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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>They don’t have a website. They don’t have a regular venue. They jerry-rigged this month’s show in a dirty, depressing warehouse, and the lights kept going out. I had to wait in line for an hour with a solidly homogeneous collection of twenty-something white hipsters who B-ed YOB. The show went on for more than two and half hours, all of which time I spent on a folding chair, occasionally getting chili and spunk-flavored cream thrown on me. I saw more than I wanted to see of the host’s and co-host’s privates. The misogyny was even more casual, with the — inevitably young — women in the audience encouraged to flash and grind at every opportunity. Open and covert homophobic jokes flew every which way. And there wasn’t even any food.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was awesome.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jamie “DeWolf” Kennedy’s \u003cb>Tourette’s Without Regrets\u003c/b> is awesome not because of its stupidity but in spite of it. The content of the show is entirely beside the point; it could be Christian values hour and it wouldn’t matter. Because what \u003cb>Tourette’s\u003c/b> brings is a ritual as practiced and intricately designed as high mass, the deepest concentration of raw talent you’re likely to see in a monthly night in the Bay, and horsepower.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Tourette’s\u003c/b>, Kennedy’s performance-competition-cum-low-ring circus, has been working Benicia, Vallejo, and then Oakland for, well, I don’t know how many years because they don’t have a website. Nine? In all that time it’s still undergroundish, and seems to like it that way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But you can tell Kennedy and crew have been doing this a long time. They start with exactly the sort of hug-your-neighbor we used to “build community” in church, and just like in church, it loosened everyone up. Know thy audience. Rather than offering a main event with side shows, \u003cb>Tourette’s\u003c/b> combines variety show with game show for a balanced and rhythmic flow of high-energy scenes: the slam judges introduced themselves by mimicking psychotic animals; two previous “dirty haiku” champions faced off in three rounds; a sick beatboxing duo gave a perfectly timed set; a surreal Burlesque/performance group combined a flute, some high-flown language, and a Snow White strip-tease, etc.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>None of these segments went on too long, and each one had at least one of the necessary elements: real talent, riveting weirdness, or a completely confident and unashamed person being creatively humiliated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What would, in a lesser show, be the main events — the poetry slam and the freestyle rap battle — were necessarily the least controllable portions of a show that emphasizes skill. And sure enough, the slam featured too much abstraction, plus the inevitable girl in a short skirt blowing a piece about her piece; the battlers all spent half their sets thinking, to a rhythm of unconvincing “yo’s.” But these segments, thanks to the variety show feel, didn’t have to carry more than their fair share of the burden.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While it was clear the hosts and contestants were performing a more extreme political incorrectness than they probably professed offstage, this was just as clearly being used to oil up the audience and for no other purpose. There is nothing laudable or challenging about political incorrectness for its own sake, but \u003cb>Tourette’s\u003c/b> is not challenging, cutting edge culture. Its purpose is pure entertainment, and within that, the showcasing of utterly accessible talent. I could see getting mighty weary of it in time, but then I’m not the target audience.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Tourette’s Without Regrets\u003c/b> is the first Thursday of every month [THIS THURSDAY, May 1, 2008] from 9 pm to midnight, although you should arrive at 8 pm if you want a seat. The show should return to its longtime venue at the Oakland Metro in June. Until then, to find out where the next show will be, email Jamie (tongueartillery at yahoo dot com) to get on the mailing list or check out the \u003ca href=\"http://www.myspace.com/touretteswithoutregrets\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tourette’s MySpace page\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The one thing contemporary first world artists have in common is overwhelming self-consciousness. It can be the self-awareness that turns knowingness into illumination, or it can be the stultifying egotism that so completely mines its own personal history that it misses every imaginative byway.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If Will Eno’s \u003cb>Tragedy: A Tragedy\u003c/b> (in its American premiere at Berkeley Rep) has one extended moment of insight, it is that our public consciousness is ruled by the latter. The play is all-night television news coverage from the long dark night of the soul: Eno’s or anyone’s. An anchorman, three field reporters, and a witness take turns describing what they call the capital-N “Night,” a night that has fallen like any other, but then taken on extra weight, leaving observers wondering if it will ever end.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A very literal set defines and entraps each character in a limited space. The aging anchorman sits in the television studio, his half-sphere of movement circumscribed by the half-circle of the desk; the legal expert stands in front of neo-classical courthouse columns or ducks purposefully between them; the experienced reporter stands upstage, facing an imaginary camera, or defies the camera by sitting down on the grass; the female human-interest reporter stands behind an empty house on a small mound of grass, or paces a few steps back to apply lipstick and talk on her cell phone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each character, fixed in space, monologues in turn, lyrically describing nothing, passing the word to the next character or back to the anchor in complicated figures. The effect is soporific; I had never appreciated before how important onstage movement is, keeping the eye tracking and the conscious brain working. I dozed off several times and only jerked completely awake when the previously speechless witness got up to deliver the final monologue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happily, I didn’t miss much in the details I slept through. The play is a temporal and spatial spiral, following the downward movement of the clichéd “night,” in which one’s soul is laid bare to oneself and one caves to the bleakness or beauty of reality. Or something. Each character succumbs to despair: the downward spiral is inevitable, immediately discernable, and overwhelms the details that decorate its path. As a formal exercise, it’s direct; as a joke, it’s a one-liner; as a play, it’s not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eno is often compared to Beckett, but in \u003cb>Tragedy\u003c/b> he owes more to the regressive, memoirish strain of contemporary literary fiction. Where Beckett amuses and stultifies with rapid and repetitive action and dialogue, Eno sticks to aggressively poetic monologues that keep each character physically constrained. \u003cb>Tragedy\u003c/b> stubbornly refuses to use the stage as a traffic pattern, opting instead for a static canvas … or a television screen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought at first the piece was a piss-take on American letters, in its obsession with false lyricism and seemingly meaningful, but actually pointless detail. Watching the characters standing in fixed positions giving into train-of-thought blow-by-blows that would make D.H. Lawrence look like a minimalist, reminded me of nothing so much as a student fiction reading. But since the playwright never broke out of this voice, in the end I couldn’t tell if he was intentionally parodying or unintentionally self-parodying.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The performances, like the set and lighting, were technically on target, but the play left little scope for imaginative rendering. Relatively brief at seventy minutes, \u003cb>Tragedy: A Tragedy\u003c/b> delivered precisely what it promised, on time, with humor, and with no surprises.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Tragedy: A Tragedy\u003c/b> runs through April 13, 2008 at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre. For \u003ca href=\"http://berkeleyrep.org/ticketing/calendar/index.aspx\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit berkeleyrep.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The one thing contemporary first world artists have in common is overwhelming self-consciousness. It can be the self-awareness that turns knowingness into illumination, or it can be the stultifying egotism that so completely mines its own personal history that it misses every imaginative byway.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If Will Eno’s \u003cb>Tragedy: A Tragedy\u003c/b> (in its American premiere at Berkeley Rep) has one extended moment of insight, it is that our public consciousness is ruled by the latter. The play is all-night television news coverage from the long dark night of the soul: Eno’s or anyone’s. An anchorman, three field reporters, and a witness take turns describing what they call the capital-N “Night,” a night that has fallen like any other, but then taken on extra weight, leaving observers wondering if it will ever end.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A very literal set defines and entraps each character in a limited space. The aging anchorman sits in the television studio, his half-sphere of movement circumscribed by the half-circle of the desk; the legal expert stands in front of neo-classical courthouse columns or ducks purposefully between them; the experienced reporter stands upstage, facing an imaginary camera, or defies the camera by sitting down on the grass; the female human-interest reporter stands behind an empty house on a small mound of grass, or paces a few steps back to apply lipstick and talk on her cell phone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Each character, fixed in space, monologues in turn, lyrically describing nothing, passing the word to the next character or back to the anchor in complicated figures. The effect is soporific; I had never appreciated before how important onstage movement is, keeping the eye tracking and the conscious brain working. I dozed off several times and only jerked completely awake when the previously speechless witness got up to deliver the final monologue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happily, I didn’t miss much in the details I slept through. The play is a temporal and spatial spiral, following the downward movement of the clichéd “night,” in which one’s soul is laid bare to oneself and one caves to the bleakness or beauty of reality. Or something. Each character succumbs to despair: the downward spiral is inevitable, immediately discernable, and overwhelms the details that decorate its path. As a formal exercise, it’s direct; as a joke, it’s a one-liner; as a play, it’s not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eno is often compared to Beckett, but in \u003cb>Tragedy\u003c/b> he owes more to the regressive, memoirish strain of contemporary literary fiction. Where Beckett amuses and stultifies with rapid and repetitive action and dialogue, Eno sticks to aggressively poetic monologues that keep each character physically constrained. \u003cb>Tragedy\u003c/b> stubbornly refuses to use the stage as a traffic pattern, opting instead for a static canvas … or a television screen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought at first the piece was a piss-take on American letters, in its obsession with false lyricism and seemingly meaningful, but actually pointless detail. Watching the characters standing in fixed positions giving into train-of-thought blow-by-blows that would make D.H. Lawrence look like a minimalist, reminded me of nothing so much as a student fiction reading. But since the playwright never broke out of this voice, in the end I couldn’t tell if he was intentionally parodying or unintentionally self-parodying.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The performances, like the set and lighting, were technically on target, but the play left little scope for imaginative rendering. Relatively brief at seventy minutes, \u003cb>Tragedy: A Tragedy\u003c/b> delivered precisely what it promised, on time, with humor, and with no surprises.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Tragedy: A Tragedy\u003c/b> runs through April 13, 2008 at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre. For \u003ca href=\"http://berkeleyrep.org/ticketing/calendar/index.aspx\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit berkeleyrep.org.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b>, now playing at City Lights in San Jose, opens with Diahanna Davidson, who gives a penetrating performance in the play’s titular role, screaming at the top of her lungs. As a harbinger of things to come, this pretty much nails it. Director and adaptor Will Huddleston’s \u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b> is a noisy and orgiastic affair, in which actors bellow, moan, shriek, and thunder their lines to the heavens, as if their collective feet were pushing against the theater’s very rafters.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Always a comedy, in Huddleston’s hands Aristophanes’s seminal work is really more of a farce, with all the subtlety of a Pyramus and Thisbe skit performed by randy players in the heat of coitus. I don’t have a problem with that, honest to Peter, and on the night I attended, most of the audience hooted and applauded Huddleston’s endless double entendres (I lost count at 69) and four-letter epithets like demented cheerleaders from The Society for the Enraptured Embrace of Moral Decay. Which is to say, they were having a hell of a good time. I wanted to give up and join the bawdy and irreverent enterprise, but I kept wondering what Aristophanes would have thought of this remake of his 2,500-year-old seminal work. Being your basic old-school satirist, he was probably a bit more concerned with the message of his piece rather than its style. Stiff that he was, he actually had something to say.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Huddleston does too, as an early exchange between Lysistrata and Kleonike (Beverly Griffith) suggests. Kleo, as Lysistrata calls her, is ready to help her friend bring the men of Athens to their knees, for a change, and cease their irrational and infantile war-making. As long, that is, as Kleo thinks Lysistrata’s remedy is to go shopping. “You make your country stronger when you buy things,” she proclaims, in an overly obvious reference to George Bush’s almost identical and equally cynical advice to the nation in the wake of 9/11. “New slippers!” she squeals. “I feel so patriotic!” Yeah, I get it, but couldn’t Huddleston have found a fresher topical reference to insert into his adaptation? Was \u003ca href=\"http://www.huffingtonpost.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">The Huffington Post\u003c/a> down?