Sugarward (The Side Project) JOHN TAFLAN REVIEWER

Sugarward, the boringly mesmerizing new play by Sean Graney (though not directed by Sean Graney; directed by Geoff Button), strikes that delicate balance of being almost impossible to follow if you aren’t paying attention at all and being about several things it’s not ostensibly about.

In four terrible but excellent performances, John Henry Roberts (as Colonel Parke) and Joel Ewing (as manservant Thomas Kirby, former Governor Christopher Codrington, and corrupt sugar baron Edward Chester) have obviously memorized their lines.  And what lines they are!  To be honest though, I didn’t immediately understand some of the words in those lines until I thought about the context in which they were used.  Having then gleaned their meaning via a process of brain engagement, it was exciting because the writer (Sean Graney, who didn’t direct the play) would use them again and again and it was like getting a little treat every time you heard them because you had learned something earlier that you didn’t know before but now that you had learned it it was fun to be in on the joke and all of the sudden realize that a play can be about something other than people just sitting around complaining about a playwright’s loosely fictionalized friends and relatives.  (Also: don’t worry if you’re hard of hearing or feeling, because Joel Ewing projects at Metallica concert-like levels, accompanying every plosive with a justly infused shower of spittle.  [As alluded to above, Joel Ewing does play several different parts which is confusing unless you just accept it.]) 

Geoff Button directed this play as well as he could…which was actually really, really, really well.  He did an awesome job with it.  He spots Roberts and Ewing’s verbal calisthenics when they’re at the polysyllabic pull-up bar and holds their feet when they’re doing emotional sit ups.

Alright.  Let’s get down to brass tacks here.  No more smarming around.

There’s no need for a plot summary, just go see the play and know that what makes it so damn interesting is it’s assertion that the drive to obtain and ultimately possess power is, in fact, less dangerous than the desire men and women have to believe in those who pursue that power.  Oh, and it’s also about sugar.

A

-John Taflan

Yasmina's Necklace: A Staged Reading (The Den Theatre)

I have been thinking about Yasmina’s Necklace—the complex and deceptively powerful new play from Rohina Malik—all week.

In our own city, the heavy pollution of bigotry has thinned in the past seven days, and an atmosphere suitable for all living, breathing things is finally perceptible; our legislators have—at long fucking last—recognized that gay men and women can legally couple in a kinda-mostly-the-same-sort-of way as “regular” people. Through angry propaganda and hatred, the basic right to love was finally granted.

For those who advocate egalitarianism, the vulgar braying of a callow populace can actually be fairly comforting. One sees a wrong-headed opponent loudly gushing intolerance like a wimpy firefighter handling his first hose, and one feels an annoyed amusement at the situation: You may get a little wet, but they’re the ones who are going to break something. Because the argument against tolerance always goes something like, “Those people are different and if we recognize them as being equal to us in any way then a baby will be killed by a dog-blowing Unitarian with an anti-Easter agenda.” And so the battle cry of open-mindedness becomes: Victory via revelatory preposterousness!

One only need catalog the test-flares fired by the proponents of idiocy to understand: *BOOM* Gay marriage directly leads to the dissolution of the family! *BOOM* Immigrants are all leaving anchor babies in Fresno to tether themselves to our social safety nets! *BOOM* How dare they build a mosque at Ground Zero! Sharia law! Jihad! Muslims!

What is truly embarrassing is that this blathering even finds a foothold to begin with. Things like love and understanding are jettisoned so quickly in favor of screeching accusations that one is aghast at the effort needed simply to maintain the high levels of ignorance. Because hate does not come face to face with who or what is being hated. Rather, hate gurgles and sputters in it’s own putridity. It’s like a deep-fat fryer: Whatever you cook in it may taste delicious at first, but it’ll fucking kill you.

Now, I realize the contradiction in speaking about tolerance and love in such a vitriolic way for I too feel the tinge of hatred towards those who violently oppose what it is I know to be right. And on a basic, emotional level, I understand where they are coming from; a threat is a threat and must be destroyed.

It’s just…when you see a play like Yasmina’s Necklace—which tells the story of two young Muslims trying to love each other despite being viciously damaged by the unjust war in Iraq and the never-ending suspicions of a country they desperately need to call home, you get very upset that is has to be so hard for them because it really shouldn’t have to be.

Yasmina’s Necklace: A+

-John Taflan

Big Love (Chicago Fusion Theatre) (Audience Review)

Upon entering the Royal George Theatre’s third-floor studio space, Chicago Fusion Theatre’s mostly non-Equity audience expertly contained its disappointment at the realization that the show it was attending would not, in fact, be an adaptation of the Bill Paxton multi-wife star vehicle, Big Love. That bold and impetuous effervescence was just one of many surprising treats gifted last Thursday at the mass’s five billionth appearance: Big Love.

