Number 42: Salmonella and Sunblock Edition

by Carl F. Gauze

Sure, it’s hot and muggy. Sure, you can’t touch the steering wheel. Sure, the women are half naked. So what’s the problem? No relatives, no gifts, and no church services required, it’s just summer time hedonism at the pool or beach. Just avoid any mayonnaise- based food products, and slap on some SPF30. Here’s a few things that showed up on my thin schedule.<p>

Long Day’s Journey Into The Night

By Eugene O’Neill

Directed by John DiDonna

Starring Peg O’Keef, Tim Bass, Daniel Cooksley

Theater Downtown, Orlando Fla.</b><p>

Here’s a family where strong common interests pull them through tough times. James Tyrone (Bass) is a washed up actor, miser, and alcoholic. His wife Mary (O’Keef) prefers morphine and living in her lace curtain Irish past. Younger son Edmund (Cooksley) may have consumption (tuberculosis these days) and consumes prodigious amounts of alcohol. And elder son James Jr. (Roger Greco) is a failing actor, and well on his way to major liver damage. How did they get here in rural new London Connecticut? Was it the school girl crush Mary had on James when he was at the pinnacle of a mediocre career? Was it his desire to buy up all the marginal real-estate in town to save his fortune from banking collapse and frivolous expenses like lighting? A bit of both, and this family from hell makes a strong argument for staying away for kith and kin at all costs.

Life is hard, and this cast pours their hearts out to bring it to life. Peg O’Keef seems to put in the most hours, stumbling around and worrying about here hair and her hands and sneaking off to the spare bedroom to shoot up. She carries an odd accent, halting and pretentious, and conveys a sense of loneliness and isolation. Greco’s father figure looks a bit like a young John Candy, but projects a blowhard’s view of the world while cheating those he notionally loves of the medical care they need, and they need it mostly from being around him. The two boys are equally consumed with anger – anger at their father, their mother, and the world in general. It’s not that the world treated them that badly, but when ever it did, dad was standing by to rub salt in the wounds.<p>

Long Day’s Journey evokes a sense of incompleteness, as if O’Neill didn’t really finish it, edit it, or bring things to resolution. Charters remain static, not really changing, but battling among themselves for no real gain. Rather, it seems to capture his life and times, and all the horrible rough edges we associate with the artist – alcohol, drugs, abandonment. While the run time is about 3 hours, the journey is worth it, both to hear the artist’s voice, and to see this splendid company slave to bring it to life in front of you. It’s not just a journey, it’s and adventure.<p>

For more information, please visit www.theatredowntown.net <p>

A Little Night Music

Music and Lyrics by Steven Sondheim

Book by Hugh Wheeler

Directed by Patrick Flick

Starring Kate Ingram, Warren Kelly

Orlando UCF Shakespeare Company, Orlando Florida</b><P>

Nothing heightens the punch of a musical about complex infidelity like setting it amongst turn-of-the-century Swedish Lutherans. Fredrik Egerman (Warren Kelly) misplaced his first wife somewhere, and remarried nubile yet repressed Anna (Tracy Ganem). It’s been 11 months since he popped the question, but has yet to pop the other half of the deal. Things have come to such a pass he returns to old flame Desirèe Armfeldt (Ingram). While Anne is a blank page, Desirèe has been written on and erased a few times, but the lust remains. Her only problem is a Dragoon named Count Carl-Magnus Malcolm (Al Bundonis). He’s not the sharpest beach ball in the Swedish military, but loves to duel and refuses to let his wife be insulted by someone fooling around with his mistress. How to sort this all out? Why, get everyone in a country house for the weekend. That always sorts out the hormones.

