If you are still under the illusion that online dating in 2025 is anything other than a hellscape of half-hearted swipes, scripted introductions, and painfully awkward first dates, Miriam Battye — the playwright behind Strategic Love Play, playing through November 9 in an area premiere at Arlington’s Signature Theatre — is here to absolve you of that notion once and for all.

In a trendy New York restaurant, where reddish plaster walls are offset by desilvering mirrors that evoke the screens in our hand as much as reflect the people in front of them, a Man (Danny Gavigan) and a Woman (Bligh Voth) have just sat down for drinks after matching on an unspecified dating app. We’ll eventually learn her name is Jenny (and his, Adam), but she comes in hot from the jump, prodding her uptight suitor with difficult questions and confessing less-than-generous assumptions that make him clam up quickly. Whether he’ll stick it out for the obligatory second drink is anyone’s guess. Because it’s theater, he does, and for 70 minutes the two wrestle with romantic expectations, take stock of the baggage they carry, and dream of what comes next, should this be the match they’ve been waiting for.

In concept and plot, Strategic Love Play rings loudly with echoes of First Date, a musical produced on Broadway in 2013 (incidentally, the same year Tinder introduced the swipe feature on its app) that has enjoyed a number of local productions since: the leading man is haunted by a hang-up on a former lover, the woman is prone to building emotional walls that impede her success in romance and has a friend on-call, and both of them struggle to navigate the quirks of the person in front of them, only connecting when they allow themselves to indulge in baring their souls just a bit. But the shows vary starkly — and consequentially — in how the two end up there. In Strategic Love Play, the matching medium is neither friends nor coworkers, but something inhuman, gamified, and algorithmic (which, presumably, lends the play its name). That alone makes Strategic Love Play not only more recent, but decidedly more modern, and altogether bleaker; it’s an astonishing reminder of how, in such a short amount of time, phone-based dating apps have completely changed the way we meet. “You’re a summary of a person in a phone,” Jenny says at one point. “We will sit in our apartments stacked on top of each other until the day we die.” Oy!

That the characters are listed in the program as Man and Woman is an obvious extension of what seems to be Battye’s thesis: we are ceding our humanity in what is otherwise our most human connection, falsely allowing ourselves to believe that love can be manufactured by a computer. It’s hard to argue with that, but the irony in Strategic Love Play is that Battye fixates so fully on making that argument that she can’t help but sacrifice nuance in characterization in the humans who are her Exhibits A and B. There is obligatory specificity, of course: we hear of their jobs, the names of their friends and past lovers, the good and bad behaviors that shape their dating experiences. But Battye leans so heavily on the adage that opposites attract, which ultimately results in the characters being broad outlines of tropes that must be taken at their word for the whole thing to work. We see them do little, though they talk endlessly about themselves, which is, to be fair, an inherent challenge in a real-time two-hander. But occasional breakout moments of intimacy only underscore the otherwise heavy-handedness. In a lovely sequence that has Man and Woman envision attending a barbecue together, they do things as mundane as handing each other a beer, and the dreaming is ecstasy for them. For a moment, we get a real glimpse of why people put themselves through the online gauntlet, and in seeing the space between that moment of organic personal connection and the algorithmic matching of profiles, Battye makes her point clearer than in any of the more argumentative sequences.

The briskness of the play gives Signature Theatre Artistic Director Matthew Gardiner little room to show off the kind of strong directorial vision he’s imprinted with tremendous success onto musicals like A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, Ragtime, and Hair, but the design team had more room for expression. Scenic designer Paige Hathway’s restaurant set, though simple, could double for any bigger-than-it-looks-on-the-outside spaces west of Eighth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan, with a lingering sense that any moment a loud beat will drop and the whole thing will transform into a nightclub. Lighting designer Andrew Cissna’s deep red washes could signal the coming Valentine’s season, or perhaps something a bit more sinister (online dating is a hellscape, remember?), though to singles, they could be one and the same. And Kathleen Geldard’s costumes give the sense that the pair are still trying (but not as hard as they once did) to put their best foot forward. Of all the design elements, Geldard most successfully (though perhaps unintentionally) amplifies the subtext that these exhausted late millennials are feeling the urgency of aging as single people.

Gavigan and Voth work incredibly hard to wring as much from the play as they can and elevate the text. Gavigan rises to the challenge of portraying an initially reserved character, biding his time until he is finally able to open up. He plays distraction well, and finds an easy, but earnest pathos when Adam shares the pain of both lost and unrequited love. Voth channels Jenny’s freneticism consistently throughout the play, and transforms the character’s more self-pitying moments to something darker and, thankfully, more satisfying. Though it falls to Gardiner to balance the production, Voth seems a good partner; the character is a steamroller to her core, and Voth smartly senses when to pull back. In doing so, she allows a surprising decision near the end of the piece to feel earned.

There’s another thread in Strategic Love Play adjacent to the notion that the apps are robbing us of organic connection: that we are too quick to judge whether someone is or is not “the one,” and, further, that we can’t ever explain what draws or repels us from something. In Battye’s world, we just have to give it a try and see for ourselves. Strategic Love Play is one of a number of new works and premieres at Signature this season. If this isn’t “the one,” keep swiping and showing up. There may be a perfect match yet.

Running Time: Approximately 70 minutes without an intermission.

Strategic Love Play plays through November 9, 2025, in the ARK at Signature Theatre, 4200 Campbell Avenue, Arlington, VA. Tickets ($47–$97) are available by calling the box office at (703) 820-9771, online, or through TodayTix. Information about ticket discounts is available here.

The program for Strategic Love Play is online here.
Closed captions are available via the GalaPro app.

Content Warnings: This show contains adult language and themes.
Age Recommendation: Recommended for ages 13+. Signature does not admit anyone under 6.

Special performances include Discussion Nights on October 7 at 7:30 p.m. and October 29 at 7:30 p.m., Pride Nights on October 17 at 8 p.m. and October 24 at 8 p.m.

COVID Safety: Masks are optional in the lobby and other public areas of the building except that face masks are required inside the performance spaces on October 26 at 2 p.m. Signature’s COVID Safety Measures can be found here.

Strategic Love Play
By Miriam Battye
Directed by Matthew Gardiner

SEE ALSO:
Signature Theatre announces cast and creative team for ‘Strategic Love Play’ (news story, September 11, 2025)

The post Signature’s ‘Strategic Love Play’ hopes to make a match appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

As the DC area was walloped by a historic heat wave last week, the thought of an outdoor concert seemed, at least to this critic, daunting. There was a time before air conditioning when open-air venues like Wolf Trap’s Filene Center offered audiences and performers an escape from the stifling indoors, but if the pulsating wave of playbills at Broadway in the Park, a stellar one-night co-production from Signature Theatre and Wolf Trap, was any indication, those days are behind us. Still, there’s an unmistakable magic to enjoying music outside, even on the hottest days, and you could pinpoint the moment the magic overcame the audience on Saturday, when a cool breeze wafted through the venue just as Jessie Mueller started George and Ira Gershwin’s “Someone to Watch Over Me,” and a single firefly made itself known to the right of the stage; it was like the audience got comfortable for the first time all week.

It was one charming moment in a string of them at the hands of nine first-rate performers, Signature Theatre Artistic Director Matthew Gardiner, and the 25-piece Wolf Trap Orchestra under the baton of Signature resident Music Director John Kalbfleisch. Together, they distilled the history of American musical theater, from the Gershwins and Cole Porter to Sara Bareilles and the late William Finn, into a 90-minute hit parade.

Mueller — a Tony Award winner for Beautiful: The Carole King Musical and three-time nominee for roles in Waitress, Carousel, and On a Clear Day You Can See Forever — went beyond the Gershwin number to lend a tender, tempestuous touch to the setlist. Her crystalline solo rendition of “If I Loved You,” typically performed in conjunction with ne’er-do-well carnival barker Billy Bigelow, instead came as an internal battle of whether to let oneself fall in love or admit that you may already have. Mueller bookended it with a pitch-perfect “She Used to Be Mine,” the Waitress anthem of what happens when a person has lost themself in love to the point of self-destruction.

In contrast, Mendez’s solo numbers represented another hallmark of musical theater: not the rich excavation of an emotion, but the reflection of a character’s personal evolution. In “Moments in the Woods” from Into the Woods, Stephen Sondheim tracks one woman’s life-changing epiphany over the course of a single song, and Mendez nailed every small twist in that journey (and sounded fabulous all the while). And in Ragtime’s “Back to Before,” Mendez conjured the spirit of a woman who, after years of comfort playing the role society deemed fit for her, finds both a new purpose and voice to articulate it. With the latest revival of Into the Woods not so far in the rearview and a new Broadway production of Ragtime opening this fall, Mendez may have missed her chance to play those roles on the Main Stem in the near term, but the message is clear anyway: she’s ready for something big. We are, too.

