It sounds worse than it is.
Excellent plan! Magpie at 6 before cock at 8. I like it!
You have your cock on a schedule?
Wanna make sure I allow time for it.
It's fairly important to some. Can't say as I blame you.
The cock in question was TheaterLAB's production of "C*ck" at the Basement and joining me were Pru and her beau. In fact, they were gracious enough to collect me for an evening in my 'hood, an evening that began with the more manly of the two calling up to my open window, "Stellaaaaaa!"
We arrived at Magpie sufficiently early to nab three bar stools and a bottle of M. Lawrence "Sex" Brut Rose (Beau's Vivino wine app saved the data) because what could be more appropriate to pair with cock than sex?
It was accompanied by an amuse bouche of heirloom grape tomato halves with a blackberry, olive oil and fennel pollen, one exquisite bite that tasted like summer.
Matter of fact, most of the specials sounded that way, like the heirloom tomato and watermelon salad with Feta and salsa verde, a solid collection of fresh flavors Pru and I dove into. Why go to Magpie and not order the sausage of the day, in today's case pork with wildflower honey, a somewhat spicy link with just enough kick to make you pay attention?
Duck spring rolls rounded out our meal, their accompanying pickled vegetables adding nice tang to the duck's richness. Remember before pickling everything was a thing? Yea, neither do I.
Waiting for our food to arrive, we chatted about adjusting to living with Mom for the first time in 35 years. Not always an easy job, Pru attested, citing her Mom's doddering yet risque habits ("She told me she doesn't have filters anymore. She says f*cking a lot"), all of which are new to her now that they're under the same roof.
Personally, I thought the combination of doddering and risque sounded like a fun way to spend my golden years, but Pru quickly assured me that's not what we're aiming for.
The big topic was employer surveys seeking personal information about staff sexuality, time spent volunteering and other none-of-their-business issues. Pru cracked us up talking about the staff meeting today to discuss the survey and how it devolved into an Austin Powers skit with talk of good and evil.
Since we had a curtain to make, we moved on to dessert: chocolate beet creme brulee with peanut salad and, because we needed a second treat, a melange (not a menage, as some people hoped) of two gelatos - dulce de leche and buttered popcorn. I was ready to write off the latter as too "Jelly Belly" until I tasted it but the rich saltiness of the gelato won me over completely. I'm so easy sometimes.
We allowed 15 minutes to get to the theater barely over a mile away. Conveniently, that was enough time to park once, walk a block, reconsider, go get the car, re-park and walk two blocks (mind you, some of us walking pros, even in cute espadrilles).
This is the last weekend for Mike Bartlett's "C*ck" so of course it was sold out. I was feeling good about grabbing three seats in the front row of the low-walled, four-sided set (and I use the term loosely because the set was brilliantly conceived as a ring with dirt on the floor and chicken wire on the sides, an ideal setting for a cock fight), only later to realize that often actors sat on the bench in front of us, mere inches away, but with their backs to us.
You are a stream. I want a river.
I'm not complaining because it's pretty compelling to watch acting and theatrical interaction from that close up. At times I felt as if we were part of the scene, observing like a fly, eavesdropping.
You might be the one. That's why I'm still here.
The story of a gay man who breaks up with his boyfriend of seven years because the relationship has been going downhill took a detour when he met a woman and decided to sleep with her, eventually falling for her.
I'm not going to let you go, John, but you could contribute.
The cast of four was strong, each actor circling the others like they would in a cock fight. Deejay Gray as John showed the heartbreaking high wire act he was trying to balance deciding whether he loved a man or woman and going forward.
He eats tinned food...right from the tin!
That turned out to be the crux of the crisis: is it about the orientation of your sexuality or whatever person you wind up falling for? In this case, poor John can't decide which one he wants, swinging back and forth in his allegiance, and it's making the two people he loves crazy.
Each scene began with a character ringing a bell fight-style before another round of verbal battle began. It was clearly a fight to the finish, assuming John could come to terms with his own needs and wants instead of caving to someone else's. The hard part, it seemed, was deciding what he deserved.
Good question. Do each of us deserve to be happy in love? And how much convincing should go into keeping a relationship going? Do you always know when it's right? What happens when you make a mistake and leave? How important is the way your partner makes you feel?
Don't look at me. I said I make sure I allow time for cock, not that I understand the way they think. "C*ck" made it seem that sometimes the minds that go along with it don't always know, either.
Streams, be gone. Some of us insist on a river.
Showing posts with label theaterlab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theaterlab. Show all posts
Friday, June 19, 2015
Friday, November 28, 2014
Wig in a Box
One day you meet a witty bartender and the next thing you know, he's a transgender woman. Or, playing one anyway.
Once upon a time in Richmond, back in the days before Heritage's world domination, I was a regular at Six Burner, the restaurant that preceded it. It was there that I met a new bartender, hit it off with him and spent the evening gabbing about life, theater and music.
He made sure I knew about the new event he'd started, the monthly Ghost Light afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players. I went a few weeks later and got to see my new bartender friend in his rightful place, a stage. Matt Shofner played host and frequent performer that night and I became his unabashed fan.
Only years of those Sunday nights listening to Matt's incredible voice and watching his non-stop showmanship could have prepared me for TheatreLab's production of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" that I saw tonight.
I'd been dying to see the inside of TheaterLab's new space, dubbed The Basement because it is, conveniently for me located in Jackson Ward.
Down the stairs I've passed so many times I went, only to find the subterranean DIY space that is evolving into their permanent performance home, learning that it was formerly a shoe store and a speakeasy, somehow appropriate both of them.
As further proof that we weren't in Kansas anymore, this was not your granny's program. It warned us to pee beforehand (no intermission), that strobe lights would be used because they're awesome and that the band was going to be l-o-u-d. I was okay with all of that.
Saying hello to artistic director Deejay Gray - looking very '70s in his desert boots - he welcomed me warmly and instructed me to "sit close so Hedwig can see you." As someone who likes to see the actors spit, he didn't have to tell me twice.
I found a single seat in the second row center, only to have a tall guy sit down in front of me. Fortunately, he was a sloucher.
"Ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not...Hedwig!" was a cue for the incredibly tight four piece band (appropriately bedazzled in makeup and glitter) to begin playing "America the Beautiful" as Matt strutted out in a cape, denim dress, torn fishnets and high-heeled boots.
He had some pretty impressive moves considering his heel height, that's all I'm going to say. Meanwhile, Hedwig said things like, "I do love a warm hand on my entrance."
Using song and monologue, he told the story of his life growing up in East Berlin, listening to the American music of the time - Tony Tennille, Anne Murray - on Armed Forces Radio. At one point, he stood with his leg on either side of the guy in front of me, gyrating his hips and grinding his leopard-print shorts into his face.
You see, beneath that leopard print was Hedwig's greatest disappointment: the inch of flesh left after a botched sex change operation. Hence the band name, the Angry Inch.
The play has a great score and "Origin of Love" is the best musical explanation of predestined soul mates as any I've heard. The rousing "Sugar Daddy" was instantly familiar since Matt and crew always sing that at GLAP when the hat gets passed for the pianist, although I hadn't known it was from this.
Local references abounded in the script - Hedwig was supposedly starting her tour at The Basement, her ex-lover was playing that night at Richmond Coliseum - but the best one came after a raucous number.
"I think we finally found our single," Hedwig says of the kick ass song they'd just done.
Meanwhile, he's got a Hardywood Singel in the palm of his hand and is counting 1, 2,3, 4 under his breath as he displays it. "These things don't pay for themselves," he cracked, referring to Hardywood Craft Brewery's sponsorship of "Hedwig."
As if that wasn't funny enough, Hedwig also explained what he was doing for a living in his trailer. "I lost my job at the PX and lost my gag reflex, You do the math." Done.
Because of when the play took place, namely before and after the Berlin Wall came down, there were tons of '70s and '80s references and several times, I found myself one of the very few who laughed out loud at them, no doubt a result of a young Friday night audience.
"His face might have been a Yes cover, it was so still," he deadpanned and my laugh was the only one in the room. Come on, that's hilarious...if you knew the band Yes.
The only other actor in the show was Bianca Bryan and there were times I was riveted by her performance, usually over on the far side of the stage, no matter what Matt was doing. She was an ideal foil for him, both musically and in terms of her character.
Director Maggie Roop - Matt's longtime friend and original fan - deserves a round of applause herself for putting together a top-notch production theater lovers will be talking about for some time to come.
By the time we got to the climax, it had been 90 non-stop minutes of rock and roll, Matt Shofner's mega-talent and a story that reminds us that sometimes you don't realize who your soul mate is.
Best of all, it played out in a basement in my neighborhood, christening the new space in the most impressive and irreverent way. Six Burner, I owe you.
There's a lesson here: don't stop going to bars. Look at the talent I meet. You do the math.
Once upon a time in Richmond, back in the days before Heritage's world domination, I was a regular at Six Burner, the restaurant that preceded it. It was there that I met a new bartender, hit it off with him and spent the evening gabbing about life, theater and music.
He made sure I knew about the new event he'd started, the monthly Ghost Light afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players. I went a few weeks later and got to see my new bartender friend in his rightful place, a stage. Matt Shofner played host and frequent performer that night and I became his unabashed fan.