“Night Music” is Orlando Shakespeare’s first foray into the world of musicals, and it comes off quite well. There’s a ton of NYC equity talent on the clever and colorful set, and only minor audio problems mar the first act. A little re-equalization, and the audience can now clearly hear the huge blow out end to the first act “A Weekend in the Country”. The ensemble raises the rafters, and numerous individual voices deserve mention. I was most impressed by Mr. Bundonis as the jilted Count Malcolm. Besides his near solo “In Praise of Women”, he does fine verbal sparring with Mr. Egerman. Grand dame Madam Armfeldt is the main comic relief in the story, and Diane Findlay play every joke for optimum timing from her antiqued wheel chair. Female lead Kate Ingram pulled of the jaded, faded courtesan and amateur actress with great aplomb, and the big number ‘Send in the Clowns” was nearly enough to bring us to tears.

For a musical, this has an astonishing complicated plot, and the songs are divvied up in an equally complicated set of refrains. The opening is a bit long, with the chorus dancing along with the overture as we try to grab onto someone to start leading us through the large cast. Once out of these woods, things go clearly, although the relation between Anna and her stepson Henrik (Christopher Kale Jones) is a bit mysterious at first. These are nits, and we all hope to see more musicals dot the schedule in the future.

For more information on UCF-Shakespeare, visit <http://www.shakespearefest.org/>

Us and Them

Written and directed by Bob DiCerbo

Studio Theater, Orlando, Flay</b><p>

People decry soft money political ads, but tricking an audience into paying $10 to suffer through 3 hours of the stuff is much, much worse. This turgid production opens with a Professor (Scott Leake) leading his class of dedicated students through a discussion of how news reporting has degraded over the years. True enough, things WERE much better when William Randolph Hearst ran America. Still, our beloved pedagogue can’t get a date, whether because of sexual disinterest or his obsessive need to expound the evils of Bush and Cheney to everyone he meets. His equally sexless buddy Richie (T.J. Tilbert) sets him up with uber-earnest Sara (Shannon Beefy). Sara’s befuddle dad (Arlen Bensen) weakly defends the Republican Party, but mostly wishes his daughter was having sex on a regular basis. Later on Richie nearly picks up a waitress (Faye Novick), but prefers debating the 9-11 commission to taking her home.<p>

OK, I admit, I’ve embellished the story a bit. Quite a bit, actually, as this remarkable horrid drama fails in nearly every respect. The story line, as described, fills up about as much of the evening as it took you to read this far. The rest of the show is a brutally heavy handed political diatribe, listing all the sins of every Republican administration since Garfield was president. Writer DiCerbo believes that if a point is worth making, it’s worth making 5 or 6 times, just to make sure you remember. Character development is minimal – Sara lost a twin brother somehow, probably because of a Republican. Her father, notionally the loyal opposition to this party political broadcast, has the effect of a silhouette target at a police shooting range – he gets blown away, and never get s adecent shot off. The Prof and Richie come across as two teen agers, daring each other to talk to a girl, but you know they don’t have in their hearts. More importantly, you don’t care. Dialogue ranges from droning to histrionic, with occasional diversion into incomprehensible to those of us not obsessed with the topic. And the only dramatic tension created was the thought “How much longer will this go on?” Intermission took quite a few casualties, including at least one other writer. I hate to blow my own horn here, but when a show sucks this badly, I’m going to stick it out, if only for bragging rights.<p>

If there is one positive here, it’s the acting. This genuinely fine cast is stuck with a script from hell, and they soldier though it like our glorious Vietnam veterans. Mr. Leake shows a fine and believable presence as the teacher who needs constant reminders to end class. Chris Niess plays a statistical adept guardian of heavens entrance, citing figures to 3 digits to a befuddled George Bush (Phillip Corents). Bensen rimnds one of Ozzie Nelson, ina good way, and Improv veteran James Newport breathes some temporary life into the listless lines, and the Greek chorus of student had real fire in their bellies as they read from endless scripts of Bush evilness. <p>

