Rachel Luann Strayer’s Drowning Ophelia opens with a young woman going about typical young-woman stuff — being worried about having enough time to make dinner after work, yada yada — meanwhile, there’s a sweet, virginal maiden frolicking in a bathtub behind her and vocalizing operatically about Valentine’s Day.

The contemporary young woman seems to absolutely hate the maiden, yelling at her to “shut up” regularly — and the maiden absolutely won’t stop.

The young woman, Jane (Jessa Whitley-Hill), who goes by “Janie,” has signed up for improvisational acting lessons with a female-presenting acting teacher (Karina Hilleard), who we learn over time has been asked by Janie to play classically appealing male romantic leads in medieval times, Regency era, and the American 1950s. Meanwhile, Janie’s older brother (Justin Meyer) leaves her voicemails, pleading to talk with her. He also engages with the maiden (Sarah Daniels), who appears to play a younger sister of the male figure.

But on top of typical sibling rivalry comes jarring, over-the-line meanness from the brother. Why — and why is that rivalry, as well as Janie’s mania, intensifying? The first little-more-than-half of the play offers up delicious, Lynchian surrealism. The audience delights in wondering, where in Strayer’s dialogue, set design, and performance can we pick out new connections and answers?

As Janie, with absolute terror in her eyes, continues to not return her older brother’s pleading voicemails, begins to not just whine but shriek “SHUT UP!” at the maiden, and becomes even more erratic with her acting instructor — and as the maiden continues to fill up the bathtub one bucket at a time from a seeming subconsciousness — we begin to read into Janie’s physical life her mind’s interior.

When the plot lynchpin finally arrives through a harrowing scene with Ophelia and the older brother, we are given a reveal: Jane’s older brother assaulted her, including in a sexual manner, when she was a child. The youthful figure in the bathtub who the play’s title leads us to call “Ophelia” has been an embodiment of Jane’s playful, beautiful childhood innocence.

The kind of male figure Jane had around her as a child helps explain why the male romantic leads Janie requested are so foppish and sensitive.

Under Dr. Lori Lind’s direction, Drowning Ophelia is a gripping, tear-inducing drama about how abuse changes how we view ourselves: how we finish the work of our abusers when we throw out the Ophelia with the bath. We associate good, beautiful parts of our lives with hurt, and then cast those “selves” out, to our own detriment. We drown our Ophelias at our peril.

Sarah Daniels is a stunning Ophelia with a staggeringly beautiful operatic vocal talent that we get to enjoy throughout the show. Also, this specific Shakespeare Opera Theatre production has added music to the words provided in the script from the 1868 opera version of Hamlet by Ambroise Thomas. The tune is perfectly selected for Ophelia’s character: bright and pretty in the first phrase and foreboding in the second.

Daniels perfectly acts the amalgam’s innocence and grace, changing her idiosyncrasies only just enough and remaining in the spirit of her symbol when she plays the “younger sister.” Justin Meyer perfectly embodies the “older brother who went too far,” obviously going far more than that at one point — he plays the character so reasonably when he’s not being utterly cruel. His performance helps us see exactly how the situation went frog-in-the-water: a crucial piece of the narrative puzzle.

Jessa Whitley-Hill has a challenging role to take on. It is difficult to root for Janie for the majority of the show when her personality boils down to “stressed,” “busy,” “short with her acting teacher,” “aspiring performing artist or LARPer but surprisingly insulated,” and “ignores her brother’s phone calls.” When we finally understand why she’s troubled, we of course develop compassion, but that’s only after we’ve spent most of the show wondering why she’s so unpleasant. Particularly to this innocent Disney Princess whose crimes are singing too much and simply reminding Janie of what happened to her.

Whitley-Hill’s Janie is so pointy and precarious that we find ourselves worried about her and scared of her. If we were able to develop more of an affinity and compassion for her long before the reveal, it would strengthen our foundation of compassion in preparation for the reveal. And given that the entire show revolves around Janie and her experience, a stronger connection with Janie in general would create a stronger connection between the audience and the show at large.

The production’s design is beautiful, with a variety of textures creating a fairytale-forest look adorning the walls. The seating arrangement is cabaret-style, and the bowls of water on each table containing decorative flower-lights add to the immersion. The Shakespeare Opera Theatre has also offered particularly extensive food and drink options for the night, specializing in comfort food that actually becomes part of the staging for a welcoming atmosphere.

There could be more of a contrast between the visual design of the part of the stage portioned for Janie’s apartment and life and the world of Ophelia: even just a subtle one to avoid giving away the plot early but to creatively distinguish the two worlds. Currently, there is an unintentional contrast: Ophelia’s section has gritty, texture-heavy fabrics and sumptuous flowers lining the walls, and Janie’s apartment has some of this but with pre-printed floral bohemian patterns galore. If the goal was to suggest that Janie relies on others’ pre-printed artistry to create beauty in her busy life, that makes sense narratively, but detracts from the overall appearance of the set, particularly given that so much natural texture and actual flowers play such a prominent, beautiful role in the set but are clashed with so noticeably by others’ ready-made artwork.

The Shakespeare Opera Theatre website mentions that the show includes themes about “mental health, trauma, and childhood abuse,” but an additional warning about “sexual abuse” or “sexual content” specifically may be helpful.

This production of this urgent new play is beautifully performed, offering a feast of storytelling for the playgoer and an emotionally harrowing story that encourages us to reflect on what beautiful, truly good parts of ourselves we may be stamping out in light of others’ cruelty. It tells this sensitive story with artistry, subtlety, and grace.

Running Time: Approximately 75 minutes.

Drowning Ophelia played April 4 to 12, 2025, presented by Shakespeare Opera Theatre performing at St. Thomas Episcopal Church, 8991 Brook Rd., McLean VA. For tickets (Adults, $45–$59.50; Youth 18–25, $35; Children under 18, $25), buy them at the door, or purchase them online. Friday, April 11, is Pay What You Will.

The cast and creative credits are online here.

COVID Safety: Masks optional.

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It’s so easy to make a story about wealthy people’s foibles exhaustingly on-the-nose and more preachy, depressing, or frustrating than entertaining. Neil Simon’s Rumors premiered before Seinfeld and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia — and was likely an inspiration for the former — but now that these stories have dominated the “stories about terrible people” genre in our 2025 consciousness, others must fight for relevancy and unique excellence. With a play, this fight comes down to performance.

It’s even harder to make a story about “bad people” both enlightening and entertaining when the story in question centers around very real, difficult marital strife. Neil Simon’s prose is full of easily missed subtleties that keep all this from being an emotional slog — it requires performances that bring them out for Simon’s meaning to shine through, which the Vienna Theatre Company delivers under Eddie Page’s direction. These performances blend moments of exposition into convincing conversation. We love to hate these characters as this production represents them; we see their reasoning for their terrible behavior and even sympathize, while seeing clearly where they strayed.

Simon wrote this farce, which premiered in 1988, in response to some “difficult times,” having to do with an impending divorce. This context illuminates how the play juxtaposes ridiculous, self-imposed challenges — childlike pettiness and selfishness in a relationship — with real ones — indicated by central character Charley Brock’s attempt to take his own life — and in doing so, shows the utter waste of losing perspective on meaningless battles. If a production of Rumors brings out these subtleties in performance to lay bare the utter stupidity of these disputes per Neil Simon’s likely intent (he did call the play Rumors: A Farce), the central dichotomy fueling the play’s brilliant satire comes to life. And the Vienna Theatre Company’s production does it right.

Much of these subtleties in performance come down to the tiniest of physical gestures, pauses, and enunciations to create maximum realism in delivery, and to fully cement who these characters are.

From the very beginning of the show, Ilan Komrad and Liz Owerbach as Ken Gorman and Chris Gorman — the first couple to discover Charley’s attempted suicide — pull these roles off beautifully. Komrad, a 7-year veteran of video game voiceover work, employs a flawless Bugs Bunny impression for his performance. The cast jacks up the script’s humor to such a hilariously effective degree that the Looney Tunes echo isn’t a distraction but more humor the show mines wonderfully.

Dave Wright excels in giving us a profoundly likable Lenny Ganz, delivering his famous monologue with authenticity rather than mania. His use of stuttering throughout most of the scene adds realism and appeal — so that when he doesn’t stutter in the part where he describes how much he really, really loves his wife, we see how much that part, if nothing else, is real — all of which reinforces how much we already like Lenny. Ann Brodnax is a phenomenal Claire Ganz, delivering her one-liners from inside glass houses with believability and real vividness in the way of the character’s amusing hypocrisy. Christian Aguilar is a powerful presence as Officer Welch.

