The Light Side Of The Moon

photo by Mark Frohna

by Jeff Grygny

Milwaukee Opera Theater should be a lot more famous than they are. With modest funding, boundless imagination, and a vast love of opera, this mighty little company, under the inspired direction of Jill Anna Ponasik, has been staging some of the most innovative theater in town, year after year, reliably delivering that heaviest (and snootiest) of all high art forms in bite-sized, audience-friendly shows that are light, playful and, as far as this non-opera person can tell, musically excellent.

Last Friday, in the biggest winter storm of the year, a full house showed up for Rusalka, Antonin Dvorák’s most popular opera, produced in collaboration with Danceworks Studio Theater. (They first performed the show in 2023, now it’s remounted with new choreography.) It’s one of those doomed magic girl fables that were all the rage at the turn of the last century: Ondine, Les Sylphides, Swan Lake, Coppelia, and of course The Little Mermaid (see also Edgar Allen Poe and everything Gothic). Russalka has all of these in its lineage, though, as it’s based on Slavic lore, in an Eastern European mood.

Rusalkas are water spirits, known for their wild unruly hair and their proclivity for tickling people, sometimes to death. (I imagine generations of Slavic parents scaring their kids with stories of the invisible beings that tickle you while you’re swimming, then dragging you under.  The name “rusalka” apparently has nothing to do with the Rus, the tribe that gave Russia her name, but comes rather from the Latin name of an ancient festival of roses, held in springtime, the only time when the rusalka could leave the water, climb trees, and sing to the moon.) This typically dark fairy tale has one such spirit falling in love with a young prince and asking a witch to make her human, at the cost of her voice. Unlike the Disney version, this does not go well, and everybody ends up dead or miserable. But they sing beautifully.

Yet the show is anything but a downer. Ponasik, working with writer/performer Jason Powell, slices the 3 hour opera down to a very palatable 90 minutes, cutting scenes and characters, down to the heart of the story, A troupe of energetic dancers, choreographed in process with Danceworks’ Christal Wagner, populates the stage with a menagerie of strange and delightful creatures, each seemingly with stories of their own. This both lightens the mood and creates a universe for the story to live in.

photo by Mark Frohna

The moon is not a character in the original opera. “Mesiku na nebi hluboke”, known as “Song to the Moon,” is the most popular piece from Rusalka:  it’s the heroine’s “I want” song: praying to the all-seeing orb of the night to tell her love about her love for him (a favorite trope of the old heteronormative world). In this version Powell, clad in a white jump suit, fills the gaps in the story with witty Seuss-flavored verse and narrates in the beneficent, avuncular person of the Moon. He cheerfully confesses to “moon-splaining” the plot; later, his dialog spoofs a certain male infatuation with the sound of their own voice.

Three wood nymphs, sung by Tabetha Steege, Erin Sura, and Brennan Martinez, are the show’s power trio: they sing the operatic equivalent of shredding guitar every time they come onstage. Their three-part harmonies are like a shot of adrenaline to a comatose heart. Tim Rebers’ Prince is a slacker schlub who brings Rusalka to the palace, then quickly jilts her for a human girl known only as “a foreign princess,” here comically portrayed as a selfie-shooting influencer.

The show makes the most out of it’s tiny budget: Lighting Designer Colin Gawronski creates a artful palette of shifting atmospheres without grabbing attention; the costumes are ingenious and expressive: Rusalka’s sequined gown is practically it’s own character, glittering like her own watery nature even as she mourns her fate. In the title role, Saira Frank brings poise and poignancy without ever veering into bathos. Occasionally, the chorus slips into the generic happy/sad emoting that art of a certain period is prone to, but they add lots of little gestures and interactions that give them personalities: at one point, for instance, the witch Jezibaba’s familiar spirits take on the attributes of creditable wolves. For accompaniment, Music Director Ruben Piirainen mans the piano heroically, while Erin Brooker-Miller on concert harp adds the exquisite moods and grace notes in Dvorák’s lush score. They sound so full, you never miss the orchestra.

In anthropological terms, Rusalka, Jezibaba, the Wood Nymphs, and the moon himself are called “metapersons:” non-human beings whose actions play outsized roles in human fates, both for good and evil. Such beings are part of virtually every culture that’s ever lived—until modern times, taken out by the one-two punches of monotheism and scientific explanation. Yet we feel them still, and stories like Rusalka connect us with a very human, very un-modern way of living in the universe; surely part of their attraction for early modern artists, who could see the ancient ways melting away before them.

Once she’s alone, a spirit with human feelings, abandoned by her human love and her metaperson community, Rusalka forgives her prince in a final polished gem of an aria. Is this a story of a lost world, left behind by progress? Or of how humans, in rejecting their ancestral mythologies, are leading to our own doom? Or of the Freudian overtones of female adolescence in a patriarchal society? Or maybe it’s about the temptation of breaking with your provincial culture for a wider cosmopolitan milieu? If this particular show has any clear message, it’s “Girl, forget that boy; it’s better here where it’s wetter.”

photo by Mark Frohna

Milwaukee Opera Theater and Danceworks’ production doesn’t really say. What they give us is a reworked story, presenting its problematic aspects in brackets, as it were, turning the fascinations of an old, sick Europe into a beautiful fable, passing a cultural treasure to the next generation to shape to it’s own needs,  before they get lost in the junkpile of digital content.

In the moonlight, it all appears as a lovely, sad dream.

Danceworks Performance MKE in collaboration with Milwaukee Opera Theatre present

Russalka

Music by Antonin Dvorák

Playing through February 23

https://danceworksmke.org/concerts

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Scary Lady: The Woman In Black

Photo by McKittrick

by Jeff Grygny

What’s as cozy in the dark days of winter as a good old English ghost story?   