Politically, the message is quite predictable. Corporations are taking over the country, and make too much money. Bush and Cheney are evil incarnate. The world is going to hell in a hand basket. Somewhere there is a clean, cheap, impact free energy source, and Exxon suppressed it. If you have made a decision on how to vote this year, I beg you to spare yourself from this misery – act on your conscience. If you haven’t decided, flip a coin and give the 10 buck to a wino. It will be money better spent, and your decision will be just as good as if you sat though this Auschwitz of an evening.<p>

Shades of Limbo

Voci Dance

Choreography by Eric Yow

Mad Cow Theater, Orlando, Fla.</b><P>

Wow – modern dance AND cool lighting! More than that, there are three entirely separate but related events going on here, completely filling the stages and odd corners of Mad Cow’s downtown theater complex. Tonight Voci Dance puts up what must certainly be the most complicated piece of dance to appear in Orlando in years. Arriving at the desk, the viewer must chose from 2 or more paths – tonight was a small crowd, and we elected Gold over Blue. And what effect does this have? Well, no mater what you choose, you see the same movements but in different sequences, which varies the emotional impact on your state of mind.<p>

Our path took us first into the Abyss – a dark room with stark spotlights, and women dressed in black outfits, small red flames licking at their extremities. Life in this place is hard and unpleasant – all the indignities which may be heaped up on us appear, in every style imaginable. Lovers fight and are pulled apart, people thrash and throw themselves down in pain and humiliation, slaves pay abeyance to tyrants, and we inhabit a world of stark contrast. Lights flash in our eyes, blinding us to what beauty there might be. It’s a 7 dancer marathon that runs 45 minutes with no respite for audience or performer.

Leaving the darkness, we enter an intermediate state of Flux, located in the lobby. While a pair of multicolored dancers moves slowly on small pedestals, an interpreter (Trenell Mooring) enters in a long robe bearing the book of Ying and Yang. Here are the dichotomies of the universe reveled as she reads from the stories of Persephone and Jesus and Luke Skywalker. All epic stories, stories of sin and redemption, spring and winter, death and regrowth. This might be the key…<p>

Do we know where we were, are, or will be? We enter into the last phase, Radiance. The space is lighter, brighter, and the dance movements similar, yet the menace is gone, and cooperation, romance and fun fill the space. Acolytes learn from their mistress, washing gets done, and a swan dies gracefully. The works are shorter, less demanding, and the dancers lighter and less threatening. It’s a nicer place, a world of fun and light with no un-wished for responsibilities.

Your path may be different, as there are 4 possibilities, and each reveals its charms defiantly. I went from darkens to understanding to joy, you may descend or move sideways, but no matter how you proceed, you will be impressed, not only by the stark scenery but the sheer dedication of the dancers who do at least twice as much work as you will see. Sitting still it tiring for me, so interpreting the great forces of the universe must exhaust them. Good thing they have a bar in their place – it’s exhilarating as well as dehydrating!<p>

For more information of Voci Dance, visit www.vocidance.org<p>

For more information on Mad Cow, please visit www.madcowtheatre.com <p>

The Tale Of The Allergist’s Wife

By Charles Busch

Directed by Christian Kelty

Starring Susan Fronsoe, Jim Bruner, Monica Travers

Theater Downtown, Orlando, Fla.</b>

How much niceness can one woman stand? Marjorie Taub (Fronsoe) looks like she’s getting too much. Wonderful husband Ira (Bruner) works tirelessly to help the helpless. Here apartment is beautiful, and her loving mother Frieda (Genie Lindberg) cares enough to have Marjorie open ALL her suppositories. What more could you want? Apparently, a reason to get up and get dressed in the morning. That’s lacking until childhood acquaintance Lee (Travers) shows up. It’s been ages, but the pair hit it off like sorority sisters, and soon Marjorie is up and about, attending art openings and Celtic dance recitals and shopping her little heart out at Macy’s bargain basement. Lee is busy, too. Her big hobby is dropping names, but she does some gourmet cooking, offers personal advice, and seduces both Ira and Marjorie simultaneously. Ah, now THAT’S excitement!

