Summer has arrived and the Roundhouse has redeemed itself.
Or, more accurately, I now know the drill. So after dinner at Garnett's we knew enough to be at the Roundhouse before 7 p.m., arriving to find the band set up and having a relaxed chat about the set list. What makes me think others had not yet learned their lesson was how few people had their butts in seats when Quatro na Bossa started playing shortly thereafter.
And, honestly, why on earth wouldn't you be on time for Brazilian Bossa Nova music from the '50s, '60s and '70s? I mean, really?
The evening's performance was extra poignant because it was guitarist Bruno's last show with the band now that he's moving to South Carolina as a doctor of music theory. His exquisite guitar playing and lovely voice will be missed, at least until he realizes he wants to return to Richmond (like they all do).
During the first song, an instrumental, singer Laura Ann stood off to the side listening, eventually making the executive decision (like women do) that we didn't need no stinkin' overhead light and turning it off. She was right, with sun pouring through three windows (unfortunately not open, though, like last week) behind the band and the door wide open to light, we had all the early summer sunlight we needed.
Let's just that when she joined the band onstage, it the lighting was much more appropriate for Brazilian music.
Because the syncopated sounds Quatro na Bossa play are so danceable and because we were all sitting in folding chairs, there was a lot of toe-tapping and seat dancing going on as Laura Ann and/or Bruno's voices rose and fell with each samba or Tropicalia song.
Happily, people kept arriving to give the band the audience it deserved.
Once the sun finally got near setting, a firefly found its way into the Roundhouse, flying around and reminding us of its presence periodically with a green glow before then showing up on the far side of the room to dazzle someone new.
It says so much about the music that despite not being able to understand a word of the lyrics, everyone was rapt listening to the music. All except the big galoot sitting in front of us, taking up three chairs by extending his arms across the two on either side of him and repeatedly staring at the ceiling, rubbing his face and looking bored out of his mind. Luckily, his date got the hint and they cut out early.
We stayed until the last note, reluctant to leave the magic of bossa nova and fireflies before retreating to J-Ward.
When it comes to Summer Solstice, that was celebrated outdoors by seeing Quill Theatre's production of "The Tempest" at Agecroft on a night when the weather could only be described as glorious. Breezy, low humidity and just warm enough, it was a night meant for being outdoors with just the right person, savoring the longest day of the year (also a bittersweet one now that days begin getting shorter).
We stopped at Goatocado to get dinner, bringing along birthday wine courtesy of my best friend in Texas (thanks, Buns!) and a slice of cake - my personal fave, chocolate with white icing - to celebrate multiple occasions. Spreading a quilt under a row of massive shade trees on Agecroft's back lawn, we had a view of the river, a breeze from multiple sides and live entertainment.
Four of Quill's costumed Young Players showed up, offering a song or a monologue for our pleasure. The first we chose was that of the melancholy Jacques from "As You Like It" and afterwards, they offered us another. The young man offering to do Puck in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" seemed especially animated and eager when he offered up his monologue, so I capitulated, telling him that it was obvious he was dying to dazzle us.
At several points, he was crouched on one knee or leaning forward looking about to spring onto us, so his antics were worth it.
Once inside, we chose seats in the third row center for best possible view. In the 20 past years of seeing Shakespeare at Agecroft, I have never tired of being close enough to see the actors spit, not to mention scale the nearby stone wall and deliver monologues. Translation: I like to be in the thick of things.
Sitting just behind us was a familiar acting face who now graces L.A. with his acting chops, but is back in town for a few. Last time I'd seen him at Agecroft, he'd been playing Sir Andrew Aguecheeck dressed in a brown suit. Hearing his guffaws throughout added a nice touch to tonight's show.
My standards for "The Tempest" are unusually high, only because back in the '90s, I saw Richmond Shakespeare (Quill's predecessor) do it on Fulton Hill with an approaching thunderstorm as backdrop and that's tough to beat.
This production got its points other ways, since the weather couldn't have been more un-tempest-like. The always-impressive Adam Turck made Ariel his own in gray-blue body paints, nervous tics and aim to please. Just watching him stand on the stone wall and react to what was happening onstage could have been a master class for a younger actor.
Jeff Clevenger has made a career of milking the humor in any character, making him the ideal person to play the jester Trinculo, besotted with wine and fearful of spirits. My fandom for Adam Valentine was born when I saw him in "Heathers" and tonight's turn as Alonso's butler "Stephano" showed that his take on humor is equal parts visual (that sad sack face he calls forth!) and gangly physicality. The scene of Trinculo and Stephano "hiding" in plain sight had the audience in stitches.
Sitting in the courtyard of a building that stood in Shakespeare's time, watching a time-honored play under a brilliant blue sky on the longest day of the year may take the cake in terms of exquisite ways to wile away the summer solstice a deux.