Founded between 550 and 250 BC, audience has long upheld a proud tradition of listening to what is being said, occasionally reacting, and ultimately applauding upon completion of a given work. While only mildly distracted by cell phone usage and some late-game restroom sprinting, audienceBigLove grounded its assemblage in an honest enthusiasm that has long been the trademark of the Chicago style (prior digressions into the oft-imitated and experimental “non-appreciative” New York approach have never been entirely successful for the collective).

As expected, the dimming of the house lights roused audienceBigLove into an attentive state. With eyes and hearts taking in exposition after plot point after inciting incident, audienceBigLove proved how truly present it was (as always, clear boundaries were established with a lack of talking during those first, important moments). I must say, though: I feel (and pray) that audience is reaching the end of its love affair with pre and initial show respect. I would love to see audience taking some risks the next time out. AudienceBigLove proved itself to be memorable and supportive, but a few grunts and cat-calls may help audience reach new pinnacles of excellence in the craft (as seen during the golden age of Vaudeville/vegetable flinging).

All personal preference aside, audienceBigLove brought its biggest grins and most boisterous laughs to play with, last weekend. During a particularly exhilarating sequence, audienceBigLove, starting first with some scattered chortles, built a magnificent cascade of laughs around an especially arresting bout of tomato squeezing. Fresh varietals of joy were poured out during a bathtub-bound serenade as well. Moments like that really remind you why you go to the audience.

It’s comforting to know that after hundreds of tens of decades, audience still knows how to appreciate one heck of a show.

AudienceBigLove: A-

-John Taflan

I Am Montana (Mortar Theatre Company)

This review reprinted with permission from The Drudge Report:

Conservative culture warrior and play-maker, Samuel D. Hunter, has crafted an eye-popping exposé of the impending liberal threat in America’s heartland. Long before James O’Keefe bravely pulled left-wing America’s pants down and spanked its flabby behind with his justice-spoon (don’t forget to donate to his ‘relieve my credit card debt’ campaign at http://www.theprojectveritas.org), Samuel D. Hunter was uncovering the true effects of dumb-o-crat policies and revealing the march towards perversion taking place in the values stronghold of our nation.

The result of his years of muckraking is the committed satire, I Am Montana, now receiving its Chicago premiere with Mortar Theatre Company. Sure, on its surface I Am Montana may appear to be the whimsical sort of socialist fairy tale the left-wing media will fall all over themselves to shove down your throat. And in a way, their ignorant enthusiasm will be beneficial for the piece; a butt in a seat is a butt in a seat. But while your standard Pelosi-loving audience member is sipping away on his latte, bragging about his sushi dinner, and inflating the deficit with his bleeding-heart “social justice,” you will be discovering the truth—a little word our liberal-minded buddies seem to have difficulty with. Remember, my friends: It’s not about what you watch but how you watch it.

Let’s look at the facts: A young man, Eben Shamir (the excellent Derek Garza), with a great customer service job at the up-and-coming multi-national corporation, Valumart, is asked to give a speech at the company’s annual conference and appear in their new television commercial; pretty good stuff. The conference/commercial opportunity is in the great state of Iowa and as Eben calls the great state of Montana his home, he hops in his GMC Jimmy and heads east (the ground transportation angle is an great “screw you” to the TSA). Eben is accompanied by his coworker and best friend, Tommy (a heart-breaking Sentell Harper), and the hilarious “drug addict” cum gun advocate Dirk (the hilarious Josh Nordmark). So you’ve got three boot strap-pulling go-getters well on their way to celebrity and fiscal solvency when what do you think happens? The liberal menace sticks its filthy finger into their American pie.

In his powerful new book, I Think, Therefore I Am…NOT a Liberal, renowned culture-knower and Professor of Histrionics Calvin A. Doosher identifies the seven symptoms of the liberal mind. I won’t go into them all right here as it really is a fascinating read, but I think number six, “Forced Sympathization and the Secret Liberal Brainwash,” is especially prescient to this piece.

With a very clever dramatic stroke, play-maker Hunter has made the choice to haunt our three protagonists (not proletariat, mind you) with the encroaching threat of Obama’s American plan: Terrorism, homo sin-uality, and anti-Coporatism that will chase every remaining job away from this fair land while encouraging us to sodomize each other and blow everything up for no reason.

