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July 2006
‘Complete Works’ @ The Tavern
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Through Aug. 6. Grade: C
A Three Stooges-like mayhem reigns at New American Shakespeare Tavern these days.
Actually, that might be too highbrow. The low vaudeville gags and physical stunts of “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)” make Moe poking Curly in the eye seem subtle.
The gang of Jeff McKerley, Tony Brown and Paul Hester exploits every outrageous pun, bodily-function reference and juvenile joke in the text. But why be a spoilsport? The sold-out audience lapped up every vomit scene, kick to the groin and bop over the head like the big bowls of ice cream served at intermission. And —- shades of “Peachtree Battle” —- the production is freshened with references to contemporary political figures and darts at the Atlanta theater community. They even joke about Snellville.
Of course, the crowd should love the show —- it plays a huge part in it. The players joke about and intermingle with the folks at the tables who, in turn, yell out jests and gibes that spark asides and ad-libs.
In a long sendup of “Hamlet,” a young woman is called onstage to play Ophelia, delivering a deftly timed Freudian scream after the audience is divided into three sections —- her ego, superego and id —- and shouts messages to her.
For Shakespeare buffs, the production fondly, but often tritely, makes sport of the plays’ absurdities. With exaggerated Scottish accents, for example, the cast targets the ancient theatrical superstition that mentioning “Macbeth” by name brings misfortune. A hip-hop “Othello” proves that white men can’t rap.
The production showcases McKerley, the Shakespeare Tavern’s over-the-top screwball who serves as Vegas-sleazy master of ceremonies and top banana. The audience deliriously responded to his outrageous costumes, adolescent clowning and exaggerated leers, but his relentless pratfalls grow tedious.
Brown makes a gentle, amiable Falstaffian presence. And the young Hester energetically goes into drag to play Shakespearean women from Juliet to Ophelia, always finding cause to puke up great streams of Silly String. In a welcome break from the gags, Hester nicely delivers the “What a piece of work is man” speech from “Hamlet.”
But that’s the only moment of the show “noble in reason” —- the rest is chaos. Those with an appetite for slapstick and off-color humor should have a rollicking time, but more squeamish folks will endure a long evening.
“The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)”
THE 411: 7:30 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays; 6:30 p.m. Sundays. Through Aug. 6. $16-$32. Atlanta Shakespeare Company at New American Shakespeare Tavern, 499 Peachtree St., Atlanta. 404-874-5299, www.shakespearetavern.com.
THE VERDICT: A gag-a-thon —- all 37 of the Bard’s plays presented in 97 minutes.
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True Colors’ ‘Rejoice!’ at the NBAF
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Through July 30. Grade: B -
In 1928, Thomas A. Dorsey wrote a sensual honky-tonk hit that would bite him in the behind for the rest of his life. “Tight Like That� was the favorite ammuntion of the buttoned-up church brethren who claimed the Georgia-born father of gospel was too lewd for the Lord.
Imagine how the cantankerous gospel patriarch at the center of Cheryl L. West’s “Rejoice!� responds when his offspring come up with the hip-hop-flavored “Me and My God Got It Tight Like That.� For using the urban lingo and sexy dance steps of their time, the young upstarts are accused of the same kind of heresy that plagued Dorsey. Eventually, the old-school faction ends up performing at gospel buffets, and the contemporary offshoot, Hip, Hop & Shout, gets a Grammy nomination.
West’s world premiere — produced by True Colors Theatre as part of the National Black Arts Festival — is a rousing response to a hot topic in the African-American community. Directed by Kenny Leon and featuring a divinely inspired ensemble of singers, actors, dancers and choristers, “Rejoice!� is a cross-generational, cross-cultural crowd-pleaser that is certain to be a major hit for the NBAF.
As a toe-tapping, hand-clapping, rafter-shaking tribute to the music of Dorsey, the show is virtually irresistible. But as a literary exercise, it comes across as flimsy, melodramatic and emotionally slender — a three-hour epic that introduces at least nine major characters and rides on a plot that’s as creaky as the gospel family’s tour bus.