The vengeful spirit is a fearsome presence in the lore of many lands: the banshee, the Fox Spirit, Frau Holle, the Goddess Hecate. Denizens of the realms between life and death in feminine guise, their apparition is usually a portent of evil. And now it’s come to cast its spell on us: The Woman In Black, brought to Milwaukee by Mark Clements, The Rep’s Artistic Director, to bring us together in the bleak midwinter season, is just such a tale, featuring just such a spirit, and, as evident from the play’s 20 year run in London’s West End, it delivers the creeps artfully and irresistibly. Based on Susan Hill’s 1983 neo-gothic novella, and adapted for the stage by Stephen Mallatratt, the story has two filmed versions (one starring Daniel Radcliffe, no less), and has played on stages all over the world: proof that we like nothing better than a good scare.

It’s the account of the terrifying events witnessed by Arthur Kipps, a young solicitor appointed to order a recently-deceased woman’s affairs in the remote (of course) seaside town with the marvelously arcane name of Krythin Gifford. Rather than have Kipps simply narrate the play, as in the book, Mallatratt has added another layer of storytelling: he has Kipps enlist the services of an actor to help adapt his lengthy written account to present to his family, in hopes that it will rid him of the dreadful memories that still haunt him many years later.

At first, Kipps, played by Ben Porter on opening night (the players switch off roles for alternate shows), is a wooden performer. But as the Actor takes on the role of Kipps, Kipps himself warms to playing the other characters; he actually seems to be having a good time being someone other than himself (an experience that many actors can recognize). Then the mysterious lady of the title makes her entrance, and the haunting begins.

Photo by McKittrick

As staged by veteran London director Robin Herford, the production rolls along with all the tension, suspense, and gut-slamming shocks one could want, with the confidence of theater artists at the top of their game. Both Porter and Mark Hawkins, who played the Actor on opening night, build a rising sense of disquiet through subtle glances and ambiguous movements that suggest all is not as it should be. Hawkins seems to lose himself in Kipps’ story, even while he’s moving set pieces around or impressively pantomiming a stalwart little dog into vivid existence.

Photo by McKittrick

Atmosphere is everything in a show like this, and with set by Michael Holt, sound design by Sebastian Frost, and lighting by Anshuman Bhatia, the production has it in abundance. Properly set in a time before cell phones, in a rambling house that stands lone in a vast flat landscape where water, land, and sky intermingle, swept by disorienting mists that rise without warning from the sea, the elements are haunting characters in themselves, captured in eloquent dialog and clever design. There are lights that fail when they’re needed most, ominous sounds in the middle of the night, a door that won’t open—until it suddenly does—and the inevitable hidden room…

It’s all geared to trigger your primal limbic fears, from prickling disquiet through rising foreboding to utter coronary shock. The woman sitting next to me apologized that she almost forgot her husband wasn’t sitting next to her and grabbed my arm by mistake. The old ghost stories still work. By all means, enjoy the supernatural frights,  while we’re living in the dreary dark season in a world full of more tangible fears. But you might just want to leave the lights on that night.

 Milwaukee Repertory Theater
In a special arrangement with PW Productions
 presents

The Woman in Black

based on the novel by Susan Hill

Adapted by Stephen Mallatratt

playing through 23, 2025

Recommended Age: 12+

http://www.milwaukeerep.com/

Death by Christmas

photo by Jake Badovski

by Jeff Grygny

SOCIAL MEDIA STUNT CAUSES FATAL PLUNGE!

WOMAN COOKS TO DEATH IN ELECTRIC BLANKET!

MALL SANTA RUNS AMOK!

These and similar tabloid tales, all in the key of human folly, are brought to twitching life by The Constructivists in the second iteration of their seasonal revue, A Very Deadly Constructivists Holiday. It’s a bit Dickens, a bit Twilight Zone, and a lot of Mad Magazine. If you’re a hipster who appreciates the films of Michael Haneke, thinks Bojack Horseman was brilliant, and loved  NPRs Annoying  Music Show, this performance would be your refuge from all things peppermint and pine-scented.

Now in their seventh season, The Constructivists are one of the last survivors of Milwaukee’s once-thriving alternative theater scene. They’ve always had a dark, edgy vibe, often detailing with ruthless precision how ordinary people can so quickly spiral down into horrible behavior. This show was created by the ensemble, with a concept by Artistic Director Jaimelyn Gray and prompts from Chicago-based Director Andrew Hobgood and Playwright Joe Lino, who bring the sharp bite of their hometown’s comedy style. The players were tasked with developing characters based on one of the Seven Deadly Sins (without being too literal), and setting them in stories related to Christmas. The result is a creative mash-up of pop culture that brutally skewers our collective obsession with getting ahead.

photo by Jake Badovski

The pastiche of A Charlie Brown Christmas as performed by the Garbage Pail Kids could be pretty painful to watch, as the beloved characters wallow in the pits of social media madness. Likewise, seeing I Love Lucy turned into a tawdry tale of catfishing, contract killing, and real estate envy, you might wince a little —or find it hilarious, depending on your tastes. A skit based on the anodyne comfort of Hallmark holiday movies hits its (easy) target cleanly and effectively. We humans sure can be dumb schmucks, can’t we? But considering that the show’s creative process coincided with the presidential election, the general misanthropic mood is pretty understandable.

The show conjures a dingy nightclub setting.  Bill Molitor plays the master of ceremonies as a sinister game show host in a rumbled Santa coat. With the cynicism of a cheap attorney, he pulls people out of the audience and makes them dance. They are clearly all on the “naughty” list, and they get prizes that are emblematic of each one’s particular fatal vice. Andrea Ewald plays a pompous “Karen,” tying the show together with her representation of the sin of pride. Haley Ebinal slathers on the pathos, both in her roles as “Carly Beige” in the totally-not-Peanuts knock-off, and as a little boy with no hands in the Hallmark holiday movie spoof, in which Emily Mertens totally commits to her character’s unhealthy attachment to all things cozy and Christmassy. Joe Lino anchors every sketch he appears in with understated confidence, while Nate Press shows his formidable acting chops, channeling Travis Buckle in a monologue about a demon of wrath.  

