Number 12: November, 2000

by Carl F. Gauze

They say being liked by the critics is like being liked by the chipmunks

in the park. Let’s see who brought the best peanuts this month.

The Cherry Orchard

By Anton Chekhov

Directed by Alan Bruun

Staring Christopher Lee Gibson, Katrina Ploof, Mindy Anders,

Rick Stanley, Bill Lefkowitz

Mad Cow Theater</b>

Frozen in time, frozen between the Russian winters, neither Lyubov

(Ploof) nor her well-meaning but vapid brother Gayev (Stanley) have any

concept of cash flow. Cash is flowing, however, mostly out the door and

the family estate is about to go up the pipe. Mortgaged to the hilt and

well into default, they have no choice but to cut their losses and their

cherry trees and subdivide for condos and a strip mall. Only Lopakhin

(Gibson) understands the problem and only Lopakhin has the gumption and

vision to fix it. But no one will listen to such a harsh truth. Not

Lyubov, lost in the past with her drown son, nor daughter Varya

(Anders), who prays for God’s deliverance, nor even romantic Anya (Emily

Harrold), in love with that moth-eaten student Trofimov (Michael Lane),

left over as tutor to the lost boy. Once you show up on this estate, you

get immediate tenure. And now the fatal day arrives – Lopakhin buys the

estate at auction, and owns the place that enslaved his father and

grandfather and those before him. A great day for freedom, but a

disaster for Russia.

And this is the essential Russia of yesterday and today – great, rich,

and careening from disaster to disaster with no clear idea of how to

operate the emergency brake. Ancient retainer Firs (Lefkowitz) mumbles

and grumbles about how things were better when he was a serf, and

Trofimov smells of the revolution looming on the horizon. Varya might

marry Lopakhin, but might not, and Yepikhodov (Jay T Becker) might marry

Dunyasha (Dawn Wicklow), but might not, while neighbor Pischik (Sam

Hazell) cadges mortgage money while laughing past his own default. But

everyone is a friend, will remain friends, and loves one another no

matter what happens. It’s sad, funny, and alien to us. It’s Russia.

With a year’s work by the cast and the public, Cherry Orchard becomes

one of the finest, most comprehensive productions Orlando has seen. No

one character carries the show, but not one single character gives a weak

performance. It’s a perfect people’s collective, complete with

individual collages replacing the standard lobby head shots. And as the

clan scatters to the winds, blows fall on the beloved trees. First an

axe bites into the dry solid wood ready for transformation into

something useful. Then an axe bites into a living tree, cutting the

heart out of the estate and leaving wood suitable only for burning. And

with the sound of a broken string, everything dies.

Closer
Written by Patrick Marber

Directed by Abigail Paul

Starring Marisol Novak, Jason Moyer, Heather Godwin, Dan Johnson

Presented by Cerulean Group at Impacte!, Orlando</b>

How do we hate each other? Let’s count the ways. Dan (Moyer) picked up

Alice (Novak) at a hit and run. She’s torn her orange fishnets and now

there’s love in the air. Dan writes obituaries but Alice inspires him to

pen a tawdry sex novel. He promotes it by convincing sex chatroom

habituŽs he’s hot for them and to meet him at the London Aquarium for some

action. “Aquarium” is the title of the book. Clever, eh? Horny doctor

Larry (Johnson) shows up and meets photographer, artist, and Friend of

Dan, Anna (Godwin), and now they’re a thing. Until Larry meets Alice and

Anna sleeps with Dan and everyone expresses undying love for one another

until they hit the hay with the other’s main squeeze. If one had a

social disease, now they’ve all got it.

Alice’s clothes look so sad when she takes them off, but she knows what

men want – a girl that looks like a boy and makes herself sexy far

beyond her looks. When she’s with Dan, he has a self-absorbed look of

boredom that only disappears when the topic turns to himself. And Anna

exploits the sad and lonely by selling their photos to the wealthy sad

and lonely, making them feel a bit better. I do believe she actually

steals their souls. Finally, consider Doctor Larry, trained

dermatologist and certified loser. When you push him hard enough, he

spits real fire defending his infidelity. Rather than waste time

bragging to the boys in the operating theater, he just volunteers his

infidelity to whoever he’s living with at the moment. He calls it

honesty and love. I call it sheer petty meanness.