We meet these three boys in the prime of their lives and watch haplessly as the forced liberal agenda—first appearing to them in visions, then perverting and ultimately twisting their fragile minds and bodies—tears them apart. It would be just like ol’ Barry over there in the White House to force you to sympathize with a terrorist (the fantastic Nicholas Roy Ceasar, doubling as the delightful Valumart spokesperson, Valupig) and Hunter has spared no vitriol towards the administration on this count. I won’t reveal the details, but Eben has a lot to combat as he stares into the dark hole of evil temptation.

You see Eben’s America should be an America of opportunity; an America of Freedom. In America, Eben has the right to choose where he wants to work, how he wants to get to a work related conference, and with whom he wants to spend his time while he’s getting there. And, God bless it, he’s even got the right to take care of a plant if he wants. It’s all a man can do in this crazy world. Now I ask you: Who the heck is going to tell you that you can’t take care of a plant if you want? Who is going to look you in the eye and say, “We’re gonna force you to get another job”? Who has the right to shove terrorist-humanizing so far down your throat you can’t even breathe anymore? Nobody. Help us up! We’re running out of air!

Samuel D. Hunter and director, Rachel Edwards Harvith have cleverly planted these clues for us to uncover. The threat is clear. The solution is simple.

Now, some in the “media” will try to claim that corporations are slowly destroying our men and women by forcing them to shill for nation-sized conglomerates who are accountable to no one and whose manipulation of the American government has lined their pockets with our sweat-soaked dollars while they move their manufacturing jobs and bank accounts to countries whose tax codes and working conditions are such that a Cambodian child will work eighteen hours a day at sixty cents an hour to put a poly/cotton blended t-shirt on the racks of those same stores who will quash any attempt their employees make to better their lives which would destroy even the strongest spirit after enough time and all so they can balloon their profits to fuck everyone out of everything they make and avoid paying a single cent of tax just when the country needs it most. They will claim that, but they will be wrong. Look at the facts.

I Am Montana: A

-John Taflan

The 13th of Paris (Livewire Theatre)

Please forgive me for interrupting your web-browsing, but I couldn’t help but wonder which play you were planning on seeing this weekend.

Please forgive me for speaking so boldly, but I think there is very little in this world more wonderful than a theatre patron hunched over a keyboard with a furrowed brow.

I thought, most likely, that you are purchasing a ticket to Wicked even though you have seen it several times. Wicked will be waiting to embrace you next Friday at 8pm. It will be warm, large, and loud. You will breathe deep and tell Wicked you have returned; you could not stay away. Wicked will say that you did not need to buy a ticket and come back. There are plenty of people in its vast auditorium to keep it company. But you will not listen. And Wicked will smile because Wicked knew you could not stay away; Wicked will be happy. You will cry. You will hum along. You will buy an original cast album at retail.

As you walk through the parking deck in a post-show daze, you will wonder why the Ozdust Ballroom didn’t sparkle like it did last time. Was Elphaba’s skin a little duller than it used to be? Did the flying monkeys not jump as high? Did they use non-Equity actors?

As you ponder these questions, you jump at the sound of a BMW squealing ‘round the corner, headlights and horn blaring, and realize you are alone. The love you felt was empty. Wicked only wanted one thing from you and you let it take it, you hussy. It was just so…so…predictable. You feel cheap, wounded. Dropping your keys, you lunge towards the purple-level elevator and press DOWN.

Emerging from the glass doors of the deck, the sting of incandescent light threatens your eyes with pin-pricks of orange mercury. Shielding your face and running east down Randolph, you stumble into the doors of the Puma store and pound for help. They’ve only just closed, though, and a pleather-clad twentysomething sneers at you as he extricates the store lights with a snap of phosphorescence.

You’re cold, now. Winds from the lake buffet your head and sneak down the collar of your shirt, rumbling through the poly-cotton tent. Strangers’ eyes sweep your sorry limbs, and look away. Still stumbling, you trip at the corner of Wabash and Lake, catching a mouthful of oil-drenched pavement. Reeling, you curse your own sorry lot and wait for the reprieve from this cruel world.

The L rumbles overhead and a shower of sparks dancing down the steel girders briefly illuminates a flapping corner of paper. Dragging yourself into the gutter, you peal back the triangle to reveal a squared, white leaf of gently penned script. Pulling the letter toward your uncertain eyes—catching the intoxicating aroma of sandalwood, vanilla, tea-tree, lemongrass, oak, and applesauce—you read:

Please forgive me for interrupting you, but I couldn’t help but wonder what you’re doing down here.

Forgive me for speaking so boldly, but there is very little in this world that is more wonderful than a theatre patron sprawled in a gutter.

I thought, most likely, that you came from a show that loved you very much. I hope it was a show full of hope. Did it stand with you on a balcony and share a sunrise? Were you asked to consider whether or not your fears could hijack an honest moment of bliss? Or if those same fears could be drowned for a bit with the water of an orange can?