The foundational Christian holiday has always been fertile ground for moralists, from medieval  clerics scolding the peasants’ drunken revelry, to Dickens calling out the greedy, to modern fundamentalists damning the infidels. It’s an occasion to recognize just how often we fall short of the transcendent ideals of selflessness and brotherly love; or how, as in the ancient pagan solstice, the light dances in just when it looks like the darkness will last forever. But in our age of the metastasized mega-holiday industrial complex, colonizing our fantasies and vampirizing our desires, who can blame anyone if the season brings stress and disappointment? Maybe makes it easier to act a bit greedy and entitled? Perhaps we need figures like Krampus and Black Peter to take the self-centered jerks down, to scare us into a little self-reflection and remind us— as the cast sings in their final song, to the tune of “White Christmas” —“don’t be that asshole.”

Not as rousing a message as Dickens or Doctor Seuss deliver, but these are the times we live in.

Unfortunately, this show has finished its run— but we can look forward to next year’s incarnation: it’s sure to be bigger, bolder, and with even more bile!

The Constructivists present

A Very Deadly Constructivists Holiday

Conceived by Jaimelyn Gray
Directed by Andrew Hobgood

Curated, Devised, and Written by Andrea Ewald, Andrew Hobgood, Anya Palmer, Emily Mertens, Haley Ebinal, Jaimelyn Gray, Joe Lino, Kristina Hinako, Ky Peters, Nate Press, and William Molitor

An Odd Pearl

By Jeff Grygny

An oddly-shaped pearl made by an oyster that didn’t feel like making a boring regular one is called “baroque.” This isn’t bad metaphor for Alcina, an opera by George Frederick Handel, now dusted off and polished by Milwaukee Opera Theatre and recently presented in collaboration with Early Music Now and performed in an antique shop. Witty and sparkling, it’s a weird old gem in an eclectic contemporary setting. And while the words “opera” and “fun” are rarely seen in the same sentence, this Alcina is enormously entertaining, because it takes such evident delight in spoofing the oft-clunky conventions of the form.

Handel was an 18th century Taylor Swift: he had his first huge success when he was 20; by 25 he was a bona fide superstar. He could go anywhere he wanted—and he wanted to go to England, where Italian opera was the rage, and his royal patron, George II, had just become the country’s first Hanoverian King. Alcina premiered at London’s new Covent Garden theater, to an audience of aristocrats and (literal) bigwigs. The story was adapted from a subplot in the enormously popular epic poem Orlando Furioso, which was the Marvel universe of its day: a sprawling action/fantasy/adventure that spun off multitudes of operas, plays, and poems. Characters like Bradamante, the lady knight, and her Saracen paramour Ruggerio could be lifted out and placed in new stories like action figures (indeed, they have appeared as marionettes.)

No tigers were harmed in the staging of this opera

There’s just no point in trying to analyze the plot of Alcina; it’s completely—baroque, and very, very silly. The title character is a sorceress who, the program tells us, has turned a barren island lush by transforming her ex-lovers into rivers, animals, and . . . rocks? A whole island? How many exes would that take? In our literal-minded age, she would certainly be branded a dangerous psychopath (and honestly, I would be there for that interpretation). But under the spritely direction of MOT’s resident genius, the ever-sunny Jill Anna Ponasik, Alcina shows no such tendencies. She’s simply an incredibly powerful woman who’s been disappointed (a lot) in her search for love.

There’s a magic ring, that’s produced by a minor character who seems to exist only to bring it out to save Bradamante’s relationship. Arias are bracketed by many rushed entrances and exits, as one character after another falls in love, extols their love, agonizes that their lover doesn’t love them anymore, or runs off to find their lover. It’s like a night with a bunch of dizzy club kids. Anyway, it’s all just a rickety scaffolding on which to hang Handel’s music. Ponasik vaults gazelle-like over every narrative obstacle with the magic of camp; and it plays with the sweetness and lightness of cotton candy.

She’s coached her artists—trained singers all—to take their music seriously, and treat their characters’ feelings as real, but to have fun with them, while never stooping to buffoonery. To do something silly as if it were serious creates a most sublime comedy, like children playing pretend, and the audience can’t help but smile. There’s plenty of ingenious stage business, and the feverish action gallops along at a satisfying clip, moving in dynamic vectors that illuminate the character’s relationships. Far from the staid presence of stereotypical opera singers, these performers employ body language and facial expressions to great comic effect. It’s a tribute to Ponasik’s direction that everyone seems to be having a wonderful time

As Bradamante, the lady knight (who was, interestingly, played in the 1735 production by a castrato), Jackie Willis carries herself with bemused dignity, even at the most farcical moments. Kaisa Herrmann as the ensorcelled knight Ruggerio supports the drama with full commitment; Morgana, Alcina’s sister, who seems to be there just for romantic entanglement, is played by Kristin Knutson Berka with a barely-contained sense of wild mischief, as expressed by her leopard print skirt. And Celia Davis brings a surprising vulnerability to the character of Alcina. She certainly never seems like the villain of the story, and she performs even the most challenging ariatic feats with tenderness. Not to neglect the most glittering objet d’art: Esther Talopram as the narrator, in a fabulous ball gown and period wig, comments on the silliness in clever effortlessly-rhymed verse.