Only years of those Sunday nights listening to Matt's incredible voice and watching his non-stop showmanship could have prepared me for TheatreLab's production of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" that I saw tonight.
I'd been dying to see the inside of TheaterLab's new space, dubbed The Basement because it is, conveniently for me located in Jackson Ward.
Down the stairs I've passed so many times I went, only to find the subterranean DIY space that is evolving into their permanent performance home, learning that it was formerly a shoe store and a speakeasy, somehow appropriate both of them.
As further proof that we weren't in Kansas anymore, this was not your granny's program. It warned us to pee beforehand (no intermission), that strobe lights would be used because they're awesome and that the band was going to be l-o-u-d. I was okay with all of that.
Saying hello to artistic director Deejay Gray - looking very '70s in his desert boots - he welcomed me warmly and instructed me to "sit close so Hedwig can see you." As someone who likes to see the actors spit, he didn't have to tell me twice.
I found a single seat in the second row center, only to have a tall guy sit down in front of me. Fortunately, he was a sloucher.
"Ladies and gentlemen, whether you like it or not...Hedwig!" was a cue for the incredibly tight four piece band (appropriately bedazzled in makeup and glitter) to begin playing "America the Beautiful" as Matt strutted out in a cape, denim dress, torn fishnets and high-heeled boots.
He had some pretty impressive moves considering his heel height, that's all I'm going to say. Meanwhile, Hedwig said things like, "I do love a warm hand on my entrance."
Using song and monologue, he told the story of his life growing up in East Berlin, listening to the American music of the time - Tony Tennille, Anne Murray - on Armed Forces Radio. At one point, he stood with his leg on either side of the guy in front of me, gyrating his hips and grinding his leopard-print shorts into his face.
You see, beneath that leopard print was Hedwig's greatest disappointment: the inch of flesh left after a botched sex change operation. Hence the band name, the Angry Inch.
The play has a great score and "Origin of Love" is the best musical explanation of predestined soul mates as any I've heard. The rousing "Sugar Daddy" was instantly familiar since Matt and crew always sing that at GLAP when the hat gets passed for the pianist, although I hadn't known it was from this.
Local references abounded in the script - Hedwig was supposedly starting her tour at The Basement, her ex-lover was playing that night at Richmond Coliseum - but the best one came after a raucous number.
"I think we finally found our single," Hedwig says of the kick ass song they'd just done.
Meanwhile, he's got a Hardywood Singel in the palm of his hand and is counting 1, 2,3, 4 under his breath as he displays it. "These things don't pay for themselves," he cracked, referring to Hardywood Craft Brewery's sponsorship of "Hedwig."
As if that wasn't funny enough, Hedwig also explained what he was doing for a living in his trailer. "I lost my job at the PX and lost my gag reflex, You do the math." Done.
Because of when the play took place, namely before and after the Berlin Wall came down, there were tons of '70s and '80s references and several times, I found myself one of the very few who laughed out loud at them, no doubt a result of a young Friday night audience.
"His face might have been a Yes cover, it was so still," he deadpanned and my laugh was the only one in the room. Come on, that's hilarious...if you knew the band Yes.
The only other actor in the show was Bianca Bryan and there were times I was riveted by her performance, usually over on the far side of the stage, no matter what Matt was doing. She was an ideal foil for him, both musically and in terms of her character.
Director Maggie Roop - Matt's longtime friend and original fan - deserves a round of applause herself for putting together a top-notch production theater lovers will be talking about for some time to come.
By the time we got to the climax, it had been 90 non-stop minutes of rock and roll, Matt Shofner's mega-talent and a story that reminds us that sometimes you don't realize who your soul mate is.
Best of all, it played out in a basement in my neighborhood, christening the new space in the most impressive and irreverent way. Six Burner, I owe you.
There's a lesson here: don't stop going to bars. Look at the talent I meet. You do the math.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
The Moon is the Moon, That's All
Maybe it was my Catholic upbringing, but I am Bible ignorant.
My art history background has ensured that I'd seen depictions of the severed head of John the Baptist countless times by Caravaggio, Titian, Botticelli, Masaccio, Rembrandt and any number of lesser painters.
But did I know why he'd been beheaded? Tragically, no.
So you can imagine my excitement when I saw that upstart theater company TheaterLab was producing two nights of Oscar Wilde's "Salome: A Wilde Experiment."
I gathered Pru and we were at SPARC in time to claim good seats and chatter beforehand. After a few minutes, the woman next to me got up to move so I asked if it was something I'd said. "No, but this lady offered to buy me a drink so I'm going to sit next to her," she said as she left.
Perfectly understandable.
The evening began with TheaterLab's directors announcing the upcoming season which will begin with "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" in October, a major cause for excitement.
On top of that, they've started an Indie Go Go campaign to raise the 35K necessary to renovate their new home, which will be called the Basement (because it is) and be right in my neighborhood in the Arts District.
Asking that we contribute whatever we could afford, directors DJ and Annie said naming rights were available for everything in the theater. "If you give us enough money, you can even rename us," DJ claimed presumably speaking for Annie as well.
What Pru and I hadn't realized was that tonight's show was a bootleg production, meaning the actors were given their scripts less than a month ago and told to memorize, find their own costume and props and hope for the best.
They came together only this week and rehearsed for just eleven hours, the play's director James Ricks informed us. "Unlike with bootleg Shakespeare, the actors can't call for lines tonight. If anyone gets lost or confused, we'll just sit back and watch and enjoy."
Obviously a bible-illiterate such as myself wouldn't know the difference.
Except I'm not completely illiterate anymore since now I know the story of Herod and his step-daughter Salome. Or at least I gleaned a few facts from TheaterLab's outstanding interpretation of Wilde.
Herod, a self-centered old goat, must have had a foot fetish or he wouldn't have made Salome take her shoes off to dance.
His wife Herodias was bitter about having married Herod and tired of him ogling her hot daughter.
Salome was bat shit crazy and only wanted the one man who had no interest in her, like so many nubile, hot young women.
See, kids, bible study can be fun!
Now I can finally truly appreciate those masterworks depicting the head of John the Baptist in a way I never could before. You can't imagine how relieved I am to know the back story.
And then for something completely different, I got myself to the Roosevelt for a night of funk, soul, R &; B and garage 45s played by my favorite neighborhood record store owner, Marty.
Bartender T. greeted me with, "Karen!" and in short order, Espolon on the rocks.
Not long after, a woman asked if I was the Karen of "I Could Go on and On" and a friendship was born. It wasn't the first time a blog reader had recognized me, but it was the longest time a reader chatted with me.
She and her husband were delightful, familiar with my life and fun to talk to, too. She kept apologizing for knowing so much about my life (how are your new windows? the river sounds like it's a beautiful place) but I was flattered to talk to a regular reader.
From there, there were so many high points: a favorite drummer with whom I spent the evening discussing the role of the bass in R & B and the state of the dating world while drinking Espolon, the chef who had two great secrets to share, the server/photographer I hadn't expected to see, the mixologist who shifted me from tequila to mezcal ("why would you drink the same thing twice in a row?") once he got off work and showed up at the bar with his boss the chef, the biking pioneer who now drinks (a first!) and the musician/businessman talking about the challenges of keeping a girlfriend happy and saying it was all worth it.
The music was killer, all vintage soul that I only wish I knew but mostly didn't and too long played too softly until I went over to DJ Marty and asked that the volume of the music exceed that of the chattering masses and he accommodated me despite concerns about the Church Hill neighbors.
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, last call was announced and classic Spinners came on.
There's always a chance a tiny spark will remain
and sparks turn into flames, yea
and love can burn once again
Whenever you call me, I'll be there
If it's a good time, I'll be there.
My art history background has ensured that I'd seen depictions of the severed head of John the Baptist countless times by Caravaggio, Titian, Botticelli, Masaccio, Rembrandt and any number of lesser painters.
But did I know why he'd been beheaded? Tragically, no.
So you can imagine my excitement when I saw that upstart theater company TheaterLab was producing two nights of Oscar Wilde's "Salome: A Wilde Experiment."
I gathered Pru and we were at SPARC in time to claim good seats and chatter beforehand. After a few minutes, the woman next to me got up to move so I asked if it was something I'd said. "No, but this lady offered to buy me a drink so I'm going to sit next to her," she said as she left.
Perfectly understandable.
The evening began with TheaterLab's directors announcing the upcoming season which will begin with "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" in October, a major cause for excitement.
On top of that, they've started an Indie Go Go campaign to raise the 35K necessary to renovate their new home, which will be called the Basement (because it is) and be right in my neighborhood in the Arts District.
Asking that we contribute whatever we could afford, directors DJ and Annie said naming rights were available for everything in the theater. "If you give us enough money, you can even rename us," DJ claimed presumably speaking for Annie as well.
What Pru and I hadn't realized was that tonight's show was a bootleg production, meaning the actors were given their scripts less than a month ago and told to memorize, find their own costume and props and hope for the best.
They came together only this week and rehearsed for just eleven hours, the play's director James Ricks informed us. "Unlike with bootleg Shakespeare, the actors can't call for lines tonight. If anyone gets lost or confused, we'll just sit back and watch and enjoy."
Obviously a bible-illiterate such as myself wouldn't know the difference.