I hope the show you saw asked you to believe that a gentle phantasm can firmly give us strength and insight to deal with the delusions we pollute our minds with. I hope the show you saw taught you to enjoy quiet moments. I hope it made you bold at cafes. I hope it taught you that pants are important. I hope it had Rob McLean in it.

So, please forgive me for interrupting you, but you see there is very little in this world that is more wonderful than a theatre patron sprawled in a gutter. If you saw a show that loved you like that…it must have been Wicked! Have you seen that thing?! Man, that thing is awesome!

A gentle pulse of blue decorates the underside of the L tracks as a mustached policeman stoops over and asks if you’re ok.

Yes, you say. Yes.

You stand. You wipe off your face, and head north.

The 13^th of Paris: A-

-John Taflan

K. (The Hypocrites GUEST REVIEWER JOHN TAFLAN)

This play was closed before the review came out.

Greg Allen’s (not Sean Graney’s) K.—presented by The Hypocrites, and directed by The Neo Futurists’ Greg Allen for The Hypocrites (not the Neo Futurists)—is an adaptation by Greg Allen of Franz Kafka’s The Trial by Franz Kafka written by Greg Allen (not Sean Graney).

Our protagonist, Josef K. (Brennan Buhl), is an Undergrad at Amherst who wakes up several mornings at once one morning to discover that he has been arrested for unquestionably committing a crime that may or may not have happened, which he may or may not have committed (although, he probably didn’t…maybe).

Through no fault of his own (except that it might be), K. is thrust down a path of surreal, nightmarish, door-slamming hilarity that brazenly confronts the constructs set up by bloated institutional bureaucracies which control our lives but also define us and without whom we are lost in a sea of black water like fish swimming across decaying coral reefs in the wake of an oil spill—desperately searching for nourishing particulates and telling ourselves that someday these necessary molecules might add up to a full meal, so you had better keep on flapping your fins because if you stop for even a second you’ll get swept up in a net, filleted, and served at some $40 a plate fusion bistro in an up-and-coming neighborhood although, that may not be so bad; you are just a fish, after all.

I guess what I’m saying is Europe has been around for a long time.

A

-John Taflan

Redeemers (New Leaf Theatre Guest Review by John Taflan)

Jessica Hutchinson’s Bilal Dardai’s Redeemers (currently playing at New Leaf Theatre…oh wait, no it’s not…it’s in a bar) is certainly a festive slice of holiday cake. The play follows the travails of a rag-tag group of middle-class folks just trying to make their way through Barack Obama’s America. It also serves as a cautionary tale for our hardest working citizens. Billionaires beware: If your Fortune 500 comes into a little extra holiday cheer this year, don’t pass it along to your skilled and eager employees. They’ll take your embossed check and shove it up your Christmas stocking.

Ok ok ok…I need to stop the review for a second...ok… There was this little show over the summer called Hideous Progeny produced by LiveWire Chicago Theatre and directed by the aforementioned Jessica Hutchinson. Some of you may have heard about it. I know I sure did. You don’t forget a part like Lord FREAKING Byron all that easily. Nor do you forget a write-up like this:

“Do you know who John Taflan is? He is an actor in town in general and the guy who plays Lord Byron in this play in particular. He usually plays young men on "the edge". He is the third pole in my ‘Axis of Beauty.’”

So, let me ask you this: If you’re an “Axis of Beauty,” if you’re a young man “on the edge,” if you’re the non-Equity Joe Dempsey, then why the hell wouldn’t you have been asked to be in a show directed by the SAME PERSON, starring an actor you’ve ALREADY WORKED WITH, another actor who PRODUCED your beautiful performance, marketed by ANOTHER actor you’ve already worked with, and photographed by the consumptive hippie whose ass you just kicked and whose play-wife you just almost-banged?

Do you have an answer to that?

No, I didn’t think so. Neither do I.

I am a good actor! Why didn’t I get cast in this play? What is wrong with me?! I was in another play with these people and I did good in it! Someone on the internet thought I was beautiful!

All right. Well, you know what, all my used-to-be friends? I don’t need you. I don’t need you, Jess Hutchinson. I don’t need you and your AFFAIR WITH PAT KING, which is the only thing that could possibly explain this egregious miscarriage of character realization. Turns out, all you have to do is BONE a director in this town to get your moment in the Christmas lights. So line up with your dicks out, Chicago. She’s taking headshots!

