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October 2007
Wash Post gives ‘Brewster Place’ a tepid review
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Washington Post theater critic Peter Marks has weighed in on “The Women of Brewster Place,” the new musical by Tim Acito that had its world premiere at the Alliance Theater in September. And Marks, like yours truly, thinks the piece finds beautiful music in the commonplace lives of its characters but that it needs a lot of work.
In his review, Marks writes:
Like its hardscrabble heroines, the new musical version of “The Women of Brewster Place” radiates potential. Composer-adapter Tim Acito tackles the daunting assignment of extolling and embroidering the lives of seven — count ‘em, seven — central characters, all of whom wash up in a rundown housing project in a hope-starved inner-city neighborhood.
The possibilities seem ripe for a poignant examination of the everyday struggle of being black and working-poor in the urban America of the mid-1970s. As yet, however, this musical, in a world premiere at Arena Stage, provides only tantalizing glimpses of the narratively integrated and emotionally enriching evening it strives to Although Acito proves a skillful tunesmith, conferring on his show a winning soulfulness, he hasn’t quite figured out how to whip the women’s disparate plights into a satisfying whole.
As a result, “The Women of Brewster Place” feels less like a polished bit of storytelling than it does a mere cycle of agreeable songs inspired by the sounds of the ’70s pop and R&B. Lacking a compelling center of gravity, the show hopscotches from character to character, vignette to vignette, in ways that too often seem to be excuses to sing rather than opportunities to shed light on the imploding lives of these spirited women.
By the end of the evening, we have to feel, as much as these characters do, that the imposing stone wall that separates blighted Brewster Place from the rest of an unnamed Northern city really could be obliterated by the power that the women derive from one another. At present, this cumulative strength is never adequately conjured, in part because the tale is so unfocused.
Here is Marks’ full review.
‘Comparing Books’ @ Jewish Theatre
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Grade: C-
Dominic — the preening gangster at the heart of Marc Goldsmith’s play “Comparing Books” — is equally inept at low-level crime and major assaults on the English language.
Charles Dickens, he says during his bungled attempt to collect a college kid’s gambling debt, was a “prophylactic writer,” and he himself has friends and associates of “semantic” descent. Watch your back, Mrs. Malaprop.
By the looks of this Jewish Theatre of the South world premiere, Goldsmith is a lover of bad wordplay, revolving-door farce, last-minute reversals of fortune and the kind of squishy, 11th-hour sermonizing typical of after-school specials. This isn’t necessarily a good thing.
When cocky Ivy Leaguer Brad Feingold (Eric Mendenhall) tries to pay off his bad bets with the “Israel bonds” he got for his bar mitzvah, everything in his parents’ Upper East Side apartment goes haywire —including dramatic logic. As characters arrive unexpectedly, Brad and Dominic (Jeff Portell) scramble to keep their risky business under wrap.
It takes supreme gullibility to believe that Dominic is Brad’s college professor. And as it turns out, Brad’s sister Michelle (Sharon Zoe Litzky) ain’t exactly college material, and his father, Leon (Mark Gray), is loaded on booze and pain-killers after a skiing accident. His mother, Sylvia (Vicki Ellis Gray), is so high-strung that she fails to notice the eccentric behavior transpiring in her own living room.
As directed by Melanie Martin Long, the parents come off as sit-com caricatures, while Portell, Mendenhall and Litzky transcend the inherent weakness of the writing. As Dominic’s boss, Panucci, Barry Stoltze transforms himself into a toupee-wearing, cane-waving, tush-slapping, lasagne-cooking old geezer.
Though you feel Goldsmith straining to cover up his wafer-thin premise with ridiculous situations and low comedy, “Comparing Books” is a disappointment. In the final minutes, the story makes an unexpected turn into territory that is blatantly sentimental and wretchedly inspirational.
Jewish Theatre’s commitment to new work is commendable. But its lack of dramaturgical rigor is starting to take its toll. Soon, if not already, it’s going to find itself comparing flops.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. 3 p.m. Sundays. Through Nov. 4. $18-$30. Jewish Theatre of the South, Marcus Jewish Community Center, 5342 Tilly Mill Road, Dunwoody. 770-395-2654, jplay.org
BOTTOM LINE: A comedy that’s as dysfunctional as its characters.