Except I'm not completely illiterate anymore since now I know the story of Herod and his step-daughter Salome. Or at least I gleaned a few facts from TheaterLab's outstanding interpretation of Wilde.
Herod, a self-centered old goat, must have had a foot fetish or he wouldn't have made Salome take her shoes off to dance.
His wife Herodias was bitter about having married Herod and tired of him ogling her hot daughter.
Salome was bat shit crazy and only wanted the one man who had no interest in her, like so many nubile, hot young women.
See, kids, bible study can be fun!
Now I can finally truly appreciate those masterworks depicting the head of John the Baptist in a way I never could before. You can't imagine how relieved I am to know the back story.
And then for something completely different, I got myself to the Roosevelt for a night of funk, soul, R &; B and garage 45s played by my favorite neighborhood record store owner, Marty.
Bartender T. greeted me with, "Karen!" and in short order, Espolon on the rocks.
Not long after, a woman asked if I was the Karen of "I Could Go on and On" and a friendship was born. It wasn't the first time a blog reader had recognized me, but it was the longest time a reader chatted with me.
She and her husband were delightful, familiar with my life and fun to talk to, too. She kept apologizing for knowing so much about my life (how are your new windows? the river sounds like it's a beautiful place) but I was flattered to talk to a regular reader.
From there, there were so many high points: a favorite drummer with whom I spent the evening discussing the role of the bass in R & B and the state of the dating world while drinking Espolon, the chef who had two great secrets to share, the server/photographer I hadn't expected to see, the mixologist who shifted me from tequila to mezcal ("why would you drink the same thing twice in a row?") once he got off work and showed up at the bar with his boss the chef, the biking pioneer who now drinks (a first!) and the musician/businessman talking about the challenges of keeping a girlfriend happy and saying it was all worth it.
The music was killer, all vintage soul that I only wish I knew but mostly didn't and too long played too softly until I went over to DJ Marty and asked that the volume of the music exceed that of the chattering masses and he accommodated me despite concerns about the Church Hill neighbors.
In what seemed like the blink of an eye, last call was announced and classic Spinners came on.
There's always a chance a tiny spark will remain
and sparks turn into flames, yea
and love can burn once again
Whenever you call me, I'll be there
If it's a good time, I'll be there.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Not That There's Anything Wrong with That
Unconventional space, young company, new playwright. Totally worked.
TheaterLab, the upstart ensemble dedicated to cultivating new talent, has brought another fresh play to town, this time for its east coast premiere.
I fumbled my way to Plant Zero's RVA event space (I'm getting marginally better at navigating Manchester with each foray there) to take in "See Jane Quit," a play about a young restaurant worker determined to finally quit smoking.
Because well know that restaurant workers who don't smoke are few and far between.
Waiting in a long line to pick up my ticket, I saw lots of familiar faces, not necessarily of people I knew, but of faces I knew from seeing theater productions.
It turned out it was "industry night" so lots of actors were there on their night off.
Let's see, I saw one from "Race," which I'd seen Saturday and a couple others from "It's a Fabulous Life," which I'd seen Thursday and another from "Wild Party," but also grade A boring non-actors types like me.
The artistic director was working the waiting group like it was a receiving line at a wedding, hugging and kissing left and right.
I'd been inside the space before - for the Italian film fest, to see Hotel X, to hear Ian MacKaye- but tonight it had been configured with the set in the middle of the room and rows of chairs on two sides.
Maggie Bavolack, who'd been so impressive in "Riding the Bull," played Jane with all the piss and vinegar of a 29-year old who lives with her cantankerous, deaf, southern grandmother ("That's because your generation places no value on language!") and works endless double shifts.
Her brother (played by the reliably good Adam Mincks), friend/sister-in-law (Louise Mason, whom I remembered as a fine Helena in "Midsummer"), grandmother (Linda Beringer playing Bessie, my grandmother's name) and even love interest (awkwardly funny Chandler Hubbard) are all eager to do whatever it takes to avoid stressing Jane so she won't reach for cigarettes.
Seems it takes a team to quit.
So major secrets are kept from Jane, but not the audience, as we learn that practically all of them are undergoing some major life change.
The dialog was fast and funny and by intermission even Jane had revealed a major secret.
It was hysterical how, once the first act ended, half the audience bolted for the cold environs of the building to have the cigarette Jane had been denying herself.
When the group behind me got up to go smoke, one asked another if she could have a sip of his soda before they went out. No, he said, he was very sick.
On returning reeking of smoke, the sick one was lecturing the others about his need to inhale.
"You know, they say never try quitting while you're sick because it makes you sick just to quit."
Smoker logic of the highest order.
The second act picked up six months later when everyone is dealing with the outcomes of their secrets.
By then everyone has figured out that life seldom works out the way you plan for it to. True story, kids.
TheaterLab may be young, but they're wise beyond their years.
We're a better theater town for having them raising up a new crop of theater artists...but Grandma was wrong. Their generation clearly does place value on language.
As Bessie would say, praise the lord (and pass the biscuits).
TheaterLab, the upstart ensemble dedicated to cultivating new talent, has brought another fresh play to town, this time for its east coast premiere.
I fumbled my way to Plant Zero's RVA event space (I'm getting marginally better at navigating Manchester with each foray there) to take in "See Jane Quit," a play about a young restaurant worker determined to finally quit smoking.
Because well know that restaurant workers who don't smoke are few and far between.
Waiting in a long line to pick up my ticket, I saw lots of familiar faces, not necessarily of people I knew, but of faces I knew from seeing theater productions.
It turned out it was "industry night" so lots of actors were there on their night off.
Let's see, I saw one from "Race," which I'd seen Saturday and a couple others from "It's a Fabulous Life," which I'd seen Thursday and another from "Wild Party," but also grade A boring non-actors types like me.
The artistic director was working the waiting group like it was a receiving line at a wedding, hugging and kissing left and right.
I'd been inside the space before - for the Italian film fest, to see Hotel X, to hear Ian MacKaye- but tonight it had been configured with the set in the middle of the room and rows of chairs on two sides.
Maggie Bavolack, who'd been so impressive in "Riding the Bull," played Jane with all the piss and vinegar of a 29-year old who lives with her cantankerous, deaf, southern grandmother ("That's because your generation places no value on language!") and works endless double shifts.
Her brother (played by the reliably good Adam Mincks), friend/sister-in-law (Louise Mason, whom I remembered as a fine Helena in "Midsummer"), grandmother (Linda Beringer playing Bessie, my grandmother's name) and even love interest (awkwardly funny Chandler Hubbard) are all eager to do whatever it takes to avoid stressing Jane so she won't reach for cigarettes.
Seems it takes a team to quit.
So major secrets are kept from Jane, but not the audience, as we learn that practically all of them are undergoing some major life change.
The dialog was fast and funny and by intermission even Jane had revealed a major secret.
It was hysterical how, once the first act ended, half the audience bolted for the cold environs of the building to have the cigarette Jane had been denying herself.
When the group behind me got up to go smoke, one asked another if she could have a sip of his soda before they went out. No, he said, he was very sick.
On returning reeking of smoke, the sick one was lecturing the others about his need to inhale.
"You know, they say never try quitting while you're sick because it makes you sick just to quit."
Smoker logic of the highest order.
The second act picked up six months later when everyone is dealing with the outcomes of their secrets.
By then everyone has figured out that life seldom works out the way you plan for it to. True story, kids.
TheaterLab may be young, but they're wise beyond their years.
We're a better theater town for having them raising up a new crop of theater artists...but Grandma was wrong. Their generation clearly does place value on language.
As Bessie would say, praise the lord (and pass the biscuits).
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Sublime and Surreal
Saturday is the new Monday.
Or at least is is for those of us who had a raucous week and were finally ready to take it easy tonight.
For us, there was a dinner and a show with my best date gal.
I was craving some Restaurant of the Year action, so we drove east to Aziza's, arriving early enough to be the first customers of the evening.
Prudence went straight for the Vinho Verde while I went with something even less alcoholic. Agua.
Our arrival had apparently signaled the masses, as two tables followed us in shortly after, and we kicked back listening to Sirius' "Coffeehouse" station.
On a mock-Monday, acoustic music is just the ticket.
Despite Pru's objections to octopus, we started with fruiti de mare panzanella because if there's any good time of the year for panzanella, this is it.
Chef Philip's was so much more than stale bread and tomatoes, though, with shrimp, mussels, feta, cucumbers, olives, mint, basil and anchovies besides two beautifully tender tentacles.
Our lovely server joined me in trying to coax Pru to eat something she was sure she hated, telling her that this would be incredibly tender octopus, like none she had ever tasted.
Midway through our panzanella, she reluctantly agreed to try a bite, even admitting it was far better than she'd expected.
From there we moved on to sharing an entree with a lamb kefta kebab and a marinated ribeye kebab with tatziki and house-baked pita.
The ribeye was perfectly rare and tender while the lamb sausage seduced with its vibrant spices.
Getting our meat fix led to a discussion with our server about our mutual need for meat and how we are happy to order it out when we can afford it.
"And not that petit fillet, either," she laughed. "I want a full eight ounces."
She admitted that on dates, she'll only eat part of her steak and bring the rest home so as to appear more ladylike.
I assured her she'd grow out of that nonsense.