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course, what Lysistrata actually has in mind is that the women of Greece should sue for peace by withholding piece of ass, which takes some convincing since the women of Athens are every bit the sexual athletes as the men. Heidi Kobara has a nice turn as Lampito, Lysistrata’s Spartan counterpart, and watching her and Davidson use their tongues to persuade the skeptical women of Greece to rebuff the amorous advances of their manly men is great stuff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then, I’m afraid, things kinda go limp. Not for the lack of convincing performances. Ironically the best are by the male members of the cast. Ron Talbot, who has made a name for himself locally by playing serious men with serious words to say, successfully stretches his comedic wings by playing another: Socrates. Here the great philosopher is subjected to numerous physical and psychological indignities, which decorum prevents from enumerating here. Talbot’s Socrates rises to the occasion. Thom Gorrebeeck excels in several roles, from a masked Viagrus, who delivers his lines like a stoned Muppet, to Kinesias, whose swollen member (he calls it Hercules) turns out to be a mere preview of the phallic wonders to come. Also terrific are the magistrate (Tom Gough), his daughter Dawn (Nina Harada), and the magistrate’s mother (Molly Thornton), whose confrontation with Gough is hilarious. A commanding presence on stage, with an expressive face and winning gestures that come off like perfectly natural ad libs, Gough’s autocratic magistrate reverts to mortified teenager in a heartbeat when faced with his proud and defiant mom’s “metaphors.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then, before we even realize it has happened, the play becomes a war of words, the main one being “f@$#,” which Huddleston gratuitously tosses around until it goes flaccid. The first instance is the most effective. It features Socrates and Xantippe (Shannon Stowe, who also did the show’s choreography and served as the play’s assistant director) trading increasingly engorged “F yous” until Socrates backs down. Runner up: Dawn’s defiance of her authoritarian father (put “daddy” at the end of that phrase, and it’ll get a laugh every time).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sitting in the audience, one is caught in this verbal crossfire of style versus substance. At the top of the show, the women were indignant, remember? At least Lysistrata was, but when Huddleston opens the second half of the play by having his heroine declare that the women of Athens are suffering because they need to get laid, in the same, earnest, full-throated voice that she had used to trumpet her politics, the moral authority of her character is sucked dry. She should be the ground to the circus going on around her. Instead, she becomes part of the mob, which makes Huddleston’s humor seem imprudent and his cheeky, “look what I just saw on \u003cb>YouTube\u003c/b>” references feel tired and dated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, for all the pop-culture and contemporary-politics references, a very important, if potentially undermining, one appears to have escaped Huddleston’s attention. Where in \u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b> is Hillary Clinton? Isn’t there a place here for her? Well, no, since she voted to authorize the current nightmare in Iraq (hardly the thing our heroine would have done). Back when it might have made a difference, it was a male named Barak Obama who rose, like the women of Athens, to the call of peace. How does Huddleston reconcile this inconvenient sexual anti-stereotype? He doesn’t, contenting himself instead to toss gags at the groundlings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b> continues at City Lights Theater Company through April 20, 2008. 529 S. Second Street, San Jose, (408) 295-4200. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.cltc.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> vist cltc.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b>, now playing at City Lights in San Jose, opens with Diahanna Davidson, who gives a penetrating performance in the play’s titular role, screaming at the top of her lungs. As a harbinger of things to come, this pretty much nails it. Director and adaptor Will Huddleston’s \u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b> is a noisy and orgiastic affair, in which actors bellow, moan, shriek, and thunder their lines to the heavens, as if their collective feet were pushing against the theater’s very rafters.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Always a comedy, in Huddleston’s hands Aristophanes’s seminal work is really more of a farce, with all the subtlety of a Pyramus and Thisbe skit performed by randy players in the heat of coitus. I don’t have a problem with that, honest to Peter, and on the night I attended, most of the audience hooted and applauded Huddleston’s endless double entendres (I lost count at 69) and four-letter epithets like demented cheerleaders from The Society for the Enraptured Embrace of Moral Decay. Which is to say, they were having a hell of a good time. I wanted to give up and join the bawdy and irreverent enterprise, but I kept wondering what Aristophanes would have thought of this remake of his 2,500-year-old seminal work. Being your basic old-school satirist, he was probably a bit more concerned with the message of his piece rather than its style. Stiff that he was, he actually had something to say.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Huddleston does too, as an early exchange between Lysistrata and Kleonike (Beverly Griffith) suggests. Kleo, as Lysistrata calls her, is ready to help her friend bring the men of Athens to their knees, for a change, and cease their irrational and infantile war-making. As long, that is, as Kleo thinks Lysistrata’s remedy is to go shopping. “You make your country stronger when you buy things,” she proclaims, in an overly obvious reference to George Bush’s almost identical and equally cynical advice to the nation in the wake of 9/11. “New slippers!” she squeals. “I feel so patriotic!” Yeah, I get it, but couldn’t Huddleston have found a fresher topical reference to insert into his adaptation? Was \u003ca href=\"http://www.huffingtonpost.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">The Huffington Post\u003c/a> down?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course, what Lysistrata actually has in mind is that the women of Greece should sue for peace by withholding piece of ass, which takes some convincing since the women of Athens are every bit the sexual athletes as the men. Heidi Kobara has a nice turn as Lampito, Lysistrata’s Spartan counterpart, and watching her and Davidson use their tongues to persuade the skeptical women of Greece to rebuff the amorous advances of their manly men is great stuff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then, I’m afraid, things kinda go limp. Not for the lack of convincing performances. Ironically the best are by the male members of the cast. Ron Talbot, who has made a name for himself locally by playing serious men with serious words to say, successfully stretches his comedic wings by playing another: Socrates. Here the great philosopher is subjected to numerous physical and psychological indignities, which decorum prevents from enumerating here. Talbot’s Socrates rises to the occasion. Thom Gorrebeeck excels in several roles, from a masked Viagrus, who delivers his lines like a stoned Muppet, to Kinesias, whose swollen member (he calls it Hercules) turns out to be a mere preview of the phallic wonders to come. Also terrific are the magistrate (Tom Gough), his daughter Dawn (Nina Harada), and the magistrate’s mother (Molly Thornton), whose confrontation with Gough is hilarious. A commanding presence on stage, with an expressive face and winning gestures that come off like perfectly natural ad libs, Gough’s autocratic magistrate reverts to mortified teenager in a heartbeat when faced with his proud and defiant mom’s “metaphors.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then, before we even realize it has happened, the play becomes a war of words, the main one being “f@$#,” which Huddleston gratuitously tosses around until it goes flaccid. The first instance is the most effective. It features Socrates and Xantippe (Shannon Stowe, who also did the show’s choreography and served as the play’s assistant director) trading increasingly engorged “F yous” until Socrates backs down. Runner up: Dawn’s defiance of her authoritarian father (put “daddy” at the end of that phrase, and it’ll get a laugh every time).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sitting in the audience, one is caught in this verbal crossfire of style versus substance. At the top of the show, the women were indignant, remember? At least Lysistrata was, but when Huddleston opens the second half of the play by having his heroine declare that the women of Athens are suffering because they need to get laid, in the same, earnest, full-throated voice that she had used to trumpet her politics, the moral authority of her character is sucked dry. She should be the ground to the circus going on around her. Instead, she becomes part of the mob, which makes Huddleston’s humor seem imprudent and his cheeky, “look what I just saw on \u003cb>YouTube\u003c/b>” references feel tired and dated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Indeed, for all the pop-culture and contemporary-politics references, a very important, if potentially undermining, one appears to have escaped Huddleston’s attention. Where in \u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b> is Hillary Clinton? Isn’t there a place here for her? Well, no, since she voted to authorize the current nightmare in Iraq (hardly the thing our heroine would have done). Back when it might have made a difference, it was a male named Barak Obama who rose, like the women of Athens, to the call of peace. How does Huddleston reconcile this inconvenient sexual anti-stereotype? He doesn’t, contenting himself instead to toss gags at the groundlings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Lysistrata\u003c/b> continues at City Lights Theater Company through April 20, 2008. 529 S. Second Street, San Jose, (408) 295-4200. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.cltc.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> vist cltc.org.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The temptation to make magic out of the Tucson desert is overwhelming for children. So hot it makes you shiver, so dusty and dry it takes a neophyte years to see life there, the saguaro desert is a vast, supernatural garbage dump where things thrown away always come back deformed and blanched out of exposition by the sun.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the extreme end of this continuum of childish magic would be the \u003ca href=\"http://www.tucsonweekly.com/gbase/currents/Content?oid=oid:51585\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">true story\u003c/a> of a little girl buried alive in a box in the desert for nineteen days. Being a Tucsonan herself, that girl might be forgiven for calmly expecting the desert to eventually give her back; and years later for trying to uncover the secret of her transformation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This the end of the stick that Octavio Solis gets ahold of in his new play \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b>. A collaboration with Intersection for the Arts’ resident theater company Campo Santo and composer Beth Custer, \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> jumps off of a corrido written shortly after the 1934 June Robles kidnapping and takes its cues equally from folk song, sensationalist newspaper reports, and an array of pop culture convergences. It is a classic musical, an oral history, and a fairy tale questioning its own happy ending.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eighty-one-year-old June (Denise Blasor) is drawn out to the desert one night by a song. She finds two coyotes (Luis Saguar and Mark David Pinate) singing the corrido of June Robles, a six-year-old girl held by kidnappers in an underground box. The coyotes lead June back to her child self (Gracie Solis), still trapped in the box after 75 years, to relive that buried part of her life and, she hopes, finally set the child free.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production, as one would expect from Campo Santo and Intersection, is simple and effective. The underground box dominates a corrugated metal and wood set hinting at the Depression-era context of the incident. The adult performances are solid, and Mark David Pinate phase-shifts particularly effectively between archetypal coyote, scared kidnapper, and frightened father.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Solis and Custer use the musical numbers to recast the action in pop culture tropes, offering subtext, but not — as in traditional musicals — character development. The resulting performance of the nineteen days of captivity recalls \u003cb>Annie\u003c/b> (in the child’s costume, song and dance, and aggressive innocence), coyote and roadrunner (in a fun song about a jackrabbit), and even \u003cb>Cats\u003c/b> (in the canine affect and howling singing of the coyotes). With the exception of a ditty about solitude — standard to every Broadway musical on the books — the music is a formally challenging counterpoint to the monologue-heavy dialogue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But Solis has little time left after the musical numbers to do much more than complete the storytelling. Shifts in perspective across June’s family members go a long way towards texturing the chaos of search and investigation, but June’s own experience in the box gets short shrift.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At its base, this is still a horror story: a girl is buried alive in the desert for nearly three weeks. What does that do to a child? What does that child come back as? Whether through fairy tale or bleak naturalism, whether from the point of view of the adult or the child victim, the story of June’s nineteen days in the box is the story that \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> promises — the compelling, sensational story we expect — but this is almost the only story the play doesn’t deliver.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I found myself wondering if Solis had hobbled himself by casting and directing his own daughter as the young June. That might have been an irresistible incentive to soft-pedal the child’s terror and pain. Gracie Solis isn’t given much to do here besides assert her childishness (the actor is twelve years old), and whenever the action threatens to investigate her solitary wait underground, the play’s attention slides away from June to zero in on another of her tortured, bewildered, or selfish family members.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s an effective way to tell the tale, but not the story. Because, although it takes on adult voices, \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> only makes sense as a story told by a child trying to find magic in the faded image of what the desert gave back. As imaginative and fruitful as this collaboration is — and it’s very enjoyable — Solis doesn’t manage to maintain this frame, or any other, consistently. And our questions about June remain unanswered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> runs through March 31, 2008 at Intersection for the Arts, 446 Valencia Street in San Francisco. For \u003ca>tickets and information\u003c/a> visit theintersection.