As Glenn Cooper and Cassie Cooper, Nick Koutris and Katie Bierly perfectly execute the image of a self-obsessed, aspiring politician and the young woman he’s dressed up as his trophy wife. Bierly plays her with nuance — as someone who already wasn’t the most selfless individual but  has been pushed by her chauvinist husband, who’s just fine with humiliating her in public, into doing whatever she can to feel autonomous in her relationship. Bierly has been dressed in a hyper-short sparkly gold-sequin dress that she keeps having to pull down. Bierly’s wardrobe, hair, performance, and casting make her appear significantly younger than Koutris — not to mention he’s several feet taller — telling us all we need to know about this arrangement. Koutris plays Glenn’s aggressive misogyny with piercing realism, and the rest of the cast’s awkward silence and expressions in key moments bring to life the silent complicity of the other party guests during and after each disparaging remark.

Koutris’ Glenn’s abuse of this extremely young woman, as well as his fast-talking persona and full beard, make him reminiscent of more than one relevant political figure. Intentional or not, this casting and Michelle Harris’ costume and hair and makeup design subtly remind us of this character’s modern counterparts.

Any faltering in this production is barely noticeable. In moments, the men’s tuxedos and tuxedo shirts don’t appear to fit as well as they should, particularly at the beginning of the night before the unfolding insanity — especially in the case of Glenn, who as a womanizing politician type would likely be fitted meticulously.

Also — based on a previous viewing of this play and a skim of multiple script PDFs — I believe this production may have added significantly more profanities than were in the original script, particularly the use of “Jesus” and variations thereof. If any were added, the profanities frequently extended beyond weaving the play’s narrative fabric and became distracting. More caveating for “strong adult language throughout” would be appreciated.

The Vienna Theatre Company has put on a phenomenal production with uniquely excellent performers. They have succeeded in performing an especially difficult piece of theater that has stood the test of time for a reason — and will continue to shed insight on how we relate to each other no matter which decade it’s seen in. Go see it in this one.

Running Time: Approximately two hours and 15 minutes plus a 15-minute intermission.

Rumors plays through February 2, 2025, presented by Vienna Theatre Company performing at Vienna Community Center, 120 Cherry St SE, Vienna, VA. Tickets, priced at $16, are available online or in person at the Vienna Community Center.

COVID Safety: Wearing masks is optional.

Rumors by Neil Simon
Directed by Eddie Page

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I finally saw Wicked on Broadway in early 2022. I went in blind, and as I left, I was sad to find that I felt underwhelmed. Unmemorable, plotless songs plagued the performance, and the show centers oversimplified, cartoony characters in a story about leading causes of America’s current, renewedly urgent crisis.

The Wicked movie released this past week, directed by Jon M. Chu (Crazy Rich Asians, In the Heights) and starring Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, has erased these issues.

This film has improved on its source material for the same reason that Spielberg’s 2021 film West Side Story improved on the 1961 film version: it brought its source material’s symbol-based, exaggerated, made-for-musical-theater plotline into reality, taking stock characters and reconnecting them with our real world.

The stage version of Wicked — with its music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz and book by Winnie Holzman —gives us a cast of stock characters and too many unmemorable filler songs and pairs them with a story about a demagogue-led regime swindling large swaths of society into believing they are good and those who oppose the ruling ideology are evil. The ruling powers begin rounding up members of vulnerable communities and siccing law enforcement on its justice-seeking political enemies. Meanwhile, Elphaba’s character and song quality resemble Disney Channel fare.

This left something in my mouth somewhere between disappointment at a missed opportunity and a bad taste. It felt like the other Stephen Schwartz joint, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, this time with even less “God Help the Outcasts” and even more “A Guy Like You.”

Of course, you have to start somewhere in breaking what’s going on these days to America’s youth and politically unengaged, and in trying to make a great night out to see a megamusical “meaningful.” But I couldn’t help but feel quietly upset coming out of the Gershwin about Wicked’s lack of nuance in talking about these issues. It makes the show feel like less of a cautionary fable and more of a fairytale — not the best aesthetic for a textbook political allegory for America’s current struggles.

Wicked has been occupying the cultural pedestal that is Broadway — and its largest theater to boot — for over 20 years now. In a time when we desperately need to reach people about the gradual creep of fascism, which is starting to have crept, the Broadway narrative can feel too exaggerated and surface-level to have a chance at sending people back to their hotels thinking seriously about the story’s implications for their own world. The show is great at what it is trying to be — sanitized, family-friendly Broadway fare with some serious themes that won’t get you down too much if you’re not a member of a community feeling some of these very real threats. But as a lover of family-friendly musical theater, I say thank goodness we have other storytelling media too.

In the new film adaptation of Wicked, seeing these characters act with the realistic personal emotional nuance that film is so suited to portray brings Wicked into the three-dimensional Technicolor it needs to tell its story.

Cynthia Erivo’s Elphaba enters the story with strength, fed-upness, and a quiet sense of profound mourning that has replaced stage Elphaba’s nervousness. Through much of the film, we are not sure yet how much Erivo’s Elphaba cares about the constant emotional wounds her peers, and even family, inflict. Erivo’s Elphaba is not a stock-character victim who wears her suffering on her sleeve. How often in real life is the complexity of someone’s wounds visible on the surface? A story about issues this complicated demands that mature understanding of reality.

Erivo’s Elphaba maintains a strength, but a human softness under her armor. In this, we find ourselves far more eager to root for her. She’s not just shy, grumpy, and “adorkable” — she’s a survivor, and, thus, far easier to root for. Chu has fully taken advantage of film’s ability to show us an actor’s face up close to share this with us.

Erivo’s performance gives narratively satiating, affecting complexity to Elphaba’s response to her ostracization that she and Chu beautifully weave through the film through performance, new dialogue, and new flashbacks that flesh out her own family’s role in casting her out. In one such scene, we see how Elphaba’s sister Nessarose, a wheelchair user, unexpectedly lacks empathy for her also marginalized sister.

You could reasonably expect that someone who casually supports bigoted groups and institutions in their day-to-day probably wouldn’t leave the live theater Wicked with their pulse rushing, head reeling, and face flushing. The movie, however, is a different story — and not one that feels contrived. It makes the issues at the center of this narrative feel real by emphasizing how bigotry based on the color of one’s skin can truly affect someone — not just a stock character ready-made for Broadway Ballads and merchandise, but a real person, a person of strength succeeding as best they can while they are wounded by the scars of the closed-minded, both on an everyday and systemic scale.

Meanwhile, Ariana Grande’s Glinda stays perfectly within the realm of a big, loud stock character — a perfect foil to Erivo’s Elphaba. This contrast between the superficial/attention-seeking/harmful and the thoughtful/empathetic/good sits at the core of Wicked — and we get to see here how this serves to flesh out both characters and Wicked’s narrative as a whole.

It is then, thanks to these two performances, that when we get our classic moments like “Popular” and “Defying Gravity,” the significance of what “popularity” and “defying gravity” actually mean comes to vivid life. The joy from and meaning of these songs become exponential as they provide narrative catharsis and real-life applicability on top of their legendary theatrical status. And what’s more, the filler songs that weighed down the stage show Wicked now shine for their lyrics and the role they play in further developing these now fleshed-out characters.

Obviously, Wicked on the stage is doing good, and of course, it probably wouldn’t do as well if it had the nuance and seriousness I’m suggesting.

But this film’s party scene, where a sullen, triumphant Elphaba dances in front of her cruel peers and turns her head to reveal a single tear, would not be possible on the stage of a megamusical. We couldn’t see deep into this character’s eyes to see the person behind this performance.

Given what we are learning about what half the country either wants in leadership or is willing to overlook, maybe a simplified story of fascism creep is pushing the limit for mainstream entertainment. Obviously, there’s nothing “wrong” with a piece of entertainment that’s just a good time. But the story Jon M. Chu has given us in his film adaptation of Wicked has maximized the insight Wicked can give.

This isn’t just a narrative fighting to be part of national cultural conversations, either. The stage show was made in 2003 — wasn’t Trump doing commercials with Grimace then? And this adaptation is, first and foremost, a wonderful piece of entertainment combined with do-gooding.

Jon M. Chu’s Wicked is a deeply compelling story that also brings a message that could do exactly the kind of good the world needs. You will laugh, you will cry — you will want to see it five more times. It’s exactly what a movie with a message should be.

The post Why ‘Wicked’ the movie is better than the Broadway musical appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

As with any screen-to-stage adaptation, Shrek the Musical differs significantly from its source material. But it should be evaluated not merely based on what it’s done differently but for what its changes amount to in this new work of art. What particularly fascinates me are the changes that differentiate Shrek the Musical’s 2024 non-Equity tour from its original Broadway production: this version comes across as, and was intended to resemble, children’s theater.