You really need a family tree to keep track with Marchin’ Mississippi Macon (Hassan El-Amin) and his entourage of sons, daughters, in-laws, partisans, etc. West’s characters are often stock creations: a spinster daughter (Hannah, played by Roz White Gonsalves); a player son (Matthew Johnson as Junior); a wisecracking daughter-in-law who undergoes an 11th-hour conversion (Shaunyce Omar as Candy); and a beloved wife who doubles as a referee (Chandra Currelly as Zee). The piece is also cluttered by two backup trios, the Cuties and the Aunties.
Perhaps the biggest surprise is the arrival of Coot D’Crow (Eric Ankrim), a backwoods eccentric from Tennessee who longs to fit in to the group and takes a shine to Sarah (Julie Dickens), the apple of Daddy Macon’s eye. While there’s some charming business including a bottle of hot sauce, Coot’s redneck-meets-hip-hop mannerisms and the general sassiness of the female contingent (particularly Omar’s Candy, God love her), there are so many personalities competing for air time that it’s nearly impossible to sketch detailed character studies.
Thankfully, the top-notch cast makes up for the dramaturgical lapses with wonderfully expressive performances and fantastic vocals. Ankrim and Currelly are insistent muggers but adorable nonetheless. El-Amin and Dickens are quite good. Gonsalves, Johnson and Omar are excellent.
When all is said and done, “Rejoice!� would be nothing without its backbone of dance and music.
While choreographer Patdro Harris imbues the massive ensemble with esprit de corps and kicky, comedic touches, the superstar of this entire effort is J. Michael, who arranged Dorsey’s work, conducts the five-man band, leads the 25-member choir and wrote the contemporary numbers “Let God Do the Do,� “Me and My God Got It Tight Like That� and “Rejoice!� — which closes the show. (Lyrics are by West.)
Well-intentioned and likable, “Rejoice!� has a long way to go in the story department. But the music is beyond reproach. Considering that all tickets are $15, you’d be a scamp to miss it.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays. 2:30 p.m. Saturdays-Sundays. 1 p.m. July 26 only. Through July 30. $15. True Colors Theatre, Alliance Theatre, Woodruff Arts Center, 1280 Peachtree St. N.E., Midtown. 404-733-5000; truecolorstheatrecompany.com
THE VERDICT: Joyful sounds, so-so story.
‘Lawrenceburg’ @ Dad’s Garage
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Through July 22. Grade: B+
Travis Sharp, a strapping Dad’s Garage improv comedian who looks like he could wrestle down a moose, has emerged out of nowhere to write the ensemble’s best show of the season.
“Lawrenceburg,” an assemblage of caricatures that riffs on “Star Wars” and “The Dukes of Hazzard,” has been playing to sellout crowds that appreciate the playwright’s pop culture references and his playful-serious attack on the corporate bad guys who are paving the paradise of small-town America.
Directed by Freddie Ashley and starring a whacked-out posse of crackerjack comedians, “Lawrenceburg” pits the revved-up heroes of the titular hamlet against the corrupt politicos who’ve sold their souls to an encroaching superstore called, ahem, Mall-Mart.
As usual with a Dad’s Garage offering, this means plenty of blowhard performances, bottom-dollar technology and cheesy sexual innuendo. With only one woman in a company of seven, you can probably see where a lot of the macho butt-slapping and chauvinism is headed.
That said, plucky vocal acrobat Eve Kreuger fits right in as damsel-in-distress Lily May and other characters, including Bible-thumping postmistress Ainty (as in an “auntie” who’s heavy on the naysaying). Z Gillispie is a young, thumb-sucking Bubba named Mark, who engages the help of hippie-hermit Weird Wally (Randy Havens) to fight off the surreptitiously evil mayor (Sharp) and sheriff (John Benzinger).
Weed and LSD are Weird Wally’s secret weapons, but he and Mark wouldn’t stand a chance without truck-driving accomplices Blacktop Cowboy (Matt Horgan) and his sidekick, Levi (Benzinger).
