Theater review: 'Spoon River Project' a must-see

By Meredith Deliso

For a show about the dead, “The Spoon River Project” is very much alive.

In a span of 80 minutes, passion, joy, regret, sorrow, rage and love are expressed by the play’s nearly 50 characters — all of whom have come back from the dead to share the secrets they’ve taken with them to the grave.

Set in the Green-Wood Cemetery, director Tom Andolora couldn’t have been more inspired when he picked a location for his adaptation of 47 of Edgar Lee Masters’s poetic monologues recited by the deceased inhabitants of the fictional Midwestern town of Spoon River.

After a 10-minute trolley ride into the thick of the Sunset Park graveyard, you arrive at the “stage” — a plot of green surrounded by white tombstones, a Civil War-era mausoleum looming in the background.

With no fanfare, the play begins as the 11 actors slowly descend from a hill, silhouetted against the darkening sky; it’s enough to give you goosebumps. They carry lanterns and sport early 19th-century garb — the ladies in full skirts and decorative hats, the men looking like someone you’d find serving a drink at Henry Public. Other than some strong costuming, it’s pretty bare-bones stuff, with inevitable comparisons drawn to “Our Town.”

Thorton Wilder’s classic was never this eerie, though. Through the characters’ chants, you learn of their unfortunate demises, brought on by fever, childbirth, a broken heart, before they break into a hymn, “Softly and Tenderly,” their strong, harmonized voices accompanied by live strings.

Then, one by one, they are summoned forward to share their sad stories — one a failed inventor whose supposed genius was a sham, another an alcoholic who died of liver failure, and not, as his unsuspecting townsmen assumed, “eating watermelon.” Among the bunch, there boasts adulterers, murderers, divorcees, mistresses, spinsters — Spoon River was quite the soap opera.

Among all this gloom, the play’s not without its light-hearted moments: at one point, a woman who, after bearing nine children never found the time to write her novel, warns, “Sex is the curse of life!” to several laughs.

It’s a strong play, and not on the immersive setting alone — the talented cast convincingly takes on multiple, diverse roles, making for powerful, lingering performances, even if they only span a minute. Still, thanks to its location, the play’s profundity is not lost, as, after the last character has spoken his peace, the dead return whence they came, burdened still by their guilt or sorrow, and you board the trolley, back to the land of the living.

“The Spoon River Project” at Green-Wood Cemetery [Fifth Avenue and 25th Street in Sunset Park, (718) 768-7300], now through June 26. Tickets $25 ($20 in advance). For info, visit www.green-wood.com.

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Theater review: Say hello to 'Bye Bye Birdie' at the Heights Players

By Louise Crawford

“Bye Bye Birdie,” that musical war-horse by Charles Strouse, Lee Adams and Michael Stewart, performed in high school auditoriums nationwide since its award-winning Broadway run in 1960, stands strong at the Heights Players in Brooklyn Heights.

You’d have to be a curmudgeonly lout not to put on a happy face during a show with a chorus of real teenage bobby-soxers, an Elvis and Ed Sullivan impersonator, a Jewish mother to end all Jewish mothers, once-topical jokes about Henry Luce, Fidel Castro, Peter Lawford, Lamont Cranston and Mussolini, and a score that includes such songwriting gems as “Kids,” “A Lot A Livin’ to Do” and “Telephone Hour.”

Casting is always a strong card at the Heights Players and there were many standouts in the well-oiled, multi-age ensemble, well directed by Thomas Tyler. Marlene Berner as Rosie, the part played by Chita Rivera on Broadway, is a performer to watch. Berner can sing, dance and act with subtly, humor and gusto (calling all casting agents, this woman is good). Long-time Heights player Thomas Urciuoli, in the role of Harry MacAfee, gives Paul Lynde a run for his money as the very funny, hyperventilating dad who goes apoplectic at the word puberty. Adam Kemmerer’s punky, gyrating and understated Conrad Birdie (pictured) is winning, as is the uber-comedic Gail Lemelbaum as Albert’s kvetchy mother. Ashley Fedor as Kim is a charmer with an effortless and expressive soprano and real acting and comedy chops. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Sabrina Fernandez as Kim’s little sister, Randi. This cutie is well beyond her 11 years when it comes to credible singing, acting and comedy.