For our final course, we had, wait for it, foie gras carpaccio with sliced brown turkey figs, rose hips and watermelon and cantaloupe balls.
Words can't describe this new-to-the-menu dish, but I'll try.
Obscene. Sex on a plate.
Sliced thinly, the rich, creamy slices of foie gras combined with the deep fig flavor and the delicate tang of the rose hips was exquisite.
The melon balls brought in another level of sweetness, but the overall effect was best summed up by Pru.
"That goose happily gave up his liver for this dish."
All I can say is tonight may have been the first night for Aziza's foie gras carpaccio, but please god, don't let it be the last.
The sublime combination of buttery and sweet made for an ideal last course, and that's saying a lot at a place that has the best cream puff around on the menu.
After sopping the plate clean with bread, we raved to our sever about our satisfaction with the dish, which led to a discussion of sex.
She was concerned that her sex drive seemed to escalate with age and wanted input from a couple of older women.
Conveniently, we had the experience to help her out.
"Wow, I'm so glad to hear that!" she said. "I thought there was something wrong with me."
Nothing that the right guy can't take care of, my dear.
She suggested we all needed to have dinner sometime to discuss the matter further.
Sex talk while eating? Glad to oblige.
Can we eat here, where the food is as good as the topic of conversation?
By then it was time to take our stuffed bellies and overactive libidos to the theater.
It was my first time at Dogtown Dance Theater in Manchester and I have to say it's a great space, high-ceilinged with comfortable chairs, so I hope to be back.
Playing tonight was TheaterLab's production of "Exquisite Corpse, a Devised Piece."
The name comes for a parlor game played by the surrealists where one person begins a drawing, poem or story and passes it on to the next guest, who does another part before passing it on.
We've all played that game where you add on fanciful tails and heads to an unseen creature, only to see the result once everyone's had a go at it.
Tonight's theater piece was a little like that in that it was collaborative (all the actors had contributed to the ideas and dialog) and didn't follow a linear path.
It began with humor, a skit about first year medical students witnessing a mock operation and morphed into a dance piece.
At times a group of actors would be lined up in chairs onstage, alternately spouting out confessions.
"I'm no magician, but I've had my fair share of being in a trunk," said the guy who claimed to masturbate in a trunk's confines.
A scene with two people alternately telling a third, "I love you," segued then into the central person telling the other two alternately, "I love you," until his words were unintelligible as his head snapped side to side.
Music served the devised piece well (like Sinatra's "That's Life"), as did humor (a couple rush at each other to kiss, only to stop, putting on a sterile mask and gown before kissing) and even nudity.
One especially surrealistic scene involved three people and an operating table littered with gummy bears that they alternately gorged on and attacked each other.
There was plenty of commentary on contemporary life, like when the group came out into the spotlight, bouncing and shouting under the light and moving with the light to stay in the spotlight.
When the spotlight moved to the audience, they approached us, looking at us like animals in cages worthy of observation.
One particularly confessional scene had the group lying on the floor calling out their fears.
"I'm afraid of dying alone."
"I'm not afraid of getting older, just having an unfulfilled life."
"I'm afraid if people really knew me, they wouldn't like me."
Because the cast was very young, some of their fears were the kind that will dissipate with time and life experience, not that they know that now.
Others were universal.
What mattered was the truthfulness of the performance, which came out in every line of dialog, every improvised scene, every concern voiced.
It was theater that didn't give you the option of sitting back and being spoon-fed.
Whether confusing you, making you sad, reminding you of an old hurt or amusing you, the audience had to think. And feel.
That's a damn fine way to spend a Saturday or Monday night.
Or at least is is for those of us who had a raucous week and were finally ready to take it easy tonight.
For us, there was a dinner and a show with my best date gal.
I was craving some Restaurant of the Year action, so we drove east to Aziza's, arriving early enough to be the first customers of the evening.
Prudence went straight for the Vinho Verde while I went with something even less alcoholic. Agua.
Our arrival had apparently signaled the masses, as two tables followed us in shortly after, and we kicked back listening to Sirius' "Coffeehouse" station.
On a mock-Monday, acoustic music is just the ticket.
Despite Pru's objections to octopus, we started with fruiti de mare panzanella because if there's any good time of the year for panzanella, this is it.
Chef Philip's was so much more than stale bread and tomatoes, though, with shrimp, mussels, feta, cucumbers, olives, mint, basil and anchovies besides two beautifully tender tentacles.
Our lovely server joined me in trying to coax Pru to eat something she was sure she hated, telling her that this would be incredibly tender octopus, like none she had ever tasted.
Midway through our panzanella, she reluctantly agreed to try a bite, even admitting it was far better than she'd expected.
From there we moved on to sharing an entree with a lamb kefta kebab and a marinated ribeye kebab with tatziki and house-baked pita.
The ribeye was perfectly rare and tender while the lamb sausage seduced with its vibrant spices.
Getting our meat fix led to a discussion with our server about our mutual need for meat and how we are happy to order it out when we can afford it.
"And not that petit fillet, either," she laughed. "I want a full eight ounces."
She admitted that on dates, she'll only eat part of her steak and bring the rest home so as to appear more ladylike.
I assured her she'd grow out of that nonsense.
For our final course, we had, wait for it, foie gras carpaccio with sliced brown turkey figs, rose hips and watermelon and cantaloupe balls.
Words can't describe this new-to-the-menu dish, but I'll try.
Obscene. Sex on a plate.
Sliced thinly, the rich, creamy slices of foie gras combined with the deep fig flavor and the delicate tang of the rose hips was exquisite.
The melon balls brought in another level of sweetness, but the overall effect was best summed up by Pru.
"That goose happily gave up his liver for this dish."
All I can say is tonight may have been the first night for Aziza's foie gras carpaccio, but please god, don't let it be the last.
The sublime combination of buttery and sweet made for an ideal last course, and that's saying a lot at a place that has the best cream puff around on the menu.
After sopping the plate clean with bread, we raved to our sever about our satisfaction with the dish, which led to a discussion of sex.
She was concerned that her sex drive seemed to escalate with age and wanted input from a couple of older women.
Conveniently, we had the experience to help her out.
"Wow, I'm so glad to hear that!" she said. "I thought there was something wrong with me."
Nothing that the right guy can't take care of, my dear.
She suggested we all needed to have dinner sometime to discuss the matter further.
Sex talk while eating? Glad to oblige.
Can we eat here, where the food is as good as the topic of conversation?
By then it was time to take our stuffed bellies and overactive libidos to the theater.
It was my first time at Dogtown Dance Theater in Manchester and I have to say it's a great space, high-ceilinged with comfortable chairs, so I hope to be back.
Playing tonight was TheaterLab's production of "Exquisite Corpse, a Devised Piece."
The name comes for a parlor game played by the surrealists where one person begins a drawing, poem or story and passes it on to the next guest, who does another part before passing it on.
We've all played that game where you add on fanciful tails and heads to an unseen creature, only to see the result once everyone's had a go at it.
Tonight's theater piece was a little like that in that it was collaborative (all the actors had contributed to the ideas and dialog) and didn't follow a linear path.
It began with humor, a skit about first year medical students witnessing a mock operation and morphed into a dance piece.
At times a group of actors would be lined up in chairs onstage, alternately spouting out confessions.
"I'm no magician, but I've had my fair share of being in a trunk," said the guy who claimed to masturbate in a trunk's confines.
A scene with two people alternately telling a third, "I love you," segued then into the central person telling the other two alternately, "I love you," until his words were unintelligible as his head snapped side to side.
Music served the devised piece well (like Sinatra's "That's Life"), as did humor (a couple rush at each other to kiss, only to stop, putting on a sterile mask and gown before kissing) and even nudity.
One especially surrealistic scene involved three people and an operating table littered with gummy bears that they alternately gorged on and attacked each other.
There was plenty of commentary on contemporary life, like when the group came out into the spotlight, bouncing and shouting under the light and moving with the light to stay in the spotlight.
When the spotlight moved to the audience, they approached us, looking at us like animals in cages worthy of observation.
One particularly confessional scene had the group lying on the floor calling out their fears.
"I'm afraid of dying alone."
"I'm not afraid of getting older, just having an unfulfilled life."
"I'm afraid if people really knew me, they wouldn't like me."
Because the cast was very young, some of their fears were the kind that will dissipate with time and life experience, not that they know that now.
Others were universal.
What mattered was the truthfulness of the performance, which came out in every line of dialog, every improvised scene, every concern voiced.
It was theater that didn't give you the option of sitting back and being spoon-fed.
Whether confusing you, making you sad, reminding you of an old hurt or amusing you, the audience had to think. And feel.
That's a damn fine way to spend a Saturday or Monday night.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
I'm A Believer
It's only right I spent Sunday seeing a play about how we define belief.
It was opening day for Theater Lab's "Riding the Bull" at Gallery 5 and as such, we got pie and musical entertainment beforehand.
Sweet Fern, aka Allison and Josh, sat down on bales of hay and proceeded to sing us songs of love and jail.
It was an ideal way to set the mood for August Schulenburg's play about a devout rodeo clown (and champion masturbator) and a heathen rancher.
Director Sarah Roquemore announced that it was the one-year anniversary of TheaterLab's inception, no small feat for a fledgling company with bigger dreams than budget.