“Allergist” finds it strength more in execution that text. While often a riotous comedy, peachiness creeps in fairly often, dulling the comedic edge. As successful Jewish professionals, there exists a strong cultural rive to help the arts and the disenfranchised, and gives Busch a platform to admonish. Lee exploits this drive as well – she begins by charming everyone in sight, and then takes them down roads never traveled. When we aren’t laughing at Frieda’s anal obsessions, we are trying to figure out just what sort of crook Lee is. Traver’s portrayal of this mystery woman is complete— as I write this, I’m still a little vague on where the line between reality and her insidious fantasy lies. Jim Bruner’s nice guy Dr. Taub seems innocent enough, although he seeks out a positive notoriety to feed his ego at the expense of his relation with his frustrated wife. Timing is everything, and when the jokes are there, the cast hits their marks. When Busch writes sermonettes, we wait patiently for them to end so we can laugh again. Down near the bottom of the food chain is the long-suffering doorman, Mohammed (Atif Shariff). He serves mostly to advance a few key plot points, and when not doing so, he stands at parade rest in his pointy-toed Arabian Nights shoes. He needs a little more range of motion, rather than standing around like a movable sculpture.

The story takes a family from a scattered, disorganized and disgruntled mass and turns it into a tight, defensive unit when attacked. The attack was subtle and insidious, but the presence of an outside disturbance is enough to get Marjorie off her hypochondria bed and in the mall, and when Lee’s perhaps true nature reveals itself, she’s ejected with little ceremony and a short parting speech. Perhaps the Taub household has had a revelation, and perhaps it has jut had some indigestion from an exotic yet toxic meal. It’s home sweet home, no matter how loud the arguments are. Hey, isn’t that what ethnic people do?

Rounding Third

By Richard Dresser

Directed by Trudy Bruner

Starring Rus Blackwell and Mark Ferrera

Red Moon Theater Joint at The Orlando Repertory Theater</b>

I was never good at sports. Picked last, dropped the ball if it ever came near me, ridiculed for even being on the field, I blame it all on sadistic coaches who confused a game with life. That sort of sums up Don (Blackwell), a drinking fanatic with a baseball problem. He scouts prospects, blackballs kids like me, and spends all his time thinking about 8-year-old little league stats and banging the moms in the stands. He needs a new assistant, and Michael (Ferrara) volunteers, mostly so he can spend some time with his boy. Michael knows little about the game and could care less about winning. The two immediately find themselves at odds over discipline, strategy, and schedule. Like any good sports story, their team makes the playoffs, but this is little league, so you pretty much make the playoffs if your team shows up every week. These guys never really bond, but come to an understanding, and they even find out a bit about each other’s personal lives, like who’s sleeping with who. That part is MUCH more interesting than statistics.

For a two-man show, there are a lot of people populating this world – wives and lovers, ex-assistant coaches and a dozen kids, but everything does revolves around the pair. They have a Dragnet feel – Don won’t shut up, and Michael (who eventfully is promoted to just “Mike”) never seems to say more than 3 words at a time. Blackwell, who is more known for drama than comedy, more than holds up his end of the show. He does the Macarena as a stretching exercise, and fungoes Mikes cell phone near the end. God, I’ve wanted to do that myself. Ferrara has a more subtle style of humor, sometimes the uptight guy who is about to crack under stress and sometimes just a well-intentioned doofus undermining Don’s carefully built little world. While the set is spare, they do have a wonderful Volkswagen microbus made out of rebar which would make a wonderful topiary somewhere with a little creeping jasmine. “Rounding Third” is a tight, funny comedy presented by tight, funny guys and worth the visit even if you have no idea who Cal Ripken is. Like me. I just heard the name, so he must be famous. Now hit the showers!