The “How to Kill A Man” dream sequence choreographed by Aurora Dredger was unexpectedly original and highly amusing. Other highpoints in a show of musical high points include the brilliant, “Hymn for a Sunday Evening,” the rollicking, “Lot A’ Livin’ To Do,” the always endearing (and oft-quoted) “Telephone Hour,” and “Baby Talk to Me,” with the very tall and talented Andrew Schoomaker as Albert and the adult ensemble.

The Heights Players always add unexpected touches (and forgivable liberties) and the “no cellphone” speech added to the beginning of the show was a slam-dunk positing Harvey Johnson (Chad Fusco), the show’s iconic nerd, as the inventor of the cellphone.

My guess is that this effusive “Bye Bye Birdie” will get better and better as its talented, big and big-hearted cast performs it through May 29.

“Bye Bye Birdie” at the Heights Players [26 Willow Pl. between State and Joralemon streets in Brooklyn Heights, (718) 237-2752], now through May 29, Friday and Saturday at 8 pm and Sunday at 2 pm. Tickets $18. For info, visit www.heightsplayers.org.

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Theater review: One golden Heights Players production

By Thomas Tracy

The Heights Players is finally feeling its age with its production of Noel Coward’s light-hearted comedy “Waiting in the Wings” — but the plucky Willow Place troupe has never been more charming.

With the exception of a few miscues and a botched line or two, the community theater group masterfully breathes new life to Coward’s team of tarnished golden girls bravely facing the sundown of their lives in a charity home for retired actresses with a sly smile on their lips and a song in their hearts.

“Waiting in the Wings,” Coward’s 50th play, was a critical flop and considered too old fashioned for contemporary audiences when it premiered in Ireland back in 1960.

Yet today, as baby boomers begin retiring, the doddering old ladies are again relevant as they reminisce about past conquests and gossip about the latest addition to their ever-so humble home.

As the play opens, Lotta Bainbridge (Susan Faye Groberg, above left) is the newest old kid on the block. Once the toast of Tinseltown, she’s now too old to act, too poor to live on her own and fears her impending final death scene at the Wings.

As it turns out, moving into a charity home for septuagenarian starlets can be pretty off-putting. Everyone — and I mean everyone — can drop a Shakespearian soliloquy or a Vaudeville song and dance number at the drop of a hat.

Yet things get far worse when Lotta finds out that May Davenport (Valerie O’Hara, above right) is also a resident — and still hates her for stealing her boyfriend some 30 years earlier.

Much like a classic sports car, “Waiting in the Wings” needs a little time to warm up before it gets going.

But once it does, the laughs don’t stop — thanks mostly to actress Margaret Sullivan, who brings out all of Coward’s funniest one-liners with a biting Irish brogue in her role as Deidre O’Malley. Other standout performances include Bill Wood’s Osgood Meeker, a lovesick movie fan who makes a daily pilgrimage to the Wings to visit one of its bedridden residents, and Elizabeth Bove’s Miss Archie, the former drill sergeant who runs the whole place with military precision.

Each cast member brings a sliver of sweet sentimentality to “Waiting in the Wings,” even though it quickly becomes clear that some are stronger actors and more comfortable on stage.

Whatever minor weaknesses it has, the cast operates very well as a family unit, making the lighter moments around the piano — the centerpiece of the stage — a joy to watch.

“Waiting in the Wings” was a perfect choice for the Heights Players as it reaches the end of its 55th season. The theater group, much like the play’s characters, is old, but far from done.

“Waiting in the Wings” at the Heights Players [26 Willow Pl. between State and Joralemon streets in Brooklyn Heights, (718) 237-2752], through April 17; Fridays–Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 2 pm. Tickets $15. For info, visit www.heightsplayers.org. 

Photo by Harry Marc Hermann

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Theater review: Gallery Players does August Wilson's 'Jitney'

By Meredith Deliso

The play may be called “Jitney” and set in a gypsy cab station, but August Wilson’s early work is not about driving cars.

Now running at the Gallery Players in Park Slope, the playwright’s eighth installment in his much-heralded “Pittsburgh Cycle” is an imperfect yet engrossing glimpse at the lives of men — young men, old men, failed men, poor men, alcoholic men, ambitious men, generous men, wise men, hot-headed men, all of them black men — working as drivers in the 1970s.

From the start, there’s a sense of familiarity among them, conveyed through the teasing, the debates (who’s prettier — Lena Horne or Sarah Vaughan?) and even the punches thrown. It’ll take some paying attention, but you’ll get familiar with them, too.

