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White’s prophetic ministry and writings, particularly her focus on education, health and vegetarianism, have had a huge impact on how the religion has developed and grown — despite accusations of mental illness and plagiarism among other concerns. \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> spans the four generations of Adventism and takes its climax from an event it calls “The Crash” — a period of suppression of scholarly exploration of White’s life and works in the seventies that has had a lasting impact on the religion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In journalism, one of the most difficult issues faced on a daily basis is how to present as unbiased an account as possible, even when presenting issues that are inherently matters of opinion. The most common solution is to present both sides of the issue — as if there are only two sides to any given issue. \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> achieves a communal truth through the willingness of interviewees to be honest and open. The sensitive writing does not judge individual characters for their opinions, but instead highlights the subtleties that lie behind the overt history. Including the process of writing the play as a major theme also heightens the impact of the story, as it gently points out parallels between “The Crash” and the current atmosphere, and offers the actors a way to include their opinions without having to indirectly comment through their characters. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play was presented in mini-scenes that flowed quickly from one to another, with a minimal set of two large movable red books (White’s 100+ published works were bound in red) and an innovative backdrop of laundry lines with clothing props that were gradually used up throughout the show. Music was also a powerful force throughout the show, provided by the actors humming and singing mostly traditional hymns central to their community.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The acting was natural and delivered with conviction — one actor mentioned that it was easier to be immersed in this production, because he understood the themes and people from his upbringing. Although not all of the numerous characters in the show are named, many of the key figures from “The Crash” are, and hearing their words spoken by the actors was all the more electric for knowing that many of the audience members present actually lived through that time and knew — and in some cases were — the characters in the play. In fact, one of the actors in the play, Greg Schneider, is a professor at PUC and plays himself and his wife in the production. Schneider was at the University of Chicago in the seventies, and spoke about the impact of several books published during that time. Another key character in the play was his student, and is now the Chair of his department at PUC.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The atmosphere in the theatre during and after the production was intense and emotionally charged; it seemed like everyone in the room was aware they were witnessing and participating in an important moment in their history. The entire audience stayed for a post-play Q&A session with the cast and crew. I was struck by the earnestness in the room, and the willingness to ask and answer difficult questions. Audience members asked about not only the process of making the play, but about major themes and also public reaction they had received so far. The father of one of the actors was candid about his worry for his daughter, and his warning that it might get her in trouble. He finished by saying that the production brought more variety of perspectives than he had expected, and that he didn’t think it was going to create as much uproar in the community as he had originally suspected. Through the Q&A, I also learned that one audience member and interviewee (and representative of the Ellen G. White estate) had walked out on opening night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> is without a doubt a seminal moment in the history of Seventh Day Adventism, but I shared fully in the experience that night, and left with profound respect for the people I saw — the people who had the courage to ask questions both during “The Crash” and now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> is extending its run through the first week in April (April 3,4,5 and 7). Admission is free of charge; donations highly encouraged. For more information, and reservations email \u003ca href=\"mailto:redbooksEGW@gmail.com\">redbooksEGW@gmail.com\u003c/a>. \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.puc.edu\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Pacific Union College\u003c/a> (PUC) is a four-year liberal arts college located in Angwin, a small town nestled deep within the gorgeous greenery of Napa County. It is also a \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seventh-day_Adventist_Church\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Seventh Day Adventist\u003c/a> campus, which, according to their website, “offers an excellent Christ-centered education.” As it turns out, PUC also offers the opportunity to share in the experience of a religious community examining its history and roots in \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b>, a deeply moving and expertly executed theatrical treatment of the life and impact of \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellen_G._White\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Ellen G. White\u003c/a>, a key founder of the Seventh Day Adventist Church and also founder of the school.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I didn’t know much about Seventh Day Adventism before seeing \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b>. I might not even know it existed (14 million strong worldwide in 2006) if it weren’t for a couple of friends with Adventist upbringings. One of them is Mei Ann Teo, a Bay Area theatre director whose past projects in San Francisco include \u003ca href=\"http://www.theactorscollective.org/reviews/boy_Girl.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Boy Gets Girl\u003c/a> and last year’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.crowdedfire.org/porcelain.shtml\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Porcelain\u003c/a>. Mei Ann went to PUC, and is now their Resident Artist. She had mentioned a project she was doing there about Seventh Day Adventism, that was taking its cues and format from \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Laramie_Project\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">The Laramie Project\u003c/a>, drawing on over 200 interviews with members of the Seventh Day Adventist community.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Like \u003cb>The Laramie Project\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> takes on controversial matter in a documentary theater format, attempting to present an entire community’s reactions to a heated topic through a series of short, punctuated scenes. In this case, the controversy relates to the role of influential founder Ellen G. White, and the atmosphere of suppression and fear that grew up around discussion of her life and works. White’s prophetic ministry and writings, particularly her focus on education, health and vegetarianism, have had a huge impact on how the religion has developed and grown — despite accusations of mental illness and plagiarism among other concerns. \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> spans the four generations of Adventism and takes its climax from an event it calls “The Crash” — a period of suppression of scholarly exploration of White’s life and works in the seventies that has had a lasting impact on the religion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In journalism, one of the most difficult issues faced on a daily basis is how to present as unbiased an account as possible, even when presenting issues that are inherently matters of opinion. The most common solution is to present both sides of the issue — as if there are only two sides to any given issue. \u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> achieves a communal truth through the willingness of interviewees to be honest and open. The sensitive writing does not judge individual characters for their opinions, but instead highlights the subtleties that lie behind the overt history. Including the process of writing the play as a major theme also heightens the impact of the story, as it gently points out parallels between “The Crash” and the current atmosphere, and offers the actors a way to include their opinions without having to indirectly comment through their characters. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play was presented in mini-scenes that flowed quickly from one to another, with a minimal set of two large movable red books (White’s 100+ published works were bound in red) and an innovative backdrop of laundry lines with clothing props that were gradually used up throughout the show. Music was also a powerful force throughout the show, provided by the actors humming and singing mostly traditional hymns central to their community.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The acting was natural and delivered with conviction — one actor mentioned that it was easier to be immersed in this production, because he understood the themes and people from his upbringing. Although not all of the numerous characters in the show are named, many of the key figures from “The Crash” are, and hearing their words spoken by the actors was all the more electric for knowing that many of the audience members present actually lived through that time and knew — and in some cases were — the characters in the play. In fact, one of the actors in the play, Greg Schneider, is a professor at PUC and plays himself and his wife in the production. Schneider was at the University of Chicago in the seventies, and spoke about the impact of several books published during that time. Another key character in the play was his student, and is now the Chair of his department at PUC.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The atmosphere in the theatre during and after the production was intense and emotionally charged; it seemed like everyone in the room was aware they were witnessing and participating in an important moment in their history. The entire audience stayed for a post-play Q&A session with the cast and crew. I was struck by the earnestness in the room, and the willingness to ask and answer difficult questions. Audience members asked about not only the process of making the play, but about major themes and also public reaction they had received so far. The father of one of the actors was candid about his worry for his daughter, and his warning that it might get her in trouble. He finished by saying that the production brought more variety of perspectives than he had expected, and that he didn’t think it was going to create as much uproar in the community as he had originally suspected. Through the Q&A, I also learned that one audience member and interviewee (and representative of the Ellen G. White estate) had walked out on opening night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> is without a doubt a seminal moment in the history of Seventh Day Adventism, but I shared fully in the experience that night, and left with profound respect for the people I saw — the people who had the courage to ask questions both during “The Crash” and now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Red Books\u003c/b> is extending its run through the first week in April (April 3,4,5 and 7). Admission is free of charge; donations highly encouraged. For more information, and reservations email \u003ca href=\"mailto:redbooksEGW@gmail.com\">redbooksEGW@gmail.com\u003c/a>. \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Imagine a world where every present action has a historical precursor. Where contemporary behaviors and images hold deep-rooted meanings. Wait, this is the world we live in, and the way social amnesia operates always amazes me. I don’t know how many times my ears have rung from the phrases, “This is a new day” or “Stop living in the past.” And let’s not forget my favorite, “God bless America.” As I sat and engaged with Kirsten Greenidge’s production, \u003cb>Rust\u003c/b>, I found it clever that she illustrated what we so much want to ignore.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Set in an unspecified present, \u003cb>Rust\u003c/b> is a bold and abstract story that revolves around Randall Miflin, an African American pro football player whose recent head injury has triggered an awakening. Randall begins taking yoga classes in the forest and demanding that people ‘respect’ him. He starts collecting artifacts, memorabilia, and posters of stereotypical black imagery (Aunt Jemima cookie jars, for example), which he guards with his life, and begins receiving phone calls from an elderly black woman, Ella Mae Walker, who urges Randall to save his people.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Randall’s behavior thoroughly confuses his fellow teammate Chunk-Chunk Adams, his materialistic wife, Jeannie, and Bill and Steve, two hilarious sports casters. They don’t understand that Randall’s deceased mother is at the center of his mental unraveling. She never approved of his football image. But why?