But then, anyone as stupidly happy as I am would think that. Just ignore me...
Showing posts with label the tempest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the tempest. Show all posts
Saturday, June 22, 2019
Thursday, May 2, 2013
A Tongue with a Tang
Oddly enough, it was my second time at Maymont in three days.
I'd been there Sunday to see the trees all dolled up in skirts.
I'm always curious to see how the VCU fashion students manage to make muslin look feminine on a tree, no easy challenge.
This year, they did it with a lot of red trim - rick rack, fuzzy balls and red stitching- but after the recent rain, most of the skirts looked kind of bedraggled.
But that was Sunday and tonight was something else entirely, with the skirts stripped off the trees and a stage set up on the carriage house lawn.
It was Richmond Shakespeare's annual gift to the city, a free performance, this year of "The Tempest."
True, I'd seen this very same production as recently as the last week of March, the difference being this time it was free and outside.
Where better to see a play about a storm than under a breezy May Day sky?
I knew from attending the last two years that it's smart to arrive early and secure a good patch of lawn and planned accordingly.
My fellow Bard-lover and I made Garnett's our first stop, getting a salad, a sandwich and coconut cake to tide us over.
Our server suggested we take our goodies away in one of their picnic baskets and it seemed like too good an idea not to take advantage of it.
"Just bring it back tomorrow," she said, waving us off to have a good time.
It wasn't a tough assignment.
We got there early enough to place our chairs front and center and enjoy a leisurely meal under a sky that vacillated between sunny and overcast.
Looking around, I saw lots of families and lots familiar-faced actors.
When I got up to use the port-a-potties just before the show began, I heard my name called and found two friends lounging on a blanket.
They had all kinds of goodies laid out and she promptly handed me her box of Merlot, saying, "Have a drink! I've only had one sip."
If not May Day to share swill, then when?
We chatted about ways to defuse a protest (he was thinking pink frou-frou shorts and a pink Confederate flag would totally disarm the protesters at the Confederate chapel), a worthy topic on this, the day of international workers' protest.
Back in my chair, the play was about to begin when, at the last moment, a couple spread a blanket directly in front of us.
I was all ready to think rude things about latecomers taking prime positions when I recognized a friend.
A friend I'd convinced to come.
The play began moments later when the cloud cover dissipated and blue sky began to show under wispy cloud scraps.
Since I'd just seen "The Tempest" staged, it was fun this time to enjoy the audience's reaction to what they were seeing.
When Prospero referred to "the rotten carcass of a butt," a little boy near me snickered in delight.
He said butt!
Unlike last time, I also got to watch as the sound effects were made.
We were seated very near the guitarist, keyboardist (who also did percussion) and she who rattled the sheet of metal to make thunder.
The beauty of the outdoor setting was how the cast made the most of it, jumping down on to the grass and gesturing to trees and sky.
During intermission, another friend came over to say hello.
Just yesterday, I'd gotten a message from him asking me what I knew about "The Tempest" at Maymont.
Everything, I'd told him, giving him the lowdown.
I was pleased to see he'd heeded my advice and chanced it.
Even if he was responsible for plopping down right in front of me at 6:59.
He and his friend were enjoying the play and we all marveled at John Mincks' energy and athleticism playing the sprite Ariel.
Repeatedly, he'd come out of nowhere, jumping up and over the set or down onto the lawn and springing back up effortlessly.
"I could do all that jumping," Friend claimed, "But not all that popping back up. Too old."
Aren't we all?
That's why jumping and springing is best left to 20-year olds.
By the time the second act began, the sky was a pale gray and the bugs were flitting around the stage lights.
By now lots of people had donned hoodies and blankets were draped over legs and shoulders.
At one point, Stephano, Trinculo and Caliban jumped off the stage and took off through the sea of blankets and chairs, screaming like banshees to great hilarity.
I could have tripped Caliban if I'd wanted to, he was so close.
It might have been funny, but that trio had already provided so many pratfalls and so much physical humor, cracking up the younger members of the audience over and over again, that they didn't need my help to get laughs.
Instead I just kept my rotten carcass in my chair and enjoyed the gift of Shakespeare in the park.
I almost said butt.
I'd been there Sunday to see the trees all dolled up in skirts.
I'm always curious to see how the VCU fashion students manage to make muslin look feminine on a tree, no easy challenge.
This year, they did it with a lot of red trim - rick rack, fuzzy balls and red stitching- but after the recent rain, most of the skirts looked kind of bedraggled.
But that was Sunday and tonight was something else entirely, with the skirts stripped off the trees and a stage set up on the carriage house lawn.
It was Richmond Shakespeare's annual gift to the city, a free performance, this year of "The Tempest."