There’s Youngblood, a 24-year-old Vietnam vet who’s trying to buy a house for his girlfriend and 2-year-old son; the gray-haired, stuttering Turnbo, who likes to know everyone’s business; Doub, the voice of reason; Shealy, who uses the incessantly ringing phone to “take numbers”; Fielding, a former tailor who made suits for Count Basie back in the day, but now risks job and health by drinking; and, at the helm of this tired ship, Becker, a retired miner.

Essentially two things happen in the play — first, Becker breaks the news that, in two weeks, the city is tearing down the shop’s block in an attempt at urban renewal. That, though, is almost an afterthought; a latter rallying cry against the destruction plays as insincere and pat.

The main meat comes from the second news — Becker’s estranged son, Booster, is being released from prison after serving 20 years for killing his rich, white girlfriend after she falsely claimed that he raped her.

That father-son relationship, and, in turn, the moving performances by Lawrence James, a Wilson veteran, as Becker, and Gil Charleston as Booster, make for the show’s best moments. There’s a tearjerker of a speech from James on being known as the man who raised a murderer — it elicited a few audible “wows” at Sunday’s matinee —followed by a glimpse of Charleston’s tear-streaked, helpless face, one of director Gregory Simmons’s beautifully crafted moments.

It’s an ensemble piece, so thankfully, the rest of the cast turns in solid performances. Kwaku Driskell is a weary yet charming Fielding, and Terrence Charles Rodgers is funny as Turnbo — though his inexplicable stutter only seemed to serve as a cover for more than a few flubbed lines.

However rich the performances, the technical aspects of the play left much to be desired. The pace is intentionally contemplative, but it dragged nonetheless. It also didn’t help that even though there are no necessary scene changes — the play takes place entirely in the station — the multiple scene transitions left us sitting in the dark for much too long while canned music — street sounds or period music — attempted to fill the awkward silence.

I was impatient to get back to the otherwise fine drama at hand.

“Jitney” at the Gallery Players [199 14th St. between Fourth and Fifth avenue in Park Slope, (718) 832-0617], now through April 3. Tickets $18 ($14 for children and seniors). For info, visit www.galleryplayers.com. 

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Theater review: Laugh-a-minute 'Comedy'

By Gersh Kuntzman

The new production of Shakespeare’s “The Comedy of Errors” at the BAM Harvey is laughable.

In this case, that’s good and bad news.

Propeller Theater’s bawdy, gag-filled version of the Bard’s early comedy is hampered throughout by something that the English troupe can’t control: a poor script that relies on silly wordplay and puns, a play that is not even in Shakespeare’s top 10.

The good news is that the game players barely bother to adhere to anything except Shakespeare’s actual words. Beyond that, pretty much anything goes.

Before the play even starts, the audience is greeted by a crew of actors wearing garish Mexican soccer uniforms and singing mariachis and 1980s pop songs with ridiculous Spanish accents and 1970s porn star moustaches.

The play begins in true Shakespearean fashion, with a dull monologue that explains the absurd plot to come: Two twin brothers, both named Antipholus, and their twin servants, both named Dromio, are separated at sea and end up in different countries. One Antipholus-Dromio team goes in search of the other, and, upon landing in Ephesus, is constantly being confused with the other.

Raucous hijinx are supposed to ensue. But in Shakespeare’s day, the comedy came from the tension when the out-of-town Antipholus ends up in bed with the hometown Antipholus’s wife only to fall in love with her sister; and the hometown Antipholus ends up in bed with a prostitute and in jail for “crimes” that his long-lost brother actually committed.

In reality, it’s boring. As audience members, you spend most of the time maddeningly waiting for the brothers’ identities to be resolved so the happy ending can play out. Fortunately, instead of relying on the script for the comedy, Propeller director Edward Hall turns the very staging of the show into an out-of-control farce.

It’s an all-male company, so plenty of easy laughs come from the oldest of gags: men in drag (especially Kelsey Brookfield as a busty hooker). But beyond that, mirth is conjured up in the craziest of ways: a nunchuck-toting noblewoman, a fight scene in which the Village People-style police officer ends up being comically sodomized with a nightstick, a hilarious church revival scene — none of which bears any resemblance to the stuff they did back in the Globe Theater.