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Football as a form of contemporary blackface minstrelsy was a central theme of \u003cb>Rust\u003c/b>. The “respect” that Randall continually demands becomes a response to the commodification that he’s endured as a black football player. The process of making sports figures, especially black sports figures into sellable commodities and so-called saviors isn’t new; a bed-ridden Mr. Peale calls out to Joe Louis to save him throughout the play, just as Ella Mae Walker repeatedly calls Randall on the phone to save her, so much so that Randall, and the audience, nearly go insane from the phone’s constant ringing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When sportscasters Bill and Steve are interjected into the story, I almost thought I was at home watching \u003cb>Sports Center\u003c/b>, but then something else caught my attention: they had plastic hair! You know the kind that shines and looks like it could be in a cartoon?! This made their presence all the more comical but reminded us of the artificial nature of mainstream sports broadcasts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though compact, the stage allowed for action and meaning to merge. Ella Mae Walker, adorned in the traditional red head scarf and large dress of the idealized “Aunt Jemima,” rocks back and forth in a rocking chair while Randall and Chunk-Chunk sit on bales of cotton in the present, playing video games. Ella Mae serves as the back drop for many of the scenes; even ones where she has no speaking role. As a device, I found her presence haunting, it kept reminding me that history is always behind the present.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All characters in the play evoke different reactions to the racist stereotypes and imagery that Randall “discovers” after his football injury. It is within each character’s way of confronting the problematic nature of these images, and of blackness, that the audience is entertained; a strange, yet appealing mixture of social commentary and comedy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All blackface characters in the play seem to be looking for their family and for “respect.” Two male characters wearing tutus and carrying lanterns, one white and one black, are randomly interspersed throughout, as representations of the awkward re-shaping of blackness in the present. When we later see that Mr. Peale, a character based on “Uncle Ben,” is their father, the connection is made. These subtle, yet powerful connections of historical repression to contemporary contradictions were some of my favorite elements of the production.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mikaal Sulaiman’s performance as Randall is one of the strongest in the play. Heck, his was one of the strongest performances I have ever seen! His penetrating, seemingly disturbed expressions and throaty, energetic dialogue fully conveyed his character’s mental strain.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production doesn’t just explode stereotypes, it expands and analyzes them, and actually makes us think about more than syrup when we see Aunt Jemima, or rice when we put Uncle Ben in the shopping cart.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Rust\u003c/b> is at The Magic Theater in San Francisco through April 1, 2007. For tickets and information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.magictheatre.org/pages/boxoffice.shtml\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">magictheatre.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Imagine a world where every present action has a historical precursor. Where contemporary behaviors and images hold deep-rooted meanings. Wait, this is the world we live in, and the way social amnesia operates always amazes me. I don't know how many times my ears have rung from the phrases, \"This is a new day\" or \"Stop living in the past.\" And let's not forget my favorite, \"God bless America.\" As I sat and engaged with Kirsten Greenidge's production, \u003cb>Rust\u003c/b>, I found it clever that she illustrated what we so much want to ignore. ",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though compact, the stage allowed for action and meaning to merge. Ella Mae Walker, adorned in the traditional red head scarf and large dress of the idealized “Aunt Jemima,” rocks back and forth in a rocking chair while Randall and Chunk-Chunk sit on bales of cotton in the present, playing video games. Ella Mae serves as the back drop for many of the scenes; even ones where she has no speaking role. As a device, I found her presence haunting, it kept reminding me that history is always behind the present.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All characters in the play evoke different reactions to the racist stereotypes and imagery that Randall “discovers” after his football injury. It is within each character’s way of confronting the problematic nature of these images, and of blackness, that the audience is entertained; a strange, yet appealing mixture of social commentary and comedy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All blackface characters in the play seem to be looking for their family and for “respect.” Two male characters wearing tutus and carrying lanterns, one white and one black, are randomly interspersed throughout, as representations of the awkward re-shaping of blackness in the present. When we later see that Mr. Peale, a character based on “Uncle Ben,” is their father, the connection is made. These subtle, yet powerful connections of historical repression to contemporary contradictions were some of my favorite elements of the production.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mikaal Sulaiman’s performance as Randall is one of the strongest in the play. Heck, his was one of the strongest performances I have ever seen! His penetrating, seemingly disturbed expressions and throaty, energetic dialogue fully conveyed his character’s mental strain.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production doesn’t just explode stereotypes, it expands and analyzes them, and actually makes us think about more than syrup when we see Aunt Jemima, or rice when we put Uncle Ben in the shopping cart.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Rust\u003c/b> is at The Magic Theater in San Francisco through April 1, 2007. For tickets and information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.magictheatre.org/pages/boxoffice.shtml\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">magictheatre.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>“Local community theater” is a term that can evoke terror in the hearts of many — or at least in mine. I’ve had to see friends take on material ranging from \u003cb>Anne of Green Gables\u003c/b> to \u003cb>Fiddler on the Roof\u003c/b>. Schmaltzy material seems to get a lot of play in local theater — perhaps it’s the only way to be financially viable in family-oriented communities. Luckily, local theater in the Bay Area takes on a whole different meaning, often bringing innovative and expert staging to challenging content. Three Wise Monkey’s \u003cb>Bay One Acts Festival\u003c/b> is an opportunity to see what a range of local theater companies are doing without having to see each one on a different night. Each play is written, directed and acted by local Bay Area talent. I saw Program One — the comedies — but this week will feature dramas, followed by a week of plays with a twist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003cb>CAUTION: the (Roughly) True Story of My Parents’ Romance\u003c/b>, writer Lauren Yee tries to distill her parents’ “how we met” story into a frothy romantic comedy, produced by the \u003ca href=\"http://www.asianamericantheater.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Asian American Theater Company\u003c/a>. Many of the traditional devices of a modern screwball comedy are thrown in, with a wry narrator, a flashback story structure, and an imaginary confidante for the young lady. Unfortunately, the story never gelled into the charmingly nostalgic trip through 1970s Chinatown I was expecting. I was confused at times by a slightly incoherent story structure and irritated at others by a heavy-handed attempt at addressing cross-cultural conflict. The narrator informed the audience that, and I paraphrase, you can call a Chinaman many things — industrious was mentioned amongst a litany of other aging stereotypes — but you can’t call him tall. Really? I like to think we’re living in a modern age, the age of Yao Ming, in which we don’t need to trot out the old stereotypes just to make the point that Chinese people can be tall. Overcoming flaws in the script, the cast threw themselves wholeheartedly into the story and Randy Nakagawa and Sandy Chen in particular were highly likable as the young lovers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A bored, beautiful woman in the tourist town of Yalta. An aging, married lecher who somehow discovers love. A pet dog. If this all sounds familiar to you, you’ve probably read “The Lady with the Pet Dog,” one of Anton Chekhov’s more well-known short stories. I hadn’t had that pleasure before seeing \u003cb>The Pet Dog with the Lady\u003c/b> produced by the \u003ca href=\"http://www.custommade.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Custom Made Theatre Company\u003c/a>, but given that the one joke running through the entire play was the fact that the story was being narrated from the pet Pomeranian’s point of view, reading the story beforehand would probably have destroyed any modicum of suspense that remained. The Pomeranian, carrying on in the tradition of A. R. Gurney’s \u003cb>\u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_(play)\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Sylvia\u003c/a>\u003c/b>, is played by a human, wearing a button-down shirt and slacks, pink tie, furry white gloves and dog collar and leash. Sadly, I can’t say the joke was robust enough to carry the production, but all the provocative questions posed by the play kept my attention from straying too far. Such as: Why was the lady dressed in modern French woman garb — complete with gigantic beret — in turn of the century Russia? How did the dog acquire the morals of a Victorian prude? What other stories could benefit from a similar treatment, say, \u003cb>Moby Dick\u003c/b> from the point of the view of the whale? What sort of ensemble would the whale wear to accurately represent his blowhole and powerful tail?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dystopian near-futures are all the rage these days, with manifestos and plotlines referencing 1984 popping up everywhere. \u003ca href=\"http://www.atmostheatre.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">AtmosTheatre\u003c/a>‘s\u003cb>The Pheasant\u003c/b> starts from the same source material and races off in the opposite direction, with a broad comedy about a celebrity chef planning a final protest on the eve of the closure of his restaurant in the face of a new government dictum: people can no longer eat freely, but will instead eat government-issued nutritional substances. The chef has decided that he will be cooking and serving himself in a grand gesture. The four characters — high-strung artiste Chef, his cold and arrogant wife Gloria, maudlin martyr sous chef Helen, and a government agent who is secretly a huge gourmand — are depressingly unoriginal. A plot that relies on a sadly absent shock value, grand speeches that sound all-too-familiar, and a thoroughly predictable plot all detract from the momentum of the production.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I missed the innovative content I expect from Bay Area productions — none of these plays felt like they were breaking new ground — but this coming week promises a whole new lineup with entirely different material and productions. The \u003cb>Bay One Acts Festival\u003c/b> runs through Mar 4, 2007 at the Eureka Theatre in San Francisco. For the \u003ca href=\"http://www.threewisemonkeys.org/boa6syn.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">lineup\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://www.threewisemonkeys.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets\u003c/a>, visit threewisemonkeys.org. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>“Local community theater” is a term that can evoke terror in the hearts of many — or at least in mine. I’ve had to see friends take on material ranging from \u003cb>Anne of Green Gables\u003c/b> to \u003cb>Fiddler on the Roof\u003c/b>. Schmaltzy material seems to get a lot of play in local theater — perhaps it’s the only way to be financially viable in family-oriented communities. Luckily, local theater in the Bay Area takes on a whole different meaning, often bringing innovative and expert staging to challenging content. Three Wise Monkey’s \u003cb>Bay One Acts Festival\u003c/b> is an opportunity to see what a range of local theater companies are doing without having to see each one on a different night. Each play is written, directed and acted by local Bay Area talent. I saw Program One — the comedies — but this week will feature dramas, followed by a week of plays with a twist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003cb>CAUTION: the (Roughly) True Story of My Parents’ Romance\u003c/b>, writer Lauren Yee tries to distill her parents’ “how we met” story into a frothy romantic comedy, produced by the \u003ca href=\"http://www.asianamericantheater.