods, the blind Susy Hendrix’s sense of abandonment and isolation while trying to outwit a desperate band of baddies grows implausible. The story —- about crooks trying to pull off an elaborate con to trick Susy into giving up a doll she doesn’t realize contains heroin —- now seems terribly far-fetched.
Played by Kate Donadio with Mary Tyler Moore tics of helplessness and growing independence, Susy uses her acute perceptions as a blind person to figure out the ruse. As Susy reaches out to any ally available, she shares some interesting moments with Gloria (11-year-old Hannah Wilkinson), who lives in her Greenwich Village apartment building and helps her defeat the bad guys. As Susy and Gloria’s initially combative relationship humorously grows into sisterly trust, one wishes they were characters in another play, a sweet reverse-Helen-Keller story perhaps.
As the smooth, sympathetic con Mike Talman, Theroun Patterson brings some originality to the role memorably played in the movie by Richard Crenna. A risky romantic warmth builds between him and Donadio as he pretends to be an old Army buddy of her absent husband.
As the mastermind psychopath Harry Roat —- Arkin’s brilliant portrait of evil —- Brik Berkes doesn’t convincingly make the transition from suave, hip immorality to creepy menace.
Pleasantly acted, more farce than thriller, the undemanding, innocuous performance about desperate criminals seeking a horrible drug is apparently considered suitable even for children, judging by the number of youngsters in the audience. But if you really want to scare the little ones —- and yourself —- get the DVD of the movie and watch it at home.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Saturdays-Sundays. Through Feb. 12. $18-$25. Aurora Theatre, 3087-B Main St., Duluth; www.auroratheatre.com, 770-476-7926.
The verdict: A lackluster thriller.
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‘8 1/2 x 11’ @ Dad’s Garage
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “8 1/2 x 11: The Birds and the Bees.” Through Feb. 18
I always take notes at shows. It helps me internalize what I’m watching. And apparently it works, because I rarely have to flip through those pages of chicken scratch to jog my memory.
But by Jove, one production sends me scrambling for that little brown pad every time. Dad’s Garage’s short play festival, “8 1/2 x 11,” is the culprit —- and only because those thespian anarchists have the nerve to do nine one-acts in a single night.
While previous installments have skewered rock ‘n’ roll and censorship, this year’s theme is “The Birds and the Bees,” courtesy of artistic director Kate Warner, who commissioned the batch of world premieres.
If the subject sounds like a loaded excuse for Dad’s usual stable of playwrights to stage an orgy of equal-opportunity sexual deviance using the devices of sketch comedy, it is —- mostly.
Some of the writers have love, and war, on their brains, as evidenced by Christian Danley’s video “Robot Love,” a “Satellite of Love” homage about cute little bunny-people who are blasted off to space and war, and Lauren Gunderson’s “Heart.Beat.” —- in which a jogger is peppered by soul shrapnel.
The most solid and reflective piece is Lisa Kron’s “43/13,” in which a middle-aged lesbian talks to her younger self —- before she’s discovered her sexuality.
But never fear. There’s plenty of naughty fun here to keep Dad’s comedy klatch in a dither.
This means Brian Griffin’s “Go Ask Phallus,” a “Saturday Night Live”-style doozy that riffs on quiz shows and perversions of sexual psychologists. (Instead of “The Man With the New Brain,” imagine an accident victim with a pair of “donor fingers” gone out of control.) And Ross Maxwell’s “The Illusionist,” hosted by a gay magician who has lots of tricks (yuk, yuk).
Also on display are evidence that love will tear us apart (see Steve Yockey’s disturbing “Snuff Film”) —- just as surely as it will keep us together (see Kyle Jarrow’s valentine to Captain and Tennille).