Or perhaps it does. After all, Shakespeare was constantly balancing the need to enlighten the people in the good seats as well as entertain the coarser folk in the cheap seats, so in many respects Propeller is living up to the Bard’s high (and not so high) standards.

You’ll laugh heartily throughout — especially during Tony Bell’s riotous turn as an aging Evangelist — though don’t expect to heighten your appreciation for William Shakespeare.

“The Comedy of Errors” at BAM Harvey [651 Fulton St. between Rockwell and Ashland places in Fort Greene, (718) 636-4100], through March 27. Tickets $25-$95.

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Theater review: This show is one 'Treasure'

By Louise Crawford

Calling all kids — and adults — who love swashbuckling adventure, pirates, and stories with smart, heroic children at the center.

At a recent preview of “Treasure Island,” now playing at Irondale Center, located in the Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church in Fort Greene, I sat next to Jordan Cooper, an adorable second grader at Park Slope’s PS 321, who was attending the play with her mother, Karin Ford. 

She was rapt throughout the two-hour show, which includes a stellar cast of believably roguish actors, including Tom Hewitt as Long John Silver, Michael Gabriel Goodfriend as Black Dog, John Ahlin as Billy Bones and Philip Willingham as Willoughby. Rocco Sisto as Dr. Livesay, Kenneth Tigar as the Squire and Tom Beckett as Ben Gunn are also excellent.

Over the last few months, Jordon and her mom read the classic by Robert Louis Stevenson as a bedtime story, and they were both eager to see all their favorite scenes played out.

They were not disappointed.

“I loved all of it,” she told me. “Especially the scene where Jim Hawkins hides in the apple barrel.” (Indeed, heartthrob handsome Noah E. Galvin is simply wonderful as the young hero.)

If I say that the sound design by Will Pickens, the lighting design by Stewart Wagner and the set design by Tony Straiges stole the show, it is no diminishment of all the other well-oiled elements in this masterful production. That said, mention must be made of the teeming rain, the thunder, the tropical birds, the roaring sea, the seagulls, the cannon balls and the musket fire, which, add enormously, even exponentially, to the sensorial experience of the show.

The dirge-like singing, which is used as a transition between scenes also enhances the show. Credit goes to Ken Schatz, the musical director, who also appears as the Chanteyman (and also Mrs. Hawkins and Redruth). Small and immensely graceful, he climbs the ship’s rig and leads the pirates in classic chanteys in a voice both soulful and stirring.

Director B.H. Barry, who doubled as fight director and adaptor of this classic for the stage, deserves applause for the dramatic flow and the action-packed excitement.

This “Treasure Island” is a treasure, and it left Jordan and her mother wanting more.

“We’re going to go home and read the book again,” Ford told me.

“Treasure Island” at the Irondale Center [85 S. Oxford St. at Lafayette Avenue in Fort Greene. (718) 488-9233], now through March 26. Tickets $20-45. For info, visit www.irondale.org.

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Theater review: Heights does 'Hamlet' right

By Louise Crawford

Half the fun of a Heights Players’ production is a look at the program. Such a talented group of New York actors manage to find their way to the company’s auditions. Indeed, it’s the cast that makes this new production of “Hamlet” worth a trip to Willow Street.

Brian Richards as the not-so-great Dane brings the melancholy intelligence, energy, humor and pitch blackness of the title character to life. Richards remained psychologically true to the character as he grappled with grief, betrayal, revenge, incest, anger and love (you know the story), enacting Shakespeare’s poetry and punditry with great energy and dynamic lyricism.

Energy, expressivity and narrative clarity were obviously director Robert Weinstein’s M.O. for this production. His modern-dress “Hamlet” opens with a tone poem of sorts as the actors recite the words “to be or not to be” in a roundelay, a fitting start to a production that strives to make this brilliant drama accessible — and memorable — to all.

The cast is uniformly excellent. Raven Pease is very good as a delicate and enchanting Ophelia, and Emily Taplin Boyd is a very stylish Gertrude. 

The set, designed by Gerry Newman, manages to evoke a dark winter night and the interior of the castle with simplicity and versatility.

“Hamlet” at the Heights Players [26 Willow Pl. between State and Joralemon streets in Brooklyn Heights, (718) 237-2752], now through March 20. Tickets $15, $13 for seniors and children. For info, visit www.heightsplayers.org.