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The temptation to make magic out of the Tucson desert is overwhelming for children. So hot it makes you shiver, so dusty and dry it takes a neophyte years to see life there, the saguaro desert is a vast, supernatural garbage dump where things thrown away always come back deformed and blanched out of exposition by the sun.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the extreme end of this continuum of childish magic would be the \u003ca href=\"http://www.tucsonweekly.com/gbase/currents/Content?oid=oid:51585\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">true story\u003c/a> of a little girl buried alive in a box in the desert for nineteen days. Being a Tucsonan herself, that girl might be forgiven for calmly expecting the desert to eventually give her back; and years later for trying to uncover the secret of her transformation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This the end of the stick that Octavio Solis gets ahold of in his new play \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b>. A collaboration with Intersection for the Arts’ resident theater company Campo Santo and composer Beth Custer, \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> jumps off of a corrido written shortly after the 1934 June Robles kidnapping and takes its cues equally from folk song, sensationalist newspaper reports, and an array of pop culture convergences. It is a classic musical, an oral history, and a fairy tale questioning its own happy ending.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Eighty-one-year-old June (Denise Blasor) is drawn out to the desert one night by a song. She finds two coyotes (Luis Saguar and Mark David Pinate) singing the corrido of June Robles, a six-year-old girl held by kidnappers in an underground box. The coyotes lead June back to her child self (Gracie Solis), still trapped in the box after 75 years, to relive that buried part of her life and, she hopes, finally set the child free.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production, as one would expect from Campo Santo and Intersection, is simple and effective. The underground box dominates a corrugated metal and wood set hinting at the Depression-era context of the incident. The adult performances are solid, and Mark David Pinate phase-shifts particularly effectively between archetypal coyote, scared kidnapper, and frightened father.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Solis and Custer use the musical numbers to recast the action in pop culture tropes, offering subtext, but not — as in traditional musicals — character development. The resulting performance of the nineteen days of captivity recalls \u003cb>Annie\u003c/b> (in the child’s costume, song and dance, and aggressive innocence), coyote and roadrunner (in a fun song about a jackrabbit), and even \u003cb>Cats\u003c/b> (in the canine affect and howling singing of the coyotes). With the exception of a ditty about solitude — standard to every Broadway musical on the books — the music is a formally challenging counterpoint to the monologue-heavy dialogue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But Solis has little time left after the musical numbers to do much more than complete the storytelling. Shifts in perspective across June’s family members go a long way towards texturing the chaos of search and investigation, but June’s own experience in the box gets short shrift.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At its base, this is still a horror story: a girl is buried alive in the desert for nearly three weeks. What does that do to a child? What does that child come back as? Whether through fairy tale or bleak naturalism, whether from the point of view of the adult or the child victim, the story of June’s nineteen days in the box is the story that \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> promises — the compelling, sensational story we expect — but this is almost the only story the play doesn’t deliver.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I found myself wondering if Solis had hobbled himself by casting and directing his own daughter as the young June. That might have been an irresistible incentive to soft-pedal the child’s terror and pain. Gracie Solis isn’t given much to do here besides assert her childishness (the actor is twelve years old), and whenever the action threatens to investigate her solitary wait underground, the play’s attention slides away from June to zero in on another of her tortured, bewildered, or selfish family members.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s an effective way to tell the tale, but not the story. Because, although it takes on adult voices, \u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> only makes sense as a story told by a child trying to find magic in the faded image of what the desert gave back. As imaginative and fruitful as this collaboration is — and it’s very enjoyable — Solis doesn’t manage to maintain this frame, or any other, consistently. And our questions about June remain unanswered.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>June In A Box\u003c/b> runs through March 31, 2008 at Intersection for the Arts, 446 Valencia Street in San Francisco. For \u003ca>tickets and information\u003c/a> visit theintersection.org.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>We just can’t get enough of the apocalypse. The imminent demise of civilization strikes a chord with the public and fuels many of Hollywood’s biggest blockbusters (\u003cb>Last Night\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Armageddon\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Deep Impact\u003c/b>, \u003cb>The Day After Tomorrow\u003c/b>). Even former sitcom star-turned-evangelist Kirk Cameron is getting in on the action with his participation in the \u003ca href=\"http://imdb.com/title/tt0190524/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Left Behind\u003c/a> film series. Is it wish fulfillment that fuels the subject’s popularity? (Audiences cheered when the White House was blown to bits during the previews for \u003cb>Judgment Day\u003c/b>). Or is it because these fictions allow folks to face their deepest fears? Or maybe people just like explosions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> is a thrilling and ambitious addition to the growing genre. Three years in the making, the play is presented by San Francisco’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.foolsfury.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">foolsFURY Theater Company\u003c/a>. Writer Doug Dorst taps the dark undercurrent of modern society (a chronic sense of powerlessness, religious zealotry, governmental fearmongering) through his vision of a not-entirely-unfamiliar Orwellian world dominated by three forces: a totalitarian government (The Structure), a state-sponsored fundamentalist religion (The Makersellers), and the world of rampant consumerism (The Stuff-Thrusters).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play begins with a woman falling from the sky, her suicide sparking days of endless rainfall, which will hasten the “end of times” through a major flood. Faced with imminent disaster, some cling to religion, government or consumerism for succor, others yeild to panic and confusion. As these characters are tested by increasingly dire events, they come to individually reveal and express the monster within, posing the question of what, if anything, separates humanity from the monster.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dorst’s characters are original and complicated and the actors who play them bring their own special something to the written word. Debora Eliezer carries the play with her compelling portrayal of a Makerseller awaiting Noah and his ark. Beth Wilmurt is mesmerizing as Mrs. Huddleston, a conflicted teacher torn between her allegiance to The Structure and her belief in freedom. And Blythe Foster comes alive as Delia, a clairvoyant prostitute, inciting laughter with her spot-on delivery. All actors contribute to communal characters, such as the seafaring pirate and the umbrella wielding Gestapo-esque figures representing The Structure. In a world full of jaded stars, it’s refreshing to witness the joy of these actors as they genuinely engage with the material.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another note-worthy mention is Patrick Kaliski, the sound designer. He creates an eerily sinister atmosphere with sounds of persistent rain, white noise, and official announcements over a deconstructed public address system (the latter very cleverly utilized to inform the audience that The Structure has sanctioned a short intermission to purchase libations).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production thrives most in its deviation from traditional structure, using theatrical abnormalities that make \u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> itself a monster. Instead of relying solely on in-scene dialogue, the narrative sometimes unfolds through the cyclical monologues of three characters. The actors also speak entirely original jargon created specifically for this alternate reality, referring to the body as a Skin Hull or the propaganda spoon fed to children as Structiculum. Even their movements stray from the norm, creating a raw physicality through choreographed flowing and plunging gestures that coincide with the flood’s invisible waves. The breakdown of conventional storytelling isn’t always effective, specifically when the cast engages in an arbitrary musical number that fails to deliver anything but groans. But the song is a minor and forgivable blunder.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although a little lengthy and messy at times, \u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> truly is a “theatrical spectacle” and all of its risk-taking pays off in the end. I left the theater examining my own apocalyptic thought and anxiously awaiting the unveiling of my monster within.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> runs through March 23, 2008 at CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission St. (near 9th) in San Francisco. 415-626-2060. \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>We just can’t get enough of the apocalypse. The imminent demise of civilization strikes a chord with the public and fuels many of Hollywood’s biggest blockbusters (\u003cb>Last Night\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Armageddon\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Deep Impact\u003c/b>, \u003cb>The Day After Tomorrow\u003c/b>). Even former sitcom star-turned-evangelist Kirk Cameron is getting in on the action with his participation in the \u003ca href=\"http://imdb.com/title/tt0190524/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Left Behind\u003c/a> film series. Is it wish fulfillment that fuels the subject’s popularity? (Audiences cheered when the White House was blown to bits during the previews for \u003cb>Judgment Day\u003c/b>). Or is it because these fictions allow folks to face their deepest fears? Or maybe people just like explosions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> is a thrilling and ambitious addition to the growing genre. Three years in the making, the play is presented by San Francisco’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.foolsfury.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">foolsFURY Theater Company\u003c/a>. Writer Doug Dorst taps the dark undercurrent of modern society (a chronic sense of powerlessness, religious zealotry, governmental fearmongering) through his vision of a not-entirely-unfamiliar Orwellian world dominated by three forces: a totalitarian government (The Structure), a state-sponsored fundamentalist religion (The Makersellers), and the world of rampant consumerism (The Stuff-Thrusters).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play begins with a woman falling from the sky, her suicide sparking days of endless rainfall, which will hasten the “end of times” through a major flood. Faced with imminent disaster, some cling to religion, government or consumerism for succor, others yeild to panic and confusion. As these characters are tested by increasingly dire events, they come to individually reveal and express the monster within, posing the question of what, if anything, separates humanity from the monster.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dorst’s characters are original and complicated and the actors who play them bring their own special something to the written word. Debora Eliezer carries the play with her compelling portrayal of a Makerseller awaiting Noah and his ark. Beth Wilmurt is mesmerizing as Mrs. Huddleston, a conflicted teacher torn between her allegiance to The Structure and her belief in freedom. And Blythe Foster comes alive as Delia, a clairvoyant prostitute, inciting laughter with her spot-on delivery. All actors contribute to communal characters, such as the seafaring pirate and the umbrella wielding Gestapo-esque figures representing The Structure. In a world full of jaded stars, it’s refreshing to witness the joy of these actors as they genuinely engage with the material.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another note-worthy mention is Patrick Kaliski, the sound designer. He creates an eerily sinister atmosphere with sounds of persistent rain, white noise, and official announcements over a deconstructed public address system (the latter very cleverly utilized to inform the audience that The Structure has sanctioned a short intermission to purchase libations).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production thrives most in its deviation from traditional structure, using theatrical abnormalities that make \u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> itself a monster. Instead of relying solely on in-scene dialogue, the narrative sometimes unfolds through the cyclical monologues of three characters. The actors also speak entirely original jargon created specifically for this alternate reality, referring to the body as a Skin Hull or the propaganda spoon fed to children as Structiculum. Even their movements stray from the norm, creating a raw physicality through choreographed flowing and plunging gestures that coincide with the flood’s invisible waves. The breakdown of conventional storytelling isn’t always effective, specifically when the cast engages in an arbitrary musical number that fails to deliver anything but groans. But the song is a minor and forgivable blunder.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although a little lengthy and messy at times, \u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> truly is a “theatrical spectacle” and all of its risk-taking pays off in the end. I left the theater examining my own apocalyptic thought and anxiously awaiting the unveiling of my monster within.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Monster in the Dark\u003c/b> runs through March 23, 2008 at CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission St. (near 9th) in San Francisco. 