But what exactly does love have to do with mosquito bites and mothers in Darth Vader masks (Alice Tuan’s “Scratchy Makes Itchy”)? Even my notebook can’t help on that one.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays. Also 5 p.m. Sunday and 8 p.m. Monday. Through Feb. 18. $9-$23. Dad’s Garage, 280 Elizabeth St., Atlanta. 404-523-3141; www.dadsgarage.com
The verdict: Love —- with and without sugar. Â
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‘Love Jerry’ @ Actor’s Express
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Megan Gogerty’s ”Love Jerry” has arrived with the kind of baggage that will stick with it for the rest of its life. Greeted by television cameras and protesters, the Actor’s Express world premiere will henceforth be known, for better or worse, as “the play about pedophilia.â€?
Actually, it’s a musical, and considering that the populist art form is more frequently associated with blue skies and romantic bliss than sexual transgression and mental illness, “Love Jerry� is its own special kind of anomaly.
This is all too bad. For “Love Jerry� is a profoundly moving theatrical experience that dares to approach an incendiary social topic with balance, responsibility and emotional authenticity. Leavening a dark story with folksy music that is by turns tender, compassionate and mournful, “Love Jerry� is an even-handed commentary on the messy complexities of love, betrayal, trust and forgiveness.
Though the play flicks back and forth in time, what happens in its 90 minutes is straightforward and morally unequivocal. When Mike (Bryan Davis), his wife, Kate (Courtenay Collins), and their 8-year-old son, Andy (who we never see) fall on hard times, they move in with Mike’s brother, Jerry (David Marshall Silverman).
The play opens with a therapist (Kristi Casey) asking Jerry about a deceased favorite uncle (hint, hint). In an absurdist stroke that is laden with psychological portent, the adult Jerry has a sort of imaginary friend, Clowny (Geoff Uterhardt), a clown who tempts him with ice cream and coaches him on how to find pictures of naked boys on the Internet.
Soon we hear that Andy, who is largely ignored by his dad but showered with attention by his uncle, is having trouble at school. Jerry goes on a disastrous blind date with Bible-thumping oddball Sheila (the hysterical Rachel Richards), and we get the impression that his problem is more than just a discomfort with dating.
At his core, Jerry is a lost child and sexually repressed adult who still suffers from the trauma of his youth. But Mike is his lifeline, and the brothers seem to exist to protect one another. Their duet, “Lower a Branch,� is both a sweet affirmation of friendship and a cry for help.
Gogerty is wise to plant seeds of humor in a story of escalating creepiness. In one song, Kate and Mike strut and caw like birds while informing us that “there’s something cuckoo in our bird’s nest today.� Indeed.
The next thing you know, Jerry is pining for Andy in what might be a ballad of teenage lust: “I cannot go to sleep at night/ you can’t be erased/ I haven’t got an appetite/ you are all I taste.�
The scene in which Jerry seduces his (invisible) nephew will probably make audience members squirm, but it feels organic and necessary to the story — though I’m not sure that Jerry’s confessional letter or sexual-arousal test need be so explicit.
It’s a testament to director Kent Gash and his ensemble that they get the tricky tone so right. The characters’ yearning for happiness, their pretense at normality, their anger and remorse: You feel it in every note and see it in every line of the actors’ faces.
Alas, there were some rough moments of singing on opening night, but that’s to expected from any new work, not to mention one that requires the actors to expose such sheer, naked emotion. Gogerty’s lyrics can be so overly simplistic as to be corny, but the vocalists smooth over every lapse.
Finally, the play seems to have at least one too many endings and hairpin revelations. You can almost feel the author try to hasten a healing process that could take years, or may never happen at all. There’s a point in this sad and inexorable tragedy when there’s nothing left to say: Gogerty needs to find that place and hold it.
Some audience members may be troubled that they feel as much pity for Jerry as they do the rest of his circle. Every viewer must deal with that in his own way. What Gogerty does with such sensitivity is put all the information out there.
For many theater-goers, the most controversial show of the year will also be the most heartbreaking. Are you ready for goosebumps?