Played by the musicians of Early Music Now, with Fumi Nishikiori-Nakayama conducting from the harpsichord, the curated selections cast their musical enchantments. Charlie Rasmussen‘s cello is wonderfully expressive, and who can argue with a live harpsichord? Each piece seems to feature a different operatic technique or musical signature, offering much-welcome variety. And the show is a feast for the eyes as well as the ears: the players glisten with brocades and metallic fabrics, adorned with shiny bling to accent the period in a modern vernacular; James Zager contributes playful choreography that refreshes the baroque aesthetic; thrift store props enhance the sense of play. And the very setting evokes the mood of cluttered antiquity; artfully arranged vintage lamps, furniture, and brick-a-brac make us feel like aristocrats at a private performance in some eclectic salon.

This delightful production of Alcina forsakes the heaviness of opera to give us a lighthearted tonic for the dark of oncoming winter and our dark times. If, as Shakespeare wrote, music really is the food of love, then—play on!

Early Music Now and Milwaukee Opera Theatre present

Alcina

Music by George Frederick Handel

Text by Anonymous, from Orlando Furioso by Lodovico Ariosto

The Imp of the Perverse

We stand upon the brink of a precipice. We peer into the abyss—we grow sick and dizzy. Our first impulse is to shrink away from the danger. Unaccountably we remain… (Edgar Allan Poe “The Imp of the Perverse”)

photo by Matthew Murphy, 2022

by Jeff Grygny

In 1988, a young director named Tim Burton made a fabulously inventive movie that flipped the haunted house story inside out: it was about two hapless ghosts trying to exorcise the awful people who moved into their beloved home. Quirky and weird-cute, with a no-brakes calliope score by Danny Elfman, it was well-received by critics and public alike. Now, 30 years later, so their own mysterious reasons, desperate producers have decided to bank on the film’s warm memories, and so we have a both big-screen sequel (unimaginatively titled Beetlejuice Beetlejuice), and a stage musical adaptation. The latter, winning good reviews on Broadway, has arrived in Milwaukee in a touring version, with high-tech polish and a talented cast of professional singer/dancer/actors eager to show the hinterlands what exactly it was that made Lauren Boebert so hot and bothered that she effectively crashed her career as a right-wing attack troll. So now the question before us isn’t really “Is it good?” but rather “Why? What is it actually for?”

photo by Matthew Murphy, 2022

Once you get over the show’s inevitable reek of corporate spreadsheets, it’s pretty darn fun: a prime specimen of Industrial Entertainment Product™, with all the glitz and dazzle, design and music that call back to the movie, and a bushel of witty, hard-to-follow songs that all end with a big, applause-demanding finish. In the role of the eponymous antihero, Justin Collette dominates the stage, with the comic voice and quick attitude changes of a cadaverous Robin Williams. “I say this bullshit like eight times a week,” he quips early in the show: a Deadpool-like smirk to the audience characteristic of much of today’s Industrial Entertainment Product™.

photo by Matthew Murphy, 2022

There’s not a bad performance, and some of them really shine: Will Burton, as the erstwhile yuppie ghost, brings a gangly, goofy “Brad” energy that nearly steals the show. Nevada Riley, as the goth girl™ Lydia, struggles a bit making the heavy-load-bearing lyrics understandable, but she does a lot of the show’s emotional labor, with angsty ballads and soaring aspirational solos. In a dramatis personae of basically horrible people, Sarah Litsinger is surprisingly sympathetic as the new age bimbo Lydia’s father hires to break her out of her shell of gloom, while, in her supporting roles, Maria Sylvia Norris memorably turns her cartoonish intensity up to 11. And, like the Lady of the Lake in Spamalot, Hillary Porter as Miss Argentina, makes the most of her completely gratuitous number.

photo by Matthew Murphy, 2022

The set and puppet designs by David Korins and Michael Curry are stylishly macabre: shrunken-head guy makes a cameo appearance in a dance number, there’s a fun skeleton chorus, a monster soul-eating snake, and an amusing chase through the Netherworld. Connor Gallegher’s choreography is bog-standard, but diverting and well-executed. Peter Nigrini’s projection designs are classy, effective, and don’t look like they were made by AI: a strong plus. And the eight-piece band was effortlessly kicking it. So the show is fine escapist fun. But is it about anything besides it’s balance sheet? Why Beetlejuice? Let’s take a deep dive, shall we?

The name “Beetlejuice” is a clever take-off on the name of an actual celestial star: Betelgeuse, from the Arabic name “Hand of Orion,” (it’s in that constellation). It got its first letter “B” from a medieval copying error, (without which we’d have had to call the show “Veetlejuice,” which is not nearly as catchy)! And from ancient times it’s been known for it’s fluctuating brightness (it virtually vanished from the sky a few years ago, but it’s mostly back—for now.) So, randomness and chaos are baked right into the name. “Beetlejuice” is also just a marvelous name for a demon; it’s a fusion of ugly sounds and images, like the devils’ names in C.S. Lewis’ famous Screwtape Letters, and it calls back to the biblical demon Beelzebub—itself an insulting term for the ancient pagan deity Baal. None of this seems especially relevant—or does it?

photograph from Michael Meschke’s production of Alfred Jarry’s Ubu Roi, 1964

The character of Beetlejuice is a variation of a very old mythological trope: the Trickster. Usually troublesome and rather stupid, self-centered, unscrupulous, and almost always male, the Trickster makes trouble for ordinary folks. With his coarse appetites, foul mouth, and even his black-and-white outfit, Beetlejuice is arguably an update of Pere Ubu, a Trickster who appeared in the very first avant-garde play: Ubu the King by Alfred Jarry, an absurdist takeoff of Shakespeare’s plays. Pere Ubu is a gross, insatiable creature with an enormous belly who becomes king by violence and lies, and proceeds to ruin the land until he’s finally overthrown and exiled. Now, can anyone here relate to the problem of a disgusting chaos goblin who invades our lives and refuses to go away? I admit this this is taking the long way around. But even corporate art can sometimes echo the dreams and nightmares of our culture. And I’m not saying that the resurgence of Beetlejuice is playing out the unbearable tension of a criminal rising to political prominence. I’m not saying it isn’t, either. Ultimately, the show exists because some talented artists were moved to create it.