The Carousel co-stars reunited to perform a short sequence from that show, including “You’re a Queer One, Julie Jordan,” and that most perfect showtune, “Mister Snow” (Mendez at her best). They further delighted with Annie Get Your Gun’s “Anything You Can Do” and Waitress’s “You Matter to Me,” the latter of which was respun as a loving epistle between friends and rebuke of loneliness, rather than a romantic duet.

Though Mueller and Mendez were ostensibly the evening’s headliners, star turns abounded. Performing Funny Girl’s “I’m the Greatest Star,” Awa Sal Secka, radiant in a yellow sunflower-printed dress, made a strong case for her argument; her rendition of the song so closely associated with Barbra Streisand was rapturous. Kevin McAllister was surprisingly underutilized, but in lending his rich voice and easy phrasing to William Finn’s yearnful “I’d Rather Be Sailing,” was deeply, unsurprisingly moving nonetheless. And Tobias A. Young accomplished an extraordinary coup in seizing Grease’s frothy “Beauty School Dropout” as a launchpad to showcase his virtuosic vocal control and versatility.

Felicia Curry offered a strong and soaring performance of Aida’s “Easy as Life,” to boot, while Tracy Lynn Olivera’s riff on Mack and Mabel‘s deep-cut “Whatever He Ain’t” teased her saucier side. Christian Douglas’s take on Pippin’s “Corner of the Sky” was straightforward and pleasant, and “Defying Gravity” was a worthy selection for Nova Payton’s irrepressible vocal talent.

Gardiner’s inclination to bring the cast together for a handful of ensemble numbers (“A Lot of Living” from Bye, Bye, Birdie, among others) is certainly understandable, and perhaps unavoidable, but the bizarre irony is that they look anemic on the big stage in a way the solo numbers don’t. Those individual turns, which facilitate the most connection with the audience, were fortunately numerous and uniformly splendid.

Signature Theatre’s cabaret series is a staple of the region’s theater season, and this extension of it, now in its fifth installment, should be regarded as one too. Even on the huge Filene Center stage, with thousands of people overflowing onto the lawn, the magic comes easily when the band strikes up, the sun goes down, and the breeze (thank God) wafts in. Even the fireflies feel it.

Running Time: 90 minutes, with no intermission.

Broadway in the Park performed on June 28, 2025, produced by Signature Theatre and Wolf Trap performing at the Filene Center, at Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing Arts, 1551 Trap Road Vienna, VA. General information for upcoming shows is available by calling 703.255.1900, or by going online.

See the digital program here.

Signature Theatre and Wolf Trap present
Broadway in the Park
featuring Jessie Mueller and Lindsay Mendez

SEE ALSO:
Lindsay Mendez and Jessie Mueller to headline 2025 ‘Broadway in the Park’ (news story, April 10, 2025)

The post Signature Theatre and Wolf Trap make magic in ‘Broadway in the Park’ appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

You might ask Joe Iconis and Gregory S. Moss, who have done it with The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical, a veritable hit parade of the Gonzo journalism pioneer’s career that opts for a treatment traditionally reserved for softer, if not smaller, personalities. Regarded as much for the drug-fueled nature of his writing as for the stylistic (and factual) lines it often blurred, the Thompson of their imagination all but gives them permission to do so: “After all this time, writing is still my favorite drug. It was my music.”

With a terrific Eric William Morris in the driver’s seat and bucket hat, audiences puff on Thompson’s stuff — through Kentucky, Aspen, Las Vegas, the depths of despair — for nearly three hours at Arlington’s Signature Theatre, in a journey of the singular iconoclast’s lifetime highs (smoked and snorted) and lows (fear and loathing among them, of course).

That format might be well and good for musical icons like Cher, Carole King, and Tina Turner, who can tether their biographies to familiar musical touchstones. But managing Thompson’s fractured reputation and filling in the gaps is more challenging here. Those old enough to remember George McGovern’s 1972 bid to unseat President Richard Nixon (fodder for a jaunty homoerotic tune) may fondly recall Hell’s Angels: The Strange and Terrible Saga of the Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and Thompson’s beloved backlist. Some middle-aged hangers-on may even feel affinity for their derivatives, like the 1998 Fear and Loathing film with Johnny Depp. But two decades after his death, and half a century or more since those original works were released, Zoomers and their ilk are probably more familiar with the clothes than the prose: the bucket hat, sunglasses, and tropical shirt.

In a way, that could make Thompson an ideal subject: a countercultural character conducive to big, re-interpretive swings. But the Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical suffers from an identity crisis. The real coup is not that the creatives have managed to spin a satisfying yarn of the man’s life (though they have), but rather that in making something so enjoyable, they’ve taken off a lot of the edge (and not with a margarita, as he was wont to do). Nostalgia for subversion is still nostalgia, after all.

Sure, there’s plenty of drugs, swearing, and swiping at our sacred cultural cows — assuming those things are still considered subversive — but for every few steps we take in conjuring Thompson, we find ourselves slipping back on a slick skid of sugary-sweet idolatry. Maybe one man’s patina is another’s rust (Hair comes to mind), but in a program note, Iconis makes no bones about his affection for Thompson. Iconis and Moss do their due diligence in acknowledging the challenges with Thompson’s political and personal legacies, including his penchant for firearms and womanizing habits, as well as his 2005 death by suicide. But a looming sense of responsibility to protect the hero and overemphasize his relevance in the current milieu weighs on something seemingly wishing to break free.

Their heavy-handedness — most notably seen in a first act closer (“Wavesong”) that, while musically satisfying and politically noble, lands as a litany of buzzwords — overpowers the Thompson we’ve come to know. Writing is hard, as the character admits when his output drops precipitously in the second half of his life. But with no major Thompson material to ground that stretch of story (as opposed to thrilling earlier scenes and songs rooted in dispatches from San Francisco and the Kentucky Derby), they lean into fetishizing the trope of the tortured artist and tip into twee indulgence.

So why is it all so fun, then?

Despite those challenges, Iconis and Moss have produced a sharp, witty, and laugh-out-loud hilarious book. Further, their dialogue is imbued with a rhythm that can be found in the most compelling journalistic writing. And their choice to center Nixon (George Abud, exquisite) as primary antagonist and foil in the vein of the Muppets’ Waldorf and Statler (not Gonzo!) is a stroke of brilliance. Needling Thompson throughout the show, and almost fueled by the public revulsion for him (sound familiar?), the character does much to keep rose-colored idolatry at bay.

Thompson’s mother, Virginia (Lorinda Lisitza, perfectly cast), also gives us a peek at the cloth from which Thompson was cut, and has one of the night’s best songs, a lullaby about the invincible privilege of “Rich Kids,” one of which Thompson is not. That song, as well as Nixon’s musicalized visions of his ideal America, are just a sampling of Iconis’ terrific, hefty, original score (kudos to music supervisor Rick Edinger and sound designer Justin Stasiw for their great work, too). Skillfully integrated with the book, stylistically distinct, and consistently funny, Iconis gives director Christopher Ashley plenty to work with, and Ashley goes to town on Wilson Chin’s delightfully dizzying set, inspired by Thompson’s real office.

With choreographer Jon Rua, Ashley gussies up the staging with several beautiful, trippy puppets designed by Animal Cracker Conspiracy, including a peacock, a dog, and a political animal that is best not to spoil here. Toni-Leslie James’ colorful costumes evoke the period and feel right at home before the towering wall of mementos.

And like the characters from his books and stories, the ensemble around Morris brings Thompson’s pen-and-paper world to the third dimension. As they float in and out of the room — as Oscar Zeta Acosta (George Salazar), as Ernest Hemingway (Jason SweetTooth Williams), as McGovern (Ryan Vona), as his unappreciated wife, Sandy (Tatiana Wechsler), and many others — their ebullience explodes past the footlights.

All the elements of a good strain are certainly there, leaving one to wonder what the next chapter holds for The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical. Maybe one more (puff, puff) pass is all it needs.

Running Time: Approximately two hours and 45 minutes, with one intermission.

The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical plays through July 13, 2025, in the Max Theatre at Signature Theatre, 4200 Campbell Avenue, Arlington, VA. Tickets start at $47 and are available by phone at (703) 820-9771, online, or through TodayTix. Information about ticket discounts is available here.

The program for The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical is online here.

Closed captions are available via the GalaPro app.

COVID Safety: Masks are optional in the lobby and other public areas of the building except that face masks are required inside the performance spaces on June 28 (2PM) and July 9, 2025. Signature’s COVID Safety Measures can be found here.