Benzinger’s sheriff, who also happens to be a snake-handling evangelical, is a little too ghoulish and rather reminiscent of Raphael, the character he played in “Say You Love Satan” a few years ago. But his tobacco-chewing, Yoohoo-toting Levi is extraordinary. Half the time, you can’t hear what Levi is saying because his mouth is stuffed so full of “chaw,” but Benzinger nails every detail of this redneck moron —- glazed look, bumbling chuckle, shaggy mullet and all.
Sharp’s mayor is also a real doozy, and his town-hall-style Mall-Mart debate is a classic. While Horgan poses as all the citizens, the mayor extols the virtues of one-stop shopping. Mall-Mart, he reasons, is the only place you can get doilies and manure, sweet potatoes and candied yams. Trying to define pickles, he says: “They’s like a cucumber that goes into a cave.”
Besides such bizarre Appalachian phrases, Sharp’s best contribution may be his character’s signature yell. It’s not just any old “yee-haw,” but a snort redolent of spittle, swine, sweat and the film “Deliverance.”
When Sharp and his hammish colleagues find a theme that resonates, they pick at it like dueling banjos, and in the tight quarters of Dad’s Top Shelf space, the audience finds naughty pleasure in the proximity.
No wonder “Lawrenceburg” has become a cult favorite. If the troupe’s smart, they’ll remount this lulu later —- or turn it into a serial soap. Yee-haw.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Fridays-Saturdays. Also 8 p.m. July 20. Through July 22. $15. Dad’s Garage, Top Shelf, 280 Elizabeth St., Atlanta. 404-523-3141, dadsgarage.com.
THE VERDICT: Skanky humor and big-box bashing.
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‘Three Sistahs’ at Horizon Theatre
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Through Aug. 27. Grade: C +
Olive, Marsha and Irene don’t sip tea from a samovar or throw back vodka. They are packing up their father’s house to move somewhere, but it’s not Moscow. There’s a whiff of revolution in the air, but there’s nothing Russian about martyrs with names like King and Kennedy.
Chekhov might not recognize “Three Sistahs,” the play with music that Thomas W. Jones II has so freely adapted from the century-old masterpiece. Set in Washington, D.C., in the ’60s, the revision retains its essential shape. But the Bancroft siblings seem far more in tune to the social change that engulfs them than the Prozorov gals, who were so quiet and melancholy.
And yet, like their literary inspirations, these three are loathe to talk about the defeats and disappointments that have clouded their inner lives and troubled their family dynamic.
But give them a little time and a lot of red wine, and their anger will out. And so will the assortment of spirituals, blues and soulful pop tunes that inform their long night of confession and confrontation, which Jones directs for Horizon Theatre.
This is the third summer that Jones has collaborated with Horizon to produce a show during the National Black Arts Festival —- last year he did “Blue” and, before that, “Two Queens, One Castle” —- and based on the number of people trying to get into a sold-out weekend matinee, Jones has developed quite the following. Connecting with an African-American audience can be a challenge, so such a turnout is exciting stuff and no small feat for Horizon.
Aesthetically speaking, however, I admit I’m more impressed by the performances and music than Jones’ book and Janet Pryce’s story. (William Hubbard wrote the tunes and Jones the lyrics.) The writers go for cheap, often bawdy jokes, as when Olive describes the “first time” she lost her virginity and Marsha dispatches the “40 acres and a mule” rule to say she’d “settle for two acres and a puppy.”
The rhythm also seems a little frenetic.
Lines are spoken with unnatural cadences, and the actors seems to move in unnecessary patterns —- like hens in a tizzy.
But here’s the thing: No matter how they get pushed around the stage, Bernardine Mitchell (Olive) and Crystal Fox (Marsha) know how to enliven dull material. Singing is as natural to them as drinking a glass of water, and everything they do is authentic.
Though Dorothy Bell’s vocals were sometimes spotty, her portrayal of Irene was energetic, fascinating, quirky and original.
Before the night is over, the sisters will hash over the motives and manners of their late father and brother, Andre, who has just died in Vietnam. Alas, Jones doesn’t offer much in the way of personal or political insight. But maybe he doesn’t need to. He’s not writing for Chekhov purists, after all.