Nirvanov
Book and Lyric by David Lee

Music by Nandi Johannes

Directed by David Lee

Starring J-Sun and Becky Fisher

Naked Orange Theater Company

Studio Theater, Orlando Fla.</b>

If you wish to kill a young man, there is no surer method than to give him unbridled success. That’s put many a pop star in The Fucked Up and Dead at 27 Club, one which Nirvanov (J-Sun) joined, driven by pain in the heart and the stomach, and with adoring fans and sycophant friends. He’s a transparently-veiled Kurt Cobain, and comes creepily close in looks and sound to the real thing. No one walks the earth alone, and we find two past spirits guiding or at least watching him tonight. Anton Chekhov (Mike Marinaccio) provides the rhythm of Nirvanov’s life, tying it to his first play “Ivanov,” a story of a suicidal man and his wife (Sara Matthews). The melody arises from a cross-dressing Frances Farmer (Becky Fisher), a faded movie star few remember, but who obsessed Cobain and his wife. Nirvanov has earthly friends as well, framed by the Goldmans – Mrs. Goldman (Beth Marshall) snorts coke and licks the fame off of him, and a rubbery Mr. Goldman (Tim DeBaun) simply lusts after Nirvanov, and anyone who comes attached. The mix is toxic, and that’s no surprise.

This blend of classic Russian drama and modern pop mythology mix is amazingly well done, as local artist David Lee takes the story and sets it to original music, thus relieving him of the tragedy of getting a release for the original tunes. If there’s a theme song, it’s the touching duet between Frances and Nirvanov “Faded Movie Queen / Faded Video King”. The parallels to Chekhov’s tale are powerful, and Lee pulls musical inspiration from there as well, adapting the poem “Greenfinch” to guitar providing a positive counter point the faded movie queen mythology.

Excellent performances abound. J-Sun and Matthews paint the picture of a trailer trash couple with way more money than is safe. Becky Fisher’s portrayal of a Hollywood has-been is nearly touching, and I cannot get Tim DeBurn’s John Cleese-like antics out of my mind. Sexy Heather Leonardi as Sasha Goldman brings a violently petulant air to the show, particularity in the tumultuous dream sequence at the end. Surreal dream sequences are always dangerous to stage, for fear the audience gets up and leaves, but this one came off smoothly. Lights flash as the vampire band hissed at the mention of garlic, and the cast eventually conga lines off stage. And then? The suicide.

Yes, this is arty. Yes, this is deeply symbolic interweaving of both cultures – Czarist Russia and Northwestern Rock Phenomenon. Nirvanov suggest fleeing to Portland, but Petrozavodsk wouldn’t be far enough, as he really had to flee himself to survive. Iconically, Frances Farmer offers hope – she found fame after a faded career, rape and lobotomy. Set your expectations low enough and you might meet them. Nirvanov shows us the one blessing we fail to count: if you’re reading this, you don’t have enough success to really endanger your life. Keep that day job.

Lounge-Zilla! The Hack is Back!

The OOPS Guys

Orlando Cabaret Festival

Mad Cow Theater, Orlando, Fla.</b>

So what exactly IS cabaret? Perhaps it’s a small space filled with people who know the singers, and have some sort of long-standing relation with them, long-standing enough to accept flaws in the show and still enjoy it because of past memories. That describes this performance in the bifurcated Stage Left Theater in the Mad Cow complex. A casually dressed Fiely A. Matias greets and photographs the audience while partner Dennis T. Giacino hunkers down with a Steinway in front of the fakey brick walls intended to make us think we are in a dive bar in Paris. Fine singing and pretense – what more could you want for $15?

After the ritual hazing of Alan Bruun, artistic director of Mad Cow, we find ourselves in a not quite out-of-tune world of overdone tremolo and campy lyrics. As Fiely plays mercilessly to the audience, Dennis cowers behind the grand piano, suffering the abuse of Fiely. It’s not just hogging the applause, but the names called – “Unnerving Berlin” is the one that hurt the most, I’m sure, but it was far from the cleverest.

