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March 2006
‘Kimberly Akimbo’ at Actor’s Express
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Kimberly Akimbo.â€? Actor’s Express. Through April 29.
To be 16 is to live in your own special kind of hell. But for the title character in David Lindsay-Abaire’s “Kimberly Akimbo,� it’s 4 1/2 times worse than that.
Kimberly Levaco’s dad is a drunk who forgets to pick her up from the skating rink. Her mother can’t feed herself — much less cook a family meal — because her hands are wrapped in bandages from her carpal tunnel surgery. And her homeless, sketchy aunt shows up just in time to embarrass her in front of her potential boyfriend.
Kim, it must also be mentioned, suffers from a rare disease that causes her body to age 4 1/2 times faster than it should. So when her dad warns her about sex, she tells him to get over it. “I went through menopause four years ago,� the Rose Kennedy look-alike says.
Such raw, wincing moments are rare in the new Actor’s Express production, which deals more with the outsize lunacy of the story’s infantile adults than the bereft interior world of its wise little girl. Lindsay-Abaire — who has a Broadway hit with the more tragically inflected “Rabbit Hole� — may be preoccupied with the cruelties of time and the damage wrought by selfish, indifferent parents. But here, he’s careful to Bubble Wrap the play’s fragile inner core so that the end results are more upbeat than shattering, and director Jasson Minadakis’ ensemble pushes the humor to demented extremes.
Kim’s miserably pregnant mother (the sublime Tess Malis Kincaid) is a potty-mouthed monster with a Jersey accent — a lethal marriage of John Waters trash and Martin McDonagh vitriol (see “The Beauty Queen of Leenane�). Convinced she’ll die before she gets to know her unborn child, she records missives via cassette tape. “Sixteen years I worked in the Sunshine Cupcake Factory, pumping cream into those Ding-Dong knockoffs,� she snorts, by way of explaining her carpal tunnel syndrome.
John Kennedy O’Toole, eat your heart out.
As Kim’s father, the very fine John Alcott comes off like a modern-day Ralph Kramden, bellowing, whining, cajoling and pouting his way around his dysfunctional household. A good deal of the comic material is based on verbal abuse, and these “Parents Terribles� work it to the hilt.
Cooking up the check-washing scheme that will drive the play to its gleeful ending, Kim’s Aunt Debra (Rachel Roberts) is a streetwise lesbian who acts like a crackhead. As the tic-y time bomb, Roberts is killer.
But even better is Jeremy Aggers as Kim’s friend Jeffrey — Zippy Burger employee, “Dungeons & Dragons� freak, practitioner of “puzzleistic arts.�
“You know,� he explains of the latter skill. “Wordplay games. Palindrome challenges. Spoonerisms.� (His anagram of “Kimberly Levaco� is “cleverly akimbo� — thus the title.) With his long greasy hair and awkward nasality, Aggers renders a pitch-perfect, cinema-ready performance.
Though Kimberly is supposed to be played by “a woman in her 60s or 70s,� according to the playwright, Minadakis picks middle-aged actress Mary Lynn Owen. She comes off more like a young child than a seething teenager, and her delivery is dwarfed by the scene-stealing shenanigans all around her. Yet Owen’s account of the disappearing little girl is an odd, unsettling, strangely beguiling performance that haunts me still.
This production’s scene changes may strike you as a little more futzy than necessary, handled as they are by a cadre of young women with bouncing ponytails and derrieres. But when you think about it, these are the kind of fun-loving girls that Kimberly might have been, had her life not been so circumscribed.
Here’s a quiet soul who wants nothing more than to lead a normal life, have a sit-down dinner with her parents, talk about what happened at school, maybe go to Six Flags Wild Safari on a lark. That her parents deny her these small gifts is what makes her story so heartbreaking. That it ends with such giddy subversiveness is what makes it so delightful and rewarding.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Saturdays; 2 p.m. Sunday and April 23; 5 p.m. April 9. Through April 29. $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: Hilarity and heartbreak.