According to Playbill, Shrek the Musical’s current national tour is a rewrite of the 2008 Broadway production by its original creators, composer Jeanine Tesori and lyricist and book writer David Lindsay-Abaire, 16 years after the show originally premiered on Broadway and starred Brian d’Arcy James and Sutton Foster as Shrek and Fiona. After its Broadway production, the musical has had two national Equity tours and three national non-Equity tours, including this one.

The rewrite in this tour seems created not to please a corporate overlord but to satisfy a smaller creative team, and this is supported. Upon the opening of the current tour, Lindsay-Abaire described to Playbill earlier this year the difficulty of working on a production alongside DreamWorks’ inaugural Broadway venture, saying that although creating the show was a “joyful” experience, “it was also really hard and awful.” He said that he and Tesori were “always… crying into each other’s shoulders because it was so hard.”

Now, in speaking about their reasons for the rewrite, Tesori says that she and Lindsay-Abaire “felt like there was a leaner version of it… there was a version that was more us, honestly.”

This production seems like children’s theater because some of the new rewrite was inspired by the direction of children’s versions of Shrek the Musical Jr. In a discussion featured on the current tour’s website about the “All-New Shrek,” as the video’s  title describes it, Tesori says that she’s seen many Shrek the Musical Jr. productions, and “in one… they had the group of kids singing a lot of the material, and I went back to David, and I said, ‘I saw a version of Shrek today and if we ever rethink it, we should use our ensemble of people so they can populate this world so that when Shrek is alone, he’s really alone, but when there are a lot of people around… you know… that the stage is full and charming and vibrant and colorful.’”

Director Danny Mefford, who choreographed Dear Evan Hansen at its original outing at DC’s Arena Stage, for its Off-Broadway run, and on Broadway, confirmed this inspiration from children’s theater in the same video.

“Our production is trying to spark the imagination of children, and it is also trying to bring that childish imagination back to all the adults and parents and grandparents that are bringing their children to the show or coming just because they love Shrek,” he said. “It’s attempting to be a celebration of that childlike imagination inside all of us.”

I’m not an expert on the children’s theater genre, but a cornucopia of tropes I’ve seen in both original pieces designed for children and for adaptations for “Jr.” audiences are present in this production. These include a brighter, more saturated color palette, puppetry, simpler choreography, simpler costumes that can be taken off and on without facepaint or prosthetic changes, simpler tunes with uncomplicated lyrics, simpler themes, simpler jokes designed for a younger audience, and cussing removal. Those who might have disliked Shrek for its subversiveness and satirization of Disney will find these traits are far less present in the 2024 U.S. national tour of Shrek the Musical.

The children’s theater genre, then, seems like where Shrek the Musical may always have meant to land. Or is it?

Shrek (2001) was initially made as an open rebuke of Disney, the corporate king of children’s entertainment. As Conrad Vernon, storyboard artist on the original film and voice of Gingy, told Polygon in 2021, “we were trying to be edgier, a little dirtier, a little more adult. Jeffrey [Katzenberg] even had a phrase he used to say: Disney appeals to the child in every adult; we appeal to the adult in every child.” Shrek is not necessarily aimed at an audience of children. Its satire of Disney is sometimes obvious — see the Duloc introduction scene — and sometimes less so — see the film’s broader themes about demands for cultural conformity from political and cultural leaders, including Disney. Children may not spot the latter. Shrek had swearing, implicit and explicit references to genitalia and sex, the profane reference posed by Lord Farquaad’s name, manifold celebratory depictions of openly burping and farting, plenty of anti-mainstream and anti-establishment pop music, and a stiffness in its 3-D animation, even for 2001, that I can’t help but think was a purposeful middle finger to Disney’s intricate 2-D animation.

Shrek won an Oscar and became beloved largely because of this: its open repudiation of Disney and its brand of children’s entertainment. Of course this children’s theater version of Shrek, which isn’t all that different than its Broadway counterpart, feels like it’s missing something. The core ethos of Shrek is gone.

The lack of subversive pop music — particularly for a major animated film in the early 2000s in an adaptation of a film known for it (“All Star” is an ode to loserhood, “Bad Reputation” includes the word “damn” eight times, “Hallelujah” mentions watching a woman bathing on a roof) — leaves a gaping tonal void between what’s on stage and what we know Shrek is. And this pop music exclusion isn’t just an occurrence with this production — “All Star” wasn’t in the DreamWorks Theatricals version on Broadway either, and “I’m a Believer” was only included in the score in the latter three months of the show’s 12-month run. These songs’ absence in this slimmed-down version compounds with other factors to increase the more humble feel of this production.

If I went to see this current touring production again, would I be able to do a better job looking at Shrek the Musical as its own thing, rather than an adaptation of Shrek that substitutes the film’s key thesis for something generally pro-individualism? Maybe.

Children’s theater is wonderful. It’s so important that we have theater for children, and made by children, and it deserves more attention. Children’s theater can be some of the most effective theater out there, and little media is more important than media that does good for a child. But children’s theater, expectedly in context, is often lower-budget. A noticeably lower-budget look in a show’s costumes and set on a show that’s marketed as a post-Broadway tour, with already low-quality songs and writing, and changes to characters that result in a weaker narrative, can leave a bad taste in audience’s mouths.

Notably, Tesori and Lindsay-Abaire are also the composer and lyricist team behind the critically acclaimed Kimberly Akimbo — which won five Tony Awards, including Best Musical. The music in Shrek the Musical does not seem up to the chops of a creative team of this quality.

But even with all this said: the touring cast is going above and beyond: they are putting their souls into their performances. As Princess Fiona, Kelly Prendergast’s vocals are stunning, and her interpretation of the character is not only more lovable but also fits into the Shrek narrative more than the version of the character in the original film. Prendergast beautifully brings out the emotional depth of the musical’s added emphasis on Fiona’s imprisonment in a tower for more than two decades. It feels obvious that Prendergast is headed to Broadway.

As Donkey, Naphtali Yaakov brings down the house. Even though he’s been fitted with what look like pajamas and facepaint, he takes his role with complete seriousness, bringing expert physicality and assuredness to his choreography and his own hilarious spin on line delivery.

Nicholas Hambruch’s singing as Shrek was so good it made my mom cry and say “so many people feel alone like that!” He’s got Shrek’s physicality down — the hunched, thundering walk as well as moments of gentle gianthood. He’s also such a trooper for wearing all that.

Timmy Lewis is also wonderful as Lord Farquaad. Even if this version of the show has taken Lord Faarquad off his knees and entirely thrown out the joke that he’s short, and also made effeminateness his defining trait as opposed to unfounded masculinity, Lewis makes Faarquad hilarious and threatening. The result is these changes make Lord Faarquad into more of a televangelist Trump than the Kim Jong Un he was in the original film, and he’s not as effective as a villain as a result — particularly because his role in the story is his possessiveness of women and dictatorial wielding of power, both traits on the extreme end of traditional masculinity, not femininity — but Lewis’ high-energy performance and fantastic comic timing brings out the comedy to be had.

Is Shrek the Musical true to the spirit of Shrek the film? Not really. Does it make its own creative choices that are just as satisfying as an experience? Not especially. Does it still have something interesting, and most important, entertaining to offer? Absolutely.

Running Time: Two hours and 30 minutes with one ten-minute intermission.

Shrek the Musical plays through September 22, 2024, at Capital One Hall, 7750 Capital One Tower Road, Tysons, VA. Purchase tickets $58–$108, with limited number of $25 student tickets) online.

The cast for Shrek the Musical is on the national tour website here.

SEE ALSO:
Broadway in Tysons returns to Capital One Hall for 2024/25 season (news story, April 25, 2024)

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The Waverly Gallery — a play by Oscar-winning screenwriter of Manchester by the Sea Kenneth Lonergan first produced on Broadway in 2000 — centers on a family who have run an art gallery in Greenwich Village for many years. Gladys, the widowed grandmother of this family, has begun to develop Alzheimer’s, and over the course of the play, she devolves from forgetting minor details about her grandson’s occupation to running to knock on his apartment door multiple times nightly with hallucinations and mania.

The play implores us to value what we have: specifically, it asks us to be kind when it is easy, or at least easier, because when it’s hard, a needlessly unstable foundation will make the situation dramatically harder — partially from regret over inflicted hurt. The performances in this 1st Stage production enhance this, particularly that of Catherine Flye as Gladys. Even when she is overwhelmed by what’s happening to her and struggles to express it, she still acts with tremendous kindness to Daniel, her grandson, and Don, a struggling, homeless artist who walks into the gallery one day to ask Gladys for a chance to exhibit his work. He is rewarded with not only a show but a place to sleep. Through Flye’s wonderful performance, Gladys’s overflowing kindness is clear: she is bubbly, always smiling, and always eager to embrace and praise those around her, even if she has only known them for a few minutes.