She also reminded us (actually, them) to, "Turn off all cell phones, pagers and devices. You probably don't have pagers, but this play takes place in the '90s, so maybe you do."
Hell, I was the last person they had to worry about.
The play was staged in the center of the room with chairs along one side and on the stage.
A few brave souls even sat on bales of hay for the duration.
Set in Godsburg, Texas, the play began with a rant about fat people by rodeo clown G.L., played disarmingly and ferociously by Deejay Gray.
He made so many cracks about fat people that I began to feel uncomfortable about the feelings of the overweight people in the audience.
Enter hell-raising and fat Lyza, played by Maggie Bavolack, in padding, a shapeless jean jumper and cowboy boots.
He's a devout Catholic who can't keep his hands off himself (even in the confessional) and she's an irreverent hedonist, smart and funny.
G.L. isn't bright enough to realize his shortcomings. "That's why girls are scared of marrying me," he tells Lyza. "That and my big head."
The laughs came fast and furious in the first act as Lyza and G.L. gave in to their lust for each other.
At first G.L. is consumed with shame for his transgressions but the issue soon becomes that Lyza always calls out a man's name when she comes.
The pair soon figure out that she's predicting who will win the bull-riding competition the next day, setting off a lustful frenzy (8 or 9 times a day) and get-rich-quick scheme.
Before long, the dirt-poor G.L. is buying houses, offices and people and planning to build a Graceland-style house for his Elvis-obsessed mother.
Lyza spouts the ultimate truth of the play,"The truth is always better for pissing people off."
I don't care if she did dress up her cow and have a bull in love with her, that's a smart woman.
There was so much male/female bantering, so much sex and so many references to Jesus Christ and Elvis Presley in the first act that no one could have seen the seismic shift coming in the second act.
While G.L. has turned his back on faith in anything but the almighty dollar, Lyza has had visions of Jesus and has adopted the faith, going to church and reading the bible.
She didn't mention touching herself as much as G.L. used to do but for all intents and purposes, they have traded belief systems.
By the time he realizes (or maybe just says) that he loves her, it's of no matter to her because of who he's become.
"Life is short, but, man, is it wide," Lyza tells him, summing up the dilemma we all eventually have to acknowledge.
A two-actor play done in a small venue and in the round is no easy thing to pull off, but by the surprise ending, I doubt there was a person in the room who could see Deejay or Maggie as anything but two people caught up in a relationship with each other and their god.
Maggie was astonishingly physical in her role, coming down hard on that cement floor time and time again, tossing bales of hay around and throwing her legs in the air for the frequent lusty interludes.
Since I usually see her as the mild-mannered raffle ticket seller (as well as "the hand") at the Ghost Light Afterparty, it was a revelation seeing her as the lusty intellectual superior to the simple G.L.
And watching Deejay navigate the complicated waters of a simple man devoted to Jesus becoming comfortable with bad choices and non-stop sinning was a marked contrast to the sunny, upbeat person he is in real life.
And that's why they're actors and people like me spend sunny Sunday afternoons inside watching them depict other people.
That this young theater group is already capable of giving Richmonders such interesting theater is a testament to how lucky we are.
It was nice that with last night's lost hour, coming out of Gallery 5 at 6 p.m. meant the sun was still sunny and warmish.
As a friend had mentioned while in the bathroom line at intermission, "We can see a great play and still have a whole night to do something!"
For me, that something was chow down and preferably right away before Mama J's Kitchen closed for the night.
I knew if I could just get there by 6:45, they'd be kind enough to serve me even though they close at 7 on Sundays.
It is, after all, god's day, at least to some people.
I got a seat at the bar immediately but the bartender was going in a dozen directions, so I just sat quietly and scanned the chalkboard listing the cake flavors.
Eventually, she passed by me and said, "I seen you come in, baby. Just give me a minute."
As I told her, she could take all the time she needed as long as I got food at some point.
Not long after she took my order, I was joined by a smiling couple who seemed to want to talk.
Turns out they're from Colorado, although he's been working in Lynchburg on a job. She'd flown out yesterday to spend a few days with him.
I asked where she'd eaten so far.
"Millie's," she said, "I read about it online. Do you think it's overrated?"
Indeed I do, I told her. And pricey as the dickens.
She agreed. She'd also discovered Mama's online and one look at my plate of fried chicken, collard greens and corn muffin and she seemed sure she wasn't going to be disappointed again.
They'd gotten fried catfish, sweet potatoes and greens and with the arrival of their food, I gave them an insiders tip.
You need to scan the cakes now and order before what you want is gone, I told them.
They immediately ordered a piece of the strawberry cake, thanking me for the insider's tip.
The bartender nodded approvingly, telling them they were smart.
"You told them how to do it, didn't you?" she asked of me, smiling conspiratorially.
Somebody's got to school the Mama's virgins. No one should miss out on their first choice for cake because of ignorance.
My choice was chocolate cake with buttercream frosting, an old standard but one I never tire of.
Further conversation revealed that she and I shared the same name.
Karen challenged me to guess where her husband was from, saying, "I bet you don't know anybody who came from this state."
My first guess was Montana and she was visibly pleased. "You're really close, He's from Wyoming."
She was right. In all my years, I've never met a soul from Wyoming.
It sounds about as appealing as Godsburg, Texas.
Life may be wide, but I doubt I've got time for either...unless it's from a theater seat.
It was opening day for Theater Lab's "Riding the Bull" at Gallery 5 and as such, we got pie and musical entertainment beforehand.
Sweet Fern, aka Allison and Josh, sat down on bales of hay and proceeded to sing us songs of love and jail.
It was an ideal way to set the mood for August Schulenburg's play about a devout rodeo clown (and champion masturbator) and a heathen rancher.
Director Sarah Roquemore announced that it was the one-year anniversary of TheaterLab's inception, no small feat for a fledgling company with bigger dreams than budget.
She also reminded us (actually, them) to, "Turn off all cell phones, pagers and devices. You probably don't have pagers, but this play takes place in the '90s, so maybe you do."
Hell, I was the last person they had to worry about.
The play was staged in the center of the room with chairs along one side and on the stage.
A few brave souls even sat on bales of hay for the duration.
Set in Godsburg, Texas, the play began with a rant about fat people by rodeo clown G.L., played disarmingly and ferociously by Deejay Gray.
He made so many cracks about fat people that I began to feel uncomfortable about the feelings of the overweight people in the audience.
Enter hell-raising and fat Lyza, played by Maggie Bavolack, in padding, a shapeless jean jumper and cowboy boots.
He's a devout Catholic who can't keep his hands off himself (even in the confessional) and she's an irreverent hedonist, smart and funny.
G.L. isn't bright enough to realize his shortcomings. "That's why girls are scared of marrying me," he tells Lyza. "That and my big head."
The laughs came fast and furious in the first act as Lyza and G.L. gave in to their lust for each other.
At first G.L. is consumed with shame for his transgressions but the issue soon becomes that Lyza always calls out a man's name when she comes.
The pair soon figure out that she's predicting who will win the bull-riding competition the next day, setting off a lustful frenzy (8 or 9 times a day) and get-rich-quick scheme.
Before long, the dirt-poor G.L. is buying houses, offices and people and planning to build a Graceland-style house for his Elvis-obsessed mother.
Lyza spouts the ultimate truth of the play,"The truth is always better for pissing people off."
I don't care if she did dress up her cow and have a bull in love with her, that's a smart woman.
There was so much male/female bantering, so much sex and so many references to Jesus Christ and Elvis Presley in the first act that no one could have seen the seismic shift coming in the second act.
While G.L. has turned his back on faith in anything but the almighty dollar, Lyza has had visions of Jesus and has adopted the faith, going to church and reading the bible.
She didn't mention touching herself as much as G.L. used to do but for all intents and purposes, they have traded belief systems.
By the time he realizes (or maybe just says) that he loves her, it's of no matter to her because of who he's become.
"Life is short, but, man, is it wide," Lyza tells him, summing up the dilemma we all eventually have to acknowledge.
A two-actor play done in a small venue and in the round is no easy thing to pull off, but by the surprise ending, I doubt there was a person in the room who could see Deejay or Maggie as anything but two people caught up in a relationship with each other and their god.
Maggie was astonishingly physical in her role, coming down hard on that cement floor time and time again, tossing bales of hay around and throwing her legs in the air for the frequent lusty interludes.
Since I usually see her as the mild-mannered raffle ticket seller (as well as "the hand") at the Ghost Light Afterparty, it was a revelation seeing her as the lusty intellectual superior to the simple G.L.
And watching Deejay navigate the complicated waters of a simple man devoted to Jesus becoming comfortable with bad choices and non-stop sinning was a marked contrast to the sunny, upbeat person he is in real life.
And that's why they're actors and people like me spend sunny Sunday afternoons inside watching them depict other people.
That this young theater group is already capable of giving Richmonders such interesting theater is a testament to how lucky we are.
It was nice that with last night's lost hour, coming out of Gallery 5 at 6 p.m. meant the sun was still sunny and warmish.
As a friend had mentioned while in the bathroom line at intermission, "We can see a great play and still have a whole night to do something!"
For me, that something was chow down and preferably right away before Mama J's Kitchen closed for the night.