THE 411: 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Saturdays. 2 p.m. Sunday and Feb. 19. 5 p.m. Feb. 5 and Feb. 12. Through Feb. 25. $21.50-$26.75. Actor’s Express, King Plow Arts Center, 887 W. Marietta St. N.W., Suite J-107, Atlanta. 404-607-7469, www.actorsexpress.com
THE VERDICT: The sad inner core of child abuse is revealed.
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Pedophilia play draws protest at Actor’s Express
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
A new Actor’s Express musical about pedophilia is drawing protest from an Atlanta citizen and praise from experts on child-abuse prevention.
Nancy Yoder, a Lawrenceville mother of two, saw the show, “Love Jerry,� last week and organized a protest at Sunday night’s world premiere by Los Angeles playwright Megan Gogerty. Yoder led a group of about 12 that stood in the wet weather outside the theater with signs saying, “Child abuse is not entertainment.�
“We need a clear message that this will not be tolerated,â€? Yoder said, “and we need to have harsh sentencing and effective laws. … I think it’s irresponsible of the playwright and Actor’s Express to be emotional voyeurs of a family’s pain and give sympathetic light to the perpetrator.â€?
In the play, a man named Jerry is discovered abusing his brother’s 8-year-old son. The child is never seen onstage, and Jerry is portrayed as a likable and remorseful character who is close to his brother, sister-in-law and nephew. Though there are graphic descriptions of sex in the play, no sex is depicted.
Prevent Child Abuse Georgia Inc., a statewide nonprofit agency, has endorsed the show.
“We all sort of said, ‘How can we not support this play?’� Sally A. Thigpen, the group’s statewide coordinator, said after Sunday night’s performance. “It’s a story that’s played out in millions of homes every day. Megan has written a script that just pulls the lid off the issue.�
Gogerty and Thigpen contend that the play is an accurate depiction of the child-abuse epidemic because most child molestation is perpetrated by people who know their victims.
“We know who they are,� Gogerty says. “We just choose to look away.�
Because of its subject matter, the musical has attracted an unusual amount of publicity, with advance articles by the Associated Press, trade publications Variety and Backstage and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Yoder says she was moved to protest after reading a Jan. 15 article in the AJC. The theater gave her a complimentary ticket, hoping she would change her mind. She didn’t.
“The voice of that child is not heard, and that’s the loudest scream of all,� Yoder says. “It’s horrible, and it’s sickening. That’s the voice I want to tune into. That child doesn’t have a song in the play.�
“Love Jerry� director Kent Gash says he approached the script with trepidation but was deeply moved after reading just a few pages. The play was a finalist in the Alliance Theatre’s Kendeda Graduate Playwriting Competition last year.
At Sunday night’s talk-back, Thigpen heaped praise on Dogerty for her understanding of the topic: “This play is right on the money,� she said.
Actor’s Express artistic director Jasson Minadakis says he welcomes any conversation, pro or con, that will put the topic in the public spotlight. The theater, at the King Plow Arts Center on the city’s West Side, is holding discussions with audiences after each performance and including information about child-abuse prevention in the program.
Yoder says she will continue to protest, but she thinks her message will be lost on Express patrons. She says she fears some Midtown residents, “smoking clove cigarettes� and drinking wine, will sit in their homes talking about how great the play is.
“I will continue my efforts by making my message heard loud and clear to Prevent Child Abuse Georgia,� she said.
Actor’s Express plans to post Yoder’s official “position paper� on its Web site: www.actors-express.com.
‘Anne Frank’ @ Center for Puppetry Arts
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Anne Frank: Within & Without.” Through Jan. 27.
When Anne Frank’s father discovered her diary after she died in a Nazi concentration camp, he declared that he didn’t really know his daughter at all.
That bittersweet discovery is one of the insights we get from the Center for Puppetry Arts’ “Anne Frank: Within & Without,” a delicately designed memory box of a play about a talkative young woman who journalized her thoughts while stowed away in an Amsterdam townhouse during World War II.