Scott Brown and Anthony King, who co-wrote the show, had previously written a somewhat successful show called Gutenberg! The Musical, about two guys who are trying to sell their idea for a musical about, you know, the book guy, playing the roles themselves. Eddie Perfect, who wrote the songs, is a performer who’s written a lot of political and cultural satire in his native Australia. These are very successful artists who are steeped in both the art and the business of musicals. Now, just suppose that there’s something about Beetlejuice that strikes a cord in this MAGA moment of American culture. It could be a big hit—but to get the investors to write checks, it would have to appeal to both sides. An antihero who’s gross and abrasive, but also funny and winks at the audience, wouldn’t alienate anyone, would it? The inappropriate humor, the cynicism, the unruly masculinity (which the dialog consistently lampshades, by the way): all of a piece with our cultural moment. The show both lampoons and celebrates the whole toxic mess, and wraps it up in a nice family reconciliation.

Either that, or it’s just a fun show that capitalizes on the richness and creativity of a marketable intellectual property. Step right up, folks!

Beetlejuice

Music and Lyrics by Eddie Perfect

Book by Scott Brown and Anthony King

Based on the Geffen Company Picture

Playing through October 6

Uihlein Hall

Marcus Performing Arts Center

Beetlejuice

Epic Clown Show Nightmare

by Jeff Grygny

“We should have won—in fact, we did win.” With this oxymoronic sentence, the 45th president opened his 60 odd days of counterfactual and highly illegal gambits to retain the power he’d been voted out of. He failed, only because of a small corps of officials who were unwilling to play along. But there were many who were all too willing—and that is the story of Red, White, and Coup, a gripping, 2 1/2 hour spectacle by Quasimondo Physical Theatre, created to coincide with that same person’s re-anointment as Republican candidate, right here in the “horrible” city of Milwaukee. This an important work of theater, performed with artistry and integrity. Everyone should see this show, as a clear reminder of the enormity of DJT and cohort’s actions, with the fate of the nation, the world, the planet, even, seemingly at stake. It’s all too much—but the intrepid company rises to the occasion.

Director/playwright Brian Rott spent six months researching the January 6th Select Senate committee hearings, plus memoirs and accounts by the men and women close to the action, to dramatize and illuminate the news we all read about. It plays like a Greek tragedy with evil clowns: there’s a grinding sense of inevitability, and yet we can’t look away. Guided by accounts from William Barr, Mike Pence, Cassidy Hutchinson, and others, Rott brings each scene to vivid life. All the familiar players make their appearances, from the “My Pillow guy” to the con man in chief. Even Wisconsin’s plutocratic Senator Ron Johnson gets in on the act.

photo by Jeff Grygny

The first hour of the play details DJT’s response to Biden’s win: complete denial, ordering scores of spurious lawsuits. We meet Rudy Giuliani and Sydney Powell, the only lawyers deranged enough to buy into the idea at the beginning. Later, we see law professor John Eastman concoct the infamous “alternative elector” scheme. Eventually, Attorney General Barr’s refuses to declare the election stolen, leading to his resignation (and not being invited to the White House Christmas party). We witness Mike Pence’s agonizing between his duty to the president and his loyalty to the constitution.

Legal maneuvers, even scurrilous ones, don’t exactly lend themselves to compelling theater, but Rott knows the power of re-enacting it all. He brings even this uninspiring material to life with creative flourishes, surreal comedy, and the impressive talents of 7 dedicated actors playing over 50 characters. The characterizations rarely rise above the level of caricature. It’s like watching an extended political cartoon: they don’t tell us who these people are; they simply show us what they documentedly did. And it works. With a few mannerisms and costume pieces, we see Powell as a leopard-clad loony; Eastman as a wild-eyed mad scientist; Pence as a stiff board (no great leap there), with his conscience imagined, like Pinocchio’s Jiminy Cricket, as the infamous fly that sat on Pence’s head during the debate.

photo by Jeff Grygny

The most powerful scene departs from the legal record to give attention to some of the capitol rioters—still cartoons, but drawn with compassion. We hear some of their voices: middle-class people whom the system has failed, for whom the term “white privilege” can be nothing but a cruel insult. In a brilliant use of visual language, a masked figure with the letter Q on his face  sits at the presidential desk typing, typing: lies and incitements, while the people’s rage grows. When DJT issues his invitation to a big rally in Washington DC. It’s like dropping a match on a pool of carefully-poured gasoline.

photo by Jeff Grygny

The staging of the riot is visceral and terrifying, with Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer cowering behind a podium while zip-tie man calls out “Nancy, come out and play,” like a horror movie psychopath. Cassidy Hutchinson’s account takes us right into the White House, including her being creepily groped by Giuliani as a factotum stands by grinning. Melania and Ivanka make their cameos, and finally, we hear DJT’s message to the rioters:“We love you, you’re very special.”  

The actors give every role a sense of urgency and humanity, rarely stooping to outright villianization (DJT and Barr share a wicked laugh over putting immigrant children in cages, but that’s about the extent of the judgment offered). Cat Sadler does a mean Mitch McConnell impression; Emily Scholtka brings a bewildered pathos to Jacob Chansley, the Q Anon Shaman; Mara Grigg gives the roles of Giuliani and Ted Cruz gleeful energy; A heartful Matt Koehn shows us Pence’s ethical crisis; Selena Milewski plays Hutchinson’s insurrection day like a journey through a nightmare looking glass; while Sarah Ann Mellstrom makes a demented jack-in-the-box out of Sidney Powell. And without a doubt the Tony should go to Jessi Miller who, in a messy blonde wig and orange face paint, uncannily captures Trump’s mannerisms and inflections, showing him as ultimately a caricature of himself. Not since Charlie Chaplin has a demagogue been so deftly embodied.