Lisa Hodsoll’s Ellen (Gladys’ daughter and Daniel’s mother) and Sasha Olinick’s Howard (Ellen’s husband and Daniel’s father) paint an illustrative narrative contrast to that: during the easy times, they are quick to yell and scoff at Gladys for minor annoyances. When her condition worsens and she becomes increasingly incoherent, they lack not only a foundation of love with her but also practice in having patience and showing love. In their portrayal of busy, straightforward New Yorkers, Hodsoll and Olinick play their roles wonderfully in the show’s broader narrative about the consequences of lacking empathy, particularly when it’s easy.

As grandson Daniel, Ethan J. Miller excellently portrays a recent graduate who is torn between his developing realization of the importance of empathy and the model set by his parents. He is the first we see being unnecessarily cold and short with his grandmother in the easy times, and the last we see exploding at her as her condition worsens — and in his asides to the audience, he is the vehicle for the narrative of the importance of avoiding regret. Aaron Bliden’s Don, who has suffered, models this kindness: he is never short with Gladys, asking questions and helping her without grumbling. He is also one of the strongest performers in his line delivery and immersion in the role.

Kathryn Kawecki’s set design work in creating the interior of a Lower West Side art gallery that later transforms into an apartment is stunning and polished. Its excellence is highlighted by the soft, emotional lighting work of Luis Garcia, which beautifully illustrates the script’s evolving emotions.

The play’s weaker moments largely come from its writing: in moments the dialogue as written and performed is stilted. Multiple lines feel overly scripted and clunky, and in a play about the depths of human emotion, this can break audiences’ immersion. During some scenes depicting family conflict, there is sometimes too much space between lines: more interruption might be more realistic.

Though the  script spends too long on exposition and explaining interpretable story elements, the play’s shining sequences come from depictions of the emotional complexity of its story: the unexpected elements of caring for an ailing relative and the real, genuine emotional impacts of it and lessons learned from cautionary tales. When these moments happen, they are brought to life with harrowing beauty.

As directed by Alex Levy, this show is an arresting and heartfelt illustration of the impact of kindness and the lack thereof, bolstered by excellent performances and a heartbreaking story. I look forward to seeing more work from 1st Stage and these wonderful cast members.

Running Time: Two hours with one 15-minute intermission.

EXTENDED: The Waverly Gallery plays through October 13, 2024 (Thursdays at 7:30 pm, Fridays at 7:30 pm, Saturdays at 2 pm and 7:30 pm, and Sundays at 2 pm), at 1st Stage, located at 1524 Spring Hill Road, Tysons, VA. Purchase tickets ($55 for general admission, with 20 tickets for $25 and 20 tickets for $40 at each performance and options for audiences to select the price of their choosing) by calling the box office at 703-854-1856, going online, or in person before each performance. Select performances are open-captioned and/or audio-described. Open seating.

The playbill for The Waverly Gallery is online here.

COVID Safety: 1st Stage is now a mask-optional space with select mask-required performances offered for each show. See 1st Stage’s complete COVID Safety Information here.

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In this solo performance at Edlavitch DC Jewish Community Center’s Theater J under the direction and dramaturgy of Zaraawar Mistry, returning after a string of performances here earlier this year, writer and performer Sun Mee Chomet recounts not only the largely unkind bureaucracy she fought through to find her birth parents as an adult after being given up for adoption at six months old but also the challenges she faced upon finding them. The play first recounts the search for the rewards of being loved, then illuminates the mortifying ordeal of being known, and is structured as such in two acts.

Chomet is a masterful performer, incorporating impressions and dance into her time on stage. Her scriptwriting walks the perfect line between stream-of-consciousness, personal and emotional thinking, and organized storytelling. She is a joy to watch, and the phenomenal lighting work from Jesse Belsky differentiating characters and narrative moments makes her even more so.

Sun Mee Chomet was adopted by a Protestant mother and Jewish father and only had the resources to seek out her birth parents as an adult in her late thirties. After having claimed to have exhausted alternative methods of finding her birth parents, Chomet’s adoption agency caseworker suggests that Chomet try a particularly gauche Korean reality TV show that helps adoptees find their birth parents. Reluctantly, Chomet agrees, fueled by her last shred of hope to submit to manifold indignities along the way. Following numerous trials involving tasteless show executives, Chomet reunites with her birth mother.

But the reunion is not completely joyful. Chomet’s birth mother’s current husband is abusive, and his learning about her child born out of wedlock — at age 19, no less — would result in her “losing everything, including contact with her two sons.” Chomet is kept a secret, and her reunion with her mother after all those decades is tainted by the covertness of their interactions. After overcoming the odds to find her birth parents, Chomet’s experience meeting her mother is fraught with fear of her current husband finding out, shame from an element of her identity out of her control, and dashed hopes of starting anew with a birth family that would embrace her unconditionally.

Both the first and second halves of the show — searching for and finding Chomet’s birth mother, and the aftermath of secret outings with her mother, aunts, and grandmothers to visit malls, relatives’ graves, secret bars, adoptee reunions, and more — focus on the coarse reality of being an adoptee, but address this question with arguably opposite storytelling structures. The first half, by the nature of its lost-to-found narrative, has a tightly written exposition, rising action, climax, and resolution.

The second half of the show is less tightly written, with less clear direction — even if that structure corresponds with Chomet’s lived experience going from brief experience to brief experience, each of which raised enormous and narratively significant new questions for her to grapple with.

Chomet’s quest for unconditional love in a world fixed against you is the overarching narrative of the show: the general relevance of the anecdotes in the second half to that narrative should be enough to make the show’s latter part structurally satisfying, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark.

In the first half of this show, Chomet shares little about her plans for what to do after she finds her mother — which is of course incredibly realistic. But because no mention of these plans is included in the first act, the one narrative thread we want to see tied up in this section is for her to find her birth parents, which she does. Thus, like Chomet, we almost forget to wonder about what she should or could do once they are found: she even acknowledges that upon finding her birth mother, she “lost motivation.” She had been single-mindedly working to find her mother for so long — she wasn’t sure it would even happen, and once she found her mother, she found herself unsure of how to proceed, overwhelmed and confused by all that was happening to her.

But I couldn’t escape the feeling that more could have been done to structure the second act in a way that didn’t feel so fundamentally different from the narratively captivating first act. The first act has set us up to anticipate another immersive and tightly written rising action and climax. It is likely that the second act’s structure would not stick out as being so different and comparatively unsatisfying as it is if the first act were not so tightly wound around traveling from point A to point B.

But crucially: no real-life story fits into a story structure. We should not give Joseph Campbell that kind of power over our lives. As I developed this reaction to this show, I felt uneasy — is it appropriate to say that experiences should be adjusted in their retelling to suit conventional story structure? Especially when using conventional and then unconventional structure more accurately matches Chomet’s real-life experience? I found myself thinking that it would even help the show if the second half’s narrative chaos were addressed — but even suggesting this feels like asking for Chomet’s baring of her soul around the greatest challenges of her life to be properly plated and garnished with a maraschino cherry for easier consumption by audiences.

At the end of the day, who are we to tell Chomet to change the way that she expresses her life story, especially one as heartbreaking and harrowing as this one? And I am not an adoptee, and I’m a quarter-Vietnamese, not Korean or culturally Asian. I am not meant to identify with the intricacies of these experiences. An adoptee of any race would likely feel deeply seen by the depiction of narrative variance on stage in the second half. Still, I can’t help but feel that the show would not lose any impact on those who share in Chomet’s experiences if the second half were organized around fewer ideas, and led to a second rising action and climax.

This show is affecting regardless of your background or experiences: don’t we all search for unconditional love? Chomet’s description of this quest as it has taken form in her life may put some of the deepest questions on your own heart into words.

Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission.

How to Be a Korean Woman plays through September 22, 2024, presented by Theater J at the Aaron & Cecile Goldman Theater in the Edlavitch DC Jewish Community Center, 1529 16th Street NW, Washington, DC. Purchase tickets ($50–$70, with member and military discounts available) online, by calling the ticket office at 202-777-3210, or by email (theaterj@theaterj.org).

To read the program online, click here.
To read the Audience Guide, click here.

COVID Safety: Masks optional.

SEE ALSO:
‘Suddenly, I didn’t know who I was,’ says Sun Mee Chomet as her hit ‘How to Be a Korean Woman’ returns to Theater J (interview by Ravelle Brickman, September 3, 2024)
A daughter aches to connect with her birth mother, in ‘How to Be a Korean Woman’ at Theater J (review of the previous run by Lisa Traiger, January 8, 2024)

The post A masterful performer returns in ‘How to Be a Korean Woman’ at Theater J appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

Something is afoot at the Workhouse Arts Center. They seem to have discovered a magic spell for executing lesser-known comedic texts that have the potential to teeter but that Workhouse turns into certifiable top-tier comic theater. I reviewed their recent production of The Drowsy Chaperone, and I am becoming increasingly convinced that they sold their souls to the comedy gods for some magical secret to flawless theatrical laughs.