Seeing as this is a review (in name, at least): Joel Ewing and Marsha Harman both turn in complex, stunning performances…which would have been EVEN BETTER if they weren’t playing off Hutchinson’s skin flute. Seriously, Pat and I are good friends and I love the guy. But that dude crossed the line that dare not be crossed. You signed your cock on her dotted line, man. You filled her inbox with your spam mail, douche-nozzle. Remember your Viewpoints training, dude, because the next time I’m at callbacks with you, there’s gonna be some serious kinesthetic response all up in your face.

We’re still on for dinner this week, right?

Show as is: B+

Show with JOHN TAFLAN: A-

The War Plays (Strange Tree Theatre Group GUEST REVIEWER JOHN TAFLAN)

Man, oh man… War makes people cuh-razy. And not just in the usual trench-digging-in-a-French-field, blowing-up-Death-Stars, eating-your-enemy’s-heart-to-gain-his courage sort of way. The war-crazies find their way into every emotional coffer.

In Emily Schwartz’s new war-themed plays, The War Plays, everyone affected by 1944’s war-torn England has a serious case of the I-wanna-make-babies-with-you-even-though-I-just-met-you-or-paid-for-you-or-loved-your-brother crazies (also known as the emotion, “love”).

Taking her cue from Tom Brokaw’s sweeping volume of honor and sacrifice, The Greatest Generation, Schwartz cleverly (and painfully) shows us what it must have been like to watch our grandparents discover they had sexual feelings for each other (also known as the emotion, “love”). Hey, we all got here somehow (although, I’m never drinking gin again).

You may be asking yourself with a grimace, “Isn’t it a little unrealistic for people to fall in ‘love’ under these sorts of conditions? How could you ‘love’ someone with all the violence, shouting, and terrible odors swirling about?” Well, some day when you tell your grandkids you fell in “love” at the Bull & Bear over on Wells, watch the expressions on their faces and you’ll understand.

The War Plays actually begins before the play, The War Plays, begins when a delightfully spirited band of five musicians (the attractive ‘Allied Orchestra’) enter the Athenaeum’s lobby to cheer us up with some songs. Lead by the vivacious Kitty Berlin (the vivacious Jennifer Marschand), our concerns about the bomb blasts we can’t quite hear are quickly assuaged as this depleted ensemble begins their concert (the rest of our musician friends, we find out, have been called to the front). I gotta say though, as much as I enjoyed this musical prelude, I would much rather have had Kitty and the rest of her folks lobbing grenades from foxholes at those stinking Nazis. Heck, I would have even joined them! That’s why I brought my M-16 to the show and hid it in the press packet. (Note: There must have been some problem with the seats directly surrounding me. Everyone seemed to huddle in the northwest corner or the space, probably under a heating vent. Thank you, Athenaeum.)

Back to the show: Well, shit gets real out in the lobby when a bomb blast nearly frightens us all to death, so our hosts guide us into the steel-reinforced, subterranean concrete theatre so we can see show before we die.

The play itself opens at night on a cramped, Blitz-addled platform in the London Underground. There we meet two teenagers, Minnie and Evan (deliciously played by Delia Baseman and Michael Mercier, respectively). Minnie is Evan’s social worker and “outside monitor” (though she pretends to be his sister). Evan is excited to be from Boston even though they’re in London, and you quickly get a sense that Minnie is just waiting for an excuse to leave him on the platform with a box of Graham crackers so she could go back to graduate school and get a real job. That excuse comes in the form of impetuous dreamboat, Evan (sexily played by Marty Scanlon).

Even though Evan could probably use an “outside monitor” himself (he’s getting turned on by bomb blasts, for goodness’ sake), he and Minnie hit it off in one of the most tender scenes I’ve ever seen. Minnie has been shocked into frigidity by the sudden death of her mother, and Evan’s warmth and passion set fire to her soul; they fall in “love.” Minnie and Evan agree to meet the next day on the corner where Minnie’s mother was killed by a bomb blast.

The scene and set shifts as we meet a wealthy soldier and a prostitute who is not really good at her job. Patrick Cannon is exquisitely moving as a young G.I. (Denny) who really wants to “dance” with Jenifer Henry’s nervous yet beguiling Jackie. Jackie’s brother (deliciously played by Michael Mercier), has been pimping he out of his London flat and seems pretty ok with her not kissing men who want to pay her vast sums of money to do so. I don’t know, maybe Denny is too rich and Jackie and her brother just can’t see the big picture? Ah well. Pimping ain’t easy, and extortion is damn near impossible. Jackie’s fiduciary shortsightedness is ultimately revealed when she falls in “love” with Denny and agrees to kiss him for free which makes both of them really happy. Times were different then.