Written and directed by Bobby Box, the world premiere uses the elegant language of puppetry to illustrate one of the best-known stories of the Holocaust. By turns humorous and poignant, personal and historical, “Anne Frank” employs two puppeteers and a musician to simulate the physical realities and inner conflicts of Anne and her circle of intimates.
As we’ve come to expect from the center, the show is a wunder-cabinet of technical invention and beautifully rendered puppets (by Jason von Hinezmeyer).
Scenic designer F. Elaine Williams constructs an uncluttered playscape —- dominated by a desk and rotating model of the Anne Frank House and its secret quarters —- which performers Janet Metzger and Hope Mirlis navigate as they operate the puppets and narrate the story. (Chip Epstein provides original music on violin and toy piano.)
In perhaps the most magical sequence, a tiny, hand-held Anne sleeps in bed while dreaming of ice-skating with her cousin Buddy. Down on the stage floor, away from the claustrophobia of the “secret annex,” the marionettes dance like winged angels, fluid and free.
At the other end of the emotional spectrum, a vicious Punch batters an innocent Judy while a narrator enumerates how the Nazis systematically stripped the Dutch Jews of all their freedoms. Pow, pow, pow. It’s a chilling scene of primal violence.
But for all the meticulous craftwork, the constant opening and closing of desk drawers to retrieve puppets and objects sometimes feels clunky and distracting.
The two actors also play narrators Ruth (Mirlis) and Sarah (Metzger), who resemble young Anne and the adult she was meant to be. (Costume designer Aaron Jackson dresses the two in slightly different skirts and sweaters and wavy ’40s hairstyles.)
While this layered approach to character often helps illuminate complex lives, here it seems to distance us from the subject. Perhaps because the Jewish martyr is so hallowed, Box hews to the facts of her biography, rather than embroidering with a novelist’s eye.
In writing down her hopes, fears and dreams, Anne provided a glimpse of herself that surprised even her father, who edited the diary for publication.
But what was really going on in the heart of Anne Frank? About that we can only speculate, for Box’s carefully guarded portrait never gets beyond the public persona.
Perhaps the eyes provide a better picture of the soul than a diary, after all. At the end of the show, Anne Frank looks back at us through the window of time. It’s a simple photograph —- as haunting and mysterious in the end as the Mona Lisa.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 5 p.m. Sundays; 11 a.m. Tuesday-Friday. Through Jan. 27. $18-$22. Center for Puppetry Arts, 1404 Spring St. in Midtown. 404-873-3391, www.puppet.org.
THE VERDICT: A technically polished, emotionally shuttered portrait.
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‘Pride and Prejudice’ at the Alliance
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Theater review. “Pride and Prejudice.” Alliance Theatre. Through Feb. 12
If you were into Jane Austen before Jane Austen was cool, you probably approach such offerings as “Bride and Prejudice” and “Pride and Promiscuity: The Lost Sex Scenes of Jane Austen” with a mixture of wonderment and regret.
With all the films, miniseries and irreverent knockoffs, there’s more than enough information for a trivia game about the parson’s daughter who was born in 1775, lived quietly in an English cottage and, before her death at 41, wrote a dazzling set of comic novels about love and marriage that remains virtually unsurpassed.
So while we wait for “Mansfield Park: The Musical,” the “Pride and Prejudice” mania continues at full gallop, with yet another Oscar-courting movie making the rounds and a new stage treatment by the eminent director Jon Jory at the Alliance Theatre.
Jory’s staging is lovely, smartly acted and tries hard to approximate the clockwork timing of an Oscar Wilde comedy. But the breakneck pacing and minimal scenery (by Robert A. Dahlstrom) can’t stop this two-hour-and-45-minute show from taxing the stamina and spirits of even the staunchest Jane-ite.
The production’s energy level is so frenetic that you sit through the first half thinking that Elizabeth Bennet (Julia Dion) and Mr. Darcy (Anthony Marble) will get on with their business of lovemaking with economy and efficiency. Instead, nearly every plot point, every epistle, every ballroom revelation is recounted with obsequious loyalty to the source material.