Steve Rosen and Gordon Greenberg’s Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors is a 90-minute parody of Bram Stoker’s Dracula that premiered off-Broadway last year, and its big-time roots are clear in its overall excellent script. Given its relatively short runtime, the show’s reliance on a cast of five’s exhaustive work playing multiple characters each (the show’s licensing page notes its inspiration from The 39 Steps), and its premise of being a parody show of a well-known property, could all bode a mediocre affair. But under Danilo Stapula’s direction at the Workhouse Arts Center, the show is an utter joy and one of the best I’ve seen recently.

The vast majority of the script also defies comedic and literary expectations. The show walks through the plot of Dracula, joking smartly about plot points and symbols in Stoker’s novel but also adding Shrek-like pop culture references throughout. There are only a few jokes that take you out of the moment — the rest of the time, you’re marveling at how good this show is.

The show is a genuine comedic treat with surprising intelligence, amplified by an excellent cast that brings all their energy to the role. This production dashes through its script, not stopping to linger or waiting to make sure you got the joke, to the show’s great benefit. Too many comedic plays and comedy shows slow jokes down out of fear audiences won’t get it and keep the dopamine and serotonin going at merely a drip. By contrast, Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors is gushing with it.

Noah Mutterperl steals the show as a hilariously sexy Dracula, posing and suggestively gesticulating at every turn. This adaptation of Dracula has come full circle by taking inspiration from aspects of Rocky Horror, a parody of Dracula in its own right. Mutterperl’s Dracula becomes a multifaceted parody of the “sexy monster,” the “monster boyfriend” (and yes, those are two different things), the hypersexualized antihero, how silly antiheroes are as a concept, and the novel Dracula itself: the book so often is masqueraded as sophisticated, moralistic classic literature when it is sensual, not to mention steamy and campy, in its roots and breaking of taboos. We see Dracula in this show and Mutterperl’s performance as we see him signified in the novel: an overtly sexual character in a novel that seems to want or need to hide its glaring symbolism. Something is refreshing about seeing the glare of the symbolic meaning of this novel laid bare on stage. He’s always covered up, but you get it.

In line with this, many of the show’s jokes, especially those delivered verbally or physically by Mutterperl, point out the gothic fantasy genre’s, and the general entertainment world’s, acceptance of sexual harassment. The overtly ridiculous attempts by Mutterperl to seek and seize sexual gratification from women as he pleases highlights the sheer nonsensicality of abusing power for selfish purposes. Under Intimacy and Fight Coordinator Jillian Riti’s direction, Mutterperl’s exaggerated yet surprisingly nuanced performance in the title role is a key vehicle for the show’s ability to come across as quietly intelligent as it is.

The script has switched the roles of Lucy and Mina from their roles in Stoker’s novel, for some reason: Harker’s fiancée is Lucy, and Mina is the one with limited romantic prospects. Maybe there was a smart joke wrapped up in there somewhere: I missed it if so. That said, Hope Cassidy is a fantastic Lucy, being utterly immersed in her line delivery and believably in love with the adorable Seth Drenning as Jonathan Harker, who plays the Nervous Little British Guy stock character with such archetypical accuracy that his performance becomes wonderfully satirical. When he and Dracula have one-on-one, subtext-laden exchanges, you feel like you’re watching Good Omens.

Adam R. Adkins is an incredibly talented costume-changer, improviser, and comic: as Renfield, Dracula’s insect-eating sidekick, Adkins is a comedic tour de force, playing dramatically different characters with flair, assurance, and incredible talent. Jolene Vettese is a great Jean Van Helsing and Mina, excellently occupying the role of foil to some of the nonsense crashing down around her, and being the nonsense in those roles respectively.

Director Stapula is also credited as the main set designer, and this makes sense: the set design melds so well with the sparkly excellence of the rest of the production. Christina Giles’ lighting design adds to this quality of production, bringing additional life to these already wonderfully larger-than-life performances.

Little is left to be critiqued. Several mediocre jokes from the script are made funnier through delivery, which is rare; when the rare joke was middling rather than laugh-out-loud funny,  it could have been sped through or changed in its delivery. It’s also hard to feel like the presence of gender-bent Van Helsing in the story is quite living up to the hype the script seems to have for it, but elements of Vettese’s performance and Adkins’ reaction to it in respective scenes seem to wink at this.

I would be interested in learning more about the progress of choreographing a comedic show and the role that plays in making the humor work. Under Danilo Stapula’s direction, Choreographer Stefan Sittig has gone above and beyond in helping physicality and movement make the show next-level funny.

Workhouse Arts Center has truly hit a home run yet again, and a tiny drop of their comedic lifeblood could sustain an entire other theater: they are overflowing with red-hot talent. Leave some lifeblood for the rest of us.

Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission.

Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors plays through October 27, 2024 (Friday and Saturday at 8 PM, Sunday at 2 PM), at the Workhouse Arts Center’s W-3 Theater located at 9518 Workhouse Way, Lorton, VA. Purchase tickets ($25–$40) at the box office, online, or by calling 703-584-2900.

The playbill for Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors is online here.

COVID Safety: Masks are optional at Workhouse Arts Center for visitors and staff. If you prefer to wear a mask, you are welcome to do so.

Dracula: A Comedy of Terrors
By Steve Rosen and Gordon Greenberg

CAST
Dracula: Noah Mutterperl
Lucy/Kitty/Others: Hope Cassady
Harker/Gravedigger: Seth Drenning
Dr. Westfeldt/Renfield/Others: Adam R. Adkins
Mina/Dr. Van Helsing: Jolene Vettese

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The City of Fairfax Theatre Company’s outdoor production of Much Ado About Nothing sets Shakespeare’s arguably best-loved romcom behind the scenes of a 1975 music festival. We’re talking bellbottoms, fringe vests, and haze from indeterminate sources. The play’s plot is framed as the goings-on behind the scenes of the concert that’s taking place as the musicians finish a tour, as opposed to returning from war, though many musicians would likely not see the distinction.

Director Olivia Hinebaugh’s program note expresses the immense meaning to her of this staging: Her parents met at a “small bluegrass festival” in 1974, and they are nearing their 50th anniversary; however, her father will soon pass away from glioblastoma. As Hinebaugh writes, “My life with him has been punctuated with music of the ’70s. Listening to The Who together is a central memory when I think back on my life with him as a dad. My mom shares memories of putting on mascara and listening to records while she looks forward to driving down to meet my father in a college across the state. Their song was ‘Your Song’ by Elton John, and that is imprinted on my heart.”

You can’t argue in good faith against a premise so important to its auteur. It doesn’t particularly matter if the context “works,” or whether the play presents a “new conversation” about Shakespeare. Let people tell stories. Let them have their catharsis. Even my mom, who prides herself on being a Roger Scruton enjoyer and Western Civilization appreciator, agreed upon seeing this production with me last night. What’s the goal of analysis? Finding meaning and fulfillment. This production has created that for its director. And I’m sure others in the audience and perhaps the cast find themselves in her position.

Does turning Much Ado’s characters into a group of bandmates at a ’70s Woodstock-y music festival work? I’m not sure. I think it’s easy to look at the play’s classic iconography — see Kenneth Branaugh and Emma Thompson running around in a sun-soaked field — and walk away with the idea that this is essentially Mamma Mia, and everyone’s having a great time. It’s easy to forget that over the course of this play, Claudio’s heart breaks, a father disowns his daughter, and most crucially, extramarital sex is utterly condemnable.

Regardless of how you come down on issues of sexual politics and morality, there is a dissonance between the sexual values of the Much Ado story and those of countercultural beatniks from the sexual revolution. Shakespeare’s script includes mentions of upholding a woman’s “virginity” and “maidenhood” — to see those sexual politics revealed in the words of a group of people who we see have dramatically different beliefs is jarring.

This isn’t just about generalized impressions about the ’70s or what was going on at Woodstock or the values of hippies — this is about what we see playing out on stage. To have Don Pedro openly inviting multiple women into romantic relations simultaneously — as well as men, as we see through brief modern-vernacular additions to the script — and then to have his dear friend Claudio call Hero upon hearing of her possible sexual encounter with another man an “approved wanton” and one of “those pampered animals that rage in savage sensuality” simply does not gel. Infidelity is one thing and “free love” among consenting adults is another, but if Claudio holds the values of his bandmates not merely as the cultural lexicon has illustrated the ’70s but as we see them portrayed on stage, he would almost certainly not speak in these terms.