SEE ALSO:
15 Questions in 15 Minutes with Lorinda Lisitza (interview by Deb Miller, June 23, 2025)
Signature Theatre announces cast and creatives for ‘Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical’ (news story, May 6, 2025)

The post ‘Hunter S. Thompson Musical’ at Signature Theatre is a gonzo high appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

“What makes ‘beautiful’ beautiful?” is a question that could launch any number of unending linguistic or philosophical discussions (and probably has). Consider its connection with artistic inspiration, or perhaps divine grace and the ability to distinguish between good and evil. It offers plenty of threads on which to tug, but in Your Name Means Dream, playing at Theater J through April 6 in a co-production with TheaterWorks Hartford, playwright José Rivera instead poses the question as a bookend in his evaluation of humanity’s relationship with artificial intelligence, and the experiences of the soul that differentiate us from it.

The play’s title refers to Aislin (veteran Washington actor Naomi Jacobson), a testy elderly woman whose name translates to “dream” in the Irish language. She having scared off a handful of human home health aides and now toiling alone in her messy East Village apartment, her estranged son Roberto has put her into a pilot program that employs the use of robotic nurses to care for patients. Initially reluctant to the nurse assigned to her, Stacy (Sara Koviak), Aislin soon comes to enjoy the company of this artificial intelligence, not to mention the perfectly cooked meals that the robot prepares despite a lack of taste buds. (It is Stacy who asks Aislin, “What makes ‘beautiful’ beautiful?”) Together, they seek the meaning of humanity and disclose the scars of their past, including Aislin’s tumultuous family life and alcoholism and Stacy’s previous iteration as a toy for sexually violent men, with the understanding that when Aislin dies, Stacy’s “mind” will be dismantled too.

If the plot appears to have echoes of big-hearted man-meets-machine tales like Wall-E and Big Hero 6, you can trust they’re fairly faint. Rivera firmly rebukes the tenderness of those adolescent stories in favor of more adult entertainment. Given the global consequences of increasingly advanced AI technology, it’s a worthy approach. But, unfortunately, it’s one that primarily manifests in gratuitous vulgarity that mostly distracts from the extensions of the original question he tries to explore. Within the first moments, the characters make clear that there will be plenty of f-bombs dropped throughout the performance. I’m no prude, but the sheer volume of “fucks” was jarring and didn’t stop there. Stacy eats Aislin’s feces to evaluate her microbiome. Aislin asserts her ungrateful son wouldn’t give her “the steam off his piss.” Walt Whitman is called “boink-able.” Maybe these numerous incorporations are attempts to distinguish the spontaneous human experience from the robot’s programmed existence. But in the mouths of a purportedly polished Big Tech–designed robot and a former “director of human resources” for a successful midtown Manhattan bank, they at best come off as efforts to make the stilted dialogue less so, and at worst land as half-hearted attempts to give contrived characters a greater degree of personality.

The language is but a symptom of the play’s larger difficulty in making sense of what exactly it wants to say and be. Is it a buddy comedy of two odd-ball roommates whose fraught relationship sees them both grow into better versions of themselves? Is it a sci-fi fantasia of humans’ creeping dependence on technological conveniences that intend to ultimately harm us? Is it a moral tale of the ways we abuse machines to fulfill our most base instincts and needs, from sex to survival? Is it an earnest commentary on humanity’s divine favor and power as creator of a new electronic species? Whether Rivera intended for Your Name Means Dream to lean into just one or all of those concepts simultaneously is unclear, but their synthesis is nevertheless convoluted and heavy-handed (here iOS becomes aOS, or “approximation of soul,” and Stacy “customers” get deep discounts on services they’ll never be able to use). With the writer also serving as director of this production, one wonders whether such a stylized piece would benefit from an outside eye to bring it into sharper focus.

Still, Jacobson and Koviak are devoted troupers, and their commitment to both their characters and one another buoys the production. Jacobson manages to find truth in jolty bursts of dialogue. In a handful of short monologues, she conveys a deeply believable sincerity. Koviak’s quirky line delivery never lets the audience forget that this human actor is portraying an animatronic. Her sheer athleticism, especially in an extended sequence where Stacy is “hacked,” is impressive on its face, but also illustrates the physical strength, and potential danger, of the machine she portrays (Koviak also serves as choreographer).

Rivera’s creative team has assembled a handsome production that fits nicely onto the snug Trish Vradenburg Stage. Misha Kachman’s apartment set appears genuinely lived-in, and when Pamela Weiner’s props, including littered takeout containers, are cleared by Stacy, you get the sense that the home was once full of love and life despite its current state. Lighting designer Alberto Segarra and sound designer David Remedios collaborate well in moments that coincide with Stacy registering new information or undergoing a hacking. Together, they convert the robot’s electrification into a sensory experience for the audience. And Risa Ando’s functional and distinctive costumes go far in differentiating not only the separation between the human and the robot but also between the down-and-out Aislin and her improved state after Stacy’s interventions.

There’s no doubt that artificial intelligence and the questions that surround its use are rich sources of dramatic interrogation and important topics for humanity to confront through art. But the sprawling nature of advanced technology, and its reach into our spiritual and secular lives, makes it impossible for one play to ever parse those questions completely. Maybe dramatists should take a page out of the tech troubleshooting playbook: isolate the problem and implement the solution as simply as possible.

Running Time: Two hours, one intermission.

Your Name Means Dream plays through April 6, 2025, presented by Theater J and TheaterWorks Hartford at the Aaron & Cecile Goldman Theater in the Edlavitch DC Jewish Community Center, 1529 16th Street NW, Washington, DC. Purchase tickets ($39.99–$69.99, with member, student, and military discounts available) online or by calling the ticket office at 202-777-3210 or by email (theaterj@theaterj.org). Learn about special discounts here and accessibility here.

The program for Your Name Means Dream is online here.

Content Advisory: Strong adult language. References mental health issues. This production has flashing lights.

COVID Safety: Theater J’s complete Health and Safety policy is here.

Your Name Means Dream
Written and directed by José Rivera
Co-presented by Theater J and TheaterWorks Hartford
Set Designer: Misha Kachman
Costume Designer: Risa Ando
Lighting Designer: Alberto Segarra
Sound Designer: David Remedios
Properties Artisan: Pamela Weiner
Choreographer: Sara Koviak
Production Stage Manager: Miranda Korieth
Assistant Stage Manager: Sara Gehl
Assistant Stage Manager: Illeana Blustein

The post Humanity and AI face off in ‘Your Name Means Dream’ at Theater J appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

“Do you know why it’s impossible to lick the tips of your elbows?”

You’d never guess that such an innocent question could kick off a dizzying 80-minute metaphysical probe into the precarious miracle of human love. But in Nick Payne’s Constellations, playing at Source Theatre in a production by Constellation Theatre Company, lovers Roland and Marianne are a cosmic case study in just that, weaving their love story through a repetitive series of self-variations that tracks the course of a relationship through topics as wide-ranging as quantum mechanics, the utilitarian social structures of beehives, and free will.

Payne makes clear from the first scene (and its numerous variations) that structure supersedes story in this work. One by one, researcher Marianne (Dina Soltan) and beekeeper Roland (Tony K. Nam) play out a string of meet-cutes until they finally land on one that allows them to advance to the next step of their story. At each step along the way — the initial dating period, a breakup, a reconciliation, an engagement, a scary diagnosis — the characters confront the factors that could bring their romance to its untimely end, but still manage to find the option that pushes them forward.

It’s soon clear that Marianne and Roland aren’t so much characters as proxies. They are proverbial “everypeople,” stand-ins for the countless relationships that form and fall each day (this is most effectively achieved when one of the scene variations is surprisingly performed entirely in sign language, arranged beautifully by Director of Artistic Sign Language Shanna Sorrells). Their chatter about the cosmos and physics is a reminder we are, as Carl Sagan said, made of “star stuff,” borne of a finicky sequence of scientific events and impulsive decisions. At any point, Marianne and Roland show us time and time again, a love can fall apart. That it can endure is a miracle of the universe.

It’s a beautiful notion and concept that is, unfortunately, hampered by the weight of Payne’s tedious repetitiousness. Wonder, a core emotion central to Payne’s metaphysical approach to love, is best served with space to dream and reflect. In rattling variation after variation, Payne leaves his audience to expend far more energy wondering which of the quick-changing paths Marianne and Roland are on, and attempting to keep the shifting details straight. If Marianne parrots Payne’s thesis about the fickle nature of human existence in describing diverging physics theory — “We’ve effectively asked the same question twice and come up with two different answers” — then Roland offers an unintentional response in his envy of the predetermined roles of bees: “If only we could understand why we’re here and what we’re doing.”

Fortunately, under Director Nikki Mirza, the production’s cast and crew hold a much clearer vision for what they’re doing and execute successfully. Soltan and Nam do impressive work maneuvering between quick tonal shifts and modifications in their characters, adapting line readings to differentiate milieus. Even as the romantic ground shifts rapidly beneath their feet, the two maintain a strong chemistry that makes all the easier the audience’s job of understanding why these two just can’t quit each other despite the odds being ever out of their favor.