Fortunately, this game of romantic chess is enlivened by Daniel Pelzig’s handsome choreography and the ensemble’s penetrating wit. For a woman of such delicate demeanor, Dion (who also appeared in Jory’s “The Game of Love and Chance” in 2002) has an arsenal of oversize expressions and a vocal motor that races and purrs, glides and guffaws with astonishing prowess. No doubt, hers is one of the most cunningly crafted performances I’ve seen in some time.
As a counterpoint to the flakiness of Mrs. Bennett (Peggity Price, displaying a constant parade of tics and tremors), Pat Nesbit bakes Lady Catherine de Bourgh to a hard crustiness, and Amy Resnick imbues Miss Bingley with a decidedly curdled edge.
Among the gentleman actors, Marble will some day make an excellent Ebenezer Scrooge, but playing the dashing Mr. Darcy like he’s 200 years old probably isn’t the wisest way to convey buttoned-up sensuality. Compared to his Harlequin (“Love and Chance”), David Pichette (Mr. Bennet) is a paragon of self-restraint, and yet he finds enough playfulness to make his character fun.
Jory clearly has an affinity for this material, but his stop-start approach, in which characters sometimes step out of their roles to give exposition, isn’t nearly as effective as the Gate Theatre of Dublin’s seamless account of “Pride and Prejudice” that graced Spoleto Festival USA a few years ago in Charleston, S.C.
Figures appear as cameos inside the widow frames of the catch-all country-estate set, and miniature pieces of scenery are pulled along like tethered toys. But other than that and some confused lighting effects by Michael Philippi, Jory’s style is as no-nonsense as Michael Krass’ Regency costumes — stirrup pants for the men and Empire waistlines for the ladies.
Every time I see a Jane Austen novel turned into a drama, I’m reminded of how she fits into the continuum of English comedy that stretches from Shakespeare to Wilde. But I never thought I’d see the day that her legacy would be so overexposed.
Perhaps it is a truth universally acknowledged that a producer possessed of a good novel must be in want of a movie, play or musical.
Whatever. Where Austen is concerned, we may be better off getting back to the basics. If you don’t believe me, pick up a copy of “Persuasion” or “Emma.”
‘C.S. Lewis’ at Theatrical Outfit; Karen Finley at 7 Stages
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
When lights go up on Tom Key’s “C.S. Lewis on Stage,” the Oxford don is trying to sneak a last puff on his pipe before he begins his lecture. He’s promised a reading from “The Screwtape Letters,” plans to wet his whistle with a little tea during the discourse and then trudge off into the night.
But men of lofty intellect often find it hard to stick to the subject. And seconds into this biography of the Irish-born professor, poet and author of “The Chronicles of Narnia,” we realize that we’re in for a verbal ramble that is by turns delightfully devious and doctrinaire.
Do we mind if Lewis sits at his desk for a moment to compose a letter to a friend? But, first, how about a poem? Soon he’s digressing on anything and everything that strikes his fancy.
The death of his mother when he was 10. His old dog, Tom. The horrors of boarding school and clubs. Noah and Homer and angels and Siamese cats and first crushes. His time in the trenches during World War I. His Time magazine cover. (“There has always been the problem of my face.”) His late-blooming romance with his wife, Joy. How he lost his Christian faith and recovered it. The problem with democracy, modern education and evolution. (He pronounces it “E”-volution.)
Lewis’ elegy for all the things that civilized men once held dear is beautiful, moving, funny and occasionally exasperating. There were moments during this celebration of the grandly cerebral old man that I realized I had no idea what he was talking about. And “Narnia” fans, be warned. The show contains not a single reference.
But if the literary biography sometimes slips out of focus, it remains an admirable psychological portrait of a soul who was angered by the gods early on but ultimately redeemed by “Eden’s courtesy.” Lewis may have been prostrate with grief over the death of his mother and wife, but he is never bitter or self-pitying.