The scene and set shift again as we move from the European theatre of war back to the home front. Elliot (an excellent Bob Kruse) is irritated that his foot has fallen asleep so he calls a car service to come pick him up. Elliot is also irritated that his imposing relative, Lewis (a fetching Weston Davis), has been playing tennis, drinking gin, and finding hidden keys. Elliot is also extremely irritated that his brother was killed. Elliot is the most irritated, however, with Caroline (a feisty and wet Elizabeth Bagby). Caroline loves Elliot but also loved his brother but since the brother is dead she loves Elliot and shows it by throwing gin in his face. Then he throws gin back in her face. See? War makes people crazy.

I was truly impressed with Strange Tree Group’s The War Plays. I certainly hope you’ve seen it because by the time this review is published it will have closed and you will probably have no idea what I’m talking about.

Did I mention The War Plays is actually three short plays? I’m fairly certain I did.

A-

Traces (Broadway in Chicago) John Taflan

Alright everyone, listen up: Put away your elephants and your clown cars. Turn off all that stupid Cirque de Soleil crap and pay attention. From now on, there’s only one kind of circus, and that circus is “Traces.” That’s it.

What’s that you’re saying? You’re gonna miss all that lion taming and organ music and shit? Well, shut the fuck up. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Unless you’ve seen “Traces,” you have no idea how great circus can be. “Traces” rocked my fucking face off. This thing’s like getting Kathy Ireland in the sack and finding out she’s got three tits. It’s that good. And the thing’s been around for like, TEN YEARS, too! Did you know that? Cause I didn’t know that. That’s right my friends, those other fucking circuses knew about it and they didn’t tell us. Can you believe that horseshit? Why the fuck were they hiding it?!

You know what? It doesn’t even matter, now. That’s the past. The future is “Traces” which is so fucking spectacular that I think I need to go see a goddamn specialist or something. Seriously. Get me some heavy shoes or a levitating sidewalk ‘cause I’m walking on air, here. Fuck.

Seriously, you’re still reading this? You haven’t even bought your ticket yet, have you? Alright asshole, why haven’t you done that shit? I just told you it was the best. What, you don’t fucking believe me? Why would I lie? I said its great, so the thing is fucking incredible, ok? Christ. Oh, I get it…you’re one of them. Fine.

So, there’s six dudes and a chick and they’re all built. They come out onto this kick-ass looking stage that’s got chairs and poles and a piano and shit. And they just start doing some of the craziest shit I have ever seen. There’s this one part, where these two guys are on the poles and they start BACK-FLIPPING back and forth between them. AT THE SAME TIME. Then, two other guys get in on this back-flipping thing. And then, all six of the dudes are flipping all over the poles like they’re on fire, or something. Then the chick gets up on that pole-flipping, and everyone is flipping and going nuts. And then, they all get skateboards and—I am not making this shit up—they start skateboarding like they’re in some old musical with tuxes and hilarious shaking and then they’re jumping from board to board and going under and over each other. What the fuck, man? I could barely stay in my seat! I smiled so hard I’m going to have to frown for three days straight just to even it out.

Oh, and get this: At the start of the show, there’s this microphone that comes down in the middle of the stage and these guys just start talking to us. Just like we’ve all known each other for years. Like, these are just your cool friends who do acrobatics and play music and shit.

“Oh hey, Florian. How’s it going?”

“Oh, pretty good. You mind if I just start balancing on a stack of chairs using only my head?”

“Yeah sure, man. Whatever you want to do. I’ll just chill out here until you’re done.” And then he does it.

And at the end, they get this huge stack of rings and they start diving through them at the same time and they’re this close to missing each other and then they’re diving through in different ways: Feet first, head first, sideways. You’d think I’d be worried about spoiling it for you by giving all this away, but you’re dead fucking wrong. This shit is so mind-blowing that nothing I could write here could even come close to describing how good it is.

Look, just go buy your ticket. Go fucking see “Traces.”

A+

State of the Union -Strawdog Theatre (Theatre Review)

Seeing this play called “State of the Union” the other night reminded me of this really funny, older joke: What’s the opposite of progress? CONgress!

The thing that’s funny about it is that the United States Congress is not very good at getting things done and also because they don’t change away from that. Political cartoons are also a way to laugh.

If I can state plainly, politics have always been bad for people. It has always been a really rancid profession. People who join politics often have to make compromises and say things they really don’t mean because that’s how things really get done in Washington D.C. (a place that has less attractive people than Los Angeles). Newt Gingrich is attractive, though, so perhaps politicians who live in Washington D.C. are ugly on the inside. Hahahahaha!!!!