And what Scenic Designer Sarah Reed and Lighting Designer Alberto Segarra have done with flexible space inside Source is itself a special achievement. For this staging in the round, the tiered audience is surrounded by speckled netting that evokes the farthest stars of the deep universe. This starry cloak is offset by angular white window panes that are left empty or filled with opaque, luminous plexiglass. One gets the sense that they are contained in a prism, right in the middle of refracting light, with washes of white dispersed into colorful shades on the floor. A small runway and movable illuminated blocks are enough to create a sense of place while supporting the ethereal vastness of the perimeter. Sound Designer Ian Vespermann works dutifully in conjunction with Segarra to signal a new variation, further staving off confusion. And Costume Designer Moyenda Kulemeka’s layered attire helps to mark the passage of time and underscore the tenderness of a caregiving relationship.

All that is great around the play has the benefit of elevating the text itself, despite its lofty challenges. Maybe, just maybe, in the next variation, the production and play will find their perfect level.

Running Time: 80 minutes without an intermission

Constellations, a production of Constellation Theatre Company, plays through March 9, 2025, presented by Constellation Theatre Company, performing at Source Theatre, 1835 14th Street NW, Washington, DC. Performances are Thursdays-Saturdays at 8:00 pm, and Saturdays-Sundays at 2:00 pm. Tickets ($24–$56) may be purchased online by phone at 202-204-7741, or in person before each performance. Constellation offers a variety of discount programs and pay-what-you-will performances. Select performances are ASL interpreted.

Cast and production team credits and bios are here (scroll down).

COVID Safety: Masks are optional except for Saturday matinees where they are required. Constellation’s Health and Safety policies are here.

SEE ALSO:
Constellation Theatre opens 18th season with Nick Payne’s ‘Constellations’ (news story, January 9, 2025)

The post ‘Constellations’ at Constellation Theatre looks for love among the stars appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

There’s something a little slithery about the way Drew Sharpe maneuvers his sleeve-and-stick orange puppet Tyrone in the first moments of Hand to God at Keegan Theatre, even before it opens its toothless mouth. It looks innocent enough, with side-facing eyes and tuft of red hair. But as Sharpe’s hand spreads and a vulgar diatribe on the origins of the society and evil comes spewing out, one can’t help but look instead at the snakelike arm that’s enlivening the possessed puppet. You half expect, in the midst of this slick sleight of hand, for Tyrone to offer you an irresistible apple.

There are no apples to be found in the Cyprus, Texas, church that is home to playwright Robert Askins’ perverse parable of religion and repression. But in this puppet show, extremes as distant as good and evil are the writer’s bread and butter — a timid nerd consumed by vengeful violence, the personification of Satan in a Sunday school classroom, a church educator soliciting an underage student, emotional emptiness in morbid obesity, unapologetic vulgarity in an innocent homecoming dance proposal, the list goes on and on — as Askins asks the audience to consider the worst and best parts of themselves, and whether they’re lucky enough to live somewhere in the in-between.

Sharpe plays Jason, a high school student whose recently widowed mother Margery (Shadia Hafiz) has been appointed leader of their church’s puppet ministry program. Desperate for a win, she attempts to whip her trio of actors — Jason, plus good-natured Jessica (Hannah Taylor) and vulgarian bully Timmy (Jordan Brown) — into shape ahead of a prime-time command performance for flirty Pastor Greg (Dominique Gray). As Jason’s puppet Tyrone begins to poke at his personal trauma and prod the angst of his awkward puberty, he launches into a spree of destruction and violence that leaves the classroom in shambles and his neighbors scarred (well, maimed). Askins’ play pulls no punches, becoming increasingly crass (and, frankly, hilarious) as Jason and Tyrone’s hunger for revenge grows and grows. This villain is eerily reminiscent of another blood-thirsty puppet, Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors. But whereas that plant’s growth was driven by greed, Tyrone’s rise at Jason’s hand (literally) is one of yearning for agency.

There’s a certain potency in employing polar extremes here; in framing this helpless teen’s cry for control, stability, and relief from his embarrassing adolescence through a potty-mouthed felt puppet. But, as far as tone, it’s also a tricky line to walk. On the one hand, it’s an effective repellent to overly sentimental “life gets better” triteness. But it also requires extraordinary discipline and commitment to grounding the play in straight-faced realism.

Under Josh Sticklin’s direction, most of the production elements adhere successfully. Puppet designer Luke Hartwood’s contributions — whether they be the increasingly scary Tyrone or a suddenly gussied-up Jolene (Jessica’s puppet) — are made of raw materials the audience can see clearly, but which can come together quickly to startling effect. Scenic designer Matthew J. Keenan’s turntable set is gorgeous, offering on one side a sweetly adorned (until it’s not) church classroom, on another side a cramped pastor’s office, and on the final side a flexible space that easily becomes a car, a bedroom, and a playground. Sage Green’s lighting design is largely naturalistic, but bursts into a red wash when Tyrone is at his most devious. Brandon Cook’s sound design helps to conjure the Lone Star State with a playlist of Christian country before curtain and at intermission. And Logan Benson’s costumes, though realistic, perhaps unintentionally reveal a bit too much skin.

The performances are less uniform. For his part, every aspect of Sharpe’s performance makes it clear that he understands what his roles require, and he portrays both Tyrone and Jason exquisitely. Incorporating distinct movement and voice stylizations to separate the two characters, he’s able to switch between them in an instant. You never get the sense that the actor is in on the joke, or that the character is fully aware of the absurdity of his situation. In Jason’s submission to Tyrone, Sharpe captures the boy’s terror and the puppet’s ecstasy. And, every so often you find that it’s suddenly a little harder to see where one starts and the other stops.

It’s not that Hafiz, Brown, and Gray play their scenes for laughs, as much as they lean into the absurd elements of their characters that would likely be more effective if played a little straighter, whether it be Pastor Greg’s creepy flirtatiousness, Margery’s desperation for puppet ministry mastery, or Timmy’s immature horniness. At times, it feels as though their characters are competing against Tyrone for the audience’s attention, but not in a way that heightens the dramatic tension. This is especially evident in a well-executed scene between Sharpe and Taylor, where their respective puppets explore each other’s fabric bodies (they get felt up, if you will). While Tyrone and Jolene are miming a variety of sexual acts, Taylor and Sharpe engage in an earnest conversation that is perhaps the play’s clearest illustration of Jason’s emotional struggle and the ultimate origin of Tyrone’s existence.

Maybe Askins is partly to blame for the unlevel field. His play, for all its exciting octane, falls into the same trap that so many farces do by winding the play up to a degree that untangling its messy strands is practically impossible to accomplish in a clear and satisfying way. He tries to paper over the rapid wind-down by employing the ol’ “button” trick: put the characters back where they started in a nod to the opening scene. Exactly what point he was trying to make — that religious repression paradoxically nurtures destructive sins, that each of us is hiding metaphorical demons beneath our outer facades, that you should seek help even if you suspect that your church-assigned ministry puppet is beginning to exhibit signs of possession — is less transparent. But maybe, unlike a Sunday school lesson, Hand to God isn’t really about the moral. Maybe the real treasure is the demonic puppets, dysfunctional teenagers, and messy adults we met along the way.

Running Time: One hour and 45 minutes with one 15-minute intermission.

Hand to God plays through March 2, 2025, at The Keegan Theatre, 1742 Church St NW, Washington, DC 20036. Performances are Thursdays-Saturdays at 8:00 pm, Sundays at 3:00 pm, and select Mondays and Wednesdays at 8:00 pm. Tickets ($54; $44, seniors and students) may be purchased online, by phone at 202-265-3767, or in person at the Keegan Theatre Box Office, which opens on the day of the show one hour prior to the performance.

Cast and production team credits and bios are here (scroll down).

COVID Safety: Masks are optional but encouraged. Keegan’s Health and Safety policies are here.

SEE ALSO:
Keegan Theatre announces ‘Hand to God’ cast and creative team (news story, January 12, 2025)

The post ‘Hand to God’ at Keegan Theatre flips the bird at religion and repression appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet has long been fertile ground for reinvention: from adaptations including West Side Story and Gnomeo & Juliet to modernized productions like Broadway’s current Sam Gold–Jack Antonoff collaboration and Folger Theater’s extrapolitical take earlier this season. But what if those star-crossed lovers hadn’t died? And what if Juliet was given the chance to begin anew as a young woman free of her warring family? And, as an added bonus, what if the soundtrack of her life happened to be curated by one of the most successful pop producers of all time?