Powerful men often cling to power—the story is as old as history. The old firehouse/city hall that houses Red,  White, and Coup is a hundred years old, and looks every year of it. Ornate, antique, moldering and musty, the building stands as an architectural metaphor of current American politics. It will take a lot of energy, hard toil, and  love to get it into good shape. Let’s hope we can find leaders who are up to the job—or become them ourselves.

Quasimondo Physical Theater presents

Red,  White, and Coup

written and directed by Brian Rott

 Saturday, July 13th; Sunday, July 14th; Monday, July 15th

Thursday, July 18th; Friday, July 19th; Saturday, July 20th

Thursday, July 25th; Friday, July 26th; Saturday, July 27th

North Milwaukee Arthaus, 5151 N. 35th St., Milwaukee WI 53209

Note: Performance is on the second floor of an historic building, which is not yet ADA accessible.

WARNING: This production contains MATURE language and content.

*A Talkback with the cast and production team will follow each performance.​

TICKETS

https://www.quasimondo.org/tickets.html

Online: $25; At-the-door: $30; Student: $20

Quasimondo Stages an Insurrection

by Jeff Grygny

Historical events have inspired many a play, from Henry IV to Hamilton. Thus far, few artists have chosen to make art about what might well be the most momentous events in American history since the Civil War: Donald Trump’s refusal to yield the White House to the legal winner, and his subsequent, no-hold-barred exertions to keep it. Soon, Quasimondo Physical Theatre’s Director Brian Rott will present what might be the first of many theatrical accounts of this strange eventful history. His latest original play Red, White, and Coup is going to be showing at the same time that the Republican party is anointing their Chosen One. And it’s all happening right here in that “terrible city,” that liberal Sodom of the upper Midwest: Milwaukee. Aren’t we lucky?

Larger companies, fearful of  alienating their conservative patrons, might well choose to sidestep such a rich, if perilous, topic. But under Rott’s leadership, Quasimondo has always been the little avant-garde theater that could: their phantasmagorical performances, (based on such impossible source material as computer games, Greek mythology, the work of Salvador Dali, and the Kama Sutra) are legendary. In a recent conversation, Rott articulated the strong need for a counterpoint to the Republican Convention. “In a close election year, it’s important to get out the story.” he said. “Even if most of the audience is liberal, it will drive home the importance.’ So damn the consequences: they’re dramatizing the Senate hearings on the January 6th insurrection (or as some prefer to call it, the “group tour of the capitol”).

Unlike some of Quasimondo’s more fanciful productions, Rott wants to dramatize the facts this time. So, unlike his normal process of devising a show, he wrote the script beforehand, based on six months of research. “I had 110 pages of notes,” he said with a laugh. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.” Focusing on the people who plotted to seize the presidency, he studied records of the Senate hearings, following up by reading interviews and memoirs of people connected with the preparations: both Trump’s inner circle and the people who opposed them. He described the process as “like going down rabbit holes of information. I didn’t really know that there was so much preparation [for the Capitol riot].” For voters who haven’t followed the news closely, it’s a deep dive into the moves and counter-moves in the game of power that’s still taking place on the nation’s stage. Even so, Rott says, “It’s still just the tip of the iceberg of what the [Republican] nominee is responsible for.”

The production will be minimalist, with actors playing over 50 different characters with the help of simple costume pieces. Though the format is like a documentary (with former  Republican Senator Liz Cheney as the narrator), the play will feature many of the famous and not-so-famous names swirling around in the mess: the ex-president, of course, at the center of the action, and also the variety of colorful (and not-so-colorful) players: Mike Pence, Sidney Powell, Jenna Ellis, Kenneth Chesebro, and the ever popular Rudy Giuliani. “A handful of the Capitol rioters will be portrayed, and the iconic “Q-Anon shaman” “just might” make an appearance.

It’s all happening in the upper floor of the Arthaus, a former city hall and fire department. It’s up a tall flight of stairs, and regrettably, the building has not yet been upgraded for people with disabilities. But the high-ceilinged room was the former site of community meetings and very probably elections for many decades, so it seems like a resonant place to stage the greatest challenge to the US rule of law in our lifetimes.

So far.

Quasimondo Physical Theatre presents

Red,  White, and Coup

written and directed by Brian Rott

 Saturday, July 13th; Sunday, July 14th; Monday, July 15th

Thursday, July 18th; Friday, July 19th; Saturday, July 20th

Thursday, July 25th; Friday, July 26th; Saturday, July 27th

North Milwaukee Arthaus, 5151 N. 35th St., Milwaukee WI 53209

Note: Performance is on the second floor of an historic building, which is not yet ADA accessible.

WARNING: This production contains MATURE language and content.

*A Talkback with the cast and production team will follow each performance.​

TICKETS

https://www.quasimondo.org/tickets.html

Online: $25; At-the-door: $30; Student: $20

Sex, Voodoo, and Real Estate

Image

Photo credit: K. Synold

by Jeff Grygny

“I am a wild turkey,” she says , and utters a plaintive little gobble, as much to herself as to anyone. This is Sonia, a deeply sad woman in Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike, Christopher Durang’s delicious, delirious comedy, now neatly delivered by Theatrical Tendencies, Milwaukee’s LGBTQ+ theater company. The title calls back both to Anton Chekhov’s classic play Uncle Vanya, and to a forgettable, raunchy, 1969 film about swinging couples. There’s more of Chekhovian ennui here than bed-hopping, but, since it’s Durang, there are generous helpings of in-jokes for the theater crowd and witty chef’s-kiss gags for all.

When you walk into the cozy space of Inspiration Studios, you know immediately that you’re in good hands: the handsome set by Mark E. Schuster and impeccable musical choices of Aaron J. Robertson speak of taste and craftsmanship. And under Schuster’s confident direction, the actors calibrate their  performances all the way from broad clowning to finely-nuanced feelings. The results are hilarious—and often surprisingly touching.