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Asian American Theater Company\u003c/a>. Many of the traditional devices of a modern screwball comedy are thrown in, with a wry narrator, a flashback story structure, and an imaginary confidante for the young lady. Unfortunately, the story never gelled into the charmingly nostalgic trip through 1970s Chinatown I was expecting. I was confused at times by a slightly incoherent story structure and irritated at others by a heavy-handed attempt at addressing cross-cultural conflict. The narrator informed the audience that, and I paraphrase, you can call a Chinaman many things — industrious was mentioned amongst a litany of other aging stereotypes — but you can’t call him tall. Really? I like to think we’re living in a modern age, the age of Yao Ming, in which we don’t need to trot out the old stereotypes just to make the point that Chinese people can be tall. Overcoming flaws in the script, the cast threw themselves wholeheartedly into the story and Randy Nakagawa and Sandy Chen in particular were highly likable as the young lovers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A bored, beautiful woman in the tourist town of Yalta. An aging, married lecher who somehow discovers love. A pet dog. If this all sounds familiar to you, you’ve probably read “The Lady with the Pet Dog,” one of Anton Chekhov’s more well-known short stories. I hadn’t had that pleasure before seeing \u003cb>The Pet Dog with the Lady\u003c/b> produced by the \u003ca href=\"http://www.custommade.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Custom Made Theatre Company\u003c/a>, but given that the one joke running through the entire play was the fact that the story was being narrated from the pet Pomeranian’s point of view, reading the story beforehand would probably have destroyed any modicum of suspense that remained. The Pomeranian, carrying on in the tradition of A. R. Gurney’s \u003cb>\u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sylvia_(play)\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Sylvia\u003c/a>\u003c/b>, is played by a human, wearing a button-down shirt and slacks, pink tie, furry white gloves and dog collar and leash. Sadly, I can’t say the joke was robust enough to carry the production, but all the provocative questions posed by the play kept my attention from straying too far. Such as: Why was the lady dressed in modern French woman garb — complete with gigantic beret — in turn of the century Russia? How did the dog acquire the morals of a Victorian prude? What other stories could benefit from a similar treatment, say, \u003cb>Moby Dick\u003c/b> from the point of the view of the whale? What sort of ensemble would the whale wear to accurately represent his blowhole and powerful tail?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dystopian near-futures are all the rage these days, with manifestos and plotlines referencing 1984 popping up everywhere. \u003ca href=\"http://www.atmostheatre.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">AtmosTheatre\u003c/a>‘s\u003cb>The Pheasant\u003c/b> starts from the same source material and races off in the opposite direction, with a broad comedy about a celebrity chef planning a final protest on the eve of the closure of his restaurant in the face of a new government dictum: people can no longer eat freely, but will instead eat government-issued nutritional substances. The chef has decided that he will be cooking and serving himself in a grand gesture. The four characters — high-strung artiste Chef, his cold and arrogant wife Gloria, maudlin martyr sous chef Helen, and a government agent who is secretly a huge gourmand — are depressingly unoriginal. A plot that relies on a sadly absent shock value, grand speeches that sound all-too-familiar, and a thoroughly predictable plot all detract from the momentum of the production.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I missed the innovative content I expect from Bay Area productions — none of these plays felt like they were breaking new ground — but this coming week promises a whole new lineup with entirely different material and productions. The \u003cb>Bay One Acts Festival\u003c/b> runs through Mar 4, 2007 at the Eureka Theatre in San Francisco. For the \u003ca href=\"http://www.threewisemonkeys.org/boa6syn.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">lineup\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://www.threewisemonkeys.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets\u003c/a>, visit threewisemonkeys.org. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>In 1991, I was thirteen and my angsty youth was picking up steam. I was busy learning from people like \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christina_Rossetti\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Christina Rossetti\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Gorey\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Edward Gorey\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000318/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tim Burton\u003c/a> that morbidity and whimsy often come hand in hand, and an obsession with death can be charming and fun. Of course, I was also wearing black leggings with whatever thick knit sweater in my closet was closest to black — electric blue as it turned out — and a very large, perm-like mane, restrained into the occasional side ponytail. While the monochromatic color scheme and Victorian references are absent, the leggings and hairstyles of the very early nineties are not, as trauma and death are offered up — with a healthy dose of cuteness — in Crowded Fire’s \u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b>, which runs through March 4, 2007 at the Traveling Jewish Theatre.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Author Mickey Birnbaum describes \u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b> as “a head-banging tale of death-metal teens & pit bulls in the ceiling” on his blog, \u003ca href=\"http://www.dogear.org/blogs/birnbaumm/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">It Is in the Brewing Luminous\u003c/a>. A finalist in the PEN USA 2006 Literary Awards for Drama, the play is set in the wake of the first Gulf War (Gulf War Sr.) and tells the tale of how two California teens cope with the travails of daily life while also dealing with their crazy parents — who in this case are actually crazy. It was conceived of as an opener to a death metal show, although I can only assume its origins were grittier in tone than the final result. Sure, there’s taboo sex, a wide variety of drugs, and a gun that becomes part of the central question answered before the play is over, but there are also plenty of scenes focused on laughs rather than tension, and a variety of amusingly awkward adolescent exchanges.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At its best, \u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b> takes a conventional moment in the life of an American teen and infuses it with a surreal, insanity-tinged atmosphere. Out of a strong cast, Lawrence Radecker as the traumatized Desert Storm vet dad and Tonya Glanz as a bitter, broken guidance counselor who needs serious amounts of guidance herself are most consistent at injecting this sense of reasonable madness into their characters. At its most mediocre, the artificially rapid-fire dialogue and lightly veiled references to bulimia seem a little forced. The two teens who are the main focus of the play aren’t as edgy as their angsty characters should be — rarely inspiring a sense of tension about the big decision they face: whether to go to college out of state or destroy the universe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The short scenes with rapid transitions that make up the play were handled smoothly against the backdrop of the family home. The home, or specifically, its diamond-patterned wallpaper, immediately caught my attention as I sat down, with its intriguing flaps and their possibilities for being opened and moved and rearranged. However, the set design seemed to take inspiration more from the seventies than the nineties, a Desert Storm bumper sticker offering the only real indication of the time period, presumably to avoid any confusion about which Gulf War people were talking about. The costuming kept the audience in giggles, with stirrup pants for mom, an Esprit t-shirt and doc martens for daughter, and a truly horrifying ensemble of too tight, too new jeans, shiny patent leather boots with an alligator texture, leather bomber jacket, gold necklace and an improbable dirty blonde wig for a household visitor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately, the big decision about whether to go to college out of state or destroy the universe is made, but I came away thinking more about the humor and sweetness in the script and production than the trauma and death in the subject matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b> runs through Mar 4, 2007 at the Traveling Jewish Theatre in San Francisco. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.crowdedfire.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tickets and information\u003c/a>, visit crowdedfire.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In 1991, I was thirteen and my angsty youth was picking up steam. I was busy learning from people like \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christina_Rossetti\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Christina Rossetti\u003c/a>, \u003ca href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Gorey\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Edward Gorey\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000318/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tim Burton\u003c/a> that morbidity and whimsy often come hand in hand, and an obsession with death can be charming and fun. Of course, I was also wearing black leggings with whatever thick knit sweater in my closet was closest to black — electric blue as it turned out — and a very large, perm-like mane, restrained into the occasional side ponytail. While the monochromatic color scheme and Victorian references are absent, the leggings and hairstyles of the very early nineties are not, as trauma and death are offered up — with a healthy dose of cuteness — in Crowded Fire’s \u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b>, which runs through March 4, 2007 at the Traveling Jewish Theatre.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Author Mickey Birnbaum describes \u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b> as “a head-banging tale of death-metal teens & pit bulls in the ceiling” on his blog, \u003ca href=\"http://www.dogear.org/blogs/birnbaumm/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">It Is in the Brewing Luminous\u003c/a>. A finalist in the PEN USA 2006 Literary Awards for Drama, the play is set in the wake of the first Gulf War (Gulf War Sr.) and tells the tale of how two California teens cope with the travails of daily life while also dealing with their crazy parents — who in this case are actually crazy. It was conceived of as an opener to a death metal show, although I can only assume its origins were grittier in tone than the final result. Sure, there’s taboo sex, a wide variety of drugs, and a gun that becomes part of the central question answered before the play is over, but there are also plenty of scenes focused on laughs rather than tension, and a variety of amusingly awkward adolescent exchanges.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At its best, \u003cb>Big Death & Little Death\u003c/b> takes a conventional moment in the life of an American teen and infuses it with a surreal, insanity-tinged atmosphere. Out of a strong cast, Lawrence Radecker as the traumatized Desert Storm vet dad and Tonya Glanz as a bitter, broken guidance counselor who needs serious amounts of guidance herself are most consistent at injecting this sense of reasonable madness into their characters. At its most mediocre, the artificially rapid-fire dialogue and lightly veiled references to bulimia seem a little forced. The two teens who are the main focus of the play aren’t as edgy as their angsty characters should be — rarely inspiring a sense of tension about the big decision they face: whether to go to college out of state or destroy the universe.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The short scenes with rapid transitions that make up the play were handled smoothly against the backdrop of the family home. The home, or specifically, its diamond-patterned wallpaper, immediately caught my attention as I sat down, with its intriguing flaps and their possibilities for being opened and moved and rearranged. However, the set design seemed to take inspiration more from the seventies than the nineties, a Desert Storm bumper sticker offering the only real indication of the time period, presumably to avoid any confusion about which Gulf War people were talking about. The costuming kept the audience in giggles, with stirrup pants for mom, an Esprit t-shirt and doc martens for daughter, and a truly horrifying ensemble of too tight, too new jeans, shiny patent leather boots with an alligator texture, leather bomber jacket, gold necklace and an improbable dirty blonde wig for a household visitor.