Those are the central questions of & Juliet, a jukebox musical featuring more than two dozen of music producer Max Martin’s greatest hits and playing at Kennedy Center through January 5. Book writer David West Read revives two historical characters — Shakespeare (Corey Mach) and his wife, Anne Hathaway (Teal Wicks), who are themselves navigating a fraught marital dynamic — to facilitate this dramatic reimagining, rejecting most of our notions about the ill-fated teens and imploring us to question even those whose lives are written into historic texts.

Heady stuff, right? Don’t worry! That’s where Martin’s veritable hit parade comes in, helping to keep things rolling merrily along. But & Juliet’s biggest asset is also its largest challenge, as Martin’s astonishing musical canon (made famous by artists including Britney Spears, NSYNC, Katy Perry, and Kelly Clarkson) at times overwhelms Read’s book beneath its weight. The exhilaration that comes with hearing such hits as “Teenage Dream” and “Since You Been Gone” presents the kind of challenge that any jukebox musical has to confront: how can you effectively retrofit a throughline onto an assortment of beloved, disparate songs and maintain the integrity of the whole?

In Read’s riff on the classic tale, Hathway challenges her husband to take her on as a writing partner and allow her to help him consider a new life for Juliet (Rachel Simone Webb) post-Romeo. With a band of friends, including her nurse Angélique (Kathryn Allison), Juliet steals off to Paris (the place, not the prince) to avoid compulsory nunhood, rushes into an engagement she soon breaks off when realizing her new fiancé (Mateus Leite Cardoso as François) loves another, and at least considers a revived Romeo’s pleas for a continuation of their love story. By the end, she realizes the future belongs to her. Her journey is one of a young woman claiming independence and growing into her power. Her arc also makes for one heck of an eleven o’clock number (“Roar,” originally performed by Perry, and triumphantly reinterpreted here by Webb), and the anthem echoes Hathaway’s own journey of asserting her agency. She implores Shakespeare to recognize her contributions to their own unfolding story.

One challenging aspect of the musical, however, is the treatment of May (Nick Drake), a nonbinary character who pines for Juliet’s fiancé-of-convenience. In our first introduction to May, Hathaway makes it clear to Shakespeare that May’s gender identity and sexual orientation are none of Shakespeare’s business (or the audience’s, for that matter). Yet, May is constantly having gender imposed upon them, first with the show’s only two songs that reference gender in their titles — “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman” and “I Kissed a Girl” — and then with their relegation as a member of a “boy band” (or, in the show’s case, a “de Bois Band”). Plus, the first time we see May undergo major character development, it occurs in a bathroom. There is an unquestionable dearth of gender-expansive characters in musical theater. But & Juliet’s attempt to fill that void misses the mark. Fortunately, Drake is a hyper-talented performer who infuses May with a refreshing, often understated nuance. They are responsible for some of the evening’s most memorable and enjoyable musical performances.

It’s the musical performances and flashy production elements that & Juliet is able to firmly hang its sparkly hat on. Director Luke Sheppard and choreographer Jennifer Weber keep the train moving at all times, resisting any urge to linger for even a moment too long. Music supervisor and arranger Bill Sherman’s contributions are especially critical, reimagining some of the most recognizable songs into new arrangements to both surprise the audience and establish refreshing ebbs and flows in the show’s musical journey.

The first powerhouse rearrangement comes relatively early in the show when Anne finally convinces Shakespeare to let her have a try at the story. It’s here that Webb makes her first proper introduction as the title character in a stunning, slowed rendition of ”Baby One More Time.” And in Webb’s hands, the hits keep coming with exceptional execution. In addition to Webb and Drake, others in the cast have plenty of opportunities to shine as well. Wicks blends a more traditional Broadway sound into Anne’s assigned pop anthems, and Allison grounds Angélique’s silliness in a truthful, earnest love for Juliet. Her rendition of “Fuckin’ Perfect” is, no surprise, fuckin’ perfect.

The Kennedy Center’s vast Opera House presents some inherent danger to touring musicals, whose sets must accommodate regional stages of various sizes. But & Juliet has no problem adapting Soutra Gilmour’s scenic design to the room, framing the proscenium with tall barn doors and leveraging the full depth and height of the space with projections (beautiful, by Andrzej Goulding), movable scenery, and flown-in set pieces that lift several performers above the stage. Lighting designer Howard Hudson brings bright washes of blue, purple, and pink, cut with green and yellow neon to achieve a singular look existing somewhere between ’90s grunge and Lisa Frank illustrations. The costumes reflect similar colors and style to the production around them, but costume designer Paloma Young’s real achievement is the delightfully witty mashup of Elizabethan and Renaissance touchstones with punk and hip hop fashion.

As we move through winter’s shortest days, & Juliet’s top-notch musical performances and bright flashes of bold colors may very well lend the light to get you through to spring.

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

& Juliet plays through January 5, 2025, on national tour in the Opera House at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, 2700 F St NW, Washington, DC. Purchase tickets ($45–$239) online, at the box office, or by calling (202) 467-4600 or toll-free at (800) 444-1324. Box office hours are Monday-Saturday, 10 am-9 pm, and Sunday 12pm-9 pm.

The program for & Juliet is online here.

COVID Safety: Masks are optional in all Kennedy Center spaces for visitors and staff. Read more about the Kennedy Center’s mask policy here.

The post The hits parade in exhilarating ‘& Juliet’ on tour at Kennedy Center appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

“I hate the name Holly.” Delivered in deadpan by Kate Eastwood Norris in the opening moments of David Auburn’s Summer, 1976, the otherwise innocuous line elicits a disproportionately large laugh, like an inside joke. And it is, in a way, as prolific Washington actress Holly Twyford sits just a few feet away, utterly unfazed by the line or the laugh, and remains dutifully in character. So it goes for the duration of the play’s 90-minute run in Studio’s Milton Theatre, where the pervading sense is that one is settled among friends.

For this rich meditation on friendship (especially between women), Auburn has crafted a memory play of a most special sort. Made of equal parts chronicle and character study, it is an exploration not simply of who they were, but of who we are; not just of what they’d done, but of what we do. In the summer of 1976, single mother and artist Diana (Norris) meets Alice (Twyford), a faculty wife and free spirit, in the way that so many adults do: through their children. Separately, they defy their own stereotypes (Alice remarks on the surprising orderliness of Diana’s home and studio, Diana on the disconnect between Alice’s hippie values and conventional marriage). Together, they complement each other, establishing an easy confidence and caring for each other during a period that brings both physical and emotional struggle.

There is a palpable poignancy to Auburn’s selection of the summer of 1976 as his play’s primary setting. He peppers the text with plenty of pop culture references — Charlie’s Angels, James Clavell’s Shōgun, etc. — not as an exercise in nostalgia, but as an effort to ground the play (and he does). These little reminders go far in capturing what must have been the enduring spirit of that bicentennial year: talk of freedom and liberty three years after Roe v. Wade was handed down and a few more before the Equal Rights Amendment would fail to meet its ratification requirements. A hope lingers in the summer air amid the echoes of 1960s counterculture (costume designer Helen Q. Huang has Norris in culottes) and murmurs of second-wave feminism. The coming Reaganism and digitalization wait quietly in the wings.

Auburn writes as George Seurat painted, meticulously arranging dots to assemble a larger picture. But look closer and you’ll find deception in the details; green in the water, blue in the grass. In Summer, 1976, those errant dots manifest as unreliable narrators, competing stories, or little fibs about the particulars of a job or an affair. But memory isn’t always reliable, is it? And Auburn seems to know that sometimes little untruths can bring reality into a much sharper focus, and uses it to his advantage.

Director Vivienne Benesch is a perfect match, neither overwhelming the material with too-ambitious staging nor totally disappearing behind the layered text. With just a pair of cane-and-chrome chairs, two wooden cubes, and two mismatched drinking glasses, she vividly conjures a car, a café, an office, a kitchen, a backyard, and other distinct locales. Set designer Lee Savage’s contributions — a circular platform and rectangular backdrop — are made entirely of wood panels in various sizes, shapes, stains, and grains. Choosing wood, which is both enduring and ephemeral as the women’s friendship, lends a richness to the otherwise open space and provides a neutral canvas for projection designer Stefania Bulbarella’s Paul Klee–inspired abstractions that signal change in rich earth tones. Overhead, Jesse Belsky’s lighting seems to fade with the summer, except in a final sequence, when Diana and Alice are forced to confront the diminished state of their friendship under bright museum lights.

In that bright wash, it’s impossible to ignore the play’s central pleas: that without the investment of care and attention, we allow ourselves to cede the ground on which our most intimate relationships are built; that those to whom we once freely bared our souls can again become strangers in the span of a few months or minutes; that the briefest friendships can change the course of our lives. Because everyone has a friend, no one leaves the theater unscathed.