Photo of Hamlet (Brian Richards) by Tom Callan

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Theater review: Boxing play lacks punch

By Thomas Tracy

They say boxers make the best dancers. The same could be said about the team behind “Beautiful Burnout,” a frenzied look at the so-called “sweet science” that left me dizzy — and not in a good way.

After witnessing this high-octane pugilistic passion play, appearing for the first time in the U.S. at St. Ann’s Warehouse in DUMBO, I felt like I went three rounds with Mike Tyson. The simple story swarmed me with so many superfluous characters and side stories that I had no idea what was going on. Before I knew it, I was down for the count.

The play takes place in Scotland, but this meandering blitzkrieg came straight out of Brooklyn; co-director Steven Hoggett got the idea for “Beautiful Burnout” when he was working on the National Theatre of Scotland’s “Black Watch” at St. Ann’s in 2008. His cast used the showers at the nearby Gleason’s  Gym following performances, and Hoggett was enamored by the young boxers he met there.

Thanks to the “Rocky” franchise and movies like “The Fighter” and “Raging Bull,” there are plenty of rules (not all of them Queensberry) on how to make a good boxing drama, but Hoggett ignores most of them.

Instead, his play repeatedly speeds up and sputters as Hoggett jams everything he learned and everyone he met at Gleason’s Gym into a trim 90-minute tale about Cameron Burns (Ryan Fletcher), a young, dumb scrapper who joins an amateur boxing club with dreams of being a big-time contender.

Under the tutelage of trainer Bobby Burgess (Ewan Stewart), Burns and a crew of young pugilists — which include “Million Dollar Baby” clone Dina Massie (Vicki Manderson) as eye candy — soon learn that boxing can crush your spirit as easily as your cheekbones.

But they’re grateful for the beat downs: As Burns and the other fighters are being chewed up and spat out one by one, they think about nothing but the cool nicknames they’re going to use once they get in the ring.

They also do a lot of dancing: The frequent sparring montages are put to pounding club music, making them vaguely reminiscent of Tae Bo videos.

Hoggett and co-director Scott Graham do choreograph the boxing matches well, freezing every punch so we can get a brief glimpse of what’s running through the fighter’s mind at the moment of impact.

Sadly, many of these moments are spent on the banal supporting cast, which is pretty much forgettable. Even Burns’s character isn’t all that interesting.

The play is often saved by its moral center, Carlotta (wonderfully played by Blythe Duff), who kept the audience engaged as she went through the paces of a boxing mom, from the initial fears about her son’s decision to become a boxer to, as she puts it, “becoming a bloody extra in ‘Gladiator,’” then back to worrying over what her young fighter has become.

That dramatic blow is, of course, saved for the last act, but by then, thanks to all the extraneous work out sessions and insignificant side bouts, I had already thrown in the towel.

“Beautiful Burnout” at St. Ann’s Warehouse [38 Water St. between Dock and Main streets in DUMBO, (718) 254-8779], through March 27. Tuesdays-Saturdays, 8 pm; matinees on Saturdays and Sundays. Tickets $60-$70. For info, visit www.stannswarehouse.org.

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Theater review: This ‘Frost/Nixon’ is like the president himself — riveting, but flawed

By Meredith Deliso

The Heights Players prides itself on its intimacy, and that couldn’t be more evident in its current production of “Frost/Nixon.”

When the play opened on Broadway five years ago, its staging employed dozens of TV screens to show close-ups of the actor’s faces for audience members in the cheap seats. Not here. The Players’ production relies on the performances and intimate setting to bring the audience in. And though both have their moments, the end result is mixed. Thanks to the strength of Peter Morgan’s script, “Frost/Nixon” is a largely enjoyable, at times gripping delight, even for non-political junkies, though it’s often bogged down by the heavy-handed delivery of that material and one key production flaw.

The play is a fictionalized account of the 1977 showdown between Richard Nixon, fresh off his pardon, and British journalist David Frost. After unique personal failures, both yearn to be major players again, and their interview holds the key, if only for one man. In this David-and-Goliath setup, mere “talk show host” Frost appears to be the clear underdog to the seasoned Nixon, who had battled interviewers before on such subjects as divergent as Vietnam, Watergate, and a dog named Checkers.