I wondered if perhaps the director of this production is trying to say something about the hippie movement — perhaps something about how it wasn’t as sexually raucous as many may think — but we literally see that permissiveness, not only brought out of the script through phallic gesturing and hip thrusts at moments but in additions to the script. On top of some of the lines mentioned above, Don Pedro calls Hero and Claudio “horndogs” more than once.

Oh, and Leonato and the male Friar Francis are married in this production, through the addition of the word “husband” to lines from both of them — I doubt that people this concerned about female maidenhood and virginity in the eyes of God are okay with gay people. Even if these two characters are performed with chaste demureness of character, their mere orientation would come into conflict with the family of sexual values reflected in Shakespeare’s text.

Shakespeare’s original Much Ado characters were, in fact, inconsistent in the way they walked the talk of their sexual beliefs to at least a small degree. Those double entendres are in the script — as they are in so much of Shakespeare’s work — and these were originally soldiers returning from war, after all — soldiers are not known for their demurity of tongue. But making a genitalia joke and actually going through with intercourse are still very different things.

And is the setting of the sexual revolution trying to say something about a generation’s changing values during a rebellious time? Perhaps it’s pointing out that some of these hippies wouldn’t practice what they preach? That would work as a point of analysis if the play didn’t still end with the philanderer being cast out and Hero and her family devastatingly grateful to have her “virtue” restored in the eyes of God.

Michael Santos Sandoval is a fantastic Benedick, acting with sophistication and lovable wit that are believably shanked by the news that someone’s in love with him. Victoria Jungck is an ideal Beatrice and especially stands out for her formidable acting in the “O that I were a man!” speech. Gerardo Mijares-Shafai gives a lovable performance in the cast as a Don Pedro who is a joker but an ally to his friends when needed — which makes sense, given that his full title is indeed Don Pedro, Prince of Aragon. Don Pedro must connect with the audience through humor and sincerity, and Mijares-Shafai fulfills the role wonderfully. Mia Shaker utterly brings down the house as Dogberry, the excitable guard whom you’d better not call an ass, or else he’ll bounce up and down and be very upset while making you belly-laugh in the process.

The costume selections in this performance as designed by Angela Lee are spot-on: Benedick and Beatrice, who carry themselves with a bit more sophistication than their peers, are dressed with a bit more polish and a bit brighter color than their bandmates, helping them stick out as the protagonists.

I saw this performance on opening night and there were some mic issues — at least one of the watchmen did not have a working mic, and there were several moments during which mics were scruffed or bumped by all the fur and leather — but in an outdoor venue where grunge is the name of the thematic game, it didn’t take away much.

I’m so glad that someone is doing Shakespeare in Fairfax, and there’s nothing more fascinating than seeing a new interpretation of a familiar text. What was I not thinking about before? I hope all who go to see this production bring their own perspectives to the table.

Running Time: Two and a half hours with one 15-minute intermission..

Much Ado About Nothing plays through September 15, 2024, presented by City of Fairfax Theatre Company performing at Veterans Amphitheater, 10485-10489 Armstrong Street, Fairfax, VA. Purchase ticket (adult, $27.25; students and aged 12 and under, $16.75) online.

The program for Much Ado About Nothing is online here.

COVID Safety: Masks optional. Note that the performance takes place outdoors, and you must bring your own chairs (only a few are available). As a result, you can sit anywhere at a social distance of your choosing.

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Michele Valeri and Ingrid Crepeau, the singer-songwriter and puppeteering duo behind DinoRock, have been entertaining the DC area for 40 years. Dinosaur Babies, their show at the Puppet Co. at Glen Echo Park, will be the last of their final public performances, giving this run a particular air of significance for these masters of their craft.

Valeri and Crepeau are phenomenally talented and subsequently decorated: They are both Grammy-nominated. I was ecstatic to learn while researching this article that Crepeau built the Nationals Park Presidents’ Star Wars Day costumes and spent at least six years maintaining the regular ones, which if you’ve ever been to Nats Park and watched all the presidents collapse in a heap, you know is no small gig. You can see Crepeau’s wide range of puppeteering and costuming skills on display in DinoRock’s Dinosaur Babies. Hand puppets, marionette puppets, and everything in between make an appearance.

The performance is comprised of musical numbers centered on individual baby dinosaurs, all of whom embody various characteristics of a child that are sung about on stage. Structurally, it’s Cats, with a narrator using the characters’ traits for educational, teachable moments: The triceratops has a lot of energy but needs to know how to harness it. The diplodocus interrupts and needs to know how to ask for food and attention nicely. The T-rex thinks he’s big and bad but needs humility and a lesson in manners. The anxious stegosaurus was told she wouldn’t need someone to lead her around and tell her what to do someday. The pterodactyl siblings, from what I remember, are model citizens.

The music utterly captured the kids’ attention: It’s no wonder that Valeri tours nationally and regularly performs at the Smithsonian and Wolf Trap’s Children’s Theatre-in-the-Woods in addition to the Puppet Co. When Valeri asked for young volunteers to raise their hands, they skipped that step and went right to flooding the stage in numbers that required the stage manager to rush in and assist. They got to pet and parent the little Dino Babies, and the smiles were visible from anywhere in the theater. The 50-minute runtime seemed perfect, too: There were audible child-pitched “aww!”s in the room when Michele announced that the last song was imminent.

I arrived at the show a little early and got to hear other DinoRock music over the theater speakers in preparation for the show, including one tango (and the lyrics from the voices of two dinosaurs assured me explicitly that it was, indeed, a tango, between two dinosaurs, no less). It was a fantastic beat and I was excited to hear it performed on stage — but it wasn’t part of the night’s repertoire. This piece and a few others played over the loudspeakers were even stronger than some of the pieces involved in the show. I doubt that the children in the audience are pining for diversity of tune and genre, but having some pieces that sound a little different from the others — maybe a jazz number? maybe a rock song? — would make Dinosaur Babies even more of a musical treat. And who knows, maybe the kids would learn they like jazz, rock, and tangos.

The puppets were beautifully made, with both their default visual design and selected places of articulation contributing to their fantastic expressiveness. The triceratops puppet was a particular standout, with big expressive eyes and a neck that allowed for maximum flexibility.

The audience of about 35 kids under 5 that I saw in attendance at DinoRock: Dinosaur Babies were having the time of their lives. If you have kids or love puppetry, you should check out DinoRock’s final show. They’ve clearly given generations of children a fantastic 40 years — and they’re going out with a roar, not to mention a smile and a song.

Running Time: Approximately 50 minutes.

DinoRock: Dinosaur Babies plays through September 8, 2024 (Thursdays and Fridays at 10:30 am, Saturdays and Sundays at 11:30 am and 1 pm), at the Puppet Co. Playhouse, 7300 Macarthur Blvd, Glen Echo, MD. Purchase tickets ($15 per person, under age 2 no ticket required) by calling 301.634.5380 or order them online.

Recommended for ages 3+. Helpful driving and parking instructions are here.

COVID Safety: Masks are strongly encouraged for all over the age of 2.

DinoRock: Dinosaur Babies
Starring Ingrid Crepeau and Michele Valeri

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Originally published in 1953 as an allegory for McCarthyism, Arthur Miller’s The Crucible has never not been timely. But as American politics come to a head this election season, and even the idea of “civility” with one’s political opposition begins to seem trite in the face of anti-democratic views becoming explicitly mainstream, The Crucible at Dominion Stage, under Danni Guy’s direction, serves as a crucial reminder that no matter where this darkest timeline leads us, fear is the enemy of progress. The performances in this production are truly stellar and deserve as many awards as there are for community theater in the DC metropolitan area.

The Crucible is an only partially fictionalized adaptation of the events of the 1692–1693 Salem witch trials. In the play, a community of colonial Americans disintegrates following mass hysteria around the possibility of any members within it practicing witchcraft and association with the devil. As the situation spirals, despite the evolving views and developing compassion of Reverend John Hale, crimes worthy of suspicion begin to extend to ultimately any slight deviations from extreme purity in the eyes of the community’s religious authorities. Suspicion, then, leads to individuals being forced to prove themselves innocent through extreme suffering — including the year-long imprisonment of Elizabeth Proctor, protagonist John Proctor’s pregnant wife. Even she, and any other Salem innocents, are not safe. It is ultimately John Proctor’s refusal to commit to a false confession, which would have saved him in the eyes of the Salem legislature, that leads to his death.

And by the way, John and Elizabeth Proctor were real people, and they were indeed hung and jailed respectively following witchcraft accusations. Reverend John Hale also was a Puritan pastor who was an initial believer in the justice of the trials, but by the end of 1692 had come to different conclusions.