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‘Little Women’ @ the Fox
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Little Women: The Broadway Musical.” Through April 2.
With its title securely embedded in the American lexicon and its heartwarming, Disneyesque story line, a musical version of the 1869 novel “Little Women” was assured of success in the heartland from the get-go, if properly handled. And successful it has become, apparently, in the touring iteration onstage at the Fox Theatre.
Largely modeled on author Louisa May Alcott’s life, the story describes the various rites of passage of the March family, circa 1860, in Concord, Mass. With Father off to battle, Mother (“Marmee”) and her four female offspring —- Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy —- are left to fend for themselves around the time of the Civil War. Jo is determined to be a “famous writer,” in an era when women were expected to stay home, make babies and darn socks. A feisty independent and an inspiration to women in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, she remains a perfectly respectable role model.
There is much to praise about this 2005 production, which ran four months on Broadway before embarking on this cross-country journey. Susan Spencer’s unflagging commitment to the spunky, spirited character of Jo moves the show forward admirably, as does Maureen McGovern’s wise, all-knowing portrayal of the matronly Marmee. Susan H. Schulman’s direction is clever and well-imagined and complemented nicely by Derek McLane’s rudimentary, cleverly changing sets.
Then, too, Allan Knee’s book is solid and Jason Howland’s score serviceable. (I couldn’t hear most of Mindi Dickstein’s lyrics, due to poor amplification and the occasionally overpowering orchestra.) But the show is too long and lacks genuine (read unique) creative spark. Its sugary, weighty core begins to turn to syrup by the second act. (That said, my 12-year-old daughter loved the show on Broadway.)
Knee —- or someone —- has attempted to lighten the load with some wonderful moments of comic relief, many of them delivered with finesse by Robert Stattel as the crusty but gentlemanly neighbor Mr. Laurence and Louisa Flaningam as the old bug-eyed, stuck-up Aunt March. Howland also has written some nice ballads for Marmee, such as “Here Alone” and “Days of Plenty,” touchingly delivered by McGovern and the splendid pit band.
But watching Spencer sell Act 1’s closing number, “Astonishing,” as if lives were at stake, was painful. As was the ensemble bounding about during “Five Forever” as if there was any meaning to what they were singing.
To be sure, this is a glossy professional production that sizzles in some of the right places. There’s just not enough substance to make it all believable.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursday, Friday, Saturday; 2 p.m. Saturday; 1 and 6:30 p.m. Sunday. $19-$55. Fox Theatre, 660 Peachtree St., Atlanta. 404-817-8700, www.ticketmaster.com.
THE VERDICT: The 12-year-old loved it; her mom did not.
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‘Jelly’s Last Jam’ @ the Alliance
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Jelly’s Last Jam.” Alliance Theatre. Through April 9.
In “Jelly’s Last Jam,� flashy Jelly Roll Morton is introduced to his next conquest as a “lover of women, inventor of jazz and owner of 27 suits.� Sex, music and beautiful clothes: What else do you need for a Broadway spectacle but a couple of tap-dancing prodigies with spats and smiles?
For starters, you need a sinister leading man who can make a show-stopping entrance — by stepping out of a body bag. An unashamed bigot who claims there’s “no coon stock in this Creoleâ€? and spends the second half of his life on a self-destructing path of hurt and anger turned outward.
As book writer George C. Wolfe insisted in his 1992 Broadway musical, which has been resuscitated in a stunning Alliance Theatre revival, the Morton story isn’t about jazz and dance, and it’s certainly not about last-minute redemption and hallelujah choruses. It’s about race.
As the soul-reaping character known as The Chimney Man (Billy Porter) tells us in the Prologue, Morton (J.D. Goldblatt) resides in the same pantheon as Armstrong and Ellington. But instead of becoming a beloved ambassador of swing, he “denies the black soil from which this rhythm was born,� a fatal mistake that provides the central contradiction of this emotionally devastating, magnificently conceived musical biography.