How fortunate, then, that audiences have two of Washington’s finest performers to lead the journey. Norris and Twyford embody Diana and Alice with an invigorating, infectious vivacity. Norris’ Diana is sardonic and hell-bent on concealing her insecurities. As Alice, Twyford latches onto pep and humor to obscure the signs of a failing marriage. They lean into their characters’ contradictions and dish effortlessly with each other and the audience. They establish trust almost immediately, which makes the little deceptions and missed connections all the more shattering. Their tandem performances are not to be missed.

If Summer, 1976 is a painful reminder of the fickleness of friendship, it is also a balm for the isolation that so often accompanies a changing season or seismic societal shift. While many more people will likely take in a separate story of unlikely friendship this month (featuring a green girl and a good witch), Summer, 1976 makes good on the same loving refrain: “Because I knew you I have been changed for good.”

Running Time: Approximately 90 minutes with no intermission.

EXTENDED: Summer, 1976 plays through January 12, 2025, in the Milton Theatre at Studio Theatre, 1501 14th Street NW, Washington, DC. For tickets ($40–$95, with low-cost options and discounts available), go online or call the box office at 202-332-3300.

The program for Summer, 1976 is online here.

COVID Safety: Masks are recommended but not required. Studio Theatre’s complete Health and Safety protocols are here.

SEE ALSO:
Two DC legends to share stage in ‘Summer, 1976’ at Studio Theatre (news story, Ocober 25, 2024)

The post Kate Eastwood Norris and Holly Twyford are not to be missed in ‘Summer, 1976’ appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

When “Hillary Clinton” steps onto the catwalk in a white floor-length coat to address her adoring fans in Signature Theatre’s Soft Power, one half expects to hear the unmistakable first chords of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.” It’s an iconic image, after all, especially for those Washingtonians whose interests exist firmly at the nexus of both musical and political theater. But this is no post-election celebration, our venue is no Casa Rosada, and our diva is no Eva Perón. Rather, Hillary is stumping for votes in a glitzed-up McDonalds, preparing to (she is certain) defeat the other guy

And so unfolds David Henry Hwang’s and Jeanine Tesori’s fantasia on assumed-to-be-national themes, playing in Signature’s MAX Theatre through September 15. For Hwang at least, Soft Power is semi-autobiographical, having been the victim of a hate-fueled stabbing in November 2015. In the musical, his proxy (identified as DHH and played by Steven Eng) suffers a similar attack that sends him into a hallucinatory episode where American culture is exoticized in what his eager producer (Xūe Xíng, played by Daniel May) calls “the first Chinese musical on Broadway.” The show-within-a-show double-casts Clinton as both candidate and romantic lead, and as the United States spirals out of control in burger-chomping ignorance, it is Xūe Xíng who emerges as a leading voice to lay down arms and abandon isolationism.

Though Soft Power draws on some of the most recognizable and (for many) embarrassing stereotypes of American culture, Hwang avoids punching down and cruelty for the sake of it. In doing so, the cultural critiques within Soft Power hit much harder. He and Tesori tackle questions of what it means to belong to a country where your neighbors associate your appearance with “outsider”; why we are willing to ignore or accept casual racism when it’s presented behind prosceniums; and the power of art to both perpetuate and eliminate harmful stereotypes and nationalism (in international affairs, “soft power” refers to a country’s ability to gain influence through cultural forces).

It helps that he and Tesori are so obviously and intimately familiar with the conventions of American musical theater. They know all the structural tricks (a big dance sequence, a list song, an explanatory number, the eleven-o’clock solo turn, etc.) and employ them to great effect. There are many spoonfuls of sugar in this Soft Power, which has been reworked since its 2019 outing at New York’s Public Theatre, where it ran two hours and 15 minutes compared with its current 90-minute runtime.

Of course, in its premiere 2018 Los Angeles run and subsequent New York production, the COVID-19 pandemic was still months away. Among the segments Hwang has rewritten is the ending, where he makes note of the Trump administration’s reference to COVID as the “China virus,” among other racist and xenophobic labels, and the resulting spate of anti-Asian hate crimes that followed. The emotional echoes of those events hang in the air, piercing through the spectacle in scenes where Xūe Xíng and DHH encounter anti-Asian bigotry. It’s now hard to imagine Soft Power without the post-premiere rewrites, which support a deep urgency and strongly developed poignancy in DHH’s parting message.

But in this rewritten version, a number of dramaturgical questions are left unanswered, particularly around Hwang’s imagining of nation-parent-child relationships. At the beginning of the hallucination, Xūe Xíng gives a handed-down rock to his daughter Jīng (Ashley D. Nguyen) as he bids her farewell in the Shanghai airport. They sing “Dutiful,” a meditation on family and responsibility. But after that number Jīng never reappears and is hardly, if ever, mentioned again. Similarly, DHH’s father is initially the subject of frequent reference, but his presence peters outt as well. It seems his primary function is to tee up a gorgeous song about Fuxing Park (with stunning staging reflecting communal tai chi practice), where he retreated as a boy in the city. But by the end of the show, Hwang’s treatment of belonging and duty adopts a wider view, never bringing the parent-child commentary to a full and satisfying end.

But if Hwang’s book appears to leave a few threads dangling, director Ethan Heard’s production tucks them neatly away behind a gorgeous, comprehensive staging. In the best way, Heard’s production of Soft Power is a marathon of musical theater one-upmanship. Hwang and Tesori have packed the show with both subtle and obvious references alike. In Tesori’s score, one hears familiar echoes of Dreamgirls (“Democracy”), A Little Night Music (“Song of the Campaign Trail”) and Ragtime (“Dutiful”). In Hwang’s book, our first introduction to Hillary Clinton is in a Harold Hill riff, but rather than “trouble in River City,” she’s lamenting “problems” in the USA (“I’m With Her”). And when Hillary and Xūe Xíng wind up baring their souls on the Golden Gate Bridge (which, in this musical-within-a-musical, is in close proximity to both NYC and the White House), it feels like an extended Music Man reference has finally come full circle.

Heard and choreographer Billy Bustamante rise to meet Hwang and Tesori and add their own Broadway-inspired flair. In service to recurring references to The King and I (ironically, Xūe Xíng’s favorite musical), Bustamante has Xūe Xíng and Hillary polka around the stage. When DHH suffers a stabbing to his neck and Xūe Xíng cradles him, he looks like Eponine in the rain on a Les Miserables barricade. And when Hillary Clinton finally bursts onto the stage, she does so in a fashion that is equal parts Reno Sweeney, Mama Rose, and Cassie (an A Chorus Line–style mirror helps complete the illusion, while forcing the audience to look at itself).

Heard, who joined Signature as its associate artistic director in 2022, affirms with Soft Power that he is a versatile talent, adept at staging spectacle as well as more intimate treatments (like his excellent recent productions of The Bridges of Madison County and Pacific Overtures). His attention to detail allows for a deeply consistent and rewarding viewing experience, smoothing the natural ebbs and flows that so often come with farcical territory. And he has assembled a team of designers who clearly understand his vision and are capable of delivering.

Chika Shimizu’s scenic design ranges from a grungy Times Square to the most glamorous McDonalds one could ever imagine (complete with delightfully supersized burgers and fries). In conjunction with costume designer Helen Q. Huang, the stage is often awash in one of two color schemes: the iconic red-and-yellow combo of that most prolific burger chain, or bold and bright streaks of patriotic red, white and blue. After all, what could be more American than Old Glory and Ronald McDonald (in this Soft Power, there are no apple pies to be found)?

Huang’s triumphant parade of costumes is especially thrilling, evoking seemingly all of the fabrics, patterns, and accessories that come to mind when thinking of the best and worst of American fashion. Camouflage! Sundresses! MAGA hats! Scary Knockoff Times Square Elmo costume! A 1950s dinner dress! Heelys!

Eric Norris’ sound design correctly balances the above-stage band (under the direction of Angie Benson) with the performers below. The music and lyrics come through crisply, providing no barrier to Hwang’s and Tesori’s taut satirical score. And though the glittery sets and flashy costumes are front and center in this production, lighting designer Oliver Wason’s pragmatic offerings are at their best in the sporadic quiet moments that offer the audience an opportunity to breathe and the characters a chance to reveal their deeper feelings.

And that the characters are able to successfully convey that emotional range in DHH’s hallucination is as much a testament to the performers as to the writers. As DHH, Eng often rightfully plays it straight against the more outrageous characterizations, but never cedes the opportunity to make a point. May is magnetic as Xūe Xíng, whether he’s goading DHH into writing the musical of his dreams or breaking out as an international hero.

The unquestionable star of the show, however, is Grace Yoo, whose hilarious Hillary Clinton is nothing like the one Americans know, but is unforgettable nevertheless. The role requires strong vocal chops, a keen sense of comic timing, and explosive stage presence, which Yoo, thankfully, has in spades.