If I can state REALLY plainly, I don’t put my personal faith in anyone who is in a political party. No Republicans or Wigs or Democrats either (if you can think of any more, let me know). I really can’t identify with them because they are inherit and based. And don’t even get me started on Barack Obama who is our President right now and who once I drank a lot in support of. Hahahaha!!!!!

These reasons are why “State of the Union” (a clever title) is such a good play.

Excellently directed by Jeff Button (I’m pretty sure it was a typo in the press packet), the dialogue flies past and keeps you on the edge of your seat (more on that later).

The play is about Grant Matthews—played really stone-faced and with real subtle undercurrents by Michael Dailey—who becomes tangled in the Republican machine. The Republicans are played really well by BF Helman (who is sinister) and Anderson Lawferson (who constantly delivers comedy) as Jim Conovoer and Spike McManus, respectively. Kristina Johnson appears as the beautiful, soft, tough as nails newspaper boss Kay Thorndyke (yes, that’s really her name!!!). Kristina is beautiful.

Grant and Kay have been having an affair because Grant is estranged from his wife, Mary. From what I understand, this subject was really taboo at the time. It ended up winning the Pulitzer prize in spite of this, though, and it continues to march onward.

Mary, played with real moxie and grace by Kendra Thulin (whom I am in love with now), is asked by Conover to join Grant on a nationwide speaking tour. On this tour, she becomes the real conscience of the play, warning her idealist husband against the conniving of Spike and Conover. Of course, Grant becomes more and more famous on the speaking circuit because of his oratory skills and connection with the real people. But, Conover couldn't care less for people, he wants Grant to win the only thing that counts: votes.

I don’t want to spoil any more for you (like some critics have a habit of doing), but I’ll just say that you have no idea what’s going to happen!!!

It’s really great to see the wheelings and dealings of back room politicians. It reminds you that they’re real people, too. You can imagine them talking like this back then and also today, too. Some things never change. The play has wondrous costumes and the other actors are all really, really good.

My one complaint (if I can even call it that) is with the seats. Strawdog really should get some better seats in their theater. I don’t know if this is a part of the “Chicago style” that keeps getting talked about, but if they don’t shape up soon, no one is going to want to sit and watch a play there. It’s not an excuse, folks.

This is a great play that stands the test of time. The whole group is really, really good and have standout performances (including Kate Harris and Samantha Gleisten).

State of the Union: A-

-John Allen Taflan

Viewparsing (guest educational entry by JOHN TAFLAN)

1.

Now, you may ask, what is Viewpoints? 1

Viewpoints can frustrate in the way it defies simple definition. In addition to nature, Viewpoints is a philosophy of ensemble creation while also being a set of names for how we walk and talk while also being awareness-guideposts for a performer to use if he or she wants to. In the context of an unexecuted theatrical idea, however, Viewpoints can be used as a way of composing a play/scene. Still confused?

Now, you may ask, what is composition?

Composition is a method for creating new work.

Now, you may ask, what is a method?

Method is a particular form of procedure for accomplishing or approaching something. 2

Now, you may ask, what is procedure?

Procedure is an established or official way of doing something.

Now, you may ask, what is something?

Something is thing that is unspecified or unknown.

Now, you may ask, what is a thing?

A thing is an object that one need not, cannot, or does not wish to give a specific name to.

Therefore, Viewpoints is a way you do a thing.

2.

As with most things that need to be done, there is a way of doing them; that way is Viewpoints. 3

Viewpoints is made of Viewpoints. The nine Viewpoints of Viewpoints are as follows: Tempo, duration, kinesthetic response, repetition, shape, gesture, architecture, spatial relationship, and topography. 4

Tempo is how quickly you can escape from the cage or “grid” set up by Viewpoints instructors at the top of a Viewpoints session.

Duration is how long it takes you to recover from the 10th Viewpoint—beating—administered after a successful Tempo. 5

Kinesthetic response is the sneaky execution of a pre-planned reaction to an event you have already decided the outcome of.

Shape is what your body is all the time.

Repetition is for compulsives. Use sparingly.\

Gesture is what you do with your arms to distract someone while you try to remember your next line.

Architecture is any building, portion of a building, or room inside of a portion of a building where a Viewpoint can occur.

Spatial relationship is how close you are to something. Sometimes, you can get too close and give it everything you’ve got and hinge it all on the hope that maybe for once, just once, you might have a chance at happiness. But oh no no, she’s just like every other one of them and you should have listened to your mother but what does she know about things like this? It’s my life, dammit, and I should be able to fall hard if I want but Jesus, I hope someone will be there to catch me someday…

Topography is what you walk on if a floor isn’t available.