The Crucible even resulted in the U.S. House of Representatives’ Un-American Activities Committee subpoenaing Miller. It ultimately found him guilty of contempt of Congress and sentenced him to a fine, time in prison, and a place on the Hollywood blacklist, not to mention an inability to get a U.S. passport. Indeed, Miller’s play was almost hilariously prescient for his time–and of course, fear will be a driving force of human behavior for as long as we exist.

The Dominion Stage production is artfully stripped down through Alex Bryce’s set design, with a set that rotates entirely on and off the stage throughout the performance except one intricate chair. It is used by both the play’s religious figures and legal authorities as a pointed symbol of Salem’s conflation of church and state. The chair’s visual design does not explicitly designate it as a judge’s chair or a religious authority’s chair that the other then uses — don’t worry, it’s not that on the nose. It is simply outwardly beautiful, and effective at capturing attention, but is used for acts of profound cruelty — which adds new dimensions of meaning.

The cast is stellar, raising the bar for excellence in nonprofessional theater. As Rev. John Hale, Shakil Azizi is masterful and utterly captivating. I recently had the pleasure of seeing him flaunt his top-tier musical comedy chops as a Looney Tunes villain type in a production of The Drowsy Chaperone at Workhouse Arts Center; I was awed to now see him execute one of the most grave, nuanced, and demanding roles in American drama so flawlessly and captivatingly here. The program notes that he’s a court reporter in the DC area: whatever they do to you in law school apparently makes you a triple-threat thespian.

Stuart Fischer also delivers one of the best performances in any medium that I’ve seen as Governor Danforth in all his casual, divinely-rationalized cruelty. He has a conversational style of line delivery that makes him uniquely convincing and human — this tool becomes a lethal weapon in a role about humanity’s capacity for evil. When Fischer appeared to stumble over his lines in a handful of instances, it only made his performance more believable. Even more vindicatingly, he is a man who appears genuinely devoted to God and Christian causes, pointing to the dangers of unexamined belief across gods, divine and otherwise.

Another leading performance in this production is Malerie Goodman’s as John Proctor’s wife Elizabeth. She is utterly convincing as a woman both skeptical of her husband’s fidelity and emotionally weathered by a society that degrades and disregards her; in her final scene, as she has been imprisoned and kept in solitary confinement while pregnant, she is difficult to behold on stage — and that’s a sign of good theater. Rebecca J. Harris’s hair and makeup work for Elizabeth in this moment fully communicates her anguish to tear-jerking effect.

In her performance as Mary Warren, the Proctor family’s maid, Lady’Jordan Matthews-Mason invites profound sympathy while being simultaneously eerie — nothing like a wide-eyed blank stare with real tears to invite fear, pity, and just a little terror. Further, Jacqueline Youm delivers in the difficult role of Tituba, the enslaved woman owned by the Parris family, who is framed for witchcraft and is ultimately driven insane by the conditions of her imprisonment. Her raw performance is also unsettling and uncomfortable to behold — and offers an important reminder of how rampant fear in a society consistently hurts its most vulnerable.

Anna Mae Murphy creates a terrifying and truly despicable villain in Abigail Williams. She is one of the chief false accusers of her neighbors and subsequent architects of the trials, seeming to take joy in them as she sways the will of the community and legal system to suit who she wants suspected and killed. Murphy’s performance is utterly devastating; Williams delivers an otherworldly performance as this character whose evil knows no bounds. If any bones are to be thrown to Governor Danforth, at least he thinks he’s doing right by God — Abigail does not seek to justify her actions.

While canonically a 12-year-old girl, Murphy portrays Abigail as a grown woman — thank goodness, given that for a few brief seconds the audience sees her in the complete nude after she attempts the seduction of John Proctor. If you are attending and would rather not see this, the further to audience-right you sit, the less will be visible.

As John Proctor, Matthew J. Murray is excellent, especially in his moments of deep emotion. Murray’s eruptions are delivered with convincing, well-timed intensity and the air of sincerity, which is a rare gift among performers. Given the naturalness of other performances on stage — particularly the show’s villains — Murray’s polished style of delivery makes his performance less immersive and believable. To communicate the harm of his affair with Abigail, more clear chemistry with his wife Elizabeth and/or Abigail, as well as a more conversational delivery approach would bolster his performance. In any other show, Murray’s performance would be a standout — he is simply surrounded by some of the best I’ve seen in community or professional theater, and his role as the protagonist demands something of an exceptional performance among exceptional performances. He has something of an impossible task on his hands, given how much harder it is to communicate everymanness opposite cruelty with equal theatrical power.

The Dominion Stage’s Crucible appears to be a definitive production of this play for the DC area. With only the exception of Abigail, every character is simply devoted to genuine, theoretically admirable beliefs — even their goals of ridding their community of threats to themselves and their families are not unempathetic. It is how they let fear take these goals to catastrophic extremes in misguided staunchness — staunchness that some might deem praiseworthy — that makes The Crucible so timelessly devastating.

Running Time: Approximately two hours and 15 minutes, including a 15-minute intermission.

The Crucible plays through August 24, 2024 (Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 8 pm), presented by Dominion Stage, performing at Theatre on the Run
3700 S Four Mile Run Drive, Arlington, VA. Tickets are general admission and cost $25 (online coupon code “PROCTOR5” saves $5) and may be purchased online. The online box office closes at 4:30 pm the day of performance, but a limited number of full-price tickets MAY be available at the door prior to curtain. Come early to secure a seat.

The playbill for The Crucible is online here.

COVID Policy: Masks are optional.

PRODUCTION TEAM
Executive Producer: Mary Beth Smith-Toomey
Director/Producer: Danni Guy
Music Arranger: David Weinraub
Stage Manager: Lauren Markovich
Lighting Design: Jeff Auerbach & Kimberly Crago
Set Design: Alex Bryce
Props and Set Dressing: Katy Jones-Powe
Costume Design: Kit Sibley and Jean Schlichting
Hair & Makeup Design: Rebecca Harris
Graphic Design: Brittany Washington

CAST
JOHN PROCTOR: Matthew J. Murray
ELIZABETH PROCTOR: Malerie Goodman
ABIGAIL WILLIAMS: Anna Mae Murphy
MARY WARREN: Lady’ Jordan Matthews-Mason
GILES COREY: Robert Heinly
REBECCA NURSE: Margaret McCabe Janicki
REV. SAMUEL PARRIS: Jacob Reese
REV. JOHN HALE: Shakil Azizi
BETTY PARRIS: Clare Shannon
TITUBA/MARTHA COREY: Jacqueline Youm
SUSANNA WALCOTT: Jen Ware
MERCY LEWIS: Raeanna Nicole Larson
ANNE PUTNAM/SARAH GOODE: Jenn Robinson
FRANCIS NURSE: Ned Kieloch
EZEKIEL CHEEVERS: Michael Angeloni
THOMAS PUTNAM/JOHN WILLARD: Michael McCarthy
JUDGE HAWTHORNE: Cameron McBride
GOVERNOR DANFORTH: Stuart Fischer

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I can confidently say that I have not had a more euphoric experience at a theater than I did in New York City at the Perelman Performing Arts Center’s (PAC NYC) Cats: The Jellicle Ball. This new interpretation, centered on New York City’s Ballroom culture, boasts all-new “Ballroom and club beats, runway-ready choreography, and an edgy eleganza makeover that moves the action from junkyard to catwalk.” The cats have become catwalkers, showing themselves and their fits off to an audience that has become one with the show’s Ballroom diegesis.

Cats has long been the subject of criticism that it’s two hours and 30 minutes of cats introducing themselves, but adapting the story for a format all about people introducing and celebrating themselves just puts the original Cats’ implied message at the forefront.

And don’t confuse ballroom for drag: ballroom places greater emphasis on fashion and stage presence and becomes an ideal space for highly specific, highly accessible self-expression — and cat introductions. In Qween Jean’s costume design, Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer don tracksuits, Bustopher Jones wears a Union Jack jumpsuit, Sillabub wears overalls, Skimbleshanks wears an MTA conductor vest and tie, Misto goes full Met Gala, and Tugger leaves the shirt offstage and the audience hollering.

It’s got sparkle, mad serotonin for the Cats fans, mad serotonin for the non–Cats fans, and tremendous depth, as I’ll explain. In the hundreds of times I’ve watched or listened to performances of “Memory,” I don’t think I’ve cried like that before. Moreover, I have not been so simultaneously immersed in the world of the production onstage while being so wildly aware of, and enlightened about, the story’s real-life messaging and implications. I have never been so in love with a theatrical experience. Nor, it seemed, had the entire theater around me. On a Sunday matinee, no less. And don’t just take it from me: Andrew Lloyd Webber himself has observed this too, recently saying of a showing he attended, “I have rarely seen an audience respond with as much joy and love as I saw recently at Cats: The Jellicle Ball. The atmosphere was, quite simply, electric.”