With a multitude of short scenes flashing before us, cued by light

changes and nothing more, we see a carpet full of glass shards. Each

glistens with a small vignette of pain, and they stick to the bottom of

your feet when you try to clean them up. These are not people falling in

and out of love, but a small time S&M circus with the pain knob turned

to 11.

Caffeine – Episode 2

Written by Todd Kimbro

Starring Ed Campbell, Megan Dewitt, Michael Marinaccio, Todd Kimbro,

Kimber Taylor

Impacte! Productions, Orlando Florida</b>

It’s another Someday night in the Caffeine Crash, Orlando’s almost

hippest coffee joint. Buckstars Coffee still wants to buy out Devon’s

(Kimbro’s) operation and make him assistant district manager. We all

know what ADM’s are like, and he’s having none of that. Holden

(Campbell) and the sisters Tuni (Taylor) and Jasmine (Drewett) have been

abducted by aliens, and Stash (Marinaccio) is on a mission to slash some

tires and rescue the girls before Holden turns everyone he meets into a

flesh-eating homosexual zombie. Just another quiet night. It seems that

Buckstars really intends to control Global Blended Caffination, take over

the world, and turn all the women into DSL-controlled breeding stock.

Guys are programmed to Zombiefy each other, leaving the gay guys who are

much better dressers for the few remaining green-skinned pulsating

brained fem-aliens with that White Rain hairspray smell. It’s a fate

worse than walking into the Sullivan’s Trailside Lounge on karaoke

night.

With the local live soap scene expanding into its second effort, just

enough continuity exists to make the amnesia and infidelity grade, but

not so much that you’re lost if you miss an episode. My favorite

characters were the two Jane Jetson babes in sparkly flared skirts and

uber-blonde wigs who pogoed in and out with the props. Devon

contributes more to this episode on stage than previously, declaiming

how he won’t sell his business to the evil empire of corporate caffeine,

just on principle. Well, when people say principle, what they really

mean is more money. And since this buyer needs Devon’s small beans open

mic joint to take over the world, they’re likely bluffing on the cash

anyway. Give ‘em hell Devon.

Warning – there is actual zombie flesh-eating in this production. And

the cast members smoke. Notionally, it sets the character but I think

they can’t talk with Nicorette in their mouths and can’t wait till half-time to fire up like the rest of us. HAHA – no intermission. It’s the

price we pay to save the world from sex-crazed alien invaders.

Kids Only Fringe Festival

Oct 21 and 22

Theater Garage, Orlando Florida</b>

There are many dangerous ways to entertain the public – knife throwing,

crocodile wrestling, talk radio host. But nothing requires more nerve,

bigger cojones, and more disregard for personal safety than doing Improv

with 6 year-olds. That was the risk James Newport and Jay Hopkins from

Sak took in Kid Prov, one of the best events at this year’s inaugural

Kid’s Fringe. They began with the relatively safe One Word At a Time

Story, taking their cue from children who seem to have only one thing

one their minds – extra terrestrials. Increasing the risk level, they

did a set of Giant Puppets, where audience volunteers move the actors

around as if they were giant action figures. Adults might attempt to get

the guys in rude or silly poses. The children seemed mystified by the

process, and tended to run off and play with each other, leavening John

and Jay hung in awkward poses, or run into walls and abandoned. Their

funniest moments came as experts on Sand, one of the most under-appreciated collectibles on E-bay.

A local family posing as the Tany Hill Gang did a little show called

“I’m Not Ghetto” exploring the options a child in a bad situation has to

make things better. Each of the children sang a number, but the best

effect came from the family singing together on such standards as Give

My Regards to Broadway and Hey Look Me Over. With no microphones and a

tendency to speak to one another rather than project to the audience,

most of the individual pieces became lost in the open-air stage, drowned out

by the fountain and street noise of almost bustling downtown Orlando.

There’s some raw talent here, and a cleaner technical setting would do

them well.