‘High School Musical: The Ice Tour’ @ Philips Arena
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
REVIEW. “Disney’s High School Musical: The Ice Tour.” Grade: D+
The ice has not been nice to “Disney’s High School Musical.”
Gliding into Philips Arena for a weekend-long run, “Disney’s High School Musical: The Ice Tour” puts a chill on the tween phenomenon that began in early 2006 with a made-for-TV film, then spawned an avalanche of hit singles, a concert tour, amateur and professional stage versions across the land and a ratings-busting August sequel.
Now all-American sweethearts Troy and Gabriella and flamboyant sibling thesps Ryan and Sharpay have hit the ice with a family singalong that turns the candy-colored slush into the artistic equivalent of a snow-cone accident.
Splat!
OK. Hold on. That’s not exactly fair. The skating is breathlessly executed by a dynamic young ensemble of athletes who have their heads (and toes) fully into the game of Charles “Chucky” Klapow’s intricate choreography.
For a story that hopscotches from a basketball gymnasium to a golf course to a baseball diamond, an arena-size skating spectacle is a smart way to create stunning visual pictures at breakneck speed (although it’s worth pointing out that the Arizona desert looks a little odd on a surface of ice).
But by all accounts, it’s virtually impossible to “getcha, getcha, getcha” axels in a triple while carrying a tune. The solution, then, is to lipsynch the songs and dialogue to a recorded soundtrack — an approach that runs counter to the very idea of putting on a musical. Instead of acting, you get a lot of exaggerated hand-waving and over-the-top pantomime.
And since fabulous hair is such a big part of the “High School Musical” hipness factor, many of the performers are required to cover their sensible real-life dos with frightful fashion don’ts: bad wigs.
Everyone knows there’s no way Sharpay would ruin her Gucci-Prada-Dolce wardrobe with clumpy blonde locks. And why would Troy want to kiss Gabriella and risk getting a fake hair in his mouth? G-ross.
What must be said about “High School Musical: The Ice Tour” is that the performances sizzle. The former professional ice-skater I invited to the show pronounced the artistry impressive and the choreography daunting.
Indeed, Brad Santer (Troy) and Amanda Billings (Gabriella) skate like angels. Their duet to “Breaking Free” (“We’re soaring, we’re flying”) is breathtaking, particularly when Santer lifts off the ice for an airborne second or two.
With his fluttery mannerisms and slender physique, Adam Loosley captures the essence of Ryan — with that trademark cap parked at just the right angle. Only Kristen Treni (Sharpay) disappoints, with a diminutive silhouette and attitude that seems too subdued for the bristling diva-devil.
“High School Musical” is a pop-culture force that is covering the planet like a carpet of karaoke kudzu. Kids know every lyric, parents cringe over empty wallets, and Disney celebrates the magic of the East High School brand. Shiver to think it: But this cavalcade of frost-friendly lipsynchers may just be the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
THE 411: 10:30 a.m and 7:30 p.m. today. 11 a.m., 3 p.m. and 7 p.m. Saturday. 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. Sunday. Through Sunday. $15-$35. Philips Arena. 404-249-6400, highschoolmusicaltheicetour.com
BOTTOM LINE: The beloved tween brand gets rinky-dink treatment.
Gash to go on in ‘Sleuth’
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Kent Gash directed the Alliance Theatre’s “Sleuth” — and tonight he’ll go on for ailing actor David De Vries, playing British detective novelist Andrew Wyke, a character who entraps his wife’s lover in a convoluted psychological chess match.
Gash could not be reached for comment Tuesday afternoon. Perhaps he was holed up studying the script.
It’s a big part, and according to Alliance spokesman Robert Saxon, it was Gash’s decision not to hire an understudy for De Vries, who is said to be suffering “vocal stress.”
Saxon said that some patrons may see tonight’s pinch-hitting as the kind of “adventure” that only live theater can offer. He said the box office would work with audience members who would like to re-schedule or get a refund.
Gash will play opposite Carl Cofield’s Milo Tindle. Both actors are African-American, so it will be interesting to see what they make of the material, which Laurence Olivier and Michael Caine famously captured in a 1972 film.