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately, the big decision about whether to go to college out of state or destroy the universe is made, but I came away thinking more about the humor and sweetness in the script and production than the trauma and death in the subject matter.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The spirit of rugged individualism is the very lifeblood of San Francisco. It’s the kind of place where Starchild can run for County Supervisor, where we not only put a measure to impeach President Bush on the ballot, but dozens of people will go out to Ocean Beach in mid-winter and lie upon the sand to spell the words “IMPEACH” with their bodies. I like to think of it as a city of the grand flourish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And ever has the City by the Bay been this way, it appears. The city’s slogan, “Find Yourself Here,” was never more applicable than to the epic figure of San Franciscan Joshua Norton, Emperor of the United States, who ruled the nation from his seat of power, a little place on Commercial Street between Kearny and Montgomery. And for those not familiar with the man who was once one of San Francisco’s most beloved figures, Kim Ohanneson and Marty Axelrod have devised a rough-hewn tribute to Emperor Norton I, \u003cb>Emperor Norton, The Musical\u003c/b>, which runs through April 1 at the tiny Shelton Theater off Union Square.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production, which had its origins as a cabaret act is undeniably cheesy — and long — with a handmade look about it. Painted flats of scenes from the Hyde Street pier or Tadich Grill simply lean against the back wall and the 12-member cast barely fits on the postage stamp sized stage. With little room backstage at the Shelton, the divan that you see in the lobby at intermission makes its way onto stage in the second act. There’s a whiff of the sense that this show had roots in a group of pals goofing off and yet there’s also something good humored and heartwarming about what is obviously a labor-of-love project. The folksy numbers are cute and despite — no, perhaps because of — its amateur moments, it somehow fits the quirky DIY story of the Emp, as he was more familiarly known.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A true San Francisco character, the Emperor handed down his decrees, well-publicized in the newspapers, on topics that touched the lives of his subjects. He decreed that the streets of Sacramento should be cleaned of mud, that a bridge should be constructed between Oakland and San Francisco. He abolished the Democratic and Republican parties and dissolved Congress. And no one was EVER to refer to San Francisco as “Frisco.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Accompanied by his faithful canine companions, Bummer and Lazarus, the Emp, played by Stephen Pawley, was an honored guest at local functions and theatrical openings. In fact his devoted ragamuffins, played with relish by Peter Doty and Steffanos X in the musical offer some of the show’s most vivid moments, appearances by famous local characters Lola Montez, Lotta Crabtree, and Mark Twain not withstanding. There’s some strong singing from John Harrison as a newsboy who befriends the Emp, and an appearance by director David Stein as the Tadich Grill founder John Tadich, as well as the forlorn police officer Barbier who once arrested Norton and tried to have him committed for mental instability. (Needless to say, after public outrage ensued, his Highness was released.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The musical ranges over a lot of historical ground — an Emperor’s life is a quite busy one — and it’s hard to pick up the details of any particular thread to the story. Still, enough of the “strange, but true” essentials are in there to make for a colorful portrait of a post-Barbary Coast city where anything and everything goes, and apparently went.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Emperor Norton, The Musical\u003c/b> runs through April 1, 2007 at The Shelton Theater in San Francisco. For \u003ca href=\"http://emperornortonthemusical.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tickets and Information\u003c/a> visit emperornortonthemusical.com.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The spirit of rugged individualism is the very lifeblood of San Francisco. It’s the kind of place where Starchild can run for County Supervisor, where we not only put a measure to impeach President Bush on the ballot, but dozens of people will go out to Ocean Beach in mid-winter and lie upon the sand to spell the words “IMPEACH” with their bodies. I like to think of it as a city of the grand flourish.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And ever has the City by the Bay been this way, it appears. The city’s slogan, “Find Yourself Here,” was never more applicable than to the epic figure of San Franciscan Joshua Norton, Emperor of the United States, who ruled the nation from his seat of power, a little place on Commercial Street between Kearny and Montgomery. And for those not familiar with the man who was once one of San Francisco’s most beloved figures, Kim Ohanneson and Marty Axelrod have devised a rough-hewn tribute to Emperor Norton I, \u003cb>Emperor Norton, The Musical\u003c/b>, which runs through April 1 at the tiny Shelton Theater off Union Square.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The production, which had its origins as a cabaret act is undeniably cheesy — and long — with a handmade look about it. Painted flats of scenes from the Hyde Street pier or Tadich Grill simply lean against the back wall and the 12-member cast barely fits on the postage stamp sized stage. With little room backstage at the Shelton, the divan that you see in the lobby at intermission makes its way onto stage in the second act. There’s a whiff of the sense that this show had roots in a group of pals goofing off and yet there’s also something good humored and heartwarming about what is obviously a labor-of-love project. The folksy numbers are cute and despite — no, perhaps because of — its amateur moments, it somehow fits the quirky DIY story of the Emp, as he was more familiarly known.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A true San Francisco character, the Emperor handed down his decrees, well-publicized in the newspapers, on topics that touched the lives of his subjects. He decreed that the streets of Sacramento should be cleaned of mud, that a bridge should be constructed between Oakland and San Francisco. He abolished the Democratic and Republican parties and dissolved Congress. And no one was EVER to refer to San Francisco as “Frisco.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Accompanied by his faithful canine companions, Bummer and Lazarus, the Emp, played by Stephen Pawley, was an honored guest at local functions and theatrical openings. In fact his devoted ragamuffins, played with relish by Peter Doty and Steffanos X in the musical offer some of the show’s most vivid moments, appearances by famous local characters Lola Montez, Lotta Crabtree, and Mark Twain not withstanding. There’s some strong singing from John Harrison as a newsboy who befriends the Emp, and an appearance by director David Stein as the Tadich Grill founder John Tadich, as well as the forlorn police officer Barbier who once arrested Norton and tried to have him committed for mental instability. (Needless to say, after public outrage ensued, his Highness was released.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The musical ranges over a lot of historical ground — an Emperor’s life is a quite busy one — and it’s hard to pick up the details of any particular thread to the story. Still, enough of the “strange, but true” essentials are in there to make for a colorful portrait of a post-Barbary Coast city where anything and everything goes, and apparently went.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Emperor Norton, The Musical\u003c/b> runs through April 1, 2007 at The Shelton Theater in San Francisco. For \u003ca href=\"http://emperornortonthemusical.com/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tickets and Information\u003c/a> visit emperornortonthemusical.com.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Do you love stories? I do. Passionately. In less than an hour a simple short story can transport me to the moon and back home again. When our lives become turbulent, the short story structure reminds me that after great conflict, tranquility returns. The other night I was fortunate to catch Word For Word’s show \u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> at the Fort Mason Center’s Magic Theater.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Word For Word performs short stories by some of the most outstanding writers in print. If there were an Olympic Dream Team of short fiction, Word For Word’s favorite authors would surely be on the team. Tobias Wolff. Amy Hempel. Richard Ford. Sandra Cisneros. Grace Paley. Sherwood Anderson. These names make me want to fall to my knees.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> is Word For Word’s most current rendition of two stories: Mavis Gallant’s “Mlle. Dias de Corta” and Lorrie Moore’s “Which Is More Than I Can Say About Some People.” In Mavis Gallant’s story, a middle-aged widow writes a long letter to Alda Dias de Corta, a confused young actress who once boarded in the narrator’s Parisian home. The widow, a smug middle-aged woman wearing an unfortunate wig, can’t excise the memory of her former tenant, and her thinly-disguised pity for Alda is, we discover, really driven by emptiness and envy. This story is a quiet revelation about the true nature of a character. The second half of the show features Lorrie Moore’s absolutely hilarious story about the strained relationship between an American mother and daughter traveling through Ireland. Moore’s story culminates when the two characters hike up a winding trail to kiss the Blarney Stone. This is a physically and mentally challenging feat since in order to plant the kiss, each must lie on her back and stretch over a chasm. In doing so the mother, who by a long shot seems to be the stronger of the two characters, reveals her fears and frailties, and in the end we witness a lovely example of bravery and bonding.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We’ve all been double-crossed by filmmakers who’ve sold out our favorite novels and stories, and afterwards left the theater feeling a bit soiled. But believe me, after seeing \u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> you’ll feel squeaky clean because the company doesn’t alter a word of the original masterpiece, which is appropriate, as Word For Word performs stories in which every single word counts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This strict dedication to an author’s original piece presents a major challenge; a typical short story comprises not only dialogue and scene, but exposition — passages where a character’s thoughts wander into memory and description and reaction. Word For Word lives up to this challenge by creatively enacting a character’s situation and psychological state. So even though Mavis Gallant’s story is written in letter narration from a point of view limited to one character, at certain moments the main character puts words in other peoples’ mouths — and those characters appear onstage to deliver those statements.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then there’s the challenge of enacting a character’s every whim, thought, and action. The short story doesn’t take into account the limits of the stage. Word For Word meets these challenges with a vast array of creative staging, blocking, and use of props. A table is not only a table: it’s also a bench, a soapbox, and when overturned, a tray. Sometimes, too, props take on a new layer of meaning — when actors use suitcases not only as luggage but also as seats in their vehicles, we’re being invited to think about the nuances of the words such as “transitory” and “baggage.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These two words certainly touch on the themes of both Gallant’s and Moore’s story, but the true highlight of the night was Lorrie Moore’s piece, which contained sentences like this one: “They stopped briefly in an English manor house, to see the natural world cut up into moldings and rugs, wool and wood captive and squared, the earth stolen and embalmed and shellacked.” And one actor in particular, Patricia Silver (who played the domineering mother), nearly stole the show because in her role she was tough as steel and as brittle as balsa, recognizable yet unique, endearingly bossy to the very end.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After the show ended and Silver and company took their bows, I picked my way through the muggy night to my car. As I walked past a grove of fresh-smelling cypress, I had a thought: \u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> is an ideal marriage of literature and theater, as one form respects the other. In this model, the emergent form is as strong as its parents. And since I believe that the viewer is integral to art, I’d venture this: art that fortifies art also fortifies the viewer. Fortified, then, and alone in the dark, I felt tranquil, at last, despite all the turbulence I’ve experienced at home recently, a long story — let’s not get into it. Tranquility is the home we carry inside of us, and the performance had delivered me safely home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> runs January 31 through February 4, 2007 at the Julia Morgan Theater in Berekely. Lorrie Moore will join the group on March 13th, 2007 to discuss the production at the Cowell Theater in San Francisco. Get \u003ca href=\"http://www.zspace.org/strangersweknow.htm\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tickets and Information\u003c/a> (at zspace.org)\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Do you love stories? I do. Passionately. In less than an hour a simple short story can transport me to the moon and back home again. When our lives become turbulent, the short story structure reminds me that after great conflict, tranquility returns. The other night I was fortunate to catch Word For Word’s show \u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> at the Fort Mason Center’s Magic Theater.