Half-siblings Vanya and Sonia share a nice country house on a lake. They’ve spent their adult years caring for their parents, and now, like many a Chekhov character, they feel that life has passed them by. Their other sister, Masha, meanwhile, has been supporting them on earnings from her glamorous, three-husband life as a star of stage and screen. When Masha pays an unexpected visit—with a decades-younger boy toy in tow—and announces that she’s selling the house, it triggers a long-simmering family meltdown. Chekhov famously wrote about lost souls searching for meaning in a collapsing world. Many productions treat his plays as solemn marches to entropy. But the good doctor/playwright himself famously called them comedies: portraits of human foibles as warm-hearted as they are clinically precise. Durang sweetens the Chekhovian pot with clever quips, sharp observations, and absurd twists worthy of Monty Python. Because he can.

Even in their quarreling, Mark Neufang and Jillian Smith as the two siblings bring nuance to their expert comic timing. Neufang offers the resigned calm of a gentle soul just trying to have a nice day; while Smith, as the “wild turkey” delivers a master class on the subtleties of feeling. Both of them would be amazing in an actual Chekhov play. Then three cartoon characters come charging into their three dimensional world: Durang is playing the alchemist, mixing stable, volatile, and catalytic substances together to see what happens.

Photo credit: K. Synold

Jaleesa Joy is an utter hoot as their housekeeper Cassandra—a combo of  Greek myth and Mary Poppins—swooping across the stage shrieking dire prophesies, cleansing the vibes with her magic wand, or bending the future with the help of a surprisingly effective voodoo doll. She’s like the fairy of Comedy, making sure that we get the happy ending we require.

Enter Lesley Grider and Kevin J. Gadzalinski as the Hollywood couple from Hell: Masha (a name drop from The Three Sisters) and Spike (from Durang’s imagination). It’s hard to say who’s worse: the self-entitled celebrity or the clueless gold-digging bro. Grider embodies a nightmare avatar of Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop, while the fearless Gadzalinski’s reverse striptease is a feat for the ages: you can almost smell the Axe body spray. Another catalyst appears in Nina (from The Seagull this time), sweetly portrayed by  Madison Van Allen. A star-struck aspiring actress, Nina worships Masha and befriends Vanya, eventually performing in a little play that he’s written. When Masha enlists everyone as her entourage at a nearby costume party, the sight gags kick into overdrive.

Photo credit: K. Synold

The party’s ugly aftermath collides with Vanya’s play, which is about the end of life on Earth via global warming and an unfortunately-timed asteroid. Vanya catches Spike texting during Nina’s performance as a molecule (you have to be there) and it’s Vanya’s turn to blow up, with a heartfelt elegy for the slower, more connected world he grew up in: a world of phones that you had to dial by hand, stamps you had to lick, and TV shows like Ozzie and Harriet, that might have been stupid, but at least people watched them together. Older members of the audience might find themselves nodding in silent agreement, on the general principle at least. It all ends with a hug, though, and isn’t that the best way for a comedy to end?

You can enjoy Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike as a goofy pastiche of Chekhov and old TV sitcoms—in fact, the juxtaposition speaks of the genetic relationship between them. But it also seems like Durang is suggesting that, although being three dimensional isn’t always fun, it’s overall better than being a cartoon. And therein lies our possible redemption. In the word of Cassandra: beware!  

Theatrical Tendencies presents

Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike

by Christopher Durang

playing through June 23

www.theatricaltendencies.com

Oconomowoc End Times Singalong

Photo by Christal Wagner Photography

by Jeff Grygny

We sign the roster and get our name tags, receive sheet music for “99 Luftballons” —in the original German—and are sorted into our sections: soprano, alto, tenor, et cetera. The room is the archetypal church basement of millions of meetings: bare walls, fluorescent lights, gray metal folding chairs, and that distinctive pebbly floor that looks like it was made to withstand a nuclear blast. “NO FUN” proclaims a large flip chart in magic marker. It could be the setting for any community theater, bible study group, or AA meeting, or but it’s a rehearsal for the Oconomowoc a cappella group; a band of small town citizens who just want to sing, but who will find themselves helpless as their rehearsal devolves into a maelstrom of dysfunction and madness. How could anything good happen in this stark denatured room?

It’s an original production by the risk-inclined The Constructivists, with the complete title A Cappocalypse! Or. . . Oconowocappella’s A Cappella Practice has Been Canceled. This satirical farce was created by the company under the guidance of Andrew Hobgood of Chicago’s New Colony and Actor/Playwright Joe Lino. Over the course of a year, the players created characters with full back stories, relationships, and histories going back generations to create a fleshed-out fictional universe of small town life, where everyone knows everyone. The result is sort of like a hologram: every part contains the whole thing. And so it’s also a cartoonish parody of 21st Century America.

We see a spectrum of mashed-up stereotypes: the abusive micromanaging director from the “loudest voice” school of management; the masochistic follower with short-term memory loss; the buttoned-up nerd; the brash social influencer; the crunchy stoner; the survivalist nutjob. In all the bickering about rules of order and shallowly simmering grudges, “99 Luftballons” is all but forgotten. It’s a nightmare of small group dysfunction, and, in a cringy sort of way, often very funny.

 Under Jaimelyn Gray’s skillful direction, the company is committed and energetic. The action moves along propulsively, and the satire’s sharp teeth find many a tender spot—though they don’t bite too hard. The actors play with great confidence in their concocted world.  Matthew Scales and Andrea Ewald as the Director and “Assistant to the Assistant,” seem locked in a little Beckett play with notes of The Office. Anya Palmer’s social media influencer storms into the rehearsal with cell phone blazing, seemingly in her own little show.