These three sistahs have come to sing. All we have to do is listen.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Fridays. 8:30 p.m. Saturdays. 5 p.m. Sundays. Also 3 p.m. July 22. Through Aug. 27. $22-$27. Horizon Theatre, 1083 Austin Ave., Little Five Points. 404-584-7450. horizontheatre.com.
THE VERDICT: Russian grays meet African-American blues, to mixed results.
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‘Brooklyn’ @ the Fox
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Brooklyn The Musical.” Through Sunday, July 16. Grade: C -
“Rentâ€? found elegance in a gritty rock score and a style that encapsulated the edgy world of downtown Manhattan in the time of AIDS. “Catsâ€? scratched its chic straight out of the garbage cans, giving voice to a chorus of felines. “Miss Saigonâ€? and “Movin’ Outâ€? used the backdrop of Vietnam to evince operatic tales of battle-scarred love.
“Brooklyn The Musical� — the tale of a ragtag group of street performers who sing for their supper by creating a trash-can fairy tale about an orphan who journeys from Paris to America in search of her lost father — borrows heavily from all the above. It even throws in an “American Idol�-style plotline about a showdown between two divas, which must feel strangely familiar to Diana DeGarmo, the 2004 “Idol� runner-up who plays the lead in the musical that opened Tuesday night at the Fox Theatre.
But Mark Schoenfeld and Barri McPherson’s poorly received 2004 Broadway effort is more schlock than rock. Convoluted, craftless and shamelessly derivative, the show nonetheless gets by here on the killer performances of Melba Moore (as Brooklyn’s nemesis, Paradice) and Cleavant Derricks (the narrator), Tony winners both.
Amid such talent, DeGarmo holds her own as a fledgling star who’s still on a journey of discovery. In a thankless role, she is, at times, a charming actress, though her voice sounds purposefully calculated to make up for its emotional thinness. The former Snellville resident may be a big-winded pop diva in the mold of Celine Dion and Mariah Carey, but she takes a backseat to Moore.
As directed by Jeff Calhoun, who staged Deaf West Theater’s fantastic revival of “Big River,� “Brooklyn� unfolds on designer Ray Klausen’s “Rent�-like set of bombed-out black scaffolding scrawled with graffiti. The weary band of five players, including Lee Morgan as Brooklyn’s father and Julie Reiber as her mother, scrapes together its little play from the trash it finds on the street.
Part of the fun is watching Brooklyn gather up her tattered quilt and turn it into a regal gown, seeing how many many plastic grocery bags it takes to make her pouf-skirt or admiring the Noah’s Ark of stuffed animals that Paradice wears as a scarf. The costumes, by Tobin Ost, look like an art-school fashion project run amok.
Likewise, the narrative has a pieced-together, try-anything approach that looks dubious from the get-go. Too much talk of unfinished lullabies and the promise of miracles. “Sometimes with our tears, we can water roses,� says Brooklyn’s mother, just before she commits suicide. Oh, my.
The arrival of Paradice, a character who substitutes for Cinderella’s stepmother or the Wicked Witch of the West, comes out of nowhere and muddies the arc of the story. But Moore uses the material as a comic gristmill, and Paradice grinds everything in her midst to smithereens. If Brooklyn wins the singing competition, she’s going to give the money to charity. If Paradice wins, she’s “going to keep every last dime.�
Derricks’ Streetsinger functions something like the sinister narrator in “Jelly’s Last Jam.� But Streetsinger is a figure of love and magic, and he may be more connected to the story than we can see. Derricks’ voice flows like caramel and honey into the cracks of the messy drama.
With its Vietnam flashbacks, purloined letters and play-within-a-play framing, “Brooklyn� is all over the map. It’s a person. It’s a place. It’s a lost little girl searching for her identity. In the end, “Brooklyn� becomes its own worst metaphor. “Garbage� is a strong word, but there it is.
THE 411: 8 p.m. tonight-Saturday. 2 p.m. Saturday-Sunday. 7 p.m. Sunday. $20-$59. Theater of the Stars, Fox Theater, 660 Peachtree St., Midtown. 404-817-8700; foxtheatre.org.
THE VERDICT: Good performances but a gosh-awful story.