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Word For Word performs short stories by some of the most outstanding writers in print. If there were an Olympic Dream Team of short fiction, Word For Word’s favorite authors would surely be on the team. Tobias Wolff. Amy Hempel. Richard Ford. Sandra Cisneros. Grace Paley. Sherwood Anderson. These names make me want to fall to my knees.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> is Word For Word’s most current rendition of two stories: Mavis Gallant’s “Mlle. Dias de Corta” and Lorrie Moore’s “Which Is More Than I Can Say About Some People.” In Mavis Gallant’s story, a middle-aged widow writes a long letter to Alda Dias de Corta, a confused young actress who once boarded in the narrator’s Parisian home. The widow, a smug middle-aged woman wearing an unfortunate wig, can’t excise the memory of her former tenant, and her thinly-disguised pity for Alda is, we discover, really driven by emptiness and envy. This story is a quiet revelation about the true nature of a character. The second half of the show features Lorrie Moore’s absolutely hilarious story about the strained relationship between an American mother and daughter traveling through Ireland. Moore’s story culminates when the two characters hike up a winding trail to kiss the Blarney Stone. This is a physically and mentally challenging feat since in order to plant the kiss, each must lie on her back and stretch over a chasm. In doing so the mother, who by a long shot seems to be the stronger of the two characters, reveals her fears and frailties, and in the end we witness a lovely example of bravery and bonding.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We’ve all been double-crossed by filmmakers who’ve sold out our favorite novels and stories, and afterwards left the theater feeling a bit soiled. But believe me, after seeing \u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> you’ll feel squeaky clean because the company doesn’t alter a word of the original masterpiece, which is appropriate, as Word For Word performs stories in which every single word counts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This strict dedication to an author’s original piece presents a major challenge; a typical short story comprises not only dialogue and scene, but exposition — passages where a character’s thoughts wander into memory and description and reaction. Word For Word lives up to this challenge by creatively enacting a character’s situation and psychological state. So even though Mavis Gallant’s story is written in letter narration from a point of view limited to one character, at certain moments the main character puts words in other peoples’ mouths — and those characters appear onstage to deliver those statements.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then there’s the challenge of enacting a character’s every whim, thought, and action. The short story doesn’t take into account the limits of the stage. Word For Word meets these challenges with a vast array of creative staging, blocking, and use of props. A table is not only a table: it’s also a bench, a soapbox, and when overturned, a tray. Sometimes, too, props take on a new layer of meaning — when actors use suitcases not only as luggage but also as seats in their vehicles, we’re being invited to think about the nuances of the words such as “transitory” and “baggage.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These two words certainly touch on the themes of both Gallant’s and Moore’s story, but the true highlight of the night was Lorrie Moore’s piece, which contained sentences like this one: “They stopped briefly in an English manor house, to see the natural world cut up into moldings and rugs, wool and wood captive and squared, the earth stolen and embalmed and shellacked.” And one actor in particular, Patricia Silver (who played the domineering mother), nearly stole the show because in her role she was tough as steel and as brittle as balsa, recognizable yet unique, endearingly bossy to the very end.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After the show ended and Silver and company took their bows, I picked my way through the muggy night to my car. As I walked past a grove of fresh-smelling cypress, I had a thought: \u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> is an ideal marriage of literature and theater, as one form respects the other. In this model, the emergent form is as strong as its parents. And since I believe that the viewer is integral to art, I’d venture this: art that fortifies art also fortifies the viewer. Fortified, then, and alone in the dark, I felt tranquil, at last, despite all the turbulence I’ve experienced at home recently, a long story — let’s not get into it. Tranquility is the home we carry inside of us, and the performance had delivered me safely home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Strangers We Know\u003c/b> runs January 31 through February 4, 2007 at the Julia Morgan Theater in Berekely. Lorrie Moore will join the group on March 13th, 2007 to discuss the production at the Cowell Theater in San Francisco. Get \u003ca href=\"http://www.zspace.org/strangersweknow.htm\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Tickets and Information\u003c/a> (at zspace.org)\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>If a play’s stage directions require the use of fake blood, it’s sure to be an exciting event — at least in my estimation. The Berkeley Rep’s production of Martin McDonagh’s \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> does not disappoint. \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> features gallons of the aforementioned fake blood, as well as severed toes (also fake, I hope), insane children, flying spittle, and parents so evil that “evil” becomes a comic overstatement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Short story writer Katurian and his twisted brother Michal have been jailed for the murders of three local children. They have come under suspicion because the gruesome methods behind the killings are identical to those in Katurian’s stories (which feature particularly creative child murders). The grisly truths behind the murders and the inspiration for Katurian’s nightmarish fiction are eventually revealed, but along the way \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> jangles the senses, a kaleidoscope of horrors, real and imagained.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Berkeley Rep’s production is fabulous — the lighting suitably drab, the set’s spareness contrasting nicely with Katurian’s elaborately creepy memories and fantasies, which are enacted on a raised platform upstage while he narrates. It’s as if we can see the inner workings of his mind — and be prepared, because the unglued contents therein will disturb and unsettle you. Each of the sound effects in \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b>, from a little girl scratching at the inside of her coffin to the whine of drills and crackling electrodes, was quite effective — amongst a host of effects, these sounds were particularly evocative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So evocative, in fact, that intermission came as a relief. On the night I attended, the room at intermission buzzed with conversation. People were NOT discussing dinner, babysitters or plans for the weekend. They were talking about the play. I overheard one patron, a man wearing an abalone-shell necklace, complain about how the other audience members snickered inappropriately during what he considered a serious play. And yet, I found many of the lines in \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> funny. The playbill promises laughter, so I wondered about the source of this man’s confusion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe it was Erik Lochtefeld’s rendering of Katurian, who’s often consumed with terror (as anyone would be when under interrogation with threat of execution). That is, Lochtefeld might have given a performance that allowed us to relax and laugh with a clear conscience if he hadn’t so strongly emphasized Katurian’s fear. But emphasize it, he did. In plenty of instances, Lochtefeld’s stance reminds us that Katurian is well aware that his stories are gothic grotesqueries, and even when he’s being questioned by two sadistic detectives, even when he’s tremblingly obeisant, the glee he takes in his fiction’s over-the-top horror is apparent — as is an author’s pride. Katurian has learned to turn his harrowing past into art.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I had no objections to Lochtefeld’s performance, as I enjoy being kept off-balance. In fact, I was deeply impressed by everyone in \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b>. Matthew Maher’s Michal, Katurian’s brain-damaged brother, uses psychological dissociation to provide a very creepy kind of humor, contrasting the emotional depth of his words with a flat, neutral delivery. His bald head is as expressive as Ben Kingsley’s. Tony Amendola as Agent Tupolski is charmingly acid, while Andy Murray as “bad cop” Ariel is his perfect foil.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Berkeley Rep’s rendition of \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> is the best thing I’ve seen in a long time. I’m still thinking about how our egos are invested in our art and trying to figure out when laughter is inappropriate. And I’m still haunted by the play’s central image — a kind, sad man made out of pillows. It’s one of many vivid images arising from \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b>‘s intricate storyline (or rather lines), stories within stories as much about storytelling as grisly child murder, torture and imprisonment and the vanity of the artist. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> plays at the Berkeley Repertory Theater in Berkeley through February 25, 2007. \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/ticketing/calendar/index.aspx\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Purchase tickets\u003c/a> (at berkeleyrep.org).\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "If a play's stage directions require the use of fake blood, it's sure to be an exciting event — at least in my estimation. The Berkeley Rep's production of Martin McDonagh's \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> does not disappoint. \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> features gallons of the aforementioned fake blood, as well as severed toes (also fake, I hope), insane children, flying spittle, and parents so evil that \"evil\" becomes a comic overstatement. ",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>If a play’s stage directions require the use of fake blood, it’s sure to be an exciting event — at least in my estimation. The Berkeley Rep’s production of Martin McDonagh’s \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> does not disappoint. \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> features gallons of the aforementioned fake blood, as well as severed toes (also fake, I hope), insane children, flying spittle, and parents so evil that “evil” becomes a comic overstatement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Short story writer Katurian and his twisted brother Michal have been jailed for the murders of three local children. They have come under suspicion because the gruesome methods behind the killings are identical to those in Katurian’s stories (which feature particularly creative child murders). The grisly truths behind the murders and the inspiration for Katurian’s nightmarish fiction are eventually revealed, but along the way \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> jangles the senses, a kaleidoscope of horrors, real and imagained.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Berkeley Rep’s production is fabulous — the lighting suitably drab, the set’s spareness contrasting nicely with Katurian’s elaborately creepy memories and fantasies, which are enacted on a raised platform upstage while he narrates. It’s as if we can see the inner workings of his mind — and be prepared, because the unglued contents therein will disturb and unsettle you. Each of the sound effects in \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b>, from a little girl scratching at the inside of her coffin to the whine of drills and crackling electrodes, was quite effective — amongst a host of effects, these sounds were particularly evocative.