Perhaps the Hunnies (the three-member female chorus) don’t shimmy quite as much as they should in the splashy opening number, “In My Day.� Maybe the diction’s a little slurry early on and the depiction of the New Orleans underworld a bit tawdry for my taste.
But really now. I can’t say enough good things about director-choreographer Kent Gash’s glorious new production, which has been reorchestrated for a smaller band by musical director Darryl G. Ivey and styled to the nines by set designer Emily Jean Beck and costume artist Austin K. Sanderson. (Byron Easley shares the choreography credits.)
Easily the best Alliance musical since Gash’s “Pacific Overtures,� in 2003, the first major revival of “Jelly’s� is the sort of event that will cause box-office switchboards to crash and put national producers on planes to Atlanta.
For a theater town in need of a spring hit, the Alliance has delivered the season’s most essential musical.
Jelly and his diamond-studded tooth may be the center of this theatrical universe. But it takes an incandescent ensemble to illuminate the dark outer galaxies of his troubled soul, and the Alliance stage is rarely without a strand of shining supporting stars.
So while the excellent, charismatic Goldblatt captures both the gleam and the spleen of the self-infatuated Morton, he’s well matched by Rodrick Covington as Jelly’s fawning, double-crossed friend Jack the Bear; the lovely Karole Foreman as love interest Anita; and LaVon Fisher as the ferocious, mantilla-crowned grandmother, who kicks Morton out of the house for fraternizing with New Orleans lowlife.
His grandmother’s dismissal, and the fact that W.C. Handy usurped his father-of-jazz credentials, are Morton’s twin demons.
Porter’s Chimney Man does the trick, even if he’s a little more flamboyant than necessary. Andre Ward’s big-eyed Buddy Bolden is delightfully intimidating to the Young Jelly, and Eric B. Anthony, bless his heart, has the unthankful task of recreating the part originated by the young Savion Glover (Young Jelly). Except for seeming somewhat stifled by his spatterdashes, Anthony does just fine.
Among the best numbers are “The Creole Way,� about the Morton family’s infatuation with powder, wigs and all things French; Anita’s “Play the Music for Me� (check out her filigreed gown) and the down-and-dirty “Lovin’ Is a Lowdown Blues,� which uses a canopied bed and curtains to conceal what’s happening beneath the sheets, but only partly. (This is probably a good time to advise parents that the show contains adult language and situations.)
Dance wise, Gash and Easley give us more stomping than outright hoofing (a smart choice, given the iconic performances of Glover and the late Gregory Hines as Broadway’s Jelly).
But the show’s most arresting quality may be its eye candy. William H. Grant III’s lighting can be forensically harsh one moment, moon-splashed the next — the perfect accompaniment to Beck’s wrought-iron balustrades, keyboard-framed proscenium and gorgeous carved moldings. If the devil’s in the details, the Alliance’s superb team of stitchers, carpenters, artisans and props meisters outdo themselves down to the last feather and finial.
When it comes to spectacle, the Alliance has no peer in Atlanta. Shows like this are why it’s on par with the nation’s best regional playhouses.
The final word on this wildly ambitious, technically complicated, impeccably scored, emotionally challenging musical: It’s a knockout.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Saturdays-Sundays. 7:30 p.m. Sundays. Through April 9. $20-$50. Alliance Theatre, 1280 Peachtree St. N.E., Atlanta. 404-875-5663; alliancetheatre.org.
THE VERDICT: Spectacular.
‘The Immigrant’ @ Theatrical Outfit
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “The Immigrant.” Through April 8.
With their Yiddish and yarmulkes, their borscht and blinis, Russian Jews arriving in the Texas Bible Belt in the early 20th century must have felt like the ultimate outsiders —- shtetl shocked.