I knew if I could just get there by 6:45, they'd be kind enough to serve me even though they close at 7 on Sundays.
It is, after all, god's day, at least to some people.
I got a seat at the bar immediately but the bartender was going in a dozen directions, so I just sat quietly and scanned the chalkboard listing the cake flavors.
Eventually, she passed by me and said, "I seen you come in, baby. Just give me a minute."
As I told her, she could take all the time she needed as long as I got food at some point.
Not long after she took my order, I was joined by a smiling couple who seemed to want to talk.
Turns out they're from Colorado, although he's been working in Lynchburg on a job. She'd flown out yesterday to spend a few days with him.
I asked where she'd eaten so far.
"Millie's," she said, "I read about it online. Do you think it's overrated?"
Indeed I do, I told her. And pricey as the dickens.
She agreed. She'd also discovered Mama's online and one look at my plate of fried chicken, collard greens and corn muffin and she seemed sure she wasn't going to be disappointed again.
They'd gotten fried catfish, sweet potatoes and greens and with the arrival of their food, I gave them an insiders tip.
You need to scan the cakes now and order before what you want is gone, I told them.
They immediately ordered a piece of the strawberry cake, thanking me for the insider's tip.
The bartender nodded approvingly, telling them they were smart.
"You told them how to do it, didn't you?" she asked of me, smiling conspiratorially.
Somebody's got to school the Mama's virgins. No one should miss out on their first choice for cake because of ignorance.
My choice was chocolate cake with buttercream frosting, an old standard but one I never tire of.
Further conversation revealed that she and I shared the same name.
Karen challenged me to guess where her husband was from, saying, "I bet you don't know anybody who came from this state."
My first guess was Montana and she was visibly pleased. "You're really close, He's from Wyoming."
She was right. In all my years, I've never met a soul from Wyoming.
It sounds about as appealing as Godsburg, Texas.
Life may be wide, but I doubt I've got time for either...unless it's from a theater seat.
Monday, December 10, 2012
You Gotta Care to Wonder
It was like the Ghost Light afterparty, only with scenes instead of show tunes.
TheatrLab, the upstart theater company that keeps impressing me with their dedication to new works and affordable tickets, was having their first Field Day at Gallery 5.
And on easy-like-Sunday-morning kind of a day, a short walk to watch everything from Chekhov monologues to a complete roast was just the thing to finish out a lazy day.
As a huge and unexpected bonus, when I walked in, it was to a bake sale table of cookies and snacks.
For the record, many's the time I've walked into the Ghost Light afterparty and wished I could buy some dessert to go with my bottle o' Rose.
Tonight there were homemade gingerbread and molasses cookies as thick as my hand and full of seasonal spices.
Now that's what I'm talking about, guys.
From a front row seat, I watched a showcase of the company members and staff of TheaterLab exhibiting their mad skills for our amusement.
Besides Chekhov, there was a song, a scene about a philandering man told entirely without words and a particularly strong scene about patricide and sexual abuse.
Just another evening of light theatrical amusements.
Two scenes were actually previews because they were taken from plays that TheaterLab will be doing in the Spring.
"Riding the Bull" with Maggie and Matt featured drawling accents, discussions of dressing cows and philosophical issues much bigger.
Favorite line: "You gotta care to wonder."
Isn't that the truth?
The other upcoming play was "Speech and Debate" about a high school kid's attempts to write about controversial subjects for the school paper.
He wants to write about abortion and gets shot down and then suggests writing about Republicans gone wild.
When his adviser suggests he also look at Democrats' behavior, DeeJay scoffs. "People expect that kind of behavior from Democrats."
Wah-wah. The room erupted with Democratic laughter.
There was also the small problem of his character not being ready to come out, but that was just a tease for what's to come.
By intermission, anyone would have been impressed with the array of drama, comedy and song we'd seen.
So impressed, in fact, that an additional gingerbread cookie was required.
The second half began with audience participation.
One of TheaterLab's exercises involves creating a play from a random setting, characters, situation and line and we were asked to provide them.
The result: the alley behind Virginia Rep, estranged twins both of whom need a kidney and the line, "Ain't nobody got time for that."
And then they were off to the upper gallery to create a play while our entertainment continued.
Starting things off was Lewis Carroll's "The Walrus and the Carpenter," a wordy story of oyster lovers done by Elizabeth with nary a trip on the rhyming verse.
"Bachelor Holiday" was probably the longest piece and positively laugh out loud-worthy with its look at a morning in the life of young men.
You know, the kind who consider a beer and a Mars bar breakfast. The kind who whine when someone eats all their Cocoa Puffs. The kind who challenge each other to do dumb stuff.
Young men.
To be fair, one did find folding underwear to be a "Zen thing," but he, too, succumbed to lowest common denominator behavior, smashing a mouse and shooting tequila.
Young men.
The funniest line from that piece came when discussing a girlfriend who made some kind of art.
What kind, you ask? "Neurotic women art," came the answer to knowing nods.
Hysterical, if a tad politically incorrect.
But young men.
Then it was time for the just-created one act play, "Small World, Huh?"
It involved two women, one black, one white, on a cigarette break behind Virginia Rep.
Inhaling and exhaling in unison, their innocuous chat leads them to discover their similarities.
"Huh!" they say after each shared revelation.
When the truth of their being twins seems apparent, they still don't quite see it.
So they have the same birthday, were born in the same hospital, are both missing a kidney and have a dead mom.
That couldn't possibly mean anything. Why not?
"You're black!" one explains.
"You have big feet!" the other says.
The audience roared.
We had the pleasure of hearing from off-off-off Broadway legend Marjorie Lee Stewart Vandercamp (Maggie) bragging about meeting Liza (with a Z) and barking at pianist Evan to transition us into the final event.
"Roasted" was a look back at the year in Richmond theater.
No theater company was exempt and often the scene involved theatergoers discussing what they'd seen to hysterical results.
Quickly they went through each company's season.
Firehouse's "Death of a Salesman" was lauded publicly and then acknowledged in private as booooring.
Boring is in the eye of the beholder but I wouldn't have missed DoaS for anything. How often does a theatergoer get Miller?
Richmond Triangle Players' plays were catalogued with each description beginning with "gay."
Yes, and that is exactly why we love them. That and the tables to hold our drinks.
Henley Street got deserved praise for their Bootleg Shakespeare calling it, "The best f*cking play we ever saw."
You don't have to tell me. I'm one of those nerds who lines up an hour and a half in advance to ensure I get in every year.
For Sycamore Rouge, Evan said, "Sycamore Rouge gets a free pass cause we're glad they're still here."
Amen. I have fond memories of seeing "Picasso at the Lapin Agile" there.
Richmond Shakespeare got pummeled for the notoriously hot and sweaty season they do at Agecroft every summer.
P.S. I will wear a tank top and sweat happily for outdoor Shakespeare.
Virginia Rep's roasting focused on "The Producers," the classic play about two guys trying to make money off a play.
So what else is new in the theater world? Anyway, everyone's raving about how good the play is.
They even skewered themselves, noting of TheaterLab, "Don't worry, there'll be a talkback afterwards."
Always a talkback, always room for discussion.
But then, isn't that what you want in an up and coming theater company?
Hopefully, they'll never get too big for their britches and not actively solicit audience feedback and opinion.
Or not make us laugh hysterically. Or not feel the weight of a new work.
Cause ain't nobody got time for that kind for theater company.
TheatrLab, the upstart theater company that keeps impressing me with their dedication to new works and affordable tickets, was having their first Field Day at Gallery 5.
And on easy-like-Sunday-morning kind of a day, a short walk to watch everything from Chekhov monologues to a complete roast was just the thing to finish out a lazy day.
As a huge and unexpected bonus, when I walked in, it was to a bake sale table of cookies and snacks.
For the record, many's the time I've walked into the Ghost Light afterparty and wished I could buy some dessert to go with my bottle o' Rose.
Tonight there were homemade gingerbread and molasses cookies as thick as my hand and full of seasonal spices.
Now that's what I'm talking about, guys.
From a front row seat, I watched a showcase of the company members and staff of TheaterLab exhibiting their mad skills for our amusement.
Besides Chekhov, there was a song, a scene about a philandering man told entirely without words and a particularly strong scene about patricide and sexual abuse.
Just another evening of light theatrical amusements.
Two scenes were actually previews because they were taken from plays that TheaterLab will be doing in the Spring.
"Riding the Bull" with Maggie and Matt featured drawling accents, discussions of dressing cows and philosophical issues much bigger.
Favorite line: "You gotta care to wonder."
Isn't that the truth?
The other upcoming play was "Speech and Debate" about a high school kid's attempts to write about controversial subjects for the school paper.
He wants to write about abortion and gets shot down and then suggests writing about Republicans gone wild.
When his adviser suggests he also look at Democrats' behavior, DeeJay scoffs. "People expect that kind of behavior from Democrats."
Wah-wah. The room erupted with Democratic laughter.
There was also the small problem of his character not being ready to come out, but that was just a tease for what's to come.
By intermission, anyone would have been impressed with the array of drama, comedy and song we'd seen.
So impressed, in fact, that an additional gingerbread cookie was required.
The second half began with audience participation.
One of TheaterLab's exercises involves creating a play from a random setting, characters, situation and line and we were asked to provide them.