If Key’s account of Lewis isn’t quite as dazzling as actress Ellen Lauren and director Anne Bogart’s hymn to Virginia Woolf, “Room,” seen at Emory in 2003, it’s a mighty fine labor of love and should not go unnoticed.
Through Jan. 22. Theatrical Outfit. 678-528-1500; www .theatricaloutfit.org.
Chewing on ‘George’
Karen Finley’s “George and Martha” is the kind of raw and uncensored sex-and-politics farce that would probably make Larry Flynt attempt a standing ovation and give Maureen Dowd the vapors.
In a scurrilous theatrical event that giddily spews venom at the sitting president, Finley suggests that George W. Bush (Neal Medlyn) is having an affair with Martha Stewart (Finley). The playwright places her famous couple in a motel room with plastic cups (which make Martha cry) and a TV tuned to the Republican National Convention, and she arms them with the same predatory instincts as their famous namesakes from “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”
Wearing nothing but striped paint, Finley’s character represents the body politic, as it were. She looks surprisingly like Martha Stewart —- same wig, posture, attitude —- and the Albee conceit lets her rip her target to pieces. Finally, after all the simulated sex and Oedipal gobbledygook about the Bush dynasty, George calls Martha a “caterer.” And in a fabulous feminist rant, she tells him all she knows about apples, gingerbread houses, lemon zest, hollandaise, risotto, quilts. “Poaching, pureeing, potting, pouring. … Steaming, stirring, sauteing, stewing. Thyme, tarragon and tasting.”
She goes down the whole alphabet with primal delirium.
Whoa. Now this is good. If Martha Stewart’s in trouble, Finley seems to be saying, heaven help the rest of her sex.
Through Sunday. 7 Stages. 404-523-7647; www.7stages .org.
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‘Sleuth’ at Georgia Ensemble
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW: “Sleuth.” Georgia Ensemble Theatre, Roswell. Through Jan. 22.
If “Noises Off” is the last word in backstage farce, Anthony Shaffer’s “Sleuth,” playing at Georgia Ensemble Theatre in Roswell, may be the ultimate sendup of the detective genre.
In the burnished living room of his country estate, a veddy British mystery writer dictates his latest bonbon into a tape recorder, then manipulates the plot of his own drawing-room farce.
“Sleuth,” which won 1971’s Tony Award for best play, operates on principles of revolving doors and reversals of fortune —-and ultimately questions who’s the cat and who’s the mouse.
Here it’s the script that’s got the whiskers.
Imagine Agatha Christie channeling Noel Coward, and you get an idea of what happens in this inverted murder mystery, which keeps asking whodunit, then retracting the question.
A suave aficionado of games and gags, novelist Andrew Wyke (James Donadio) spends the first act getting his wife’s lover (Hugh Adams) exactly where he wants him. But before Wyke can get too comfy with his caviar and smoking jacket in Act 2, there’s a knock at the door.
Nice to see you, Inspector Doppler.
To Adams’ credit, he keeps the audience guessing. But those who saw him in Actor’s Express’ “Irma Vep” will know that he’s underserved by this material. (And the fair-skinned actor hardly has the “Latin” looks described in the play.) Donadio, for his part, approaches his character with a perfect blend of the dastardly and the debonair.
Despite the parlor-game thinness of the writing, director Shannon Eubanks delivers a solid reading, and Jamie Bullins’ capacious set turns the auditorium-size stage into a luxurious English hall with grand staircase and overhanging balcony. (Bullins also designed the costumes.)
“Sleuth” works best as a dance of nerves between two smart actors. But you don’t need a magnifying glass to see it’s showing its age.
THE 411: 7:30 p.m. Wednesdays; 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Sundays; 4 p.m. Saturday only. Through Jan. 22. $17-$33. Georgia Ensemble Theatre, Roswell Cultural Arts Center, 950 Forrest St., Roswell. 770-641-1260; www.get.org.