Heard’s cast is rounded out by a coterie of talented players who maneuver quickly between roles, distinguishable not only through Huang’s carousel of costumes, but specific and well-defined characterizations. Christopher Mueller is especially strong in his handling of the macho men (among them a gun-toting Vice President and a homophobic blowhard), and Andrew Cristi is delightful in a string of zany characters (including a Schoolhouse Rock!–inspired Chief Justice and Rumsfeld-esque military adviser) who prove impossible to look away from. Each ensemble member is given a chance to shine at one moment or another, and they universally do.

While Washington-area audiences are fortunate to live in an area that brims with dramatic talent, it’s especially clear in this new production that Signature is making a play for regional musical domination. One can’t help but wonder, do the forces of soft power extend to Helen Hayes Awards?

Running ime: 90 minutes, without an intermission.

Soft Power plays through September 15, 2024, in the MAX Theatre at Signature Theatre, 4200 Campbell Avenue, Arlington, VA. For tickets ($40–$128) call (703) 820-9771 or purchase online. Information about ticket discounts is available here.

The program for Soft Power is online here.

Closed captions are available via the GalaPro app.

COVID Safety: Masks are always optional but strongly encouraged in the lobby and other public areas of the building. Face masks are required inside the performance spaces on August 18 at 2 PM and September 10 at 7:30 PM but strongly encouraged inside the performance spaces at other performances. Signature’s COVID Safety Measures can be found here.

The post A spectacular staging of a political fantasia in ‘Soft Power’ at Signature appeared first on DC Theater Arts.

In the waning hours of Pride Month, DC’s Solas Nua (“New Light” in Irish) and Studio Theatre have extended the festivities with a special state visit from Irish drag legend and “national fucking treasure” Panti Bliss (Rory O’Neill). While one probably won’t find the tricolor hanging alongside Logan Circle’s abundant rainbow flags, If These Wigs Could Talk nevertheless offers a moving one-woman excavation of personal pride in the midst of national progress. And as the oft-proclaimed “Queen of Ireland,” Panti proves to rule audiences not with an iron fist, but rather a gentle, impeccably manicured hand.

The last time this critic saw Panti was in 2014 as she performed her solo show High Heels in Low Places in a lecture hall at Ireland’s University of Galway (then called the National University of Ireland, Galway). Only nine months off of her famous “Noble Call” on the stage of Dublin’s historic Abbey Theatre, Panti still appeared to be adjusting to her newfound status as an internationally recognized LGBTQ activist. Scrappy and saucy, her naughtiness still seemed at odds with the expected respectability that viral indictment of homophobia brought upon her.

Ten years later, Panti stands even taller in her shimmery heels. And why shouldn’t she? By all accounts, it’s been a banner decade for her: she’s published a memoir, served as the de facto face of Ireland’s marriage-equality campaign, been the subject of a documentary, opened a companion pub to the eponymous Pantibar, tied the knot, and received an honorary doctorate from Trinity College Dublin. She is a bona fide grande dame of global gayness and carries herself accordingly.

So why is Panti still wondering where she fits in? She spends the bulk of If These Wigs Could Talk’s 75-minute runtime working through that question in a still noble, yet more introspective, call. In her mulling, she takes stock of the current state of drag (“televised, commodified, defanged, and Instagram-able,” she says), recalling the life-changing moment she first encountered a drag queen (exemplifying what she calls “anti-invisibility”) and lamenting the seeming loss of political commentary in the form (“drag isn’t very angry anymore”).

And, on a more personal level, Panti attempts to reconcile the wounds of growing up in (and leaving) an Ireland that criminalized same-sex attraction with her widespread embrace as a cultural ambassador for the country. In 2015, Ireland became the first country to legalize same-sex marriage by popular vote, an astonishing transformation from the conservative culture of Panti’s youth. “I rejected my Irishness for drag,” she says, recounting her early career as an expat in Tokyo’s drag scene. “So why am I still in drag?” she asks.

That strain of emotional tumult will surely be familiar for many LGBTQ people, and perhaps for those who aren’t as well. But in DC, which both carries a reputation for transience and is home to one of the highest concentrations of LGBTQ people in the United States, Panti’s message of self and belonging carries a special poignance.

But even in questioning what she’s “for,” Panti never wavers in knowing who she is. And she is, in many ways, full of incongruous qualities. She is inviting, but direct; randy, but emphatic; funny, but sorrowful. She is the impossibly charming Irish auntie (named something glamorous and surprising, like Columba, perhaps) you never knew you desperately needed.

It helps that she is a master raconteur and an excellent writer. Panti is so attuned to her own voice that the line between scripted text and extemporaneous flourish is virtually indistinguishable. One would be surprised, given the glut of one-person shows that have arisen in the post-COVID years, at how rare such a talent is. She is lyrical but purposeful in her delivery. As she maneuvers through hilarious and heartbreaking stories of parents, protests, and Pride with a signature lilt, she knows exactly when to pause or play up. She looks her audience in the eyes and she sees them.

And under director Phillip McMahon, there is little distraction to stand in the way of that connection. Set designer Molly O’Cathain offers an electric blue vinyl rug and velvet curtain combo, accented with a hot pink cocktail table and neon facsimile of the star’s swoopy signature. Suzie Cummins’ lighting design offers wide washes of bright, warm yellow, except for occasional inversions that are mostly used to dramatic effect. Sound designer Jenny O’Malley mostly asserts her contributions with an occasional foghorn. And costume designer James David Seaver has Panti in a sparkly silver frock and glittery pumps.

There’s sadness in seeing many of the rainbow flags come down at the end of June, marking the end of the region’s annual Pride festivities. How lucky for us, then, that Panti comes just in time to stave off the blues a bit longer. The Queen of Ireland has arrived in DC. Long may she reign.

Running Time: 75 minutes, no intermission.

Panti Bliss: If These Wigs Could Talk, a co-production of Solas Nua, Studio Theatre, THISISPOPBABY, and Abbey Theatre Productions, plays through July 7, 2024, on Studio Theatre’s Stage 4, 1501 14th St NW, Washington, DC 20005.  Purchase tickets ($54) online or call the box office at 202-332-3300.

SEE ALSO:
Solas Nua and Studio Theatre to present ‘Panti Bliss: If These Wigs Could Talk’ (new story, June 13, 2024)

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What’s the story, morning glory? What’s the tale, nightingale? Did you hear about Hugo and Kim (and Conrad and Albert and Rosie and Mae)? With “The Telephone Hour,” Bye Bye Birdie lays claim to one of Broadway’s most iconic earworms. And in a new production running through June 15 as part of the Kennedy Center’s Broadway Center Stage series, the classic musical’s iconic score is placed front and center for paramount pleasure.

Bye Bye Birdie finds talent manager Albert Peterson (Christian Borle) in a pickle: his biggest star, teen idol Conrad Birdie (Ephraim Sykes), has been drafted into the army. To make matters worse, his long-suffering colleague and girlfriend Rosie (Krysta Rodriguez) sees an opportunity in this misfortune to finally settle down into a normal life free from the young star, if not his overbearing mother. Rosie devises a final PR stunt to preserve Conrad’s celebrity and save the business from financial ruin: he will offer “One Last Kiss” to an adoring fan on The Ed Sullivan Show. The selected fan, 16-year-old Kim McAfee (Ashlyn Maddox), must navigate a budding romance with heartbroken boyfriend Hugo, not to mention her uptight parents, to see this ultimate dream to fruition.

Above-the-title stars Borle and Rodriguez offer engaging performances that set the pace for the production from the outset. Borle is exceptionally expressive, embracing Birdie’s slightly warped world and bringing his performance near the brink of excess. Rodriguez does her best to match Borle, wading somewhat stiffly through an occasionally clunky script, but breezing through her songs with ease. Both of them embrace their musical moments to shine and, in doing so, pay appropriate homage to the originators of their roles, Dick Van Dyke and Chita Rivera. Borle exquisitely executes Denis Jones’ jubilant choreography in “Put on a Happy Face,” while Rodriguez’s silent expressions in “One Boy” tell us everything we need to know about Rosie’s enduring devotion to Albert.

As Harry and Doris McAfee, veteran actors Richard Kind and Jennifer Laura Thompson deliver predictably wonderful performances. But the youngest stars shine brightest in this Birdie, which is functionally a showcase of rising talent. As Kim, Maddox is sensational. Silver-voiced and savvy, she sincerely captures Kim’s transitional adolescence with a welcome wink. Miguel Gil is underutilized as Hugo Peabody, but gives an attuned, mature performance, even when his character demonstrates the opposite behavior. With a glittery purple jacket and deviously playful smile, Sykes’ Conrad is more Little Richard than Elvis Presley. And as Sweet Apple teens Harvey Johnson and Ursula Merkle, Victor De Paula Rocha and Jackera Davis maximize the smallish roles given to them through sheer force. Rocha is especially magnetic in the dance sequences, exuding so much energy that lighting designer Cory Pattak’s bold, colorful washes almost seem dim in comparison.