415-626-2060. \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Last Saturday afternoon I drove to Cinema West in Fairfax, decided 12:30pm isn’t too early for popcorn, bought my ticket and went inside. Was I there for the latest epic romance? An indie film playing only at select theaters? A revival of a classic? Turns out it was a little of all three: San Francisco Opera’s first theatrical release of Giacomo Puccini’s \u003cb>La Rondine\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’d been looking forward to this matinee for months. My husband, on the other hand, spent the drive to Fairfax enumerating the many other ways that we could spend a beautiful Saturday afternoon. But even he was won over by the benefits of opera at the movies. For example: you can wear jeans, there’s no pressure about clapping at the right or wrong time, tickets cost under $20, and you can enjoy soda and candy during the show. More importantly the sound quality is excellent, the picture is in high definition, and the cameras capture subtleties and expressions that can get lost in a big opera house. We were both genuinely moved by the story and by the immediacy of seeing the performers up close, thirty feet high, revealing the characters’ lives and loves to Puccini’s sweeping, romantic music. While it can’t replace the energy and excitement of a live performance, the theatrical release provides a more intimate and casual way to experience opera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>La Rondine (The Swallow)\u003c/b> tells the story of Magda, a young Parisian woman who lives in luxury as the mistress of a wealthy banker. When she falls in love with Ruggero, a naive young man from the country, she gives up the pleasures of her life in Paris, and must eventually decide whether she will deceive her young lover about her past. Though the opera is rarely performed, this production is an argument for mounting it more often due largely to the magnetic and deeply felt performance by Romanian soprano Angela Gheorghiu as Magda. Her voice is clear and rich and she floats high notes with grace and power. Equally revelatory is her physical portrayal, inhabiting Magda as a lively and conflicted young woman who seems to want to squeeze every drop of life from each moment. Gheorghiu is supported by excellent physical and vocal performances from Gerard Powers as the dapper poet Prunier and Anna Christy as the flighty maid Lisette. Only Misha Didyk, as the lover Ruggero, appeared stiff and was better to listen to than to watch. But the opera belongs to Gheorghiu’s Magda, and she holds the audience’s attention throughout.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Operas have been filmed for decades, often for release on public television, with mixed results in capturing the vibrancy and depth of live performances. But recent advances in digital technology have opened up new options for filming live operatic performances. San Francisco Opera and the Metropolitan Opera in New York, both under new general directors since 2006, are taking advantage of this technology to bring opera out of the opera house and to wider audiences. In 2007, San Francisco Opera installed a high definition video production center at the War Memorial Opera House and filmed four operas from the season, which are now being released in movie theaters. The Met has been transmitting select operas in movie theaters since 2006. The management of both companies insist that opera is still best seen live, but with so many people unable to attend a performance (cost and distance are frequently prohibitive) these theatrical releases are an exciting way to reach new and old audiences alike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’re interested in exploring this innovative way to enjoy opera, or you just like the idea of eating popcorn while a soprano warbles onscreen, there are plenty of opportunities. \u003cb>La Rondine\u003c/b> will play at the Castro Theater on March 17, 2008 with future productions of \u003cb>Samson and Delilah\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Don Giovanni\u003c/b>, and \u003cb>Madama Butterfly\u003c/b> airing in theaters around the Bay Area in March and April, 2008. \u003ca href=\"http://www.thebiggerpicture.us/opera/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">More information\u003c/a> is available at thebiggerpicture. The Met’s next release is Benjamin Britten’s dark and brooding \u003cb>Peter Grimes\u003c/b>, which plays in local theaters March 15-16, 2008.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Last Saturday afternoon I drove to Cinema West in Fairfax, decided 12:30pm isn’t too early for popcorn, bought my ticket and went inside. Was I there for the latest epic romance? An indie film playing only at select theaters? A revival of a classic? Turns out it was a little of all three: San Francisco Opera’s first theatrical release of Giacomo Puccini’s \u003cb>La Rondine\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’d been looking forward to this matinee for months. My husband, on the other hand, spent the drive to Fairfax enumerating the many other ways that we could spend a beautiful Saturday afternoon. But even he was won over by the benefits of opera at the movies. For example: you can wear jeans, there’s no pressure about clapping at the right or wrong time, tickets cost under $20, and you can enjoy soda and candy during the show. More importantly the sound quality is excellent, the picture is in high definition, and the cameras capture subtleties and expressions that can get lost in a big opera house. We were both genuinely moved by the story and by the immediacy of seeing the performers up close, thirty feet high, revealing the characters’ lives and loves to Puccini’s sweeping, romantic music. While it can’t replace the energy and excitement of a live performance, the theatrical release provides a more intimate and casual way to experience opera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>La Rondine (The Swallow)\u003c/b> tells the story of Magda, a young Parisian woman who lives in luxury as the mistress of a wealthy banker. When she falls in love with Ruggero, a naive young man from the country, she gives up the pleasures of her life in Paris, and must eventually decide whether she will deceive her young lover about her past. Though the opera is rarely performed, this production is an argument for mounting it more often due largely to the magnetic and deeply felt performance by Romanian soprano Angela Gheorghiu as Magda. Her voice is clear and rich and she floats high notes with grace and power. Equally revelatory is her physical portrayal, inhabiting Magda as a lively and conflicted young woman who seems to want to squeeze every drop of life from each moment. Gheorghiu is supported by excellent physical and vocal performances from Gerard Powers as the dapper poet Prunier and Anna Christy as the flighty maid Lisette. Only Misha Didyk, as the lover Ruggero, appeared stiff and was better to listen to than to watch. But the opera belongs to Gheorghiu’s Magda, and she holds the audience’s attention throughout.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Operas have been filmed for decades, often for release on public television, with mixed results in capturing the vibrancy and depth of live performances. But recent advances in digital technology have opened up new options for filming live operatic performances. San Francisco Opera and the Metropolitan Opera in New York, both under new general directors since 2006, are taking advantage of this technology to bring opera out of the opera house and to wider audiences. In 2007, San Francisco Opera installed a high definition video production center at the War Memorial Opera House and filmed four operas from the season, which are now being released in movie theaters. The Met has been transmitting select operas in movie theaters since 2006. The management of both companies insist that opera is still best seen live, but with so many people unable to attend a performance (cost and distance are frequently prohibitive) these theatrical releases are an exciting way to reach new and old audiences alike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you’re interested in exploring this innovative way to enjoy opera, or you just like the idea of eating popcorn while a soprano warbles onscreen, there are plenty of opportunities. \u003cb>La Rondine\u003c/b> will play at the Castro Theater on March 17, 2008 with future productions of \u003cb>Samson and Delilah\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Don Giovanni\u003c/b>, and \u003cb>Madama Butterfly\u003c/b> airing in theaters around the Bay Area in March and April, 2008. \u003ca href=\"http://www.thebiggerpicture.us/opera/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">More information\u003c/a> is available at thebiggerpicture. The Met’s next release is Benjamin Britten’s dark and brooding \u003cb>Peter Grimes\u003c/b>, which plays in local theaters March 15-16, 2008.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The Greek myth of Orpheus is a timeless legend about the power and futility of human love, in which Orpheus, a gifted musician, braves the dangers of the underworld to beg for the return of his beloved Eurydice. It’s been a popular subject for centuries, with composers inspired by the sacred ideals of love and music as embodied by Orpheus’ pursuit of his beloved even in death.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But if you like your Greek mythology with a little more spice, then read on! Everything is turned upside down in Jacques Offenbach’s 1858 operetta \u003cb>Orpheus in the Underworld\u003c/b>. Instead of a noble pair of lovers, Orpheus is now a conceited music professor pursuing nymphs while his wife Eurydice hates his music and is having an affair with a shepherd. Instead of noble gods and goddesses led by the brave Jupiter, Mount Olympus is populated by bored and dissolute deities who can’t wait to revolt against Jupiter’s hypocritical reign. There is seduction, infidelity, sexual innuendo, and inebriation. There’s even an infectious can-can.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Orpheus in the Underworld\u003c/b> is the opening production of Pocket Opera’s 2008 season. For more than thirty years, Pocket Opera has been presenting intimate, accessible opera productions to Bay Area audiences, performing mostly in English with translations by the company’s founder, Donald Pippin. Now in his early eighties, Pippin still leads from the piano and introduces each scene with brevity and wit. His libretti are clever, flexible, and accessible. Pippin believes in translating “the spirit of the work rather than word by word, with complete fidelity to the composer’s musical intentions” and the translations serve the singers, audience, and original texts alike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pocket Opera works in small houses with minimal sets, costumes, and staging. The orchestra is small, usually 8-15 instrumentalists with Pippin at the piano. There is none of the pomp and circumstance that you can expect from larger operatic productions, which often include dramatic set changes, elaborate costumes and even animals onstage (I’ve seen everything from a toy poodle to an elephant!). Pocket Opera’s \u003cb>Orpheus\u003c/b> is both approachable and enjoyable, but there’s also nowhere to hide — during opening night, on the few occasions when a line was missed or the singers and orchestra were out of sync, you could tell immediately.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While energetic and committed, the cast possessed a wide range of vocal and dramatic ability. The production was anchored by Jillian Boye’s excellent performance as Eurydice. She brought a powerful voice, good comedic instincts and a vivacious presence to the role. Michael Mendelsohn was a hilarious Pluto, changing easily from seductive to scheming to silly as the situation required. In smaller roles, Jennifer Nadig as Venus and Julia Louise Hosack as Diana stood out for their bright singing and comic energy. A bit less comfortable when singing, Nicholas Patton as Orpheus and Donna Olson as Public Opinion were persuasive and funny during their speaking parts. Public Opinion’s characterization as a member of the paparazzi, frequently snapping pictures of the main characters, was an amusing modern touch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Orpheus in the Underworld\u003c/b> is an operetta, a light comedic genre that is frequently performed in English. As a result, this production lacks the sense of revelation that can come from seeing a well-known foreign work performed in a good translation. The rest of Pocket Opera’s season includes plenty of opportunities to see English versions of familiar favorites that are usually performed in foreign languages, including Mozart’s \u003cb>Cosi Fan Tutte\u003c/b> and Puccini’s \u003cb>La Bohème\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pocket Opera’s \u003cb>Orpheus in the Underworld\u003c/b> runs through March 15, 2008 at the Legion of Honor, located in Lincoln Park at 34th Avenue and Clement Street in San Francisco. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.pocketopera.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit pocketopera.org or call 415-972-8934.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The Greek myth of Orpheus is a timeless legend about the power and futility of human love, in which Orpheus, a gifted musician, braves the dangers of the underworld to beg for the return of his beloved Eurydice. It’s been a popular subject for centuries, with composers inspired by the sacred ideals of love and music as embodied by Orpheus’ pursuit of his beloved even in death.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But if you like your Greek mythology with a little more spice, then read on! Everything is turned upside down in Jacques Offenbach’s 1858 operetta \u003cb>Orpheus in the Underworld\u003c/b>. Instead of a noble pair of lovers, Orpheus is now a conceited music professor pursuing nymphs while his wife Eurydice hates his music and is having an affair with a shepherd. Instead of noble gods and goddesses led by the brave Jupiter, Mount Olympus is populated by bored and dissolute deities who can’t wait to revolt against Jupiter’s hypocritical reign. There is seduction, infidelity, sexual innuendo, and inebriation. There’s even an infectious can-can.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Orpheus in the Underworld\u003c/b> is the opening production of Pocket Opera’s 2008 season. For more than thirty years, Pocket Opera has been presenting intimate, accessible opera productions to Bay Area audiences, performing mostly in English with translations by the company’s founder, Donald Pippin. Now in his early eighties, Pippin still leads from the piano and introduces each scene with brevity and wit. His libretti are clever, flexible, and accessible. Pippin believes in translating “the spirit of the work rather than word by word, with complete fidelity to the composer’s musical intentions” and the translations serve the singers, audience, and original texts alike.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pocket Opera works in small houses with minimal sets, costumes, and staging. The orchestra is small, usually 8-15 instrumentalists with Pippin at the piano. There is none of the pomp and circumstance that you can expect from larger operatic productions, which often include dramatic set changes, elaborate costumes and even animals onstage (I’ve seen everything from a toy poodle to an elephant!). Pocket Opera’s \u003cb>Orpheus\u003c/b> is both approachable and enjoyable, but there’s also nowhere to hide — during opening night, on the few occasions when a line was missed or the singers and orchestra were out of sync, you could tell immediately.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While energetic and committed, the cast possessed a wide range of vocal and dramatic ability. The production was anchored by Jillian Boye’s excellent performance as Eurydice. She brought a powerful voice, good comedic instincts and a vivacious presence to the role. Michael Mendelsohn was a hilarious Pluto, changing easily from seductive to scheming to silly as the situation required. In smaller roles, Jennifer Nadig as Venus and Julia Louise Hosack as Diana stood out for their bright singing and comic energy. A bit less comfortable when singing, Nicholas Patton as Orpheus and Donna Olson as Public Opinion were persuasive and funny during their speaking parts. Public Opinion’s characterization as a member of the paparazzi, frequently snapping pictures of the main characters, was an amusing modern touch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Opera San José: Rigoletto",