The result: the alley behind Virginia Rep, estranged twins both of whom need a kidney and the line, "Ain't nobody got time for that."
And then they were off to the upper gallery to create a play while our entertainment continued.
Starting things off was Lewis Carroll's "The Walrus and the Carpenter," a wordy story of oyster lovers done by Elizabeth with nary a trip on the rhyming verse.
"Bachelor Holiday" was probably the longest piece and positively laugh out loud-worthy with its look at a morning in the life of young men.
You know, the kind who consider a beer and a Mars bar breakfast. The kind who whine when someone eats all their Cocoa Puffs. The kind who challenge each other to do dumb stuff.
Young men.
To be fair, one did find folding underwear to be a "Zen thing," but he, too, succumbed to lowest common denominator behavior, smashing a mouse and shooting tequila.
Young men.
The funniest line from that piece came when discussing a girlfriend who made some kind of art.
What kind, you ask? "Neurotic women art," came the answer to knowing nods.
Hysterical, if a tad politically incorrect.
But young men.
Then it was time for the just-created one act play, "Small World, Huh?"
It involved two women, one black, one white, on a cigarette break behind Virginia Rep.
Inhaling and exhaling in unison, their innocuous chat leads them to discover their similarities.
"Huh!" they say after each shared revelation.
When the truth of their being twins seems apparent, they still don't quite see it.
So they have the same birthday, were born in the same hospital, are both missing a kidney and have a dead mom.
That couldn't possibly mean anything. Why not?
"You're black!" one explains.
"You have big feet!" the other says.
The audience roared.
We had the pleasure of hearing from off-off-off Broadway legend Marjorie Lee Stewart Vandercamp (Maggie) bragging about meeting Liza (with a Z) and barking at pianist Evan to transition us into the final event.
"Roasted" was a look back at the year in Richmond theater.
No theater company was exempt and often the scene involved theatergoers discussing what they'd seen to hysterical results.
Quickly they went through each company's season.
Firehouse's "Death of a Salesman" was lauded publicly and then acknowledged in private as booooring.
Boring is in the eye of the beholder but I wouldn't have missed DoaS for anything. How often does a theatergoer get Miller?
Richmond Triangle Players' plays were catalogued with each description beginning with "gay."
Yes, and that is exactly why we love them. That and the tables to hold our drinks.
Henley Street got deserved praise for their Bootleg Shakespeare calling it, "The best f*cking play we ever saw."
You don't have to tell me. I'm one of those nerds who lines up an hour and a half in advance to ensure I get in every year.
For Sycamore Rouge, Evan said, "Sycamore Rouge gets a free pass cause we're glad they're still here."
Amen. I have fond memories of seeing "Picasso at the Lapin Agile" there.
Richmond Shakespeare got pummeled for the notoriously hot and sweaty season they do at Agecroft every summer.
P.S. I will wear a tank top and sweat happily for outdoor Shakespeare.
Virginia Rep's roasting focused on "The Producers," the classic play about two guys trying to make money off a play.
So what else is new in the theater world? Anyway, everyone's raving about how good the play is.
They even skewered themselves, noting of TheaterLab, "Don't worry, there'll be a talkback afterwards."
Always a talkback, always room for discussion.
But then, isn't that what you want in an up and coming theater company?
Hopefully, they'll never get too big for their britches and not actively solicit audience feedback and opinion.
Or not make us laugh hysterically. Or not feel the weight of a new work.
Cause ain't nobody got time for that kind for theater company.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Got a Fever of 103
The right music sets the tone for the meal.
So, after a lovely walk over to Olio in the early evening air, it was a distinct pleasure to walk in and hear some well-chosen '80s music blaring.
And by blaring, I mean playing at a volume that allowed talk but made you wish you could dance.
Looking at the specials board while listening to When in Rome, I was thrilled when it was followed by the Smiths, Psychedelic Furs and Talk Talk.
It's my life, don't you forget
It's my life, it never ends
Let's just say that soon I was inquiring of our server the source of the music.
Pandora set to New Order. Well, that explains everything except the 20-something who had clearly chosen this music for his evening's work.
It was hard to resist the evening's specials: an Italian lentil soup (executed perfectly according to the nearest Italian) and a sandwich of duck liver pate, roasted pork loin, fig jam and Dijon mustard on a crusty baguette.
My, my, the earthiness of that pate with the sweet figs was sublime.
Paired with a bottle of Planeta La Segreta red blend, this was a meal worthy of a balmy December evening.
Double chocolate cake with chocolate ganache finished everything off beautifully as Jesus and Mary Chain poured from the speakers.
Listen to the girl
As she takes on half the world
Moving up and so alive
Well done, Olio.
From there it was an easy walk to Firehouse Theater for TheaterLab's "Life of Hannah," written by a local playwright, Michael Musatow, and rehearsed for a mere two and a half weeks.
Waiting for the play to begin, Foreigner was the music of choice and it led right into the play.
I'm hot-blooded, check it and see.
Or, better yet, don't and take my word for it.
The play about family coming to visit a young couple for Thanksgiving had the expected nervousness of the young wife while her husband placated her about his crazy family.
When he goes out for cranberries (the traditional jelled variety that comes from a can), she goes on cleaning, only to hit her head.
The bump causes her mind to imagine the husband's family arriving to hilarious results.
Funniest was Stephen Ryan as Grandpa, an old man planted in a chair whose primary activity was tapping one hand and spouting non sequiters.
If I hadn't already seen Ryan playing very different and younger roles, I'd have believed he really was as old as Grandpa.
But Grandpa wasn't the only funny one.
Daughter Clarice had changed her name to Hydrangea and adopted a hippie-dippie attitude toward life.
There was the New Jersey-accented Georgia, who espoused a theory of "Men and gambling, they're just the same."
It was your classic dysfunctional family, full of under-achievers, damaged souls and an overbearing mother.
The play was short, less than 45 minutes, but by the end, Hannah had seen enough dysfunction to resolve to change her own ways.
She even called her terrible mother to wish her a happy holiday.
And really, any woman who claims to clean to relax needs better relaxing options.
She was even going to have a drink with the turkey feast, something the very controlled Hannah didn't usually do.
Her husband was so proud.
That or he knew things would go much better if she was properly lubricated to deal with his crazy relatives once they really arrived and not just in Hannah's mind.
So glad that's Hannah's life and not mine.
And fortunately, it never ends.
So, after a lovely walk over to Olio in the early evening air, it was a distinct pleasure to walk in and hear some well-chosen '80s music blaring.
And by blaring, I mean playing at a volume that allowed talk but made you wish you could dance.
Looking at the specials board while listening to When in Rome, I was thrilled when it was followed by the Smiths, Psychedelic Furs and Talk Talk.
It's my life, don't you forget
It's my life, it never ends
Let's just say that soon I was inquiring of our server the source of the music.
Pandora set to New Order. Well, that explains everything except the 20-something who had clearly chosen this music for his evening's work.
It was hard to resist the evening's specials: an Italian lentil soup (executed perfectly according to the nearest Italian) and a sandwich of duck liver pate, roasted pork loin, fig jam and Dijon mustard on a crusty baguette.
My, my, the earthiness of that pate with the sweet figs was sublime.
Paired with a bottle of Planeta La Segreta red blend, this was a meal worthy of a balmy December evening.
Double chocolate cake with chocolate ganache finished everything off beautifully as Jesus and Mary Chain poured from the speakers.
Listen to the girl
As she takes on half the world
Moving up and so alive
Well done, Olio.
From there it was an easy walk to Firehouse Theater for TheaterLab's "Life of Hannah," written by a local playwright, Michael Musatow, and rehearsed for a mere two and a half weeks.
Waiting for the play to begin, Foreigner was the music of choice and it led right into the play.
I'm hot-blooded, check it and see.
Or, better yet, don't and take my word for it.
The play about family coming to visit a young couple for Thanksgiving had the expected nervousness of the young wife while her husband placated her about his crazy family.
When he goes out for cranberries (the traditional jelled variety that comes from a can), she goes on cleaning, only to hit her head.
The bump causes her mind to imagine the husband's family arriving to hilarious results.
Funniest was Stephen Ryan as Grandpa, an old man planted in a chair whose primary activity was tapping one hand and spouting non sequiters.
If I hadn't already seen Ryan playing very different and younger roles, I'd have believed he really was as old as Grandpa.
But Grandpa wasn't the only funny one.
Daughter Clarice had changed her name to Hydrangea and adopted a hippie-dippie attitude toward life.
There was the New Jersey-accented Georgia, who espoused a theory of "Men and gambling, they're just the same."
It was your classic dysfunctional family, full of under-achievers, damaged souls and an overbearing mother.
The play was short, less than 45 minutes, but by the end, Hannah had seen enough dysfunction to resolve to change her own ways.
She even called her terrible mother to wish her a happy holiday.
And really, any woman who claims to clean to relax needs better relaxing options.
She was even going to have a drink with the turkey feast, something the very controlled Hannah didn't usually do.
Her husband was so proud.
That or he knew things would go much better if she was properly lubricated to deal with his crazy relatives once they really arrived and not just in Hannah's mind.
So glad that's Hannah's life and not mine.
And fortunately, it never ends.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Dancing on the Balcony Under a Full Moon
With August arrived and with it a full moon, it's time to kick into summer overdrive.