What appears on stage is a collection of songs from previous OOPS guys shows – “Asian Sings the Blues”, “That’s Exploitation”, and others. They are our favorites – “Ode the Fag Hag”, “Not In Paris”, “Someone Let the Cat Out”, and half a dozen others. Audience members are taunted and humiliated on stage by the singer dressed in only a “Flower of Joy” tank suit. While the response to the Jason Wetzel and John Paulus jokes did indicate the presence of an In Crowd, the real excitement came when the pup tent appeared. We all knew what to expect next: everyone’s favorite 6 foot foam penis, hoisted by that wonder boy “The Teenage Mutant Boy Scout.” Yes, it was the actual foam penis that came though US customs after their whirl wind tour of eastern Europe, and even without the 3-D glasses, it made the show was a smashing success.

OK, it WAS a lot looser than previous OOPS Guys performances, with both Dennis and Fiely breaking into unscheduled laughter from time to time. But, with a partisan crowd and no one more than 10 feet away from total humiliation, it was a fun evening for regulars and new comers alike. Pretend it a Greatest Hits album, and stick around till they sing “Ok, get Out, I’m Done”, and remember – these guys aren’t just funny, they’re PROFESSIONALLY funny. So, if they pick you out for humiliating, go with it. It’s part of your job.

Bedroom Farce

By Alan Ayckbourne

Directed by Be Boyd

UCF Conservatory Theater, Orlando, Fla</b>

With three bedrooms, four lusty couples, and a sexy title, you’d think there would be more sex on stage. Life revolves around disastrous Trevor (Joshua Katzker) and neurotic Susannah (Tairia Layner) as their relation rides the roller coaster of 1960’s British sexual angst. Studious Malcolm (Michael Gill) and precise Kate (Niki Klass) host a party, and when Trevor runs into Susannah, everyone leaves early because they have a fight. I find this odd, since this is precisely the stuff that makes married peoples’ parties interesting. Trevor eventually semi-accidentally kisses his ex, Jan (Nancy Calas), and this causes waves of terror to flood the stage as Trevor rushes to confess to Jan’s current husband, Nick (Matt Hamner). Nick is bed-ridden from a bad back, and he spends most of the show whining at Jan, making you wish he’d take the pain pills AND a vodka chaser. While Trevor harasses Nick, Susannah flees to Trevor’s staid parents Earnest and Delia (Donald Seay and Lisa Bryant). She spends a few hours in the bathroom, and eventually finds some sort of happiness, at least for long enough for the closing bows.

Ok, there are three doors, and some mildly mixed up pairings, but the humor in this production is weak as a qualified cast struggles with a stodgy and rather out-of-date script. Trevor’s father spends most of his lines worrying about a leaky roof, and while that certainly is a problem in damp England, it’s hard to wrest laughs from a stereotypical country gentleman, particularity since there are so few in our daily experience. Not that Mr. Seay isn’t a convincing English dolt, he just seems irrelevant. Malcolm and Kate seemed to get the best chemistry and best lines, even when Malcolm is finishing a cabinetry project at 3 am. As a couple they eventually reveal that, occasionally, just maybe, they get a bit bored with each other sexually. And that leads us where? Certainly not much farther than the shocking confession that Malcolm has PORNO MAGS hidden under his socks. Heck, I keep mine next to my Strunk and White; I never know when I’ll need either. Still, I liked Susannah, she really does seem two steps shy of the loony bin, and Trevor has a bumbling artlessness that makes you wonder why anyone would even invite him in the first place, fight or no fight.

There is potential in the situation, but the script leaves them buried, either from fear of offending, or sheer laziness. Susannah admits she is aroused by the sight of girls, but this never goes anywhere, and you wish Trevor had accidentally fallen in bed with Kate, or Earnest and Delia has appeared at Malcolm’s party, or Jan had beaned Nick so she could do it with Trevor. People seem isolated for the most part, and only Jan and Trevor and Susanna have to power to cross the bedroom lines, and that to no avail. Give these kids a decent story and I think they can make it fly, but take this script and hide it in the stacks of the Bodleian, so some scholar can find it in 2404 and get his doctoral.