True, I'd seen this very same production as recently as the last week of March, the difference being this time it was free and outside.
Where better to see a play about a storm than under a breezy May Day sky?
I knew from attending the last two years that it's smart to arrive early and secure a good patch of lawn and planned accordingly.
My fellow Bard-lover and I made Garnett's our first stop, getting a salad, a sandwich and coconut cake to tide us over.
Our server suggested we take our goodies away in one of their picnic baskets and it seemed like too good an idea not to take advantage of it.
"Just bring it back tomorrow," she said, waving us off to have a good time.
It wasn't a tough assignment.
We got there early enough to place our chairs front and center and enjoy a leisurely meal under a sky that vacillated between sunny and overcast.
Looking around, I saw lots of families and lots familiar-faced actors.
When I got up to use the port-a-potties just before the show began, I heard my name called and found two friends lounging on a blanket.
They had all kinds of goodies laid out and she promptly handed me her box of Merlot, saying, "Have a drink! I've only had one sip."
If not May Day to share swill, then when?
We chatted about ways to defuse a protest (he was thinking pink frou-frou shorts and a pink Confederate flag would totally disarm the protesters at the Confederate chapel), a worthy topic on this, the day of international workers' protest.
Back in my chair, the play was about to begin when, at the last moment, a couple spread a blanket directly in front of us.
I was all ready to think rude things about latecomers taking prime positions when I recognized a friend.
A friend I'd convinced to come.
The play began moments later when the cloud cover dissipated and blue sky began to show under wispy cloud scraps.
Since I'd just seen "The Tempest" staged, it was fun this time to enjoy the audience's reaction to what they were seeing.
When Prospero referred to "the rotten carcass of a butt," a little boy near me snickered in delight.
He said butt!
Unlike last time, I also got to watch as the sound effects were made.
We were seated very near the guitarist, keyboardist (who also did percussion) and she who rattled the sheet of metal to make thunder.
The beauty of the outdoor setting was how the cast made the most of it, jumping down on to the grass and gesturing to trees and sky.
During intermission, another friend came over to say hello.
Just yesterday, I'd gotten a message from him asking me what I knew about "The Tempest" at Maymont.
Everything, I'd told him, giving him the lowdown.
I was pleased to see he'd heeded my advice and chanced it.
Even if he was responsible for plopping down right in front of me at 6:59.
He and his friend were enjoying the play and we all marveled at John Mincks' energy and athleticism playing the sprite Ariel.
Repeatedly, he'd come out of nowhere, jumping up and over the set or down onto the lawn and springing back up effortlessly.
"I could do all that jumping," Friend claimed, "But not all that popping back up. Too old."
Aren't we all?
That's why jumping and springing is best left to 20-year olds.
By the time the second act began, the sky was a pale gray and the bugs were flitting around the stage lights.
By now lots of people had donned hoodies and blankets were draped over legs and shoulders.
At one point, Stephano, Trinculo and Caliban jumped off the stage and took off through the sea of blankets and chairs, screaming like banshees to great hilarity.
I could have tripped Caliban if I'd wanted to, he was so close.
It might have been funny, but that trio had already provided so many pratfalls and so much physical humor, cracking up the younger members of the audience over and over again, that they didn't need my help to get laughs.
Instead I just kept my rotten carcass in my chair and enjoyed the gift of Shakespeare in the park.
I almost said butt.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Sea Sorrow and Yellow M & Ms
It was the rough magic and the BOGO that sucked me in.
Not that I'm not always eager to see Richmond Shakespeare's latest offering, but their recent staged reading of "Rough Magic," a play re-imagining characters from "The Tempest" come to life in modern-day New York, had featured actors from their current production of "The Tempest."
Seeing how strong they were in the reading made me want to see the original.
So when Richmond Shakes announced tonight was going to be buy one ticket, get one free, I scratched out the other things in my little red book and found another Bard lover and set sail for St. Catherine's.
We barely made it in time, took seats in the back row available and I immediately realized that the guy in front of me was blocking my view. Almost entirely.
With all the nerve in the world, I nudged my companion and we moved up a row, climbing over the guys who'd been blocking our view.
By then the thunderous storm had begun on stage, a place of fantastical multi-colored trees, a rock holding a sorceress' son and the home of Prospero, the exiled duke of Milan.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
John Mincks as the spirit Ariel was a wonder, sprinting around the stage, leaping across platforms and generally showing the same impressive physicality he'd shown in last year's "Spring Awakening."
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
He was a perfect example of why one of the best things about this production was the casting.
Instead of the usual aged Propsero, here he was played by Charlie Raintree as a vibrant middle-aged man still in his prime and wearing the most magnificent embroidered magical coat.
Keep a good tongue in your head.
Just as impressive was the choice of Isabelle Andrews to play Propsero's daughter Miranda, a role that calls for a 15-year old.