As best as we can tell, Gash has not appeared onstage in Atlanta since the 1987 national tour of “La Cage Aux Folles” at the Fox Theatre.
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‘Bach at Leipzig’ @ Aurora
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Grade: B -
We tend to think of Johann Sebastian Bach’s music as lofty, sublime, perfect — “an argument for the existence of God,” as one Bach scholar recently put it. To his contemporaries, however, Bach was competent but not great.
After he died, no one bothered to save his music; hundreds of his scores were discarded as scrap paper. During his life, when important jobs came open, he had to audition like everyone else — and he wasn’t anybody’s first choice.
That’s the starting premise of “Bach at Leipzig,” Itamar Moses’ charmingly, maddeningly daffy play that wears its cleverness on its sleeve, running through Oct. 28 at Aurora Theatre in Lawrenceville.
In lucid, precision-timed direction by Danielle Mindess, and with a winning cast, the characters carve for themselves rounded personas: None is especially likable, none is forgettable.
It is June 1722. Leipzig. The revered Johann Kuhnau, music master of the Thomaskirche, dies at the pipe organ. Georg Philipp Telemann, “the greatest organist in Germany” (Jim Adkins, grandiloquent in his silence), is the favorite to capture the prestigious post.
Meanwhile, six nobodies — Moses concocted this cadre, based somewhat on historical figures; Bach never appears — can’t hope to compete on musical merits, so they scheme, swindle, poison, blackmail and counter-blackmail in hopes of landing the job.
All the wannabes are named either Johann or Georg (a point of comic confusion that never tires the playwright). There’s Lenck (Dan Triandiflou), a con man who hopes to restore his reputation through more trickery. Steindorff (Jeremy Aggers) is the pretty playboy who really wants to be a dancer. Kaufmann (Daniel Burnley) stumbles around in a geriatric fog. Graupner (Larry Davis), more talented than the others, still fears the charismatic Telemann.
One by one, each introduces himself by reciting a letter home before joining the thrust and parry of the others. Thus, all of act one is constructed — as we learn at the start of act 2 — like a six-voiced fugue in music. (The audience is encouraged to applaud Moses’ brilliance.) Act 2’s conceit is a play within a play, another opportunity to weave together six or more threads of verbal mayhem.
On occasion, grand ideas about art and society threaten to lift the wordplay and poppycock to a more cerebral plain. Schott (Al Stilo), the traditionalist, argues that Kuhnau prized craftsmanship, never innovation: “When you deny the musical principles laid down by our predecessors, you risk denying their religious ones as well.”
Fasch (Chris Ensweiler), the progressive, counters, “That is preposterous! New music might, in fact, reach those who do not like the work of our predecessors. …” But such chewable exchanges go nowhere, evaporating with the next rim-shot gag.
If “Bach at Leipzig” feels a lot like a Tom Stoppard play — think “Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead,” about two insignificant characters yanked out of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” — it’s intentional. Although he credits Stoppard as his influence, Moses can’t match his idol’s balance of theatrical artifice with dramatic substance.
Perhaps that explains why there’s hardly any music in this production (Thom Jenkins gets sound design credit), which further reinforces the notion that “Bach at Leipzig” isn’t about the complexities of art and mankind, but merely a crafty play about itself, clever for cleverness’ sake.
THE 411: 8:00 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays and 2:30 p.m. Saturdays and Sundays. Through Oct. 28. $18 - $25. Aurora Theatre, 128 Pike St., Lawrenceville. 678-226-6222, www.auroratheatre.com
BOTTOM LINE: Charming, daffy but not very deep.
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‘Sleuth’ @ Alliance Theatre
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Grade: B -
Some people insist that Anthony Shaffer’s detective fiction send-up “Sleuth” is a one-twist wonder that’s as thinly worn as an old smoking jacket.
Others will argue that you don’t need an inspector’s magnifying glass to see that the 31-year-old English farce is a richly woven tapestry of bristling dialogue, social satire and pink lingerie.
Ooops. Make that “psycho-sexual politics.”
By the looks of the lavishly decorated, racially fine-tuned production at the Alliance Theatre, associate artistic director Kent Gash probably falls into the second category.