I figured the best way to do that was with Secco's Summer of Riesling.
Let's face it, if anyone can change the popular perception of this grape, it's Secco.
Apparently we weren't the only people needing to do something summery because there were only three bar stools open when we arrived.
We took two next to a wine-loving publisher I know and two flights of Riesling too.
Dr. Fischer Ockfener Bernstein 201 had delicate fruit and a nice acidity. It made clear why Secco is calling their special time "the acid hour."
Food was in order and we chose the arugula salad with dried cherries, Stilton, walnuts and a roasted shallot vinaigrette and the lamb sliders.
If ever there was a stroke of genius, it was the date relish on those sliders.
Our second wine was Dr. Thanisch Berncasteler Doctor 2009, overflowing with peach and mineral notes.
We finished with Munster d'Alsace, fruity and funky and perfect for off-dry drinking, which we just happened to be doing.
Last up was Erbes Urziger Wurzgarten 2010, the most off-dry of the trio and perfectly balanced sweetness and acidity.
My companion was blown away with our lesson in Riesling, surprised to discover that cloying and Riesling are not synonymous.
Properly sated, we got ourselves to the Firehouse Theater.
Tonight was the second showing of "Trojans," a new play by Augustin Correro being produced by the young bucks at TheaterLAB.
Explaining TheaterLAB's mission, Creative Director Deejay Gray explained that, "It's important to produce new theater or else there'll just be a thousand productions of 'Nunsense!"
Thankfully, TheaterLAB is saving us from that.
The play began on a completely dark stage with two men having sex on a bed.
Once the lights came up, we began to learn the unusual circumstances of what was going on.
The play was set in a time after the "Testament Initiative,"when Fundamentalist types had decided that women would only be used for breeding, leaving men to resort to sex clubs where they got their needs serviced.
The main character, Gabriel, so named because everyone was required to have Old Testament names, had been in the underground club since he was thirteen years old.
He had no memory of women at all despite a huge curiosity to know, see, and experience them.
"I think a healthy bit of chat is stimulating."
Because he never got to leave his subterranean chamber, the action revolved around the clients and other men workers who came to see him there.
There was Peter, a shy man who saved his money in order to come to the club and have sex two or three times a year.
There was Bradley, who told him about the "pre-Santa" world before women were taken away, a world Gabe never knew.
"I'm just an old man who likes to make an entrance," he said, dismissing the gift his words had been to Gabe.
There was Helena Troy, resplendent in a pink robe and matching lipstick, a man whose daughter had been killed and who was in the process of having surgeries to make him more women-like.
The only female character was a runaway girl speaking French, meaning Gabe couldn't understand a word she said, but he hid her anyway.
He paid a violent price for touching her when Adam, the man who'd procured her, discovered her in Gabe's room.
The only other visitor in his lonely world was Cleanup, a guy whose name defined his role at the club.
Despite only a week and a half in rehearsals, the cast was strong and the story riveting for its notion of a woman-less world.
At the talk back afterwards, playwright Augustin Correro joined the cast in answering questions about the play.
He said it had been written as a reaction to legislation being proposed in Virginia for pregnant women to have trans-vaginal ultrasounds, legislation proposed by men naturally.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating.
Keep your laws off my body.
And while every women I know shares that opinion, it's always affirming when I hear how strongly some men feel about it, too.
Correro envisioned the legacy of such legislation as this all-male dystopia with women kept in tubes as breeders only.
Let's just say an all-male world is a really bad idea.
Listening to the playwright speak, I was glad we'd come tonight instead of opening night since he hadn't come that night and it seemed special having n his energy in the room.
We learned he had allowed the director, Melissa Rayford, to make many decisions about staging his work.
"My responsibility as a playwright is not to be Arthur Miller," he said, explaining his latitude with how the play was interpreted.
The talk back allowed many women in the audience to express their thoughts on a male-dominated play that was essentially all about females.
It was brought up that playwrights need to write more roles for women (this one had only one) and while I support that idea 100%, this particular play was about an all-male world and it had the potential to be a very strong piece of theater, so I understood the absence of female roles.
There was a fair amount of back and forth on that topic, but as far as I was concerned it was comparing apples and oranges.
Yes, I'd been impressed by the play and yes, we need more female roles written.
And, yes, we need companies like TheaterLAB producing new and provocative work that sheds a light on the what ifs of our society.
"More like a shell in the shape of something vital."
Because we don't want to end up in a world merely in the shape of something vital, but actually vital.
Fortunately, there are still two more nights to catch this arresting new piece of theater, this coming Monday and Tuesday.
I don't know how any theater lover could miss it.
Or honestly, anyone who cares about the direction our society seems to be taking.
I figured the best way to do that was with Secco's Summer of Riesling.
Let's face it, if anyone can change the popular perception of this grape, it's Secco.
Apparently we weren't the only people needing to do something summery because there were only three bar stools open when we arrived.
We took two next to a wine-loving publisher I know and two flights of Riesling too.
Dr. Fischer Ockfener Bernstein 201 had delicate fruit and a nice acidity. It made clear why Secco is calling their special time "the acid hour."
Food was in order and we chose the arugula salad with dried cherries, Stilton, walnuts and a roasted shallot vinaigrette and the lamb sliders.
If ever there was a stroke of genius, it was the date relish on those sliders.
Our second wine was Dr. Thanisch Berncasteler Doctor 2009, overflowing with peach and mineral notes.
We finished with Munster d'Alsace, fruity and funky and perfect for off-dry drinking, which we just happened to be doing.
Last up was Erbes Urziger Wurzgarten 2010, the most off-dry of the trio and perfectly balanced sweetness and acidity.
My companion was blown away with our lesson in Riesling, surprised to discover that cloying and Riesling are not synonymous.
Properly sated, we got ourselves to the Firehouse Theater.
Tonight was the second showing of "Trojans," a new play by Augustin Correro being produced by the young bucks at TheaterLAB.
Explaining TheaterLAB's mission, Creative Director Deejay Gray explained that, "It's important to produce new theater or else there'll just be a thousand productions of 'Nunsense!"
Thankfully, TheaterLAB is saving us from that.
The play began on a completely dark stage with two men having sex on a bed.
Once the lights came up, we began to learn the unusual circumstances of what was going on.
The play was set in a time after the "Testament Initiative,"when Fundamentalist types had decided that women would only be used for breeding, leaving men to resort to sex clubs where they got their needs serviced.
The main character, Gabriel, so named because everyone was required to have Old Testament names, had been in the underground club since he was thirteen years old.
He had no memory of women at all despite a huge curiosity to know, see, and experience them.
"I think a healthy bit of chat is stimulating."
Because he never got to leave his subterranean chamber, the action revolved around the clients and other men workers who came to see him there.
There was Peter, a shy man who saved his money in order to come to the club and have sex two or three times a year.
There was Bradley, who told him about the "pre-Santa" world before women were taken away, a world Gabe never knew.
"I'm just an old man who likes to make an entrance," he said, dismissing the gift his words had been to Gabe.
There was Helena Troy, resplendent in a pink robe and matching lipstick, a man whose daughter had been killed and who was in the process of having surgeries to make him more women-like.
The only female character was a runaway girl speaking French, meaning Gabe couldn't understand a word she said, but he hid her anyway.
He paid a violent price for touching her when Adam, the man who'd procured her, discovered her in Gabe's room.
The only other visitor in his lonely world was Cleanup, a guy whose name defined his role at the club.
Despite only a week and a half in rehearsals, the cast was strong and the story riveting for its notion of a woman-less world.
At the talk back afterwards, playwright Augustin Correro joined the cast in answering questions about the play.
He said it had been written as a reaction to legislation being proposed in Virginia for pregnant women to have trans-vaginal ultrasounds, legislation proposed by men naturally.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating.
Keep your laws off my body.
And while every women I know shares that opinion, it's always affirming when I hear how strongly some men feel about it, too.
Correro envisioned the legacy of such legislation as this all-male dystopia with women kept in tubes as breeders only.
Let's just say an all-male world is a really bad idea.
Listening to the playwright speak, I was glad we'd come tonight instead of opening night since he hadn't come that night and it seemed special having n his energy in the room.
We learned he had allowed the director, Melissa Rayford, to make many decisions about staging his work.
"My responsibility as a playwright is not to be Arthur Miller," he said, explaining his latitude with how the play was interpreted.
The talk back allowed many women in the audience to express their thoughts on a male-dominated play that was essentially all about females.
It was brought up that playwrights need to write more roles for women (this one had only one) and while I support that idea 100%, this particular play was about an all-male world and it had the potential to be a very strong piece of theater, so I understood the absence of female roles.
There was a fair amount of back and forth on that topic, but as far as I was concerned it was comparing apples and oranges.
Yes, I'd been impressed by the play and yes, we need more female roles written.
And, yes, we need companies like TheaterLAB producing new and provocative work that sheds a light on the what ifs of our society.
"More like a shell in the shape of something vital."
Because we don't want to end up in a world merely in the shape of something vital, but actually vital.
Fortunately, there are still two more nights to catch this arresting new piece of theater, this coming Monday and Tuesday.
I don't know how any theater lover could miss it.
Or honestly, anyone who cares about the direction our society seems to be taking.
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