Kellie Wambold gives her conspiracy theorist a feverish intensity, like Peanuts’ Lucy on steroids, creating her own cult in the course of the play. When you live in a world of dirty little secrets, paranoia actually seems sensible, and fearful people will grasp at almost anything that offers meaning. Clayton Mortl’s understated comic timing is the show’s secret spice. And in the role of the local big fish, whose claim to fame is that he appeared on America’s Got Talent, co-playwright Joe Lino’s smile conceals a Machiavellian will to power.

As the rehearsal convulses into Lord of the Flies territory, We’re left contemplating how the world got into it’s current state. The Roman Empire could blame lead in the pipes for its fall. What can we point to? Toxic masculinity? “Wokeism?” The internet? We can yell about them all, but one thing is clear: We’ve got to stop meeting in that church basement.

Heute zieh ich meine Runden
Seh die Welt in Truemmern liegen
Hab’ nen Luftballon gefunden
Denk’ an Dich und lass’ ihn fliegen

The Constructivists present

A Cappelocalypse! Or, Oconowocappella’s A Capella Practice has Been Canceled

Created by Andrew Hobgood and Joe Lino

playing through April 6

www.theconstructivists.org

or call 414.858.6874

The Devil You Say

photo by Ross Zentner

by Jeff Grygny

In a little town near London, Elizabeth Sawyer was accused of killing her neighbor with magic, of consorting with the devil (who appeared as a black dog named Tom), and of various other profanities and blasphemies. She was tried and executed as a witch in the reign of King James I in 1621.

Elizabeth’s story inspired a popular play that was performed that same year. Rather surprisingly, It depicted her as a poor, lonely outcast who only takes up witchcraft when she has no alternative. “Tom” was played by an actor—I love to think, in a dog costume. The Witch of Edmonton worked Elizabeth into a narrative web of family drama, murder, infidelity, and a bit of comedy. It was a big hit, kind of like one of today’s streaming miniseries.

And now, 400 years later, Jen Silverman, “one of the most-produced playwrights in the country,” has adapted The Witch of Edmonton into a fascinating new piece, Witch, which is currently playing in an artful production by Renaissance Theaterworks. She’s trimmed the story and shuffled the characters around, but retained the prestige drama combo of family intrigue, wicked satire, metaphysical peril, and even a bit of Harlequin romance, all bundled into a tight, compelling plot that keeps us in a state of pleasant indeterminacy.

Elizabeth herself opens the play. Her hair is gray, but neatly bound. Her dress shows the signs of many launderings. As represented by the formidable Marti Gobel, she radiates warmth, intelligence, and weariness. “I’m not arguing for the end of the world,” she says, “but then again, maybe I am.” And in a gnomic, insinuating speech, she adds “Do I have hope that things can get better?”

Then we meet the devil—or a devil, at any rate. Instead of a talking dog, we have Neil Brookshire, debonair in a good haircut. A traveling salesman, just arrived in town, scouting for prospects. But though his talk is all agreeable—no pressure—his unwavering smile and the dead look in his eyes would raise a real dog’s hackles. He’s skillfully peeling off the defenses of a foppish young man named Cuddy, the son of the local lord. Moving on, he next easily uncovers exactly what Cuddy’s rival would trade for his immortal spark. We notice that, though everyone is in 16th century garb, they’re  talking like modern urbanites, using anachronistic phrases like “full disclosure,” and “cone of silence.” With all the eventual dynastic rivalry and erotic complications, it can feel more like an episode of Succession than The Lady’s Not for Burning. But Silverman’s dialog is witty and fun to hear. When Scratch pays his inevitable visit to the local witch, well, let’s just say it’s not what anyone expected.

photo by Ross Zentner

The acting is all first-rate: along with Gobel and Brookshire, Reese Madigan brings a Lear-like befuddled grandeur to the role of Sir Arthur, mooning over the never-seen painting of his (dead?) wife. (I wish someone would explain his very modern bandana). Joe Picchetti brings fire to the role of the ambitious Frank; Eva Nimmer makes herself visibly invisible as the beleaguered maidservant Winnifred, whom he brutally betrays. And as Cuddy, James Carrington gives one of his best performances ever, with honesty, complexity, and humor.

The production crew brings the script to life wonderfully, each in a slightly different way. Director Suzan Fete’s stage direction is clean and unfussy, with a fine ear for dramatic and comic timing. The costumes by Amy Horst look rich and lived-in, except for Cuddy’s outfits, which are as clashingly queer as his sexuality. Jeffrey D. Kmeic has created a spectacular sculptural ceiling reminiscent of the dried herbs used by village healers (Elizabeth doesn’t mix any potions, though: she’s only a witch by reputation). And Josh Schmidt’s sound design quotes an old festive carol, electronically modified to evoke disquiet.

Historians cite many reasons for the great witch trials that swept Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries, including “the little ice age,” a period of global cooling that brought about famines and plagues. Feminist historians have also noted that many people found easy scapegoats for the time’s social unrest in “unruly” and isolated women; a phenomenon Caryl Churchill rigorously explored in her play Vinegar Tom.

In a 2015 interview, Silverman said “I want to write aggressive, highly-structured, darkly comedic plays, often involving women or queer characters, often exploring various facets of identity and legacy and home-coming and institutional violence.” So what drew her to an antique play about a witch and a devil? (Was it the talking dog? Her play Blink features a vengeful ghost cat, so, maybe.)

Or maybe it’s because as an intelligent outcast, Elizabeth can see outside the conventions of her culture, that the endless stupid cycle of drunken lords and scheming brothers struggling for power is just one way of running a society, and one day, maybe, there might be something different. Surely Silverman doesn’t want us to simply conclude that the devil is the patriarchy. But then again, maybe she does.  

 Renaissance Theaterworks presents

Witch

by Jen Silverman

playing through November 12

https://www.r-t-w.com/shows/witch/ttps://www.r-t-w.com/shows/witch/

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