The minute Edward E. Haynes Jr.’s sumptuous country-house living room rolls into view, stealthy as a cat burglar, and the audience applauds, you know Gash is up to his old trick of fluffing so-so material to the nth degree. Got a dubious play? Make ’em cheer the window dressing. The stained glass windows and monumental staircase! The giant Buddha-head and the gilded Empire clock!
OK, I admit it. I love the set. And — this is really embarrassing — Carl Cofield’s radical makeover at the top of Act Two actually had me fooled for a good share of the scene. Did my snooze alarm malfunction?
If you aren’t familiar with this Agatha Christie-meets-Noel Coward dance of wit, about all we can reveal here is that it’s a tightly wound cat-and-mouse game between a successful crime-writing dandy named Andrew Wyke (David de Vries) and his wife’s travel-agent lover, Milo Tindle (Cofield).
Laurence Olivier played Wyke opposite Michael Caine’s Milo in a 1972 film treatment, and a new movie version, with screenplay by Harold Pinter, opens Nov. 9, starring Caine as Wyke and Jude Law as Tindle.
Cofield looks a little stiff when he first appears onstage. But as the night gnashes on, he sharpens his edge. He’s got to, if he wants to hold his own with de Vries, who attacks the multitudinous characters who spew forth from Wyke with scandalous aplomb. Wyke fancies himself as an intellectual heavyweight and “Olympian sexual athelete.” Yeah, right.
The fact that Cofield is an African-American actor playing an Englishman of Italian-Jewish descent is a casting tweak that underscores Wyke’s essential class snobbery and insecurity. It’s also a sign that Gash is delving into the fecund possibilities of human behavior.
What are Wyke’s true motivations? What is to believed and what is not? Who’s really in love with who? At the end of the day, “Sleuth” begs to be more than just a pretty set. The play may taste like a guilty pleasure at first bite, but it’s also possessed of an inner core that is deep, dark and devastating.
A lonely has-been. A grand staircase. A burst of gunfire. Perhaps it’s funny to think of “Sleuth” as a homoerotic version of “Sunset Boulevard.” But there it is.
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‘The Wedding Singer’ @ the Fox
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Grade: C
“The Wedding Singer” is an extended ’80s riff — mullet hairdos and leather pants, Boy George and Madonna, Ronald and Nancy.
As the Broadway non-hit at the Fox Theatre rocks on, we see that some of these cultural totems have become indispensible while others have been rendered obsolete. A few years from now, the frothy musical based on the Adam Sandler film vehicle is likely to taste as fresh and relevant as one of the bad ideas it so gleefully parodies. Remember New Coke?“The Wedding Singer,” which failed to earn a single 2006 Tony Award, is a Jersey-style celebration of bad taste in fashion— and love.
Robbie Hart (Merritt David Janes) lives in his grandmother’s basement with his Cure posters — eeking out a kind of living singing at weddings, anniversaries and bar mitzvahs. Julia Sullivan (Erin Elizabeth Coors) is the sweet, pretty banquet server who catches his eye. The problem is that both are engaged to the wrong person.
“The Wedding Singer” spends its every breath trying to bring the two together, and it takes forever. But if the couple’s various amorous diversions often make their romance nearly grind to a halt, the show is blessed by a few good performances and a 24-member ensemble that disco-dances the brains out of original choreographer Rob Ashford’s relentless steps.
Janes and Coors are perfect in this ode to the time-honored mantra of being yourself. Success and money be damned.
But after the warm and fuzzies subside, the performances that stick in the mind are those of John Jacob Lee as Robbie’s bandmate George, Penny Larsen as his grandmother, Rose, and Andrea Andert as his vampy first love, Linda, who breaks his heart when she sings: “I realized you cramped my style as I crimped my hair.” (Lyrics, incidentally, are by Chad Beguelin, music by Matthew Sklar, book by Beguelin and Tim Herlihy.)
Lee brings a lot of high-strung energy and screams to a part that was plainly modeled on Boy George. “George’s Prayer” is partly sung in Yiddish and ends with a bow worthy of Joan Crawford. As a cute little grandma with an adventurous past, Larsen is a hoot, while Andert exults in being a very nasty girl.