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So evocative, in fact, that intermission came as a relief. On the night I attended, the room at intermission buzzed with conversation. People were NOT discussing dinner, babysitters or plans for the weekend. They were talking about the play. I overheard one patron, a man wearing an abalone-shell necklace, complain about how the other audience members snickered inappropriately during what he considered a serious play. And yet, I found many of the lines in \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> funny. The playbill promises laughter, so I wondered about the source of this man’s confusion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe it was Erik Lochtefeld’s rendering of Katurian, who’s often consumed with terror (as anyone would be when under interrogation with threat of execution). That is, Lochtefeld might have given a performance that allowed us to relax and laugh with a clear conscience if he hadn’t so strongly emphasized Katurian’s fear. But emphasize it, he did. In plenty of instances, Lochtefeld’s stance reminds us that Katurian is well aware that his stories are gothic grotesqueries, and even when he’s being questioned by two sadistic detectives, even when he’s tremblingly obeisant, the glee he takes in his fiction’s over-the-top horror is apparent — as is an author’s pride. Katurian has learned to turn his harrowing past into art.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I had no objections to Lochtefeld’s performance, as I enjoy being kept off-balance. In fact, I was deeply impressed by everyone in \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b>. Matthew Maher’s Michal, Katurian’s brain-damaged brother, uses psychological dissociation to provide a very creepy kind of humor, contrasting the emotional depth of his words with a flat, neutral delivery. His bald head is as expressive as Ben Kingsley’s. Tony Amendola as Agent Tupolski is charmingly acid, while Andy Murray as “bad cop” Ariel is his perfect foil.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Berkeley Rep’s rendition of \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> is the best thing I’ve seen in a long time. I’m still thinking about how our egos are invested in our art and trying to figure out when laughter is inappropriate. And I’m still haunted by the play’s central image — a kind, sad man made out of pillows. It’s one of many vivid images arising from \u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b>‘s intricate storyline (or rather lines), stories within stories as much about storytelling as grisly child murder, torture and imprisonment and the vanity of the artist. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>The Pillowman\u003c/b> plays at the Berkeley Repertory Theater in Berkeley through February 25, 2007. \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/ticketing/calendar/index.aspx\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Purchase tickets\u003c/a> (at berkeleyrep.org).\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>“Holy smokes, it’s the story of my life,” I thought during the first act of \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b>, Jay Kuo’s terrific new musical, which has been workshopped at the New Conservatory Theatre and arrived as a semi-staged production at the Magic Theatre over the weekend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A followup to his successful romantic comedy, \u003cb>Insignificant Others\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> finds Kuo again mining the local landscape and coming up with a gem of a bittersweet tale about love blooming in the rarefied world of San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a curious thing that happens quite often in the Bay Area — a place where I’m startled if I run into a bona fide, born-and-bred local. No matter where we’re from though, somehow we all wind up discovering “families” for ourselves. You know the family I mean — the one with your crazy left wing activist friend, the struggling artist you met in a coffee shop, your wild and crazy, newly-freed-from-the-closet pal, and various interesting and probably left-leaning others. Kuo has built \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> around just such an extended family, in this case, a loosely-banded guerilla street theater group. As a love story and a tale of the divisive politics of this current generation, it will no doubt connect to audiences at many levels, but for the Bay Area crowd, it will be doubly poignant, because it tells the stories of the people that you and I know — maybe even the stories of our own lives. And as with all the best musicals, the circumstances in which our heroes find themselves might be farcical, even far-fetched, but it doesn’t matter at all, because the characters ring true.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The action splits between San Francisco and Lubbock, Texas, but the heart of \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> centers around the winsome Yilin Hsu and Luke Klipp as Rose and J.D, two transplants to San Francisco whose romance is buffeted by family expectations, politics, racism and circumstance. Rose’s brother Lincoln (Austin Ku), has his own romance with the gently sarcastic Tennessee (Jason Hoover) and faces up to the struggle of coming out to his mother — played with hilarious, often touching grace by Lily Tung. In a part of America miles apart geographically and ideologically, J.D.’s mom, Trudy, played with heartfelt simplicity by Kelly Ground, has fallen in with an Operation Rescue, “Flip” Benham-type preacher (Brandon Mears). It’s a complex interplay between all these personalities, ideas and prejudices that drives the action. How easy it is, after a few years in the Bay Area, to forget that elsewhere in America, people don’t see politics or life as we do here. It seemed to take a moment for the crowd at the Magic to register the fact that a romance between a Korean woman and a guy from Texas might be problematic, or to recall that there are places where people still think sushi is a queer thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> is an ambitious undertaking and packs a lot of commentary into a musical framework. Besides the love story, Kuo works extensive political ground from abortion rights to animal rights, from racism to fanaticism, albeit wearing decidedly blue colors on his political sleeve. Still, he dots the evening with catchy tunes and bon mots aplenty. Sweetly romantic duets like “All That We Know” and punchy production numbers like “Something in the Key of D” — a kind of cabaret riff on musical theater staples like \u003cb>Phantom of the Opera\u003c/b>, and \u003cb>The King & I\u003c/b> — show off an uncommonly confident stride.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The twelve performers — including Erin Diamantides as the left wing radical Eleanor, as well as William Brown III, Sean Grady, Mary Kalita and Nancy Dobbs Owen — make for a strong cast, forging ahead with vivacious energy, even if they are forced to sing to recorded music. Nevertheless, director George Quick has provided a clean, theatrical staging, and in a way — although I know it’s only meant to be a bare-bones workshop production — I enjoyed the way the spareness threw the characters into high relief.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the last three or four numbers, unabashed sentimentalism and sniffles dominated the audience — most of us had gone to pieces by the time we got to Lincoln and Tennessee’s “You’ve Got Me.” That’s when the real kicker hits: this musical isn’t really about politics or immigration or freeing lab rats or blockading abortion clinics. It’s about the things we allow to push and shove us into making decisions. It’s about hopes and expectations — and \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> exceeds them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> continues through December 19 at the Magic Theatre. Catch it if you can, and bring tissues with you. But if you miss it, keep your eyes peeled — a show this good is more than likely to be picked up and put onstage for a well-deserved long run.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>“Holy smokes, it’s the story of my life,” I thought during the first act of \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b>, Jay Kuo’s terrific new musical, which has been workshopped at the New Conservatory Theatre and arrived as a semi-staged production at the Magic Theatre over the weekend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A followup to his successful romantic comedy, \u003cb>Insignificant Others\u003c/b>, \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> finds Kuo again mining the local landscape and coming up with a gem of a bittersweet tale about love blooming in the rarefied world of San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a curious thing that happens quite often in the Bay Area — a place where I’m startled if I run into a bona fide, born-and-bred local. No matter where we’re from though, somehow we all wind up discovering “families” for ourselves. You know the family I mean — the one with your crazy left wing activist friend, the struggling artist you met in a coffee shop, your wild and crazy, newly-freed-from-the-closet pal, and various interesting and probably left-leaning others. Kuo has built \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> around just such an extended family, in this case, a loosely-banded guerilla street theater group. As a love story and a tale of the divisive politics of this current generation, it will no doubt connect to audiences at many levels, but for the Bay Area crowd, it will be doubly poignant, because it tells the stories of the people that you and I know — maybe even the stories of our own lives. And as with all the best musicals, the circumstances in which our heroes find themselves might be farcical, even far-fetched, but it doesn’t matter at all, because the characters ring true.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The action splits between San Francisco and Lubbock, Texas, but the heart of \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> centers around the winsome Yilin Hsu and Luke Klipp as Rose and J.D, two transplants to San Francisco whose romance is buffeted by family expectations, politics, racism and circumstance. Rose’s brother Lincoln (Austin Ku), has his own romance with the gently sarcastic Tennessee (Jason Hoover) and faces up to the struggle of coming out to his mother — played with hilarious, often touching grace by Lily Tung. In a part of America miles apart geographically and ideologically, J.D.’s mom, Trudy, played with heartfelt simplicity by Kelly Ground, has fallen in with an Operation Rescue, “Flip” Benham-type preacher (Brandon Mears). It’s a complex interplay between all these personalities, ideas and prejudices that drives the action. How easy it is, after a few years in the Bay Area, to forget that elsewhere in America, people don’t see politics or life as we do here. It seemed to take a moment for the crowd at the Magic to register the fact that a romance between a Korean woman and a guy from Texas might be problematic, or to recall that there are places where people still think sushi is a queer thing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> is an ambitious undertaking and packs a lot of commentary into a musical framework. Besides the love story, Kuo works extensive political ground from abortion rights to animal rights, from racism to fanaticism, albeit wearing decidedly blue colors on his political sleeve. Still, he dots the evening with catchy tunes and bon mots aplenty. Sweetly romantic duets like “All That We Know” and punchy production numbers like “Something in the Key of D” — a kind of cabaret riff on musical theater staples like \u003cb>Phantom of the Opera\u003c/b>, and \u003cb>The King & I\u003c/b> — show off an uncommonly confident stride.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The twelve performers — including Erin Diamantides as the left wing radical Eleanor, as well as William Brown III, Sean Grady, Mary Kalita and Nancy Dobbs Owen — make for a strong cast, forging ahead with vivacious energy, even if they are forced to sing to recorded music. Nevertheless, director George Quick has provided a clean, theatrical staging, and in a way — although I know it’s only meant to be a bare-bones workshop production — I enjoyed the way the spareness threw the characters into high relief.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the last three or four numbers, unabashed sentimentalism and sniffles dominated the audience — most of us had gone to pieces by the time we got to Lincoln and Tennessee’s “You’ve Got Me.” That’s when the real kicker hits: this musical isn’t really about politics or immigration or freeing lab rats or blockading abortion clinics. It’s about the things we allow to push and shove us into making decisions. It’s about hopes and expectations — and \u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> exceeds them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Homeland\u003c/b> continues through December 19 at the Magic Theatre. Catch it if you can, and bring tissues with you. But if you miss it, keep your eyes peeled — a show this good is more than likely to be picked up and put onstage for a well-deserved long run.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>When art speaks truth, it hurts, and it never hurts so much as in Mark Jackson’s stylish new play \u003cb>The Forest War\u003c/b>, which runs through January 14 at the Shotgun Players’ Ashby Stage in Berkeley.