And who will forget the brothers Grimy? This vaguely famous circus

troupe would come to Lakeland (presumably from Sarasota) and entertain

folks of all ages. Today, Gidget Grimy has taken sick by OD’ing on

marshmallows, and Grimy Grimy (Richard Paul) must cancel the show until

announcer Charles Friedman convinces the one true Grimy to let him

audition. The show goes on, with a little more improv, a few more word

at a time stories. Their highlight came with an actual pie in the face, a

comedic device that has been so sorely missing from the lives and

experience of today’s post-MTV rug rats.

Kid’s Fringe provides a separate, much more low-key event than the

Kids’ stage at the more frenetic and dispersed regular Fringe Fest.

There is the requisite face-painting, arts and crafts activities, and a

mixture of free and pay shows all involved and oriented toward kids.

Parking is easier but more expensive than Regular Fringe, and all the

events are within 100 feet of each other, avoiding the need to wander

around downtown looking for the Blue Venue. It’s a modest beginning, but

a pleasant place to take the next generation of art patrons. Even

Spiderman dropped by.

Sister Calling My Name

Written by Buzz McLaughlin

Directed by Arlen Bensen

Starring Tom Stearns, Lisa Curtis, Heather Avery Clyde

Trilemma Productions

Presented at the Darden Theater, Orlando Science Center</b>

Born a woman with a mind completely cast adrift, Lindsey (Curtis) drove

her family into alcoholism and depression as they struggled to cope with

her schizophrenia and retardation (can we still use that word?). After

the folks died, she went to the state hospital to rot, while brother

Michael (Stearns) fled to his own world of academia and divorce. Now ten

years are under the bridge and childhood sweetheart Anne pops back into

his life. Now Anne is a nun and she’s pulled Lindsey out of the dumpster and

discovered an important ‘outsider’ artist. Her scribbles are selling for

$3k a pop bid, $3500 asked.. Next stop – MOMA. Sister Anne brings

Michael back to Minneapolis under the guise of setting up a trust fund,

but it’s really the reunion with Lindsay and maybe a quick look at what

she gave up that drives her. Mike’s not happy, and resists a reunion

with either of these women from his past. And to top it off, God’s taken

a personal interest in the whole thing. It’s messy.

It’s a touching and strained story. Curtis spends the show painting and

flopping around, and if you have had any dealing with the

not-quite-here, you’ll understand Mike’s lack of interest in a reunion.

We can put up with most any deformity, as long as the spark of coherency

or at least logic remains to connect with. It’s the inability to have

the other person behave as we do that drives the wedge. That wedge is

apparent in Mike, and Stearns shows he’s not happy to be here, not happy

to find his ‘lost’ sister, and even Anne isn’t what he thought he was

signing up for.

And how much mind does one need to have a soul? What exactly is it in

you that makes you YOU? Lindsay is aware of herself, aware of her

surroundings, aware of her past, so we grant her a soul. But one wonders

where the limit lies, where the asymptote crosses the line from having

a soul to not. God gave Mike this problem, and like any good deity, he’s

not explaining himself. Maybe you can help.

Something’s Afoot

By James McDonald, David Vos, Robert Gerlach

Directed by Julia Listengarten

Starring Yuti Joshi, Clark Mims, Cory Warren

Theater UCF, Orlando</b>

Ten corpses in a mansion. Lead story on channel 4, or a musical comedy?

On Broadway the tunes and not the bodycount matter, and it’s always

death in a lighter vein. Everyone’s arrived at Rancor’s Retreat for a

weekend house party in a musical mood. Unfortunately, Lord Rancor

himself will miss diner tonight – it seems he has a bit of lead

poisoning. And with an electrical storm of Floridian proportions

brewing, badminton’s off as well, se we’ll all stay inside to dance and

die. With gas, guns, and blowdarts, the guest list starts shrinking and

panic overrides singing but troupers one and all, they keep singing till

it’s their turn to visit the library and check out. Eventually, there

are barely enough folks left to mount a duet or reveal the murderer, but

there’s one last toe tapper sung by…. well, that would be telling.