As excessive as the decade it parodies, “The Wedding Singer” is as saccharin and sentimental as wedding cake. Tastes good. Probably won’t hurt you. Gone in a minute.
‘Richard III’ @ Georgia Shakes
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW: Grade B
Richard III has a ghoulish, painted-on face and fiendish demeanor that brings to mind Jack Nicholson’s take on Batman’s Joker.
Queen Margaret — a royal dowager who loses everything in Shakespeare’s blood orgy about the famously deformed and murderous Richard III — is a raging, Miss Havisham-style avenger in tattered clothes and platinum frightwig.
Seems that the order of the day for Georgia Shakespeare’s season finale is to turn the wildly melodramatic English history play “Richard III” into a Halloween horror house worthy of gasps and giggles. With brilliant timing and wicked style, director Richard Garner delivers a quick and dirty rendering of the weirdly decadent play in which human suffering takes on the sheen of grisly entertainment.
Richard III is a virulent strain of a power-hungry man, and in Shakespeare’s view, he’s also a dazzling theatrical showman — a tricky Dick who speaks directly to the audience and revels in his heinous deception. Joe Knezevich, aided by a black-and-white hairdo that accentuates Richard’s schizophrenic streak, exhults in the gleefully infant behavior of the title character. It’s a bold, hooky performance that frequently gets good comedic payoff but occasionally plays like a gimmick.
A lean staging that unfolds on a tall stack of all-black bleachers topped with vertical blinds of light-catching silver, “Richard III” becomes a revolving door for nimble actors who must make numerous split-second changes. James Donadio, Brik Berkes and several other troupers play more roles than you can keep count of — all admirably.
But after Knezevich, the performers to watch here are the women: Tess Malis Kincaid as the demented Margaret — a shrill harbinger of death who appears with a battered umbrella every time another head is about to role. Courtney Patterson as Elizabeth, who communicates her suspicions of Richard with astutely expressive eyes and body language. Park Krausen as Anne, who spits in the evil king’s face, then succumbs to his wooing.
As full of surprises as a bucket of Halloween candy, this smartly designed production also features ill-fated royal youngsters with adorable electronic toys, a stunning coronation scene that shows off Richard’s hobbled anger (and his stupendously long red cape) and an original score by Haddon Givens Kime.
Sydney Roberts makes costumes that are alternately hip and snug (for the men) and silky and ostentatious (for the women), while Kat Conley’s tiered set hints at the shaky structural underpinnings of the crown.
It takes a delicate directoral touch to balance the tone of this uneven but perpetually popular drama. This “Richard III” succeeds in leavening expectations of terror and tragedy with unexpected snatches of comedy and satire. We may not understand the king’s quest for power, but we can’t stop watching it either.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays. 2 p.m. Sundays. Through Nov. 4. $15-$40. Georgia Shakespeare, Conant Performing Arts Center, Oglethorp University, 4484 Peachtree Road N.E. 404-264-0020. gashakespeare.org
THE VERDICT: Wicked good.
‘The Water Coolers’ @ Horizon
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Grade: C-
Dancing water coolers. A fantasy about an “I.T. Cowboy” who makes personal visits to fix troublesome computers. A so-called M.O.H. (“male office hottie”) who has every intention of being a C.E.O.
Working 9-to-5 has never seemed so insistently asinine as it does in Thomas Michael Allen and Sally Allen’s “The Water Coolers: An Office Musical,” a show that’s gurgling up a lot of tepid nonsense at Horizon Theatre.
Director Heidi Cline’s ensemble of five workaday fools deserve a raise and a promotion for maintaining a professional attitude while mangling the lyrics of Cyndi Lauper (“Panic Monday”) and The Beach Boys (“In My Cube”) — and generally giving their all to a bunch of hooey that feels as dated and inefficient as a fax machine.
The performances are good. But the sub-par material feels more like one of those turgid commercial musicals that’s become a 14th Street Playhouse mainstay than the kind of scintillating contemporary drama that Horizon wishes to be known for. The modern office environment may be synonymous with deadlines, hangovers, technical difficulties, sexist innuendo and diversity awareness, but is that any excuse for making actors partner dances with water bottles?