"headTitle": "Opera San José: Rigoletto | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>Opera San José’s current production of Giuseppe Verdi’s \u003cb>Rigoletto\u003c/b> gives you your Verdi straight. The opera is simply staged, with traditional costumes and sets. This is not a production that seeks new interpretations or insights by updating or rethinking the opera. Instead, with strong singing and acting from the leads and the ensemble, the brilliance of the score and the drama of the carefully constructed libretto by Francesco Maria Piave come alive.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Opera San José maintains a resident company, meaning that many of the singers stay with the company for at least a year and perform a variety of roles throughout the season. Working primarily with young singers early in their careers, Opera San José offers them opportunities to perform significant roles and to work together as a company over time. Many of the productions, including this one, are double cast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A quick synopsis: Rigoletto is a hunchbacked court jester for the corrupt and licentious Duke of Mantua. In the opening scene, Rigoletto is cursed by a nobleman whose daughter has been ruined by the Duke. The curse terrifies Rigoletto because he has a daughter, Gilda, whom he is keeping secluded in order to protect her from the decadent court. Despite Rigoletto’s precautions, the Duke seduces Gilda. Rigoletto swears revenge and plots to kill the Duke, but unbeknownst to him Gilda decides to sacrifice herself for love and is killed instead. At the end of the opera, Rigoletto discovers her body and is devastated at the loss of the only thing he loved in the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this performance, Rigoletto, Gilda, and the Duke were all portrayed by strong singers and actors with specific and believable approaches to their roles. Andrew Fernando physically embodied the challenging role of Rigoletto, limping heavily on one leg. While he sometimes strained in the upper register, he had a rich lower sound and conveyed a sense of barely contained fury and frustration. As the Duke, Isaac Hurtado sang with a smooth tenor and had a charm that recalled the iconic high school golden boy… star athlete, top student, president of the class. But the Duke’s magnetism is equaled only by his indifference to the suffering that he leaves in his wake. As Gilda, Rochelle Bard enchanted the audience with a bright tone and floating coloratura. Gilda came alive as she fell in love with the Duke, transforming from an uneasily obedient child into a more complex and confident young woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the overture the orchestra set the tone for the dark story to come, creating a foreboding mood that clashed with the hedonistic laughter of the opening scene. Soon after Rigoletto’s terror came through clearly as he recalled the old man’s curse in a dotted rhythm echoing another famous avenging father of opera, the Commendatore in Mozart’s \u003cb>Don Giovanni\u003c/b>. But some of the most stirring moments of the evening were quieter, including Bard’s riveting and seemingly effortless performance of the virtuosic ‘Caro nome” in which Gilda recalls the name of her beloved. Another quietly compelling scene occurred in Rigoletto and Gilda’s duet in Act II, after Rigoletto discovered that the Duke seduced his daughter. The father and daughter began standing apart from each other but the music slowly united them for a rare moment in which forgiveness trumped vengeance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Melodrama at the level and intensity established during the first two acts is difficult to sustain, and there was a noticeable drop in energy during the third act. But overall the performers had enough commitment and emotion to keep audience members on the edges of their seats. With this \u003cb>Rigoletto\u003c/b>, Opera San José offers a strong and compelling production of one of Italian opera’s great masterpieces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Opera San José’s production of \u003cb>Rigoletto\u003c/b> is at the California Theatre through Sunday, February 24, 2008. The California Theatre is located at 345 South First Street, San José. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.operasj.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit www.operasj.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Opera San José’s current production of Giuseppe Verdi’s \u003cb>Rigoletto\u003c/b> gives you your Verdi straight. The opera is simply staged, with traditional costumes and sets. This is not a production that seeks new interpretations or insights by updating or rethinking the opera. Instead, with strong singing and acting from the leads and the ensemble, the brilliance of the score and the drama of the carefully constructed libretto by Francesco Maria Piave come alive.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Opera San José maintains a resident company, meaning that many of the singers stay with the company for at least a year and perform a variety of roles throughout the season. Working primarily with young singers early in their careers, Opera San José offers them opportunities to perform significant roles and to work together as a company over time. Many of the productions, including this one, are double cast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A quick synopsis: Rigoletto is a hunchbacked court jester for the corrupt and licentious Duke of Mantua. In the opening scene, Rigoletto is cursed by a nobleman whose daughter has been ruined by the Duke. The curse terrifies Rigoletto because he has a daughter, Gilda, whom he is keeping secluded in order to protect her from the decadent court. Despite Rigoletto’s precautions, the Duke seduces Gilda. Rigoletto swears revenge and plots to kill the Duke, but unbeknownst to him Gilda decides to sacrifice herself for love and is killed instead. At the end of the opera, Rigoletto discovers her body and is devastated at the loss of the only thing he loved in the world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this performance, Rigoletto, Gilda, and the Duke were all portrayed by strong singers and actors with specific and believable approaches to their roles. Andrew Fernando physically embodied the challenging role of Rigoletto, limping heavily on one leg. While he sometimes strained in the upper register, he had a rich lower sound and conveyed a sense of barely contained fury and frustration. As the Duke, Isaac Hurtado sang with a smooth tenor and had a charm that recalled the iconic high school golden boy… star athlete, top student, president of the class. But the Duke’s magnetism is equaled only by his indifference to the suffering that he leaves in his wake. As Gilda, Rochelle Bard enchanted the audience with a bright tone and floating coloratura. Gilda came alive as she fell in love with the Duke, transforming from an uneasily obedient child into a more complex and confident young woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the overture the orchestra set the tone for the dark story to come, creating a foreboding mood that clashed with the hedonistic laughter of the opening scene. Soon after Rigoletto’s terror came through clearly as he recalled the old man’s curse in a dotted rhythm echoing another famous avenging father of opera, the Commendatore in Mozart’s \u003cb>Don Giovanni\u003c/b>. But some of the most stirring moments of the evening were quieter, including Bard’s riveting and seemingly effortless performance of the virtuosic ‘Caro nome” in which Gilda recalls the name of her beloved. Another quietly compelling scene occurred in Rigoletto and Gilda’s duet in Act II, after Rigoletto discovered that the Duke seduced his daughter. The father and daughter began standing apart from each other but the music slowly united them for a rare moment in which forgiveness trumped vengeance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Melodrama at the level and intensity established during the first two acts is difficult to sustain, and there was a noticeable drop in energy during the third act. But overall the performers had enough commitment and emotion to keep audience members on the edges of their seats. With this \u003cb>Rigoletto\u003c/b>, Opera San José offers a strong and compelling production of one of Italian opera’s great masterpieces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Opera San José’s production of \u003cb>Rigoletto\u003c/b> is at the California Theatre through Sunday, February 24, 2008. The California Theatre is located at 345 South First Street, San José. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.operasj.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit www.operasj.org.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>“Shut up and listen.” “I want to tell you something.” “Listen to me!” These phrases, and countless variations thereof, are a recurring mantra in David Mamet’s \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b>, now running through March 2 at San Jose Stage Company. Okay: The f-bomb is dropped with far greater frequency throughout the 1984 two-act play, but it is this insistence to be heard, this demand to have one’s say, that characterizes this pitiless look into the heartless souls of real men doing a real man’s job, which, in this case, is selling bogus real-estate investment opportunities to a world full of suckers and fools.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The drama, which also has more than a few flat-out hilarious moments, opens in a Chinese restaurant, which at San Jose Stage is cleverly created from a single black-and-red paneled wall, a pair of lanterns, and a round table covered in a restaurant-red tablecloth, upon which sit two fortune cookies. In the first of three two-person vignettes, we meet the once great salesman Shelley (the Machine) Levine, masterfully played by Stephen Klum, and John Williamson, whose icy demeanor is brought to chilling life by Michael C. Storm. Levine is cold, too: he hasn’t closed a deal in months. But he is still a salesman, so he uses all his considerable powers of bullshit to pry a few good leads from office-manager-drone Williamson’s uncaring claws. Good leads are the lifeblood of salesmen like Levine. They are the difference between pitching one’s wares to a qualified buyer or a deadbeat, who, for Mamet’s chummy cadre of racists, usually means someone with a last name like Patel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Right away we get a taste for Levine’s salesman’s schtick. Confronted by Williamson with the facts of his poor performance, Levine deflects and changes the focus, trying in vain to turn the conversation back to his glory days as top dog. “Don’t look at the board,” where failure is conspicuous by his name’s absence, he begs Williamson, “Look at me.” Like any good salesman’s line, this one is based on a noble ideal: shouldn’t people be more valuable to an organization than mere money? Nice sentiment, but Levine is no socialist, and he’d say just about anything to get what he needs. At one point he even offers to pay Williamson for the leads, even though he knows he doesn’t have enough money in his pocket to cough up his share of the lunch bill.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The scene between Levine and Williamson offers the audience an introductory taste of that patented, stutter-step, mannered-interruption that is sometimes known as Mametspeak. The next pair of actors deliver even more. Dave Moss, played with guilty-pleasure coarseness by Michael Ray Wisely, is feeling out George Aaronow, who, in Colin Thomson’s expressive hands is a nervous Freddo Corleone. Moss is sick to death of Williamson and the masters who hold his leash, so he’s hatched a plan to strike at the heart of the company, and Aaronow is just the man to help him carry it out. As the two actors stop and start their lines, whose rhythms are carved into stone by the notoriously controlling Mamet, you can almost hear the audience hold its collective breath. More than the blizzard of f-bombs, this is what they have come to \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b> for, to see how well the actors will handle Mamet’s deliberately stilted and choppy dialogue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ross and Thomson handle their contrived pauses beautifully, but I find this little game that Mamet has perpetuated to be tiresome in the extreme. The reverence that the actors, and thus the audience, are obliged to show for the playwright’s sacred text distracts from the characters that Mamet has drawn for us. These are rich, complicated, contradictory individuals. Why would I want to leave them behind, even momentarily, to pay homage at the altar of Mamet? The net effect is that Mamet’s creations drop out of character, however subtly, to become actors, albeit supremely capable ones, on a stage reading lines in a play. For the life of me I don’t understand why an artist would prefer his audience to look at the frame around his picture rather than the content of the picture itself, but maybe I don’t fully appreciate the benefits of branding one’s aesthetic. “Listen to me,” Mamet seems to be demanding of his audience. Sorry, pal, I’d rather get lost in your characters. Don’t take this the wrong way, but they are a hell of a lot more interesting than you or your adorably earnest pile of art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time the third pair of actors take their turn at the restaurant’s table, we are ready to see one of these guys in action on a real live mark. Until this point in the play, the sales jobs we’ve witnessed have been between the salesmen, whose familiarity with the form proves a formidable defense. Enter James Lingk. Rendered with affection and nuance by Kevin Kennedy, he’s no match for Richard Roma, played with peacock-like bluster and bravado by Randall King. Roma is a philosopher shyster, a veritable Heidegger of hustle. Lingk doesn’t have a chance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Neither do we as the lights come up on the second act, which takes place entirely within the offices of these real-estate hucksters. The scenes between Levine and Roma are some of the best between two actors that you could ever hope to see; Klum’s and King’s performances of these touchstones are a joy to watch. I won’t tell you what happens, in case you are not fully familiar with the story. Suffice it to say that act two contains some of the funniest, most inflammatory dialogue your eardrums will ever have the pleasure of receiving, and the entire cast rises to the heady occasion (of the many withering put downs, Roma’s “Let me buy you a pack of gum and show you how to chew it” is one of the few that I can actually reproduce here).