Michael Stewart’s book is a terrific example of Golden Age musical structure, and his cheeky riffs on adolescence, generational misunderstandings, and celebrity still elicit plenty of well-deserved laughs. But even with the assistance of adept adapters Robert Cary and Jonathan Tolins, Birdie struggles to hide its age behind the original treatment of ethnic stereotypes. For example, in the song “A Healthy, Normal, American Boy,” this production excises the original references to “Indochina” and “Old Virginnie” in favor of “Alaska” and “Hawai’i.” But the stereotypes are so firmly entrenched in the plot that such omissions and changes are unable to be made entirely. If she’s not guilting her son into doing her bidding, Albert’s mother Mae (Caroline Aaron, charming, if one-note) is belittling Rosie with references to Mexico, the Spanish language, and a life “south of the border” (which tees up one of the score’s better-known songs, “Spanish Rose”). Stewart’s book doesn’t validate Mae’s bigotry, but the incessant nagging at Rosie gets old quickly.

Still, Birdie is not in such a state that it warrants total retirement. If anything, this production by executive producer Jeffrey Finn and director Marc Bruni has given Birdie the ideal treatment, exemplifying the property’s best aspects so completely that the lesser components are simply unable to stand in the way of its success. It’s hard to see the musical receiving a major resident revival any time soon (the first and only Broadway revival in 2009 ran only four months with John Stamos and Gina Gershon), but perhaps brief presentations like this installment of Broadway Center Stage are enough to scratch the itch.

Bruni, who has directed past Broadway Center Stage iterations with The Music Man and How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, fully asserts himself as a master of this presentational style. Birdie premiered in an era of much larger casts (and lower costs), and adapting the material to reflect today’s production capabilities, especially in a limited run such as this, is no small feat. Through limited doubling and combining of some featured roles, Bruni’s production is trim, but balanced. With a utilitarian cast of 24 (the 2009 Broadway revival had 33 performers compared to 47 in the original production), Bruni and Jones totally manage to keep the stage from feeling empty.

Fortunately, the orchestra is nearly as large as the cast (John Bell serves as music director), exploding through the Eisenhower Theater as a pleasant reminder of the quality of Charles Strouse and Lee Adams’ sweet score. Building on Robert Ginzler’s original orchestrations, Josh Clayton’s nimble additions optimize the orchestra to facilitate a rich sound, and the result is thrilling. For Golden Age Broadway fans, many of these songs will feel like old friends, from “An English Teacher” to “A Lot of Livin’ to Do.” Hearing them in this manner can easily transport one to an era just before the emergence of the “rock musical,” where overtures were a given and light pastiche was the name of the game.

And the orchestra is unmissable as the centerpiece of scenic designer Lee Savage’s angular platform set. Relying heavily on projections by Nathan Scheuer (used practically, but to great comic effect when the McAfees beam into The Ed Sullivan Show), Savage flies in large signs to introduce additional dimensions to the stage: Maude’s Roadside Retreat, Almaelou offices, etc. Pattak’s rich strokes of blue, pink, and yellow light are complemented by Tom Watson’s exuberant costumes, which are a veritable parade of bright printed patterns.

The stunning visual of the band and the bright splashes of color are only amplified when the cast is executing Jones’ evocative dance sequences. He smartly blends traditional musical theater choreography with some touchstone dance moves of that rock-and-roll era. In the apt hands of the ensemble, the final product is astonishing.

Combined with tick, tick…BOOM! and the upcoming Nine, this Broadway Center Stage season covers half a century of musical theater. While Birdie is the earliest of the three offerings, and is more likely seen in high school auditoriums than professional houses these days, this production manages to bring new energy to an old property. Sitting in the Eisenhower and feeling those old songs from that first-rate orchestra wash over you, how could you not put on a happy face?

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

Bye Bye Birdie plays through June 15, 2024, in the Eisenhower Theater at the Kennedy Center, 2700 F St NW, Washington, DC. Purchase tickets ($59–$325, with student rush and discounts available) at the box office, online, or by calling (202) 467-4600 or toll-free at (800) 444-1324.

The Bye Bye Birdie program is online here.

COVID Safety: Masks are optional in all Kennedy Center spaces for visitors and staff. If you prefer to wear a mask, you are welcome to do so. See Kennedy Center’s complete COVID Safety Plan here.

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“Just because you write the number down doesn’t mean you have to buy it.” Such is the opening advisory from America’s naughtiest Tupperware Lady and the eponymous host of Dixie’s Tupperware Party (running at Kennedy Center through June 2), who rattles off trademarked names and product numbers with the speed of a veteran auctioneer. Written and performed by Kris Andersson (Dixie Longate when in drag), Dixie’s Tupperware Party is more a celebration of “Good Old American Plastic” and the generations of enterprising women responsible for its ubiquity, than an in-home trade show (though products are available for purchase in the lobby).

Visiting Washington from her hometown of Mobile, Alabama, Dixie Longate has an answer for all your airtight needs. Hauling 18 cupcakes, a layered sheet cake, or three dozen Jell-O shots across town? Try the #280 Rectangular Cake Taker. Finding yourself in need of a dishwasher-safe contraption to perfectly marinate your meat? Check out the #748 Season-Serve Container. Hoping to develop your baby’s motor skills? Consider the #1399 Shape-O Toy for your rugrat.

With great flair, Longate elevates the age-old debate of drag as homage or mockery to a higher level, adding a uniquely economic consideration into the mix. Riffing on the stereotypes of the Tupperware Lady (or Avon, Mary Kay, etc.), she is dressed to the nines with perfectly curled hair and a crisp, colorful apron. Her appearance gives every indication that she is ready to make a sale, even if her low-brow language betrays such professionalism. She is a friend you could trust with your deepest secrets, though she’ll gladly spill everyone else’s after a glass of wine.

In recent years, multi-level marketing companies (which Tupperware could historically be considered) have come under increasing scrutiny for the financial losses incurred by those at the “bottom” of the sales lines. Firmly skirting such touchy territory, Longate decidedly keeps things light, bright, and watertight. She perhaps inadvertently reveals a hint of the unconventional and unpredictable dangers of engaging in such businesses (for instance, she loses the honor of top salesperson [and the promised diamond reward] to a woman who conducts business entirely online), but only briefly. Instead, she takes a rosier view, offering a sweet, if sentimental, case for how Tupperware has contributed to financial independence for countless women.

“These bowls hold ambitions,” says Longate, “some woman’s financial future.” She regularly references Brownie Wise, the woman who innovated the product party model and rose to become an executive in the company (not to mention the first woman to be featured on the cover of BusinessWeek). All cheekiness falls to the side in these moments, and Longate’s admiration for Wise as a business pioneer is genuine and moving. “Seventy-six years later and we’re all still at her party,” she says.

It’s those heartfelt moments that make Dixie’s Tupperware Party one worth an affirmative RSVP. But clocking in at 100 minutes with scant plot, the play comes close to the brink of “too long.” Two false endings (one a Q&A and the other a soliloquy involving a story of domestic abuse) may leave audiences wondering when the party will wrap, but, like any good host, Longate knows how to keep her guests engaged. Her strong comedic chops are on their biggest, boldest display during a period of audience interaction, soliciting “Tupper-monials” and questions about her wares from partygoers, and enlisting several audience members to the stage for product demonstrations and a game.

Even with only a display counter, two couches, and a coffee table, the Kennedy Center Family Theater may as well be the smoke-stained living room from someone’s childhood (with direction from Patrick Richwood and lighting design by Richard Winkler). Employing a few video elements, Longate makes great use of the relatively skeleton space, maintaining focus at all times and leaving the audience wondering what’s in store (and what on earth she’s going to do with the next product).

As Washington counts down to Pride Month, Dixie’s Tupperware Party may just be the appetizer one needs to prepare for the coming feast. By the way, the #260 Drip-Less Straw Sealed Lidded Tumbler is the perfect pick for your parade-day potable.

Running time: 100 minutes without an intermission.

Dixie’s Tupperware Party plays through June 2, 2024, in the Family Theatre at the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, 2700 F St NW, Washington, DC. Purchase tickets ($35–$69) online, at the box office, or by calling (202) 467-4600 or toll-free at (800) 444-1324.

The program for Dixie’s Tupperware Party is online here.

COVID Safety: Masks are optional in all Kennedy Center spaces for visitors and staff. Read more about the Kennedy Center’s mask policy here.

https://youtu.be/lhxBCbml10M?si=q88-R4swcMUNhXaK

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