THE VERDICT: The plot coagulates.
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From the Sedaris family: ‘Book of Liz’
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW: “The Book of Liz.” Essential Theatre. Through Jan. 28.
Sister Elizabeth Donderstock has pretty much had it with her conservative Christian community, the Squeamish. (Think “Amish.”) She’s sweated herself skinny making the group’s signature source of income —- cheese balls —- and when the swishy, upstart Brother Brightbee begins to encroach on her territory, she decides to run away.
Wouldn’t you know the first person she encounters is a woman in a Mr. Peanut costume, who soon enlists Liz to work in a Pilgrim-themed restaurant that’s run by a bunch of recovering alcoholics. Alas, the 12-steppers are so cliquish that they won’t even let Poor Liz keep her transportation in an employee parking spot. (She drives a llama.)
Oh, goody.
“The Book of Liz” —- by the brother-sister team of David and Amy Sedaris —- has arrived in Atlanta, courtesy of Peter Hardy’s Essential Theatre Festival.
In this ridiculous concoction, Sedaris family fans will see glimmers of Amy’s hopelessly lost Jerri Blank (“Strangers With Candy”) and David’s fascination with misfits, potty humor and kitsch. The latter’s satirical essays can be splendidly entertaining, but in this picaresque howler, the siblings give voice to their warped observations by sketching 3-D cartoons that exist in an outer frontier of silliness.
Director Lee Nowell’s cast is game to wallow in the tasteless fun and chew on a script that riffs on religious hypocrisy and the empowerment kick while sending up vintage Hollywood potboilers and American classics from “The Scarlet Letter” to “The Crucible.”
This means stock characters like town snoop Sister Butterworth (Dede Bloodworth), slimy interloper Brother Brightbee (Topher Payne) and the humble, put-upon Liz (Rachel Craw), who must go on a journey of initiation before discovering there’s no place like home.
This is a plum part if ever there was one. But Craw could do better, as anyone who saw her elastic-faced witch in Georgia Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” last year will tell you.
That said, some lines will always get laughs.
“I’ve always sweated like a stallion,” says Liz when her excessive perspiration drips on the floor in a way that makes you think it’s something else. When a doctor suggests surgery for the problem, Liz responds: “Can’t you just use leeches?”
Bloodworth deserves a golden toothpick for the disgusting scene in which the rotund Mrs. Butterworth does a blind taste test on the cheese balls, which have gone mysteriously flat in Liz’s absence. The character inhales each sample with hoglike gusto, then expectorates in a manner that has to be more upsetting to her palate than cleansing. Eventually, she can’t help herself and wolfs down the whole batch.
That Payne invests Brightbee with a touch of Charles Busch’s Angela Arden says a good deal about this show’s camp factor. Payne, who has a wry and distinctive monotone, has certainly made himself over since he appeared as a drag queen in “Wizzer Pizzer.” Or has he?
Also quite good are Kathleen Link and Charles Swint in a variety of roles —- particularly as the goldfish-tending, Mr. Peanut-impersonating Ukrainian immigrants who speak with a decidedly low-rent British accent. (Only in Sedaris Land.)
Essential Theatre comes out just once a year, and it always snags at least one new play that hasn’t been produced in Atlanta (plus a world premiere by a Georgia playwright).
In “Liz,” it’s picked a turkey —- in a good way. Stuffed with cheese and sleaze and covered with nuts, the show is a sinful treat for Sedaris fans and their brethren. Praise the Lord and pass the Williamsburgers.
THE 411: In rotating repertory with “Leaving Limbo” and “Charm School,” which opens tonight. 8 p.m. Saturday, Jan. 17, 20, 25, 28. 3 p.m. Sunday, Jan. 21, 28. 7 p.m. Jan. 22. $15-$20. 7 Stages, Back Stage Theatre, 1105 Euclid Ave., Little Five Points. 404-523-7647. www.essentialtheatre.com
THE VERDICT: Cheese lover’s paradise.
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