Cats: The Jellicle Ball at PAC NYC has just been extended for a third time. This production will be remembered, beloved, and replicated for years to come. This show has reset the standard for revivals and reinterpretations.

But not all fans of Cats are happy. Earlier this summer as the now-famous clip of the new “Prologue” choreography emerged, I began seeing an opinion in parts of the Cats fan community that this production should not exist. Instead, many insisted, if someone wanted to make a show uplifting Ballroom culture then they should make a brand-new show. Adapting an old one was just confusing, and counterproductive to boot. Comments included:

“Don’t use source material that’s completely irrelevant.”

“Why take Cats and separate it SO FAR from the original source?”

“I’m all for original takes on things. Circus, 20s, underground-40s, they were all amazing. They were still… Cats.”

But that’s the thing: this production is still Cats. Absolutely, unquestionably. And that very adherence to the source material under Zhailon Levington and Bill Rauch’s direction is core to the production’s success in delivering its brand-new message. It’s like what I was taught about the Trinity: it’s more than one thing, but fully each one, with each part reinforcing the other simultaneously. This different sameness was confirmed as part of the authorial intent of Co-Choreographers Arturo Lyons and Omari Wiles in both the June 23 talkback I attended as well as a BroadwayCon panel recorded live for podcast, The Wrong Cat Died. If you listen you can hear me ask the first audience question.

Something important to mention as I get into this analysis: I am biracial but I do not identify as a person of color, and I am not queer. I am an outsider to Ballroom culture, and I viewed this production through that lens. This show is for everyone, but its thesis is a love letter to the QPOC community that also serves as something of an olive branch to cisgender, straight, and affluent white people who can pay to go to big shows in New York City.

The whole point of Cats is stated in the final song, “The Ad-dressing of Cats.” As Brian Blessed and Ken Page told us 40 years ago and as André De Shields tells us now, “You’ve learned enough to take the view/that cats are very much like you.” When Lord Andy told Hal Prince “It’s about cats,” if he meant it was not an allegory, he was on drugs.

Cats is about how the beings on stage who appear different from us have the same desires that we do. They want acceptance, they want love, they want to be themselves freely in a world that alienates them. And they will take what they are owed.

The alienators in the Trevor Nunn version are the Jellicles themselves who ostracize Grizabella; in PAC’s version, it’s the NYPD, who are this production’s kidnappers of Old Deuteronomy. In Nunn’s version, we were able to see both Macavity — who is heavily implied to be a rapist — and the Jellicles themselves as the oppressors, and see ourselves as both Grizabella and the Jellicles, craving redemption. The Nunn version, at its core, is about the importance of universal understanding and love. And so is the PAC version, which places a trans woman in the role of Grizabella.

Ultimately, these characters are human, and they demand to be treated as such.

In Trevor Nunn’s Cats, this point is ever-so tongue-in-cheek; in PAC’s Cats, it is triumphant.

This production adheres closely to the sound, script, message, and characterization of the original Trevor Nunn–directed and Cameron Mackintosh–produced West End and Broadway productions. This is the same show: this is Cats. They’re just in new costumes, and some audio elements are added during the songs that sound more Ballroom.

Even if you are an outsider to these communities being celebrated here — including the Cats fan community — you will be touched by the joy on display at any performance you go to.

This show speaks to what a reinterpretation can be: an embrace of the existing work as well as a means of showing what else it can be and mean to new people. Those who may fear reinterpretation should remember that theater is, at its core, a laboratory for artistic and cultural conversation. And to address a fear of some Cats fans who feel like those embracing the PAC show are the people who have been critical of Cats and Cats costumes, look, uh — there is no comparison between the bullying experienced by QPOC people vs… Cats the Musical fans (?). Let’s let this show we love do some good, and support it while doing so. Lord knows it hasn’t been doing that in the last few years. If you’re a doubter of this show and then attended a performance, I think you’d be a little embarrassed at thinking you wanted to quash the joy and profundity on display.

On that note, I wonder if this show might be a way to begin persuading homophobes and transphobes to reconsider their beliefs. I would bet good money it’s already pulled at the doors of some closed minds. That’s how good it is.

And if you really, really want your cat fix from this show, you can listen to the completely unchanged words of T.S. Eliot’s poetry. The Rum Tum Tugger can advocate for liberation while singing about getting stuck in a drawer. Go figure.

And I will figure. These songs about the cats’ stories — their “impracticality” — beautifully serve as allegories for the experience of being the “other,” a diminished yet powerful minority in a society not built for you. PAC’s show is just saying the quiet part of Trevor Nunn’s show out loud.

Regardless of your connection to Cats the show or lack thereof, you will be affected by this show. It might not be your “most euphoric experience at a theater,” but it very well may come close.

Running Time: Two hours and 30 minutes, including one intermission.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball plays through September 8, 2024, at Perelman Performing Arts Center, 251 Fulton Street, New York, NY. Purchas tickets ($73–$309) online. Full-time educators, first responders, and anyone under 30 eligible for $30 discounts. Full-time students are eligible for 50% off tickets. Current savings programs are listed here.

COVID Safety policy: Masks optional.

Cats: The Jellicle Ball
Choreographed by Arturo Lyons and Omari Wiles
Directed by Zhailon Levingston and Bill Rauch
Inspired by the musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber based on Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats by T. S. Eliot

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Humans don’t really change. Watching The Rover, or The Banish’d Cavaliers at the Shakespeare Theatre Company, you could swear it’s just a modern bawdy romcom Google-Translated into 17th-century English. Broken promises, disloyalty, treacherous men, sincere men, women who are more than what meets the eye, women who aren’t: it’s all here. The Rover, written by Aphra Behn, premiered in 1677 in London and is a rare play written by a woman during this period. It was a wildly popular show upon its release, garnering huge success and huge controversy for its comedy and bawdiness.

This performance is delivered by the Shakespeare Theatre Company Academy players, who are earning their MFA after a one-year intensive program around “classical text study, stage combat, and more.” At the conclusion of their program, students are performing in two plays that give them the chance to “work with classical language and embody mythic storytelling.” This year, those two plays are Romeo and Juliet and The Rover.

Under Eleanor Holdridge’s direction, this play has taken on new life: it’s Moulin Rouge-esque in its use of a European historical setting for its timeless story, with an injection of modern tastes, particularly modern pop music. In familiar fashion, songs have been added throughout the show to punctuate characters’ experiences, even clarifying them when the historical language might disguise meaning for some. “Hot Stuff,” “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” and “It’s Raining Men” are some of the truly epic selections.

Jacob Brandt delights as Belvile, who is true and chivalrous to the chaste Florinda, who is played by Jenna Hochkammer with poise and elegance that make her character a fitting narrative counterpart to the show’s numerous courtesans. Angellica Bianca, played by Katrina Clark, is the Mean Girl of the set — the blonde whom the other women, and men, worship and fear. She falls for Willmore, the smarmy titular “Rover,” played by Jon Beal. He swears loyalty to one woman in one breath and in the next — even in the same scene, when both women are in the room — will pledge love to another. Brandt is utterly convincing in conveying his character’s oiliness.

But this brings about some issues. This play is Merchant of Venice–esque in that it was intended as a comedy in its time, but the way it handles social issues makes it less viable: maybe it’s fun to see wily men at their schemes, but when those schemes involve assault and harrassment, and are treated as comedic in the script — punch lines and all — they’re harder to swallow. The comedic and lighthearted direction is so wonderful in moments — I found myself singing along to many of the pop music selections — but when the play’s protagonist is a serial adulterer and assaulter, and in one key scene, drunkenly harangues an innocent, protesting woman, it’s hard to get behind the play’s thesis that this is all a good time. When at the end of the play Willmore manages to convince one of the story’s more intelligent women that he’s worth her hand in marriage, it’s hard not to mourn the fall and misery-to-come of one of the play’s few discerning female characters.

The Shakespeare Theatre Company Academy players certainly do an excellent job of delivering this play as Behn intended it, and there are laughs and delights throughout. While the material invites problems, the show a fascinating commentary on what has changed and what hasn’t.

The Rover, or The Banish’d Cavaliers played through July 27, 2024, presented by the Shakespeare Theatre Company Academy performing at the Michael R. Klein Theatre, 450 7th Street NW, Washington, DC.

Performance Dates
July 18 at 6 pm
July 21 & 24 at 7:30 pm
July 26 at 8 pm
July 27 at 2 pm

The full cast and crew list can be viewed in the online program.

COVID Safety: All STC spaces are mask-friendly — meaning all patrons, masks and unmasked, are welcome. Read more about Shakespeare Theatre Company’s Health and Safety policies here.

SEE ALSO:
High energy and raw performances in STC Academy’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ (review by Julian Oquendo, July 19, 2024)

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