Based on Agatha Christie’s “Ten Little Indians”, ingenious murder is a

frame to hang some songs on – many of which seem lost on the cavernous

stage, masked by the continuous sound effects of a thunder storm. Rising

above the ambient noise was “Problematical Solution (Dinghy!)”, a cute

bouncy little number about sexual innuendo between handyman Flint (the

rubbery Nick Sprysenski) and Lettie the maid (Tamia Helena Zulueta).

Mims and Warren as Hope Langdon and the lost oarsman Geoffrey put in a

great dance number (I don’t know why I trust you) and kept up a

supercharged stage romance. Yuti Joshi (Miss Tweed) held up respectably

in her first starring role as the relatively long-lived Miss Tweed, a

liberated woman, amateur detective, and free spirit. And did the

butler (Sam Waters) do it? No – we lost him far too soon.. but that all

I can say right now.

Rocky Horror Show

Written by Richard O’Brien

Directed by Aaron Babcock

Starring Stephen French, Joe DiDonna, David Mackey

Theater Downtown, Orlando</b>

It’s pretty hard to summarize Proust, but Rocky Horror is a snap – boy

meets girl, boy builds monster, aliens invade the earth, then everyone

has sex. Gay, straight, animal, elbow, you name it. We’ve all seen it 20

times, but each time is a new experience – you pick up another bit of

dialog. But what of the nuance, the deconstructionist subtext – how does

it form the story, influence the observer? That would be through sex,

backed by the guilty feeling you’re not having any at the moment, and

the cast is ignoring you to deal with their own problems. At least

that’s how it seems, judging by the rude catcalls and slices of toast

thrown with ninja precision at the actors. I’ll give the cast this much

• they took it like troopers.

This is a musical, complete with a five-piece band gently backing the cast

as it pummels the hits. The beltingest vocals come from arch alien Riff

Raff (French) who sings a good 10 dB better than the rest of the cast.

DiDonna as Frank N Furter croons in a petulant, ‘I want my nooky now’

style, and the rest of the cast puts out, each in their own special

way. We were all stuck by muscle boy Rocky (MacKay), who appears to have

a pet armadillo in his thong. That’s what my girlfriend thought it was,

and she should know. Sitting high above the action beneath a cheap

fluorescent shop light was the narrator (Dennis Enos), with his Jack

Daniels intravenous rig. I’ll bet he knew Frank and Riff and the rest

really were a bunch of aliens the whole time, and covered up for the

CIA. It was that sort of show.

And what can we learn from this little immorality play? Well, first and

foremost, there are probably a few ways to get it on that haven’t

occurred to you. Really. And if you hang with aliens, they may well want

to probe you. It’s cultural, and we need a greater appreciation of alien

cultures. But mostly, we learn that occasionally the audience can come

up with a good ad lib, and we don’t normally allow that in Orlando. But

it happens here, and you should take advantage of the opportunity

before the mayor catches on and makes it illegal.

Overtime
Written by A. R. Gurney

Directed by Paul Luby

Starring Kim Nelson, Jeffrey Wilson, Brian Fitzgibbon

Seminole Community College Fine Arts Theater</b>

Exactly what is Shakespeare’s appeal? Why, never a loose end. Everyone

gets sex or money or both, bad guys get punished, a hermetic plot. So

neat, so clean, so transient. As we wrap Merchant of Venice, Portia

(Nelson) and Nerissa (Tiki Noreaga-Hagen) have their men, someone’s ship

arrives safely in port, and that schmutzig Judishe Shylock (Jeffrey

Wilson) is put in his place. If life were only that simple…. until

everyone has thoughts about boyfriends, ethnic grouping, and of course

their sexual persuasion. Even guilt flares up, with Shylock invited over

to have a little nightcap and make up from the guilt-riddled liberal

inside Portia.

Are people behaving stereotypically? You bet. The Jews are avaricious,

the blacks are interested in b-ball, the JAP is a whiner, and that pale

Episcopalian is bland, but boy can he dance. And all of this is why we

came tonight. By forcing the evil images lurking within us as far as one

can get away with it today (no blackface and we still can’t say the N

word in community college), we experience an uncomfortable look at what we think of each other. Right or wrong, we always carry premade roles

for those we meet in life. Not all are acurate, but there is just enough

truth to make them handy when dealing with cabbies and televangelists.