Agnes Harty makes a heartfelt impression with the song “One Rung Higher,” about the never-ending struggle to balance a career and family. Newcomer Lauren Jones is a deft and expressive comedian — particularly when her daffy character makes an appearance on Oprah. (“Will I get a car?”) And Jason McDonald, perfectly cast as the “office hottie,” has such a big booming voice that he oughta be in opera.
But in this one-note musical, pop tunes are retrofitted with new lyrics to lame and lamentable effect, and the ongoing theme of exasperation rarely passes for inspiration.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Wednesdays-Fridays. 8:30 p.m. Saturdays. 5 p.m. Sundays. Through Nov. 11. $25-$30. Horizon Theatre, 1083 Austin Ave., Little Five Points. 404-584-7450, horizontheatre.com
BOTTOM LINE: Your cup won’t runneth over.
‘Colorado’ @ Dad’s Garage
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. Grade: C-
It should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with Dad’s Garage Theatre that those wacky playmakers over there on Elizabeth Street chose “Colorado” by Peter Sinn Nachtrieb to open their new season.
The over-the-top comedy has the requisite broadly drawn caricatures that do and say outrageous things, make light of dark topics, crack crudely about sex, and pepper the whole business with pop culture references. In other words, it’s business as usual.
Directed by Kate Warner, the dark comedy is set in the home of a family whose world revolves around 17-year-old Tracey (Elizabeth Neidel), a mean-spirited beauty pageant contestant who’s just been crowned Miss Late-Teen Colorado and is preparing to compete in the nationals in Virginia Beach. But when she mysteriously goes missing, her high-strung mom (Kathleen Wattis), browbeat dad (Doyle Reynolds) and weirdo brother (Randy Havens) each unravel in their own dysfunctional ways.
But really, who cares about the plot? It’s just a vehicle for smart-alecky humor and raunchy asides, most of which fell flat on opening night despite the back row of patrons (friends of the actors?) loudly yukking it up.
There is one moment when a spark of something below the surface is revealed. Toward the end of the second act, three characters simultaneously realize that their self-medicating habits —- overeating, inappropriate sex, self-help books —- no longer fill the void in their lives. But that revelation is quickly doused and forgotten. No time for exploring the darker sides of this black comedy. It’s on to the next joke.
Attending plays at Dad’s Garage is a theatergoing experience unlike any other in the city. The upside is that it attracts young audiences like no other theater in town. The downside is that it too often attracts them by striking the same sophomoric note onstage and cultivating a frat-party vibe.
When my companion for the evening expressed surprise that patrons were carrying in buckets of beer, I nodded knowingly and told her to wait. Sure enough, during a rare quiet moment in the production, one bucket was kicked over, sending bottles clattering down the steps.
Just another night at Dad’s Garage.
BOTTOM LINE: A dark comedy of smart-alecky humor and raunchy jokes, much of which falls flat.
THE 411: Through Oct. 20. 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays. $12-$20 advance, $14-$22 at door. Dad’s Garage Theatre. 280 Elizabeth St., Atlanta. 404-523-3141. www.dadsgarage.com
‘Bat Boy’ plays North Springs this weekend, Edinburgh next year
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
This weekend and next, you can see why North Springs High School has been invited to Scotland’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe - twice. The performing arts magnet school in Sandy Springs opens “Bat Boy: The Musical” tonight, and it’s in the process of trying to raise $250,000 to take the show to the Fringe next summer.
I saw a technical rehearsal and run-through of the first act last night, and was impressed and amazed by the quality of the work and the provocative choice of material. No “Oklahoma!” or “My Fair Lady” for these edgy kids.
“Every year they try to get me fired,” Principal Vicky L. Ferguson joked of the racy selection. “Last year, they did ‘Urinetown.’ “
Ferguson said one reason the performing arts program is so successful is because her faculty members are working theater professionals. “Bat Boy” director Brian Kimmel is a founding member of Out of Hand Theatre, and technical director Marty Aikens is a founder of Jack in the Black Box. Both Out of Hand and Jack in the Black Box are relatively young intown ensembles whose adventurous programming have won them notice in recent years.