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Written and directed with imaginative flair, \u003cb>The Forest War\u003c/b> comes in the form of Japanese Kabuki theater, from the choreographed stylized stage movements and tableaux, to Valera Coble’s beautifully-textured elaborate costumes, to Jackson’s formalized, rhythmic dialogue. It’s a classic jidai geki, or Japanese period drama, addressing themes that are timeless and in this case, all too familiar.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Forest War of the title has been prosecuted by the aging Grand Lord Karug, played by Drew Anderson, and after a decade, the long battles have decimated the country and demoralized its citizens. In theory, the war has been won, and Karug decides to pass the leadership to the peaceable Lord Kulan (Cassidy Brown) instead of his belligerent son, Lord Kain (Kevin Clarke). Thus the stage is set for your classic father/son power struggle. Read into it what you will.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>President Bush — sorry, I mean, Lord Kain — believes that the battle for the Great Oil Fields — sorry, the Great Forest — is far from finished, and he angrily plots against the peace-loving Bill Clinton — that is, Lord Kulan who has set about rebuilding the country, improving infrastructure and even — horrors! — appointing a local medicine woman (read Jocelyn Elders) and taking political counsel from his wife, Lady Ema, or if you like, Hillary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Would you be surprised to learn that Lord Kulan’s downfall is a sexual peccadillo with a young courtesan, and that the sword of state passes to Lord Kain, who invents the fiction that their enemies have risen again and restarts The Forest War with the help of General Mau Tant, i.e. Military-Industrial Complex?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course Jackson doesn’t stick slavishly to the parallels — although it would be great to think of Chelsea Clinton stabbing Bush with a paintbrush — but it’s close enough to make watching painful. Painful, not because I disliked the production, but because I find thinking about the war in Iraq extremely painful. I think we can all agree that the Oil Field War looks like an epic and archetypal story — and maybe it really is just another incarnation of the father-son struggle — but it’s difficult to watch the unfolding of a blood-covered mythopoetic story whose real-life ending has yet to be written.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All that aside, the Shotgun Players look comfortable in the movement conventions that Jackson employs as a method of defining the rich panoply of characters, similar to his use of biomechanics in the 2003 \u003cb>Death of Meyerhold\u003c/b>. Figures like the wild-haired Kain and his militaristic general Mau Tant (Reid Davis) cut across the space in aggressive diagonals, while Thu Tran’s vacillating courtier Lunnen sways in contrapposto stances. Tran also appears with Erin Mei-Ling Stuart under heavy black veiling, as mystical movers of the minimalist props and sets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A coterie of peasant figures, including Carla Pantoja as the clothmaker Madame Ajbi and Richard Reinholdt as the blacksmith Morduk, are entertaining and adept as the working class, who, like most of us plebes, are mainly caught up in the struggles of daily life — happy to gossip about court, but only reacting when the fears and rumors affect them personally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Providing expert and atmospheric accompaniment are musicians Christopher Broderick and Daniel Bruno, who play a wide range of instruments. And the scenic desig, by Melpomene Katakalos and lighting by Heather Basarab are effective in their simplicity. Two small pots of reeds stand in for a meadow, blood flows through red ribbons and the spirits of the dead make ceremonious exits through the back wall unfurling a white paper umbrella. It’s a scale that suits the limitations of a small theater troupe, but which also comes off as understated tastefulness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The biggest problem with \u003cb>The Forest War\u003c/b> is that it’s too long. It’s a bit of a challenge to sit on the Ashby Stage’s church pew seats for over two and a half hours. (As the company raises money for their new solar powered theater project, maybe a few dollars can go towards better seats.) Still, the imagery is power-packed, and worthy of a story that looks like it will already be the stuff of legend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>The Forest War\u003c/b> continues through January 14 at the Ashby Stage. \u003ca href=\"http://www.shotgunplayers.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Get tickets and information\u003c/a> (at shotgunplayers.org)\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course Jackson doesn’t stick slavishly to the parallels — although it would be great to think of Chelsea Clinton stabbing Bush with a paintbrush — but it’s close enough to make watching painful. Painful, not because I disliked the production, but because I find thinking about the war in Iraq extremely painful. I think we can all agree that the Oil Field War looks like an epic and archetypal story — and maybe it really is just another incarnation of the father-son struggle — but it’s difficult to watch the unfolding of a blood-covered mythopoetic story whose real-life ending has yet to be written.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All that aside, the Shotgun Players look comfortable in the movement conventions that Jackson employs as a method of defining the rich panoply of characters, similar to his use of biomechanics in the 2003 \u003cb>Death of Meyerhold\u003c/b>. Figures like the wild-haired Kain and his militaristic general Mau Tant (Reid Davis) cut across the space in aggressive diagonals, while Thu Tran’s vacillating courtier Lunnen sways in contrapposto stances. Tran also appears with Erin Mei-Ling Stuart under heavy black veiling, as mystical movers of the minimalist props and sets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A coterie of peasant figures, including Carla Pantoja as the clothmaker Madame Ajbi and Richard Reinholdt as the blacksmith Morduk, are entertaining and adept as the working class, who, like most of us plebes, are mainly caught up in the struggles of daily life — happy to gossip about court, but only reacting when the fears and rumors affect them personally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Providing expert and atmospheric accompaniment are musicians Christopher Broderick and Daniel Bruno, who play a wide range of instruments. And the scenic desig, by Melpomene Katakalos and lighting by Heather Basarab are effective in their simplicity. Two small pots of reeds stand in for a meadow, blood flows through red ribbons and the spirits of the dead make ceremonious exits through the back wall unfurling a white paper umbrella. It’s a scale that suits the limitations of a small theater troupe, but which also comes off as understated tastefulness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The biggest problem with \u003cb>The Forest War\u003c/b> is that it’s too long. It’s a bit of a challenge to sit on the Ashby Stage’s church pew seats for over two and a half hours. (As the company raises money for their new solar powered theater project, maybe a few dollars can go towards better seats.) Still, the imagery is power-packed, and worthy of a story that looks like it will already be the stuff of legend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>The Forest War\u003c/b> continues through January 14 at the Ashby Stage. \u003ca href=\"http://www.shotgunplayers.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Get tickets and information\u003c/a> (at shotgunplayers.org)\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Randy Rutherford’s show,\u003cb>This May Feel A Little Funny\u003c/b>, is now playing at The Marsh Theater on Valencia Street. The performance takes place on a small stage under a gorgeous open-beam redwood ceiling that arches over head, lending the entire proceedings a homey, barnlike feel. While I waited for the performance to begin, strains of Willie Nelson drifted from the speakers. Despite having just stepped in from San Fran’s mecca of bohemian hipness, I felt as though we were gathered in the community center of some small, rural town.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The personal nature of Rutherford’s piece is well-suited to the venue. During his monologue he tells the story of how, after turning forty and divorcing, after experiencing a progressive hearing loss that leaves him dependent on two hearing aids and the strength of his other senses, he finds himself at a California dance camp/retreat. Every attendee (except Rutherford, apparently) is expressive and uninhibited. Rutherford, who’s self-conscious about meeting women, his dancing skills, and his deafness, chooses to watch rather than participate. One dancer is a bewitching married woman who flits around the room from man-to-man. We leave this scene and jump ahead ten years. Now, Mr. Rutherford’s touring and playing his guitar on stage. He’s been invited to perform in a distant California town and guess who’s in charge of the venue? Randy falls in love, and at the suggestion of his new mate, subjects himself to a healthier lifestyle in which he eats (many) vegetables, drinks bitter organic wines, and consents to a terrifying “cleansing” enema.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While Mr. Rutherford addresses the insecurities of being middle-aged and suddenly alone (and who, really, is adequately prepared for this?), there’s something extremely reassuring about his charming delivery. He has a habit of addressing the audience directly, interrupting himself often to ask how we’re doing. In the wrong hands this device could be intrusive and annoying. But Mr. Rutherford presents his monologue as though he’s telling a story to a group of kind-souled but skeptical listeners; ultimately, he wins us over. At certain points during his monologue, Mr. Rutherford strums his guitar and sings snippets from old folk tunes — you’ll surely recognize them when you hear them. His musical presentation is gentle and pleasant. He seems right at home in our little city/big town.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also reassuring is Randy Rutherford’s brand of humor, which seems to belong to another era. Perhaps that’s because he’s so positive — in our times, humor is most often constructed on a firm foundation of sneering; we most often laugh at someone else’s expense because the current climate makes us deeply insecure. But Rutherford pokes fun at his own impairment and his resulting self-consciousness about it without jabbing out at the world, too. It’s quite clear from his monologue that his self-consciousness originates not with others but within himself — I find the stance both unusual and brave. Randy Rutherford performs sans his hearing aids and manages to sing gorgeously and in tune. Clearly he doesn’t need the devices to express himself, and through personal expression Mr. Rutherford has beaten his adversities. Now THAT’S inspiring.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Don’t get me wrong: Randy Rutherford’s performance is heartwarming, but he’s offering more than simple cracker-barrel philosophy. At times he expresses his nightmares in a way that’s downright abstract. This is especially apparent when Rutherford acts out his post-enema anxieties, personifying them by modulating his voice, twisting his limbs, and presenting us with a rapid succession of conflicting fears. In these moments, you might recognize the influence of sophisticated body-actors like Robin Williams.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At the end of the night, Mr. Rutherford reveals that from his west-coast lover, he learned to open up. And what a nice thought to carry out of the theater and onto the streets of San Francisco. Our region has a reputation for self-examination, insight, and openness. That’s what I love about our part of California, and I do believe that performers like Randy Rutherford mean to perpetuate this reputation by reinforcing its truth.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>This May Feel a Little Funny\u003c/b> runs through December 2, 2006 at the Marsh. For \u003ca href=\"http://www.themarsh.org/feelfunny.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">tickets and information\u003c/a> visit themarsh.org.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>We’ve all got problems, and as you know, our problems can seem overwhelming. Here’s what I’ve heard people talking about on the street: Kim Jong Il, global warming, the shootings in The Castro, renegade drivers, and the fact that every fifteen days (on average) someone jumps off the Golden Gate Bridge. All this is just the tip of the iceberg, as each of us has to cope with our private problems. Before there was Prozac, how did people cope? Were our problems less weighty in the past?