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Beyond the displays of shear wit and wordplay, our deeply flawed heroes never forsake their salesmanship skills. “I don’t understand,” Roma says in response to a perfectly understandable statement. “What does that mean?” he asks a few beats later, even though he and everyone in the theater knows exactly what “that” means. This is the meat of \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b>, a world in which language is a weapon to be wielded until your foe yields, or wilts, as Levine puts it. I surrender and you should, too: Go and see this eff’ing play!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b> continues at San Jose Stage Company through March 2, 2008. 490 South First Street, San Jose; (408) 283-7142. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.sanjosestage.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a>, visit sanjosestage.com.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "\"Shut up and listen.\" \"I want to tell you something.\" \"Listen to me!\" These phrases, and countless variations thereof, are a recurring mantra in David Mamet's \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b>, now running through March 2 at San Jose Stage Company. Okay: The f-bomb is dropped with far greater frequency throughout the 1984 two-act play, but it is this insistence to be heard, this demand to have one's say, that characterizes this pitiless look into the heartless souls of real men doing a real man's job, which, in this case, is selling bogus real-estate investment opportunities to a world full of suckers and fools.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>“Shut up and listen.” “I want to tell you something.” “Listen to me!” These phrases, and countless variations thereof, are a recurring mantra in David Mamet’s \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b>, now running through March 2 at San Jose Stage Company. Okay: The f-bomb is dropped with far greater frequency throughout the 1984 two-act play, but it is this insistence to be heard, this demand to have one’s say, that characterizes this pitiless look into the heartless souls of real men doing a real man’s job, which, in this case, is selling bogus real-estate investment opportunities to a world full of suckers and fools.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The drama, which also has more than a few flat-out hilarious moments, opens in a Chinese restaurant, which at San Jose Stage is cleverly created from a single black-and-red paneled wall, a pair of lanterns, and a round table covered in a restaurant-red tablecloth, upon which sit two fortune cookies. In the first of three two-person vignettes, we meet the once great salesman Shelley (the Machine) Levine, masterfully played by Stephen Klum, and John Williamson, whose icy demeanor is brought to chilling life by Michael C. Storm. Levine is cold, too: he hasn’t closed a deal in months. But he is still a salesman, so he uses all his considerable powers of bullshit to pry a few good leads from office-manager-drone Williamson’s uncaring claws. Good leads are the lifeblood of salesmen like Levine. They are the difference between pitching one’s wares to a qualified buyer or a deadbeat, who, for Mamet’s chummy cadre of racists, usually means someone with a last name like Patel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Right away we get a taste for Levine’s salesman’s schtick. Confronted by Williamson with the facts of his poor performance, Levine deflects and changes the focus, trying in vain to turn the conversation back to his glory days as top dog. “Don’t look at the board,” where failure is conspicuous by his name’s absence, he begs Williamson, “Look at me.” Like any good salesman’s line, this one is based on a noble ideal: shouldn’t people be more valuable to an organization than mere money? Nice sentiment, but Levine is no socialist, and he’d say just about anything to get what he needs. At one point he even offers to pay Williamson for the leads, even though he knows he doesn’t have enough money in his pocket to cough up his share of the lunch bill.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The scene between Levine and Williamson offers the audience an introductory taste of that patented, stutter-step, mannered-interruption that is sometimes known as Mametspeak. The next pair of actors deliver even more. Dave Moss, played with guilty-pleasure coarseness by Michael Ray Wisely, is feeling out George Aaronow, who, in Colin Thomson’s expressive hands is a nervous Freddo Corleone. Moss is sick to death of Williamson and the masters who hold his leash, so he’s hatched a plan to strike at the heart of the company, and Aaronow is just the man to help him carry it out. As the two actors stop and start their lines, whose rhythms are carved into stone by the notoriously controlling Mamet, you can almost hear the audience hold its collective breath. More than the blizzard of f-bombs, this is what they have come to \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b> for, to see how well the actors will handle Mamet’s deliberately stilted and choppy dialogue.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ross and Thomson handle their contrived pauses beautifully, but I find this little game that Mamet has perpetuated to be tiresome in the extreme. The reverence that the actors, and thus the audience, are obliged to show for the playwright’s sacred text distracts from the characters that Mamet has drawn for us. These are rich, complicated, contradictory individuals. Why would I want to leave them behind, even momentarily, to pay homage at the altar of Mamet? The net effect is that Mamet’s creations drop out of character, however subtly, to become actors, albeit supremely capable ones, on a stage reading lines in a play. For the life of me I don’t understand why an artist would prefer his audience to look at the frame around his picture rather than the content of the picture itself, but maybe I don’t fully appreciate the benefits of branding one’s aesthetic. “Listen to me,” Mamet seems to be demanding of his audience. Sorry, pal, I’d rather get lost in your characters. Don’t take this the wrong way, but they are a hell of a lot more interesting than you or your adorably earnest pile of art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the time the third pair of actors take their turn at the restaurant’s table, we are ready to see one of these guys in action on a real live mark. Until this point in the play, the sales jobs we’ve witnessed have been between the salesmen, whose familiarity with the form proves a formidable defense. Enter James Lingk. Rendered with affection and nuance by Kevin Kennedy, he’s no match for Richard Roma, played with peacock-like bluster and bravado by Randall King. Roma is a philosopher shyster, a veritable Heidegger of hustle. Lingk doesn’t have a chance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Neither do we as the lights come up on the second act, which takes place entirely within the offices of these real-estate hucksters. The scenes between Levine and Roma are some of the best between two actors that you could ever hope to see; Klum’s and King’s performances of these touchstones are a joy to watch. I won’t tell you what happens, in case you are not fully familiar with the story. Suffice it to say that act two contains some of the funniest, most inflammatory dialogue your eardrums will ever have the pleasure of receiving, and the entire cast rises to the heady occasion (of the many withering put downs, Roma’s “Let me buy you a pack of gum and show you how to chew it” is one of the few that I can actually reproduce here).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Beyond the displays of shear wit and wordplay, our deeply flawed heroes never forsake their salesmanship skills. “I don’t understand,” Roma says in response to a perfectly understandable statement. “What does that mean?” he asks a few beats later, even though he and everyone in the theater knows exactly what “that” means. This is the meat of \u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b>, a world in which language is a weapon to be wielded until your foe yields, or wilts, as Levine puts it. I surrender and you should, too: Go and see this eff’ing play!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Glengarry Glen Ross\u003c/b> continues at San Jose Stage Company through March 2, 2008. 490 South First Street, San Jose; (408) 283-7142. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.sanjosestage.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a>, visit sanjosestage.com.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Somewhere in the thick of \u003cb>True West\u003c/b>, Sam Shepard’s classic tale of brothers, alcohol, Hollywood — and toasters, ne’er-do-well Lee tells his younger, Ivy League-educated, screenwriter brother, Austin, about an idea he has for a movie. Lee’s story is a preposterous riff on Steven Spielberg’s first full-length film, \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, in which Dennis Weaver is stalked by the mysterious driver of a menacing 18-wheeler. Like Weaver and the truck in \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, Lee’s pair tear up a lot of asphalt. Unlike the characters in \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, Lee’s cartoon daydreams dodge twisters in the Texas panhandle, run out of gas on cue, and then continue their four-wheel struggle on four legs. (Did I mention that both drivers are conveniently pulling horse trailers?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Austin, the artiste, is appalled by the stupidity of his oafish older brother’s story, embarrassed that he could even be related to someone whose mind could harbor such implausibly idiotic plot twists. But Lee has a metaphysical side. “The one who’s chasin’ doesn’t know where the other one is takin’ him,” Lee explains. “The one who’s being chased doesn’t know where he’s going.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That just about sums up the relationship between Lee, played with authority and passion by director Ray Renati — who stepped into the role two weeks before the show’s opening, following the withdrawal of the actor originally cast — and Austin, who is brought to impatient, exasperated, cowering, and gloriously drunken life by John Romano. Renati and Romano don’t look a lot like real brothers — Renati, with his bad posture and wife-beater wardrobe, is a hulking, hair-trigger presence, whereas Romano is more of a John Hodgman type. But brothers are usually as different as they are alike, and Shepard’s sibs hew to that immutable rule. That’s not the play’s surprise.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lee is a petty thief by trade and temperament. A man who can live by himself in the Mojave for months on end, Lee prefers a world in which interactions with his neighbors occur in the dead of night when his hosts are safely asleep. How many color television sets and silver services do these people need, anyway? Lee reasons. He’s an angel of sorts, relieving mortal souls of the burden of too many earthly possessions. He’s Kris Kristofferson’s “walking contradiction,” a man who bristles when Austin offers him a cash handout, but is not too proud to badger his brother until the poor sop loans him his car.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Austin is the mama’s boy who made good. When it’s time for mom to vacation in Alaska, it’s Austin who gets the call to house-sit and tend her precious plants, even though Lee lives close by.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the play opens, Lee is sipping a mid-morning beer in their mom’s kitchen and thinking through, as best his thick brain will permit, this latest familial slight. Having nothing better to do, he proceeds to annoy the crap out of his brother. Austin is preparing for the prototypical “big meeting” with a big-time Hollywood producer. Working by candlelight, his preferred work affectation when it’s time to conjure the muse, Austin is struggling. Somewhere amid the piles of paper scattered about his typewriter (\u003cb>True West\u003c/b> premiered at The Magic Theatre back in 1980), is a love story that Austin has been pouring his heart into. For all his college training and smarts, this is hard work that does not necessarily come naturally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lee, it turns out, is something of a savant when it comes to thinking up crazy scenarios that people will pay good money to watch with a bag of popcorn. It takes Lee just one conversation with producer Saul Kimmer, played with bravado and bluster by Kevin High, to land himself a golf game with the mini mogul. Lee has been underestimated all his life, so he uses the producer’s low estimations of his golfing abilities to snare Kimmer into a bet to make his movie. Before Austin knows what’s happened, his deal with the producer has turned into an assignment, which he refuses, to write his barely-literate brother’s screenplay. Even though Saul has arrived at this uncomfortable place through Lee’s trickery, he recognizes that Lee’s idea is actually better than Austin’s. For all Lee’s ostensible outsiderness, he is more in tune with the tastes of the American movie-going public than his hot-shot brother.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A great deal of drinking ensues, which was my favorite part of the play because Romano is a terrific drunk and Renati’s multi-layered portrayal of Lee’s vulnerable side gives that character its required arc. While Lee struggles at the typewriter, Austin pinches a dozen or so of his neighbors’ toasters during an all-night crime spree. Austin, it seems, can beat Lee at his game, too. Does that make them even? Only inasmuch as their mutual jealousy and contempt for each other is about par.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the end of the play, Shepard is channeling Albee, with the brothers literally at each other’s throats, rolling in a sea of beer cans, toasters, garbage, and the remains of a golf-clubbed typewriter. Austin and Lee are caught in a final face-off. Austin having played his final card to make good his escape; Lee standing between Austin and the door. Each has been chasing the other, neither knowing where the other would take him, let alone where he might be headed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>True West\u003c/b> continues at The Pear Avenue Theatre, 1220 Pear Ave., Unit K; Mountain View, 650-254-1148, through February 3. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.thepear.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit thepear.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Somewhere in the thick of \u003cb>True West\u003c/b>, Sam Shepard's classic tale of brothers, alcohol, Hollywood -- and toasters, ne'er-do-well Lee tells his younger, Ivy League-educated, screenwriter brother, Austin, about an idea he has for a movie. Lee's story is a preposterous riff on Steven Spielberg's first full-length film, \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, in which Dennis Weaver is stalked by the mysterious driver of a menacing 18-wheeler. Like Weaver and the truck in \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, Lee's pair tear up a lot of asphalt. Unlike the characters in \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, Lee's cartoon daydreams dodge twisters in the Texas panhandle, run out of gas on cue, and then continue their four-wheel struggle on four legs. (Did I mention that both drivers are conveniently pulling horse trailers?) Austin, the artiste, is appalled by the stupidity of his oafish older brother's story, embarrassed that he could even be related to someone whose mind could harbor such implausibly idiotic plot twists. But Lee has a metaphysical side. \"The one who's chasin' doesn't know where the other one is takin' him,\" Lee explains. \"The one who's being chased doesn't know where he's going.