But as Tevye the milkman knew in “Fiddler on the Roof,” America offered opportunities for prosperity and relief from religious persecution. Mark Harelik’s “The Immigrant” is a celebration of his family’s assimilation into a tiny Texas community, and the role that a stern Baptist banker and his kindhearted wife played in nurturing that transformation.
Newly installed at Theatrical Outfit, this ghetto-to-Galveston saga fits neatly with executive artistic director Tom Key’s twin interests: Southern stor- ytelling and spiritual themes. This production boasts a strong cast, handsome design scheme and noble intentions.
But the play itself is a long, plodding affair that relies too much on culture-clash humor and bogs down in the playwright’s attempt to create a century-long epic.
Beginning with an endless introductory slide show, which uses vintage photos and a bristling soundscape to tell us about the plight of Jews in the waning days of czarist Russia, and ending with an abrupt narrative shift, “The Immigrant” stretches and strains its slender backbone.
When first we see Haskell Harelik (David Marshall Silverman), based on the author’s grandfather, he’s peddling bananas from a cart for “a penny a piece.” With nowhere to sleep, bathe or get a drink of water, he’s a poignant sight —- and soon catches the eye of house frau Ima Palmer (Jill Jane Clements) and her husband, Milton (Bruce Evers). The Palmers give Haskell shelter and hatch a plot that turns him into the town’s foremost dry-goods purveyor.
Haskell is eventually joined by his scared, shaken wife, Leah (Mira Hirsch), whose late arrival makes the structure feel a little out of whack, until you realize the story is really just beginning.
Leah brings her own set of issues —- she’s resistant to the new turf and worries that Haskell’s deserting the old ways of Judaism. The couple has three sons, one of whom they name Milton — a sweet gesture you see coming a mile away.
As directed by Susan Reid, the entire cast delivers commendable performances —- from Evers’ appropriately grumpy Milton to Clements’ pluckish Ima. Hirsch and Silverman imbue the Russian emigres with nuance and authenticity and even capture their slowly disappearing accents.
The play looks good, too, thanks to Sydney Roberts’ period costumes and Michael Halad’s set, which resembles a deconstructed house of worship and provides panels for the historic footage and slides.
In the end, “The Immigrant” feels like a family album whose photos and stories have been glued into place with a rigid regard for memory and fact. As a parable of brotherly love and religious acceptance, the play does make a nice communal meal. Yet while it fills you up with sweetness, it leaves you wanting more.
THE 411: 7:30 p.m. Wednesdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Sundays. Through April 8. $16.20-$54. Theatrical Outfit, Balzer Theater at Herren’s, 84 Luckie St., Atlanta. 678-528-1500, www.theatricaloutfit.org.
THE VERDICT: Heavy on the schmaltz, light on the depth.
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Double Edge’s ‘Unpossessed’ @ 7 Stages
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “The Unpossessed,” 7 Stages. Through March 26.
Nothing like the tale of a lunatic windmill chaser to inspire a company of avant-garde theater artists.
In “The Unpossessed,� Massachusetts-based Double Edge Theatre performs a condensed version of “Don Quixote� replete with live music, shadow puppets and an evocative visual vocabulary that brings to mind a poor-man’s Cirque du Soleil.
At 7 Stages through March 26, the show feels less precious and cluttered than the theater’s “Relentless,� seen here in 2001, but ultimately reads like an earnest graduate thesis run amok.
“The Unpossessed� opens with a striking image: a couple of actor-windmills being pushed around on ladders draped in fabric while a New Age-y opera fills the room. True to form, the ever-hallucinating Man from La Mancha (Carlos Uriona) imagines the waving structures to be monsters.
Uriona’s diction isn’t as clear as it should be at first. But he eventually finds his voice and captures the mercurial nature of the Knight of the Sad Countenance, who nearly falls under the spell of the enchanted castle’s conjurers — a painterly scene, recalling a burnished Old Master.
As Quixote’s sidekick Sancho Panza, Matthew Glassman is the ensemble’s most expressive and articulate member. When Sancho’s accused of impregnating a princess, the imperilment of his buttocks pushes the physical shtick to an entertaining extreme.