Andrews is a ninth grader at St. Catherine's, meaning she was every bit as fresh-faced as Shakespeare intended her to be.
How often does that happen?
Of course, that also made for a 21st century audience to be vaguely uncomfortable when her father allows her to marry, albeit another teenager, ninth grader Daniel Kunkel as Ferdinand (looking, if possible, even younger than Andrews).
I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
David Janosik as Stephano was his usual hilarious self, getting drunk, wearing women's clothes (well, too) and being chased by hounds.
During intermission, the guy whose head had momentarily blocked my view looked over and said hello.
Surprise, it was a friend, a charming wine geek I know who also happens to be a theater lover and who'd been lured to the play with a friend who'd already seen and loved the production.
He'd just returned from the lobby with a bag of M & Ms, prompting a discussion of them.
Seems he thinks the yellow M & Ms taste the best and he was generous enough to share some with me to prove his point.
His friend had a bag of peanut M & Ms, but no yellows, although he also generously shared.
No tongue! All eyes! Be silent!
It was such a lively and colorful production with the actors in their turn-of-the century garb looking so genteel.
I drink the air before me, and return
Or ere your pulse twice beat
One of the actors who'd been so impressive at the reading was Jeremy Gershman who played the sorceress' son, Caliban, a deformed native of the island, referred to as a monster.
In a tattered costume, the man hobbled around, living under a rock where he'd been banished and totally selling himself as a miserable human being.
He stayed in character to the point where he even hobbled offstage after the curtain call. Impressive.
You cram these words into my ears, against
The stomach of my sense
Nothing like having Shakespeare's words crammed into my ear for half price.
Twas a clever quibble, for sure.
Not that I'm not always eager to see Richmond Shakespeare's latest offering, but their recent staged reading of "Rough Magic," a play re-imagining characters from "The Tempest" come to life in modern-day New York, had featured actors from their current production of "The Tempest."
Seeing how strong they were in the reading made me want to see the original.
So when Richmond Shakes announced tonight was going to be buy one ticket, get one free, I scratched out the other things in my little red book and found another Bard lover and set sail for St. Catherine's.
We barely made it in time, took seats in the back row available and I immediately realized that the guy in front of me was blocking my view. Almost entirely.
With all the nerve in the world, I nudged my companion and we moved up a row, climbing over the guys who'd been blocking our view.
By then the thunderous storm had begun on stage, a place of fantastical multi-colored trees, a rock holding a sorceress' son and the home of Prospero, the exiled duke of Milan.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
John Mincks as the spirit Ariel was a wonder, sprinting around the stage, leaping across platforms and generally showing the same impressive physicality he'd shown in last year's "Spring Awakening."
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.
He was a perfect example of why one of the best things about this production was the casting.
Instead of the usual aged Propsero, here he was played by Charlie Raintree as a vibrant middle-aged man still in his prime and wearing the most magnificent embroidered magical coat.
Keep a good tongue in your head.
Just as impressive was the choice of Isabelle Andrews to play Propsero's daughter Miranda, a role that calls for a 15-year old.
Andrews is a ninth grader at St. Catherine's, meaning she was every bit as fresh-faced as Shakespeare intended her to be.
How often does that happen?
Of course, that also made for a 21st century audience to be vaguely uncomfortable when her father allows her to marry, albeit another teenager, ninth grader Daniel Kunkel as Ferdinand (looking, if possible, even younger than Andrews).
I would not wish any companion in the world but you.
David Janosik as Stephano was his usual hilarious self, getting drunk, wearing women's clothes (well, too) and being chased by hounds.
During intermission, the guy whose head had momentarily blocked my view looked over and said hello.
Surprise, it was a friend, a charming wine geek I know who also happens to be a theater lover and who'd been lured to the play with a friend who'd already seen and loved the production.
He'd just returned from the lobby with a bag of M & Ms, prompting a discussion of them.
Seems he thinks the yellow M & Ms taste the best and he was generous enough to share some with me to prove his point.
His friend had a bag of peanut M & Ms, but no yellows, although he also generously shared.
No tongue! All eyes! Be silent!
It was such a lively and colorful production with the actors in their turn-of-the century garb looking so genteel.
I drink the air before me, and return
Or ere your pulse twice beat
One of the actors who'd been so impressive at the reading was Jeremy Gershman who played the sorceress' son, Caliban, a deformed native of the island, referred to as a monster.
In a tattered costume, the man hobbled around, living under a rock where he'd been banished and totally selling himself as a miserable human being.
He stayed in character to the point where he even hobbled offstage after the curtain call. Impressive.
You cram these words into my ears, against
The stomach of my sense
Nothing like having Shakespeare's words crammed into my ear for half price.
Twas a clever quibble, for sure.
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