\"",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Somewhere in the thick of \u003cb>True West\u003c/b>, Sam Shepard’s classic tale of brothers, alcohol, Hollywood — and toasters, ne’er-do-well Lee tells his younger, Ivy League-educated, screenwriter brother, Austin, about an idea he has for a movie. Lee’s story is a preposterous riff on Steven Spielberg’s first full-length film, \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, in which Dennis Weaver is stalked by the mysterious driver of a menacing 18-wheeler. Like Weaver and the truck in \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, Lee’s pair tear up a lot of asphalt. Unlike the characters in \u003cb>Duel\u003c/b>, Lee’s cartoon daydreams dodge twisters in the Texas panhandle, run out of gas on cue, and then continue their four-wheel struggle on four legs. (Did I mention that both drivers are conveniently pulling horse trailers?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Austin, the artiste, is appalled by the stupidity of his oafish older brother’s story, embarrassed that he could even be related to someone whose mind could harbor such implausibly idiotic plot twists. But Lee has a metaphysical side. “The one who’s chasin’ doesn’t know where the other one is takin’ him,” Lee explains. “The one who’s being chased doesn’t know where he’s going.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That just about sums up the relationship between Lee, played with authority and passion by director Ray Renati — who stepped into the role two weeks before the show’s opening, following the withdrawal of the actor originally cast — and Austin, who is brought to impatient, exasperated, cowering, and gloriously drunken life by John Romano. Renati and Romano don’t look a lot like real brothers — Renati, with his bad posture and wife-beater wardrobe, is a hulking, hair-trigger presence, whereas Romano is more of a John Hodgman type. But brothers are usually as different as they are alike, and Shepard’s sibs hew to that immutable rule. That’s not the play’s surprise.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lee is a petty thief by trade and temperament. A man who can live by himself in the Mojave for months on end, Lee prefers a world in which interactions with his neighbors occur in the dead of night when his hosts are safely asleep. How many color television sets and silver services do these people need, anyway? Lee reasons. He’s an angel of sorts, relieving mortal souls of the burden of too many earthly possessions. He’s Kris Kristofferson’s “walking contradiction,” a man who bristles when Austin offers him a cash handout, but is not too proud to badger his brother until the poor sop loans him his car.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Austin is the mama’s boy who made good. When it’s time for mom to vacation in Alaska, it’s Austin who gets the call to house-sit and tend her precious plants, even though Lee lives close by.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the play opens, Lee is sipping a mid-morning beer in their mom’s kitchen and thinking through, as best his thick brain will permit, this latest familial slight. Having nothing better to do, he proceeds to annoy the crap out of his brother. Austin is preparing for the prototypical “big meeting” with a big-time Hollywood producer. Working by candlelight, his preferred work affectation when it’s time to conjure the muse, Austin is struggling. Somewhere amid the piles of paper scattered about his typewriter (\u003cb>True West\u003c/b> premiered at The Magic Theatre back in 1980), is a love story that Austin has been pouring his heart into. For all his college training and smarts, this is hard work that does not necessarily come naturally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lee, it turns out, is something of a savant when it comes to thinking up crazy scenarios that people will pay good money to watch with a bag of popcorn. It takes Lee just one conversation with producer Saul Kimmer, played with bravado and bluster by Kevin High, to land himself a golf game with the mini mogul. Lee has been underestimated all his life, so he uses the producer’s low estimations of his golfing abilities to snare Kimmer into a bet to make his movie. Before Austin knows what’s happened, his deal with the producer has turned into an assignment, which he refuses, to write his barely-literate brother’s screenplay. Even though Saul has arrived at this uncomfortable place through Lee’s trickery, he recognizes that Lee’s idea is actually better than Austin’s. For all Lee’s ostensible outsiderness, he is more in tune with the tastes of the American movie-going public than his hot-shot brother.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A great deal of drinking ensues, which was my favorite part of the play because Romano is a terrific drunk and Renati’s multi-layered portrayal of Lee’s vulnerable side gives that character its required arc. While Lee struggles at the typewriter, Austin pinches a dozen or so of his neighbors’ toasters during an all-night crime spree. Austin, it seems, can beat Lee at his game, too. Does that make them even? Only inasmuch as their mutual jealousy and contempt for each other is about par.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>By the end of the play, Shepard is channeling Albee, with the brothers literally at each other’s throats, rolling in a sea of beer cans, toasters, garbage, and the remains of a golf-clubbed typewriter. Austin and Lee are caught in a final face-off. Austin having played his final card to make good his escape; Lee standing between Austin and the door. Each has been chasing the other, neither knowing where the other would take him, let alone where he might be headed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>True West\u003c/b> continues at The Pear Avenue Theatre, 1220 Pear Ave., Unit K; Mountain View, 650-254-1148, through February 3. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.thepear.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit thepear.org.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Twelfth Night",
"headTitle": "Twelfth Night | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>The current TheatreWorks production of \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b>, perhaps the most beloved of William Shakespeare’s numerous comedies, is a delightful, first-rate gimmick. Set in San Francisco during the Summer of Love, the play is a bit like watching \u003cb>The Wizard of Oz\u003c/b> while listening to \u003cb>Dark Side of the Moon\u003c/b>: How many times, we are meant to wonder, will the 17th-century work sync up with one of the most mythologized events of the 20th?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Frequently, it turns out, if you are Robert Kelley, who directs a disoriented Viola (wearing a form-fitting white mini-dress adorned with a \u003cb>Laugh-In\u003c/b> daisy) to stand beneath a cartoony, street-corner sign that reads “Haight” and “Ashbury” as she utters “What country is this?” Cue audience titters. Duke Orsino, who is meant to resemble Jimi Hendrix, lives in an “Auditorium” whose Peter Max-ish proscenium and Wes Wilson-inspired typeface are clearly intended to invoke the Fillmore. Get it? And then there’s Olivia’s uncle Toby, a good-natured and blustery old leech who swills bottles of Falstaff (hats off to the props team for THAT one) and entices Olivia’s hapless suitor, Andrew Aguecheek, with freshly rolled joints whenever the juxtaposition of Shakespeare’s words and cannabis seem destined to get a laugh. Which, invariably, they do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s all in good fun, but the joke quickly wore thin for me, and not just because of the few minor visual goofs that distract from the company’s otherwise careful attention to detail (sorry, but the Grateful Dead logo on the conga drum dates from 1969, and I went to the high school where the phrase “420” was coined in 1971). So what’s my beef? Well, nothing all that important, I guess. Go see the thing. Get faced beforehand, if you like. It’ll probably make Allison Connor’s reference-riddled costumes all the richer, and Andrea Bechert’s sets even more like the eye candy they are intended to be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the other hand, and with all due respect to Connor and Bechert, whose work is truly brilliant, one is not supposed to leave a play humming the scenery, so maybe that’s what ultimately bugs me about Kelley’s \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b>. There’s some pretty terrific acting happening up on that stage, but I found the pop-psychedelic setting distracting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Carie Kawa is an arresting Viola and an even better Cesario, which is the disguise she assumes to weasel her way into the object of her affection, Duke Orsino’s, court. Orsino, who actor Michael Gene Sullivan plays for passion rather than laughs as his Hendrix costume might have prompted, is in love with Olivia, channeled with force and abandon by Vilma Silva. Orsino decides to express his feelings to Olivia by sending Cesario to woo her on his behalf, which is not exactly how things were done during the Summer of Love, but no matter. Olivia, of course, falls for Cesario, and Kawa delivers one her best performances of the evening when she finally realizes that Olivia has designs on her \u003cb>Sgt. Pepper’s\u003c/b>-costumed alter-ego.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Patrick Alparone as Feste leads a band of musicians in songs written by Paul Gordon and performed live by the actors, and Shannon Warrick as Olivia’s maid Maria adds spark to the scenes with uncle Toby, played by Warren David Keith, and Aguecheek, played by Darren Bridgett. Together, the actors do a wonderful job at supporting the main story of Viola/Cesario trapped by her unactionable proximity to Orsino and the misplaced affections of Olivia. So how is it that a lowly servant steals this show?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The answer is that Ron Campbell’s Malvolio, Olivia’s steward, is riveting. He’s a prig’s prig, tossing his head with little sniffs of disapproval at this or that. His performance is virtuoso, and not just when he’s got the stage to himself. Indeed, his best scene, and perhaps the high point of the entire evening, occurs with the rest of the players hiding from him as they deliver their asides to his musings during mad dashes between the painted scenery, like so many bumbling Marx Brothers. Like us, they are here to witness the moment when Malvolio discovers a letter in the garden, which he opens with a funny little fake cough, as if to muffle the sound of the wax seal being violated. Written by the mischievous Maria to appear as Olivia’s handiwork, the letter seems to suggest that his employer is in love with him. Watching Campbell work out the meaning of the deliberately cryptic note is a joy to behold, second only to his determination to follow the letter of the letter by summoning a smile, which, heretofore, we could not imagine crossing his expressionless face. After numerous attempts, when he finally achieves a perfectly sincere grin (shit-eating, as it would have been described in the Haight) the audience erupts in equally sincere applause.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hence our collective confusion later in the play when Malvolio is imprisoned beneath the stage in what could be good uncle Toby’s personal den of iniquity (at one point, Feste holds Malvolio’s head down in the smoky depths, an action which looked to me like nothing so much as a stoner’s variation on waterboarding). It is a characteristic of \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b> that modern audiences tend to feel like Malvolio gets it worse than he deserves, but in this production he is so much fun to watch and so sympathetic that we feel doubly wronged on his behalf. Maybe uncle Toby’s Falstaff had been laced with some bad acid, man. Bummer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>TheatreWorks’ production of \u003cb>TwelfthNight\u003c/b> continues through December 23, 2007 at the Lucie Stern Theatre in Palo Alto.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": " The current TheatreWorks production of \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b>, perhaps the most beloved of William Shakespeare's numerous comedies, is a delightful, first-rate gimmick. Set in San Francisco during the Summer of Love, the play is a bit like watching \u003cb>The Wizard of Oz\u003c/b> while listening to \u003cb>Dark Side of the Moon\u003c/b>: How many times, we are meant to wonder, will the 17th-century work sync up with one of the most mythologized events of the 20th?",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The current TheatreWorks production of \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b>, perhaps the most beloved of William Shakespeare’s numerous comedies, is a delightful, first-rate gimmick. Set in San Francisco during the Summer of Love, the play is a bit like watching \u003cb>The Wizard of Oz\u003c/b> while listening to \u003cb>Dark Side of the Moon\u003c/b>: How many times, we are meant to wonder, will the 17th-century work sync up with one of the most mythologized events of the 20th?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Frequently, it turns out, if you are Robert Kelley, who directs a disoriented Viola (wearing a form-fitting white mini-dress adorned with a \u003cb>Laugh-In\u003c/b> daisy) to stand beneath a cartoony, street-corner sign that reads “Haight” and “Ashbury” as she utters “What country is this?” Cue audience titters. Duke Orsino, who is meant to resemble Jimi Hendrix, lives in an “Auditorium” whose Peter Max-ish proscenium and Wes Wilson-inspired typeface are clearly intended to invoke the Fillmore. Get it? And then there’s Olivia’s uncle Toby, a good-natured and blustery old leech who swills bottles of Falstaff (hats off to the props team for THAT one) and entices Olivia’s hapless suitor, Andrew Aguecheek, with freshly rolled joints whenever the juxtaposition of Shakespeare’s words and cannabis seem destined to get a laugh. Which, invariably, they do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s all in good fun, but the joke quickly wore thin for me, and not just because of the few minor visual goofs that distract from the company’s otherwise careful attention to detail (sorry, but the Grateful Dead logo on the conga drum dates from 1969, and I went to the high school where the phrase “420” was coined in 1971). So what’s my beef? Well, nothing all that important, I guess. Go see the thing. Get faced beforehand, if you like. It’ll probably make Allison Connor’s reference-riddled costumes all the richer, and Andrea Bechert’s sets even more like the eye candy they are intended to be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On the other hand, and with all due respect to Connor and Bechert, whose work is truly brilliant, one is not supposed to leave a play humming the scenery, so maybe that’s what ultimately bugs me about Kelley’s \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b>. There’s some pretty terrific acting happening up on that stage, but I found the pop-psychedelic setting distracting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Carie Kawa is an arresting Viola and an even better Cesario, which is the disguise she assumes to weasel her way into the object of her affection, Duke Orsino’s, court. Orsino, who actor Michael Gene Sullivan plays for passion rather than laughs as his Hendrix costume might have prompted, is in love with Olivia, channeled with force and abandon by Vilma Silva. Orsino decides to express his feelings to Olivia by sending Cesario to woo her on his behalf, which is not exactly how things were done during the Summer of Love, but no matter. Olivia, of course, falls for Cesario, and Kawa delivers one her best performances of the evening when she finally realizes that Olivia has designs on her \u003cb>Sgt. Pepper’s\u003c/b>-costumed alter-ego.