Elsewhere, director Stacy Klein’s pacing is slow and labored, the humor mincing. It’s the kind of performance that doesn’t feel complete until a woman in shimmery fabric sails in on roller skates — if you catch my drift.
For all its theatricality, “The Unpossessed� rarely sustains the sense of magic, bedlam and adventure that defines Miguel de Cervantes’ 17th-century epic.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 5 p.m. Sundays. 10 a.m. Tuesday-Thursday. 6 p.m. Wednesday and 2 p.m. March 25. Through March 26. $20-$25. Double Edge Theatre, 7 Stages, 1105 Euclid Ave., Little Five Points. 404-523-7647; www.7stages.org.
THE VERDICT: Not mad about it.
‘Bus Stop’ @ Theatre in the Square
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Bus Stop.” Through April 23.
The front seat of William Inge’s classic romantic comedy “Bus Stop” may belong to cowboy-hoodlum Bo and come-hither lounge act Cherie, with whom Bo has fallen haplessly in love. But there’s plenty of room for memorable character actors, too.
There’s always a chance, say, that a sparkplug-y Grace (the diner operator played by Elaine Stritch in the original 1955 Broadway cast) or a well-lubricated Dr. Lyman can floorboard this seemingly indestructible comedic jalopy and hijack the show —- which, if you didn’t know, is set in a cozy coffee cup of a cafe in the middle of a Kansas snowstorm.
In Theatre in the Square’s buoyant, biracial revival, Neal A. Ghant, named best stage actor of 2005 by the AJC, is a surprising but ultimately smart choice for Bo, the strapping Montana rancher whose skills at courtship are about as polished as a buffalo’s. Crystal A. Dickinson, on a fast ride to becoming an Atlanta favorite, makes for a squealingly delightful Cherie (or “Cherry,” as Bo insists on calling his “chan-toosie” with a heart of gold).
Ghant is as heartbreaking as he is hammy. The suaver that Bo tries to be, the goofier he looks. And Dickinson’s comedic timing is such that even a line like “Did you ever see anybody like him?” is a scream.
But in an ensemble piece that’s chock-full of juicy secondary roles, hardworking James Donadio (Dr. Lyman) and adorable newcomer Myranda DeFoor (Elma Duckworth) are the unintentional stars.
Donadio is particularly good at playing boozers, lispy eccentrics and formerly grand personages who’ve fallen out of fashion. So as the frequently unemployed professor of literature with a taste for rye whiskey and underage women, he gets to be a little of all three types, and he’s wonderful.
But it’s DeFoor, Grace’s squeaky-clean waitress and Lyman’s Lolita, who nearly drives off with the show. As the giddy emcee of the impromptu cabaret, Elma is an antidote to boredom all right, and her approximation of Juliet’s balcony scene is golden. (Inge may be a borrower, but at least he steals from the best, Plautus and Shakespeare.)
Though the hillbilly accents can seem a little silly, director Jessica Phelps West keeps the “Bus” moving in high gear and ramps up the physical tomfoolery of the two-hour layover.
“Bus Stop,” which created the template for innumerable tales of small-town America, as seen from the vantage point of a watering hole, pit stop, barbershop or hair salon, is a textbook comedy —- warm-hearted and hopeful.
But Inge was too serious a playwright to be purely sentimental. His characters yearn for things they don’t have and often don’t know how to get. When Bo’s ranching buddy Virgil (Steve Coulter) steps out into the dark morning and lights up a cigarette at the end, he’s at the beginning of a new and perhaps ominous journey.
In Inge’s world, even happy endings are tinged with sadness.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays. 2:30 p.m. and 7 p.m. Sundays. Through April 23. $18-$33. Theatre in the Square, 11 Whitlock Ave., Marietta. 770-422-8369; www.theatreinthesquare.com
THE VERDICT: A joy ride in a gleaming “Bus.”
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