A competent but not commanding staff presents Overtime on a jewel bright

set, asking us to examine our mores in a sort of post-deconstructionist

Sally Jesse what’s-her-name way. There were moments of spit and fire

from everyone, but not always at the same time. Shylock comes off best

of all, with ample time and scope to defend himself for his faith and

drug of choice (money). Poor Salerio (Fitzgibbons) comes off worst,

accused of fighting against multicultural nationalism, all because he’s

secretly Serbo-Croatian, or whatever that country is this week. Such a

poor end for such an excellent job of grovelling.

Asian Sings The Blues

Featuring Fiely Matias

Music & Lyrics by Dennis T Giacino

Oops Guys – Theater Garage, Orlando</b>

Scary season, and for the jaded Eastern European, accents and body parts

just don’t make it any more. Sure, a young black male makes you jump,

but for real heebie-jeebies visit a Cabaret Show. You know the deal –

a smarmy crooner and Piano Stylist (just give it a wash and a perm) and

a tummy-tucked guest star you never saw before. But add a twist – a

Chinese cabaret show, lead by that little guy with the big voice, Fiely

Matias. Backing him are the not-ready-to-audition-for-June-Taylor Egg

Drop Dancers and pianist Dennis Giacino. Half a camp review of the

overwrought lounge act and half a silly attack on oriental culture,

Matias keeps the audience giggling nervously between songs with bad

jokes while Gong Boy does the sort of menial jobs Charlie Chan assigned

to Number One Son. He even moons on command. With such soon-to-be-on

K-Tel tunes as “Acceptable Porn” and “Ode to a Fag Hag”, there was

something to offend everyone. What allows him to pull it off is he

really has a nice singing voice, so when he pops off an odd note, you

can tell he meant it. It’s such a fine line between genius and

stupidity.

Well, what does he do besides sing? Aha, glasshopper, so happy to say.

There’s a bit of pseudo-sumo Kabuki theater. All Kabuki players look

like they’ve just seen Hillary nude, and sound like they are repelling

mosquitoes. I know this reveals some deep chord of the oriental psyche,

but danged if I can explain it. Don’t forget the mysterious oriental

calisthenics. He’s small, he’s oriental, and he bends in rather unusual

ways, sort of like Gumby-san. And there’s a shameless plug for his new

record. Heck, you never know – someone might want a memory. It’s fun,

it’s not that clean, you get free popcorn and a fortune cookie, but it

saves you having to sing your own songs like those cheapskate Karaoke

bars do.

Vampire Lesbians of Sodom

Written by Charles Busch

Directed by Steve Gardiner

Starring Robert Black, Steve Gardiner, Jareb Dauplaise, Michelle Elam

Theater Garage Courtyard, Orlando</b>

When the succubus is hungry, you’d best feed her. And make it a virgin,

please. This morning’s nummies didn’t get enough nitrous and woke up a

bit too early, forcing the succubus to confront her own inner feeling

toward drinking virgins’ blood, agonize a few seconds, and then dig in.

Of course, since breakfast was undercooked, it bites the mouth that eats

it and now we have a plot. I’m never real clear on this vampire blood

exchange business, but we now have two immortals, forced to track and

fight each other though eternal kitty bitch sessions. And where do they

end up? Why in Hollyweird, of course, the uber vampire company town. And

since no one dies, careers just go on hiatus, permitting the eternal

dinner theater revivals, again and aging and again…

But what does this all mean? Vampirism is certainly a metaphor for oral

sex at a minimum, and a sneaky homosexual relation without the burdens

of explaining why you’ve never actually married and still live with your

college roomie. But is it an accurate metaphor for the mass media

creative process? Is the act of writing or producing simply the

extraction of whatever vital forces you experienced in other venues,

with the hope that you can distill the pure essence from other’s actions

and claim them for your own? Is this why the vampire schema remains

popular despite having been done to death in Roger Corman’s cutting room?

Or is it that we want to see scantily-clad women pursued and consumed, and

maybe they’ll slip out of their costume just a bit? That’s my theory,

and I’m sticking to it.