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jennifer Berry, who wrote and is the sole actor in The Marsh Theater’s \u003cb>Big Pharma\u003c/b>, believes they weren’t less weighty at all. Slipping into her grandmother’s voice, Berry explains why, during The Great Depression, a woman carried a white handkerchief: first, she might need to cry; second, tears could sneak up on a friend or stranger, and at such times one wanted to offer comfort. Back before there were pills meant to numb us to sadness we, as a culture, allowed ourselves to experience pain’s depths, and from there we could fully recover. Now, says Berry, the pscho-pharmaceutical companies target women in their thirties and convince us that we’re in unnecessary pain.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is certainly food for thought, and it was nice to think it while attending The Marsh Theater, which is located in San Francisco’s hip Valencia district. The theater doesn’t look like much from the outside, but inside there’s a great bar where patrons can buy drinks and baked goods before the performance. Further in, the red vinyl seats that face the stage from three sides are striking in contrast with the black walls and floor. There’s something about this stylish, contemporary interior that informs Berry’s frightening depiction of a slick drug company representative. Wearing a white lab coat and sturdy glasses, she plays this part with snarky condescension. The audience loved this character in particular, and the commercials she showed for drugs such as Lexapro were, like the representative, easy to watch with irony. Too easy, perhaps.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Berry inhabited a variety of characters as she told their stories. Many of them were said to be old friends of Berry’s generation, fellow Gen X-ers who’d gone on medications that suspended their sufferings, rendering their voices airy and flat. The most striking of these characters provides us with a spark of personality the drugs haven’t quenched. She is a bi-racial woman named Maria who speaks English with a heavy accent and whose Spanish flies off her tongue. While playing Maria, Berry strides across the stage with a liveliness that seems especially poignant given the idea that Maria was diagnosed as bi-polar. Maria tells us her medication is destroying the dualities that define her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Berry’s stance might not sit well with everyone. Of course her target audience — women presently in their mid-thirties — is a skeptical bunch. We’re as wary of art’s tendency to manipulate as we are of advertisements. Most controversial is how Berry implies that mental illness is a sane reaction to society’s ills and an expression of individuality. Yes, it’s unconscionable that corporations profit by pushing drugs meant to squelch our feelings. But for some mentally ill people, feelings run so amok that a passing gesture or a coincidence becomes disproportionately sinister. \u003cb>Big Pharma\u003c/b> succeeds if we consider that Berry is so obviously channeling her private sadness. Add to that her talent for slipping into character, changing her stance and delivery so that each is very clearly defined. This ability lends her message some credence.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Berry reiterates her case in the end of \u003cb>Big Pbarma\u003c/b> when, in a voice shaky with age, she quietly relates her grandmother’s story of sadness felt, shared and overcome. I left the theater wondering if the solution is that simple. Would passing around handkerchiefs really make us happier? And then I realized there’s nothing simple about Berry’s solution at all. After all, what could be simpler than swallowing a pill?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Big Pharma\u003c/b> is at The Marsh through December 10. Call: (415) 838-3006 or (800) 826-5750 for tickets.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>“Stew” is a great moniker for the rock musician-poet-filmmaker, all-around-performing-artist, whose \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> made its bow last week at Berkeley Rep. He’s a rich mix of flavors, a bubbling cauldron of ideas and talents, and his latest effort, which takes an autobiographical look at his development as a young black musician, is a kind of spicy recipe based on his life. Some of the ingredients might seem improbable, but the final dish is worth savoring.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> takes its title from Othello’s description of how he won Desdemona’s heart. But as with much of the wordsmithy in this play — which Stew and partner Heidi Rodewald first developed at the Sundance Institute and which will move on to New York’s Public Theater after the Berkeley run — “passing” is meant to encompass numerous other meanings: passing for white or passing for black, being passed up, passing through, passing on. The word itself has a sense of restlessness that is reflected in the rhythm of the play as well as the music, as it follows Stew’s youthful escapades — a Baptist upbringing in LA and coming of age amidst rarefied surroundings in Amsterdam and Berlin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as a rock musical, \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> reminds me, not of large-scale spectacles like \u003cb>Tommy\u003c/b> or even the old Genesis concerts, but rather of more intimate journeys on the scale of \u003cb>The Fantasticks\u003c/b> or \u003cb>Godspell\u003c/b>, evincing the kind of wide-eyed naiveté that only comes with canny theatricality. The show traces its origins back to the semi-autobiographical ballads and laconic patter that Stew developed as the front man for a band called The Negro Problem. On the Thrust Stage, he remains front and center as the Narrator, with band members (Rodewald on bass, Marc Doten on keyboard, Russ Kleiner on drums and Jon Spurney on guitar) scattered around the space in “mini-pits.” The sets are often just simple chairs and tables and two rolling racks of Annie Smart’s well chosen costumes serve as the rich repository for new characters taken on by Eisa Davis, Colman Domingo, Rebecca Naomi Jones, Chad Goodridge, De’adre Aziza. But at the heart of the adventure is Stew’s fictional counterpart, Daniel Breaker, as the middle class black youth whose quest to find himself leads from funk and groove to punk to arthaus.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are a few spectacular moments. Midway through, the actors unveil David Korins and Kevin Adams’ white wall of primary-colored fluorescent bulbs arranged Mondrian-like to create an Impressionist version of Amsterdam’s Red Light District. When the scene moves on to Berlin, Domingo launches into an amusing pseudo-Sprockets bit that leaves Breaker with a look of thorough confusion. It’s the kind of confused look you recognize immediately if, say, you’ve ever taken someone to see an evening of the Frankfurt Ballet golfing dildos off the end of the opera house stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the most part though, this musical is nothing too heavy. It’s more about the infectious joyousness of the music, and the literate and sometimes observant, poetry, which reeks of the wonder of life. But one wonders if a show like this can ever be performed without Stew himself, whose presence is the glue that holds the whole premise together.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moments of personal resonance crop up in unexpected ways. In the second act, Rodewald sings a plaintive song about loss and Stew, who had been watching his alter ego, suddenly regards his bassist, who is his partner in life as well as art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He never saw the point of love without understanding,” he says later.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rodewald fixes Stew in her gaze and says directly, “How about now?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> is clearly still a work in development. The ending, an upbeat drinking song, has a bit of the thrown-together, appended look about it, but it is immediately preceded by a eulogy that would have resonated for anyone who’s swum around in foreign places looking for “home” and “family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the early previews and reviews on \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> it looks as though everyone is still trying to figure out a category for it — rock musical? Performance art? Afro-Baroque cabaret? I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it’s terrific entertainment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> continues at Berkeley Rep through Dec 3, 2006. For further information and tickets visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Berkeley Repertory Theater\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "\"Stew\" is a great moniker for the rock musician-poet-filmmaker, all-around-performing-artist, whose \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> made its bow last week at Berkeley Rep. He's a rich mix of flavors, a bubbling cauldron of ideas and talents, and his latest effort, which takes an autobiographical look at his development as a young black musician, is a kind of spicy recipe based on his life. Some of the ingredients might seem improbable, but the final dish is worth savoring.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moments of personal resonance crop up in unexpected ways. In the second act, Rodewald sings a plaintive song about loss and Stew, who had been watching his alter ego, suddenly regards his bassist, who is his partner in life as well as art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He never saw the point of love without understanding,” he says later.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rodewald fixes Stew in her gaze and says directly, “How about now?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> is clearly still a work in development. The ending, an upbeat drinking song, has a bit of the thrown-together, appended look about it, but it is immediately preceded by a eulogy that would have resonated for anyone who’s swum around in foreign places looking for “home” and “family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the early previews and reviews on \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> it looks as though everyone is still trying to figure out a category for it — rock musical? Performance art? Afro-Baroque cabaret? I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it’s terrific entertainment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> continues at Berkeley Rep through Dec 3, 2006. For further information and tickets visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Berkeley Repertory Theater\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
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"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
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"mindshift": {
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"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
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"order": 12
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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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"tagline": "Politics from a personal perspective",
"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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"possible": {
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"title": "Possible",
"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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"pri-the-world": {
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"title": "PRI's The World: Latest Edition",
"info": "Each weekday, host Marco Werman and his team of producers bring you the world's most interesting stories in an hour of radio that reminds us just how small our planet really is.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-World-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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},
"radiolab": {
"id": "radiolab",
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"info": "A two-time Peabody Award-winner, Radiolab is an investigation told through sounds and stories, and centered around one big idea. In the Radiolab world, information sounds like music and science and culture collide. Hosted by Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich, the show is designed for listeners who demand skepticism, but appreciate wonder. WNYC Studios is the producer of other leading podcasts including Freakonomics Radio, Death, Sex & Money, On the Media and many more.",
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},
"reveal": {
"id": "reveal",
"title": "Reveal",
"info": "Created by The Center for Investigative Reporting and PRX, Reveal is public radios first one-hour weekly radio show and podcast dedicated to investigative reporting. Credible, fact based and without a partisan agenda, Reveal combines the power and artistry of driveway moment storytelling with data-rich reporting on critically important issues. The result is stories that inform and inspire, arming our listeners with information to right injustices, hold the powerful accountable and improve lives.Reveal is hosted by Al Letson and showcases the award-winning work of CIR and newsrooms large and small across the nation. In a radio and podcast market crowded with choices, Reveal focuses on important and often surprising stories that illuminate the world for our listeners.",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.revealnews.org/episodes/",
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},
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