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Patrick Alparone as Feste leads a band of musicians in songs written by Paul Gordon and performed live by the actors, and Shannon Warrick as Olivia’s maid Maria adds spark to the scenes with uncle Toby, played by Warren David Keith, and Aguecheek, played by Darren Bridgett. Together, the actors do a wonderful job at supporting the main story of Viola/Cesario trapped by her unactionable proximity to Orsino and the misplaced affections of Olivia. So how is it that a lowly servant steals this show?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The answer is that Ron Campbell’s Malvolio, Olivia’s steward, is riveting. He’s a prig’s prig, tossing his head with little sniffs of disapproval at this or that. His performance is virtuoso, and not just when he’s got the stage to himself. Indeed, his best scene, and perhaps the high point of the entire evening, occurs with the rest of the players hiding from him as they deliver their asides to his musings during mad dashes between the painted scenery, like so many bumbling Marx Brothers. Like us, they are here to witness the moment when Malvolio discovers a letter in the garden, which he opens with a funny little fake cough, as if to muffle the sound of the wax seal being violated. Written by the mischievous Maria to appear as Olivia’s handiwork, the letter seems to suggest that his employer is in love with him. Watching Campbell work out the meaning of the deliberately cryptic note is a joy to behold, second only to his determination to follow the letter of the letter by summoning a smile, which, heretofore, we could not imagine crossing his expressionless face. After numerous attempts, when he finally achieves a perfectly sincere grin (shit-eating, as it would have been described in the Haight) the audience erupts in equally sincere applause.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hence our collective confusion later in the play when Malvolio is imprisoned beneath the stage in what could be good uncle Toby’s personal den of iniquity (at one point, Feste holds Malvolio’s head down in the smoky depths, an action which looked to me like nothing so much as a stoner’s variation on waterboarding). It is a characteristic of \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b> that modern audiences tend to feel like Malvolio gets it worse than he deserves, but in this production he is so much fun to watch and so sympathetic that we feel doubly wronged on his behalf. Maybe uncle Toby’s Falstaff had been laced with some bad acid, man. Bummer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>TheatreWorks’ production of \u003cb>TwelfthNight\u003c/b> continues through December 23, 2007 at the Lucie Stern Theatre in Palo Alto.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Rabbit Hole",
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"content": "\u003cp>Death is not meant to be funny, and surely watching people cope with death isn’t supposed to be funny either. Right? So why, then, is David Lindsay-Abaire’s \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b>, about the death of a child and its aftermath, so entertaining? A new production at Studio 300 brings up so many conflicting emotions that it leaves you more than a little rattled at the end. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The theater is also very small — an ideal size for this play; so only about 30 people can fit in. The experience in such a small space is far superior to larger venues like the American Conservatory Theater (A.C.T.), which is nearby. Like Edward Albee’s \u003cb>Zoo Story\u003c/b> or Samuel Beckett’s \u003cb>Waiting for Godot\u003c/b>, the closer you are to what’s happening on stage the better.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since much of the dialog in \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> is constructed around arguments and misunderstandings, it is easy to feel like you have a role in the scenes — but as a silent family member, hoping not to get yelled at. Like real people, the characters argue then appease, make nice and then yell some more. In this way their personalities are revealed — not through their jobs, their costumes or what they do, but through their feelings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dominic Overstreet plays Howie, the father of the child that died. With macho decisiveness, he marches right into murky emotional territory and is so natural at arguing, he seems a little bit mean. His Howie is a man who is not in charge of his household, someone whose life has been dramatically altered by an event beyond his control. He finds too, that he can’t ease his wife’s sorrow — and discovers how talking can sometimes make things worse. Lindsay-Abaire seems to be making a point to men here; sometimes women just need to talk things out and they don’t need you to solve their problems. Allow them to talk and they can find their way through things. Howie, of course doesn’t get this and his frustration strains his relationship and ultimately isolates him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> At one point, Howie’s wife, Becca (Sina Eiden), explains the Greek myth of Orpheus. He played music so beautifully, she says, that it brought the dead back to life. However when someone he loved, Eurydice, died, all of his magical powers failed him. Eurydice was lost. In \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b>, each character knows they cannot bring the child back, so instead they lash out at one another for feeling too much or not feeling enough. It is a tug-of-war game that can never be won. Like Orpheus they all must live with the knowledge that there is nothing they can do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production of \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> is a synergy between Katarina Fabic and Shari Carlson of Studio 300. Fabic is an actress who has worked in commercials, plays and movies for the past 15 years. Scenes from \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> were workshopped at Studio 300, which inspired Fabic to put together a full production of the play. Carlson was asked to direct. Fabic also performs as the Becca’s younger, carefree sister Izzy, who provides moments of comic relief with stories of her own misadventures.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Candyce Anderson does what she can with her role as the grandmother. Unfortunately her character doesn’t get fully developed. Similarly, Joshua Duthie plays Jason, a minor role as the teenage boy who accidentally killed the child. His character appears mysteriously in the play and functions like the king’s ghost in \u003cb>Hamlet\u003c/b>, not fully there, but the thought of him sets everyone on edge. In fact the theme of absence and presence is the thread that connects everything in this play. For example, the absence of Becca and Howie’s child recalls the nonexistent baby in Albee’s \u003cb>Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?\u003c/b> or Clytemnestra’s sacrificed daughter Iphigeneia, in \u003cb>Agamemnon\u003c/b>. \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> is a smart play that shouldn’t be missed if you can catch it during its short run.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> runs through December 1, 2007 at Studio 300. For tickets and information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/21987\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\"> BrownPaperTickets.Com\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Death is not meant to be funny, and surely watching people cope with death isn't supposed to be funny either. Right? So why, then, is David Lindsay-Abaire's \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b>, about the death of a child and its aftermath, so entertaining? A new production at Studio 300 brings up so many conflicting emotions that it leaves you more than a little rattled at the end. ",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Death is not meant to be funny, and surely watching people cope with death isn’t supposed to be funny either. Right? So why, then, is David Lindsay-Abaire’s \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b>, about the death of a child and its aftermath, so entertaining? A new production at Studio 300 brings up so many conflicting emotions that it leaves you more than a little rattled at the end. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The theater is also very small — an ideal size for this play; so only about 30 people can fit in. The experience in such a small space is far superior to larger venues like the American Conservatory Theater (A.C.T.), which is nearby. Like Edward Albee’s \u003cb>Zoo Story\u003c/b> or Samuel Beckett’s \u003cb>Waiting for Godot\u003c/b>, the closer you are to what’s happening on stage the better.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since much of the dialog in \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> is constructed around arguments and misunderstandings, it is easy to feel like you have a role in the scenes — but as a silent family member, hoping not to get yelled at. Like real people, the characters argue then appease, make nice and then yell some more. In this way their personalities are revealed — not through their jobs, their costumes or what they do, but through their feelings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dominic Overstreet plays Howie, the father of the child that died. With macho decisiveness, he marches right into murky emotional territory and is so natural at arguing, he seems a little bit mean. His Howie is a man who is not in charge of his household, someone whose life has been dramatically altered by an event beyond his control. He finds too, that he can’t ease his wife’s sorrow — and discovers how talking can sometimes make things worse. Lindsay-Abaire seems to be making a point to men here; sometimes women just need to talk things out and they don’t need you to solve their problems. Allow them to talk and they can find their way through things. Howie, of course doesn’t get this and his frustration strains his relationship and ultimately isolates him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> At one point, Howie’s wife, Becca (Sina Eiden), explains the Greek myth of Orpheus. He played music so beautifully, she says, that it brought the dead back to life. However when someone he loved, Eurydice, died, all of his magical powers failed him. Eurydice was lost. In \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b>, each character knows they cannot bring the child back, so instead they lash out at one another for feeling too much or not feeling enough. It is a tug-of-war game that can never be won. Like Orpheus they all must live with the knowledge that there is nothing they can do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production of \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> is a synergy between Katarina Fabic and Shari Carlson of Studio 300. Fabic is an actress who has worked in commercials, plays and movies for the past 15 years. Scenes from \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> were workshopped at Studio 300, which inspired Fabic to put together a full production of the play. Carlson was asked to direct. Fabic also performs as the Becca’s younger, carefree sister Izzy, who provides moments of comic relief with stories of her own misadventures.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Candyce Anderson does what she can with her role as the grandmother. Unfortunately her character doesn’t get fully developed. Similarly, Joshua Duthie plays Jason, a minor role as the teenage boy who accidentally killed the child. His character appears mysteriously in the play and functions like the king’s ghost in \u003cb>Hamlet\u003c/b>, not fully there, but the thought of him sets everyone on edge. In fact the theme of absence and presence is the thread that connects everything in this play. For example, the absence of Becca and Howie’s child recalls the nonexistent baby in Albee’s \u003cb>Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?\u003c/b> or Clytemnestra’s sacrificed daughter Iphigeneia, in \u003cb>Agamemnon\u003c/b>. \u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> is a smart play that shouldn’t be missed if you can catch it during its short run.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Rabbit Hole\u003c/b> runs through December 1, 2007 at Studio 300. For tickets and information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/21987\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\"> BrownPaperTickets.Com\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
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"info": "Political Breakdown is a new series that explores the political intersection of California and the nation. Each week hosts Scott Shafer and Marisa Lagos are joined with a new special guest to unpack politics -- with personality — and offer an insider’s glimpse at how politics happens.",
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"info": "Possible is hosted by entrepreneur Reid Hoffman and writer Aria Finger. Together in Possible, Hoffman and Finger lead enlightening discussions about building a brighter collective future. The show features interviews with visionary guests like Trevor Noah, Sam Altman and Janette Sadik-Khan. Possible paints an optimistic portrait of the world we can create through science, policy, business, art and our shared humanity. It asks: What if everything goes right for once? How can we get there? Each episode also includes a short fiction story generated by advanced AI GPT-4, serving as a thought-provoking springboard to speculate how humanity could leverage technology for good.",
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"radiolab": {
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},
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"info": "The Snap Judgment radio show and podcast mixes real stories with killer beats to produce cinematic, dramatic radio. Snap's musical brand of storytelling dares listeners to see the world through the eyes of another. This is storytelling... with a BEAT!! Snap first aired on public radio stations nationwide in July 2010. Today, Snap Judgment airs on over 450 public radio stations and is brought to the airwaves by KQED & PRX.",
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"soldout": {
"id": "soldout",
"title": "SOLD OUT: Rethinking Housing in America",
"tagline": "A new future for housing",
"info": "Sold Out: Rethinking Housing in America",
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