Aikens tells me that North Springs students frequently move on to such top-notch performing arts universities as Northwestern and New York University. “We have a real jewel here, hidden away in Sandy Springs, where kids can major in acting, tech theater, dance, film, orchestra, voice, etc., and receive an entire four years of training in any of those subject areas,” Aikens said via email. It’s “more intense than some college programs.”
You can catch “Bat Boy” - starring junior Greg Kamp as the fangy, blood-sucking half-bat half-boy - tonight at 7, Saturday at 2 and 7 p.m. and Sunday at 7 p.m.
Next weekend, the school will present a cut version of the show that it plans to enter in the Georgia Theatre Conference’s one-act competition. Those shows are Friday-Sunday at 7 p.m.
North Springs - now known officially as the North Springs Charter School of Arts and Sciences — is at 7447 Roswell Road, at the intersection of Roswell and Dalrymple. 770-551-2490. Tickets are $5 for students and $10 for adults.
‘Rabbit Hole’ @ Theatre in the Square
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. GRADE: B +
The 4-year-old boy is everywhere.
He’s in the clothes his mother gently folds and places into a laundry basket. In the fingerprints she wants to erase from the walls of the family’s suburban New York City home. In the video his father watches late at night when he thinks no one can see him.
Such vestiges of grief are smeared all over David Lindsay-Abaire’s “Rabbit Hole,” which describes a family so shattered by a young boy’s accidental death that it is on the verge of disintegrating. A playwright known for exploiting the eccentricities and permutations of parent-child relationships (“Kimberly Akimbo”), Lindsay-Abaire here positions his microscopic lens on a normal-looking specimen of the American middle class — revealing its fragile emotional core in wrenching detail.
Winner of the 2007 Pulitzer Prize for drama, “Rabbit Hole” is getting a crisply designed, smartly acted production at Marietta’s Theatre in the Square. Directed by Susan Reid and starring Atlanta newcomer Antonia Fairchild as Becca (the role that won actress Cynthia Nixon a Tony Award), “Rabbit Hole” finds considerable strength and integrity in its understatement.
As Becca’s borderline-trashy sister Izzy (the excellent Kate Donadio) reveals her pregnancy and her mother Nat (Marianne Fraulo in top form) prattles on about the tragedies of Rose Kennedy and Aristotle Onassis, Lindsay-Abaire slowly plants clues about what’s troubling Becca. She makes fabulous desserts, but she is as shaky inside as her creme carmel. Angry, alienated and sexually tense, she refuses to be comforted — or to share her grief.
Becca shuns the romantic advancements of her husband (Charles Horton) and resents her mother for mentioning the premature death of Becca’s brother. Her little boy, Danny, she says, was “a 4-year-old who chased his dog into the street.” Her brother, Arthur, on the other hand, was a “30-year-old heroin addict who hung himself.” Cruel and hypocritical, she turns her wrath on her sister for … well, you name it. For being pregnant, for having bad taste in shower curtains, for hitting a woman in a bar fight.
The only thing that will eventually get through to Becca is a visit from Jason, the remorseful teenager who ran over her son. But instead of steam-rolling the young man (a somewhat tentative Matthew Judd), she gives him lemon bars and milk and asks him about his prom and his fiction-writing. This is an interview with the teenage son she will never have.
With heavy makeup and frizzy hair, Donadio swaps her trademark elegance for an uncharacteristically funny “Flashdance” attitude, and Fraulo, often so mordant, reveals a sweetly tender underside. Horton evinces a skillful performance by slowly depicting Howie’s own grief, exhaustion and frustration.
The show’s design team revels in the utter normality of the character’s fashion and decorating decisions. Jonathan Williamson’s set resembles nothing so much as a collision of a Pottery Barn catalog and an Ikea showroom. And Linda Patterson’s clothes are equally unremarkable.
“Rabbit Hole” burrows deep into an endless void of sadness while avoiding cliches of noisy prostration and overwrought emotion. Slowly and quietly, Becca and Howie move toward a place of light, love and forgiveness. Theirs is not a miraculous rebirth. But it’s a babystep.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays. 2:30 and 7 p.m. Sundays. Through Nov. 11. $22-$33. Theatre in the Square, 11 Whitlock Ave., Marietta 770-422-8369. theatrein thesquare.com
Bottom Line: A deeply moving portrait of grief — and grace.
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