Of course, the honest-to-goodness key to understanding Viewpoints is to engage in it directly through a never-ending series of improve-isations. On paper, the Viewpoints are brittle and unattractive. On a spring-loaded, 80’x80’ reinforced, Thai bamboo floor however, the true magic of Viewpoints is revealed.

3.

Actors constantly make the mistake of thinking they are people (directors are often afflicted by this delusioin, as well).

What am I doing here?

When do I want lunch?

Who does that dog think he is?

How do you get actors to stop yakking on about themselves and give someone else a chance to talk? 6 How do they free themselves from years of television viewing and lazy parenting? The answer may surprise you. 7

The answer are Viewpoints.

Viewpoints—being an open process (free of rigid technique) and dictated by nine, never-changing compositional totems which must always be adhered to while working—can be the way you can get those actors to finally shut the fuck up and start behaving like adults.

Can a creative process truly be collaborative? Can a group of strong-minded individuals work together to decide what is best for a play/scene? Yes, and you can make that decision if you are the strongest mind in the room and you make everyone do what you want them to do. The way that you make them do what it is that you want them to be doing is Viewpoints.

Viewpoints, however, are about practical application through live exploration. Viewpoints is to be freely xamined through a unyielding series of improvisations whose parameters must never change.

4.

Sample Exercise 1: Flouncing ‘round the rotunda.

Allow your actors to stand in a circle. Have them engage their Soft Focus. 8

After about 4 minutes, set up the imaginary cage or “grid” on the Topography of the room. 9 Allow the actors to choose whichever Tempo they want—fast or very fast—and give them 20 minutes or so to try to avoid running directly into each other.

For the final minutes of the exercise, allow the actors to react audibly should they feel the Kinesthetic Response to.

After the exercise is complete, allow the actors to sit on the Topography to discuss things they may have felt. Don’t rest until every actor has given you what you wanted.

End the exercise with your actors standing in a circle, staring at one another. This is the most important part of the exercise.

5.

As you can see there are many things we can learn from Viewpoints. By harnessing the nine, never-changing Viewpoints, actors and directors can truly make their next production of A Streetcar Named Desire a little different. 10

1. See “The Viewpoints Book” by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau

2. Not to ever be confused with the over-sexed, Americanized “method” of acting wherein you become a huge asshole while you’re rehearsing and performing your play.

3. See “The Viewpoints Book” by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau

4. How fast, how long, how did you, how how how how how, hOw, how can I, how does that thing, how do we both, and how do I go?

5. See “The Viewpoints Book” by Anne Bogart and Tina Landau

6. For God’s sake...

7. Or it won’t, I don’t really know anymore. Do you expect me to read minds or something? I mean, really… I bust my ass everyday to put food on this table and this is the thanks I get? Your mother slaved away over a sticky microwave for three and a half minutes, now eat your Stouffer’s and shut up; NCIS is on.

8. Cross your eyes and hold your breath for a count of 30. Quickly exhale, releasing all the air from your body.

9. (If a floor is unavailable)

10. Despite coming under near-constant scrutiny from both actors and directors who look at a theatre-creation technique consisting entirely of—on its surface, at least—walking in a square and pausing occasionally, the value of Viewpoints is almost universally understood (even if grudgingly so) by those individuals who have given but an inch of themselves to it.

With an experienced, intelligent group of individuals, Viewpoints sessions incorporated regularly into the early stages of a rehearsal process can, in fact, create an unshakable, gut-level bond within a group of, what are essentially, strangers who are expected to portend any number of harrowing, dangerous acts with each other. One cannot underestimate the human body’s ability to react and provide honest insight into relationships and surroundings when confronted with a physical stimulation; you know it when it hits you: The burst of steam from a lifted saucepan lid, the nose of a lover on the ear, the almost-got-hit-by-a-cab near miss at the corner of Clark and Addision. However, it takes the sophistication of an individual prepared to look and feel truly foolish (without fear of permanent bruise to the ego), to successful contribute to the creation of an ensemble wherein honest, necessary work can begin to exist.

As expertly—if not a bit clinically—laid out in their regarded work, “The Viewpoints Book,” Anne Bogart and Tina Landau provide the blueprint for peak engagement with the people you share your rehearsal room and stage with. What’s so crazy about the whole thing is that a good group (good actors, good directors) will realize these Viewpoints naturally (without the need to label or 218 pages of text). It’s precisely those individuals who would scoff at the idea of a floor grid who are most in need of the discipline and freedom that an imaginary square on the floor can provide.

Because it IS important how quickly you cross the stage. It is important to feel how a room affects your breathing. And it is important to take what is given to you and give it back without judgment or pretense. It is important if one wants to create meaningful work. Because a community is created every day in rehearsal and every night in performance.