Director Steve Velardi clearly considered that dynamic in his effective staging — it’s a boxing match without gloves. In one corner, you have Nixon’s camp — the ex-president, his chief of staff, and smarmy agent. In the other, there’s Frost, his producer, woman, and “crackpot” team of investigators. Whether they’re at Nixon’s California home or at the TV studio, they never cross sides.

Like the best Nixon performances, Jason Hewitt’s doesn’t lend itself to caricature. He does one two-armed “Victory” shot that’s obviously played for laughs, but other than that, his Nixon embodies the brashness and gravitas of the man. Jere Williams is appropriately goofy and showy as Frost, a toothy smile almost constantly planted on his face, though he exudes depth and empathy.

Despite these strong performances, the production suffers at times from over-acting and heavy-handedness, especially in the narration by one of the investigators, Jim Reston, played by Michael Nigro. And a particularly powerful moment from Hewitt, where Nixon drunkenly calls Frost on the night before their last interview, was the type of tour de force performance better suited for a larger space, and would have been more effective turned down a notch. The otherwise swift show was also interrupted by an intermission added simply to sell concessions, it seems.

The play’s ending should be no spoiler — Frost emerged the victor, getting a confession from Nixon. As mentioned earlier, this staging forgoes any props to aid the story, instead relying on intimacy. Though as Reston’s narration highlights the look of defeat on Nixon’s face and the “reductive power of the close-up” during this climatic moment, I couldn’t tell you how powerful that close-up was. With the audience seated on all four sides of the stage, I was unfortunate enough to be seated behind Nixon, deprived of that catharsis. Intimacy wasn’t enough.

“Frost/Nixon” at the Heights Players [26 Willow Pl. between State and Joralemon streets in Brooklyn Heights, (718) 237-2752], through Feb. 20; Fridays–Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 2 pm. Tickets $15. For info, visit www.heightsplayers.org. 

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Theater review: Nothing 'Drowsy' about this show

By Meredith Deliso

The mousy man in the Broadway memorabilia-filled apartment just wants to be entertained by a story and a few good songs.

And when he’s feeling blue, nothing cheers him up quite like his favorite musical — “The Drowsy Chaperone.”

When the man drops the needle onto a cast album to this fictional musical, characters enter his apartment and the show begins.

“The Drowsy Chaperone,” of course, is not a fictional musical, but an actual one. And its ingenious show-within-a-show construct helped it win the Tony for best book in 2006. But beyond the clever staging, this homage to bygone musicals — the ones with overtures, rousing numbers, and, of course, a happy ending — is filled with all of those things.

The Gallery Players’ new production would certainly not disappoint its narrator, thanks to a plotline right out of one of his cherished Broadway hits. In short, Robert Martin, an oil tycoon, is about to marry Janet Van De Graaff, a Zeigfeld-esque showgirl who’s quitting the stage once she says her vows. Her producer, Mr. Feldzieg, can’t afford to let that happen, and neither can Janet’s guardian, the “chaperone” of the title, who keeps a flask in her furs and a saucy line at the ready. This being a send-up of 1920s musicals, obviously mistaken identities, gangster jokes, spit takes and over-the-top numbers ensue.

At the helm of the ensemble, Craig Treubert is extremely affable as the man in the chair, even as he regularly interrupts the show with commentary. As Robert, Eric Weaver is a quadruple threat — he sings, acts, tap dances, and even skates. The drowsy chaperone may be the narrator’s personal favorite, but Edward Juvier easily wins the audience over as the ridiculous Lothario Adolpho, earning laughs in his entrance alone.

It’s an uproarious production that revels in playing with its construct — at one point, the man’s record “skips,” causing the cast to repeat a dance sequence until remedied. Another big number gets cut short by a power outage.

Not all aspects are as winning. The gangsters’ pastry puns got old fast. Feldzieg and a dim-witted showgirl, Kitty, yelled most of their lines, but it was more grating than funny. A bad line isn’t funnier if you say it louder. And some of the charm of the big budget Broadway

production — especially the way the actors entered from inside the refrigerator or from off the bookshelf — couldn’t be attempted here.

But the show is so charming and the cast so talented that those are minor grievances. And it’s selling well, so get your tickets now if you want to be taken away by this highly entertaining production. Because, in the end, aren’t we all just the man in the chair?

“The Drowsy Chaperone” at the Gallery Players [199 14th St. between Fourth and Fifth avenue in Park Slope, (718) 832-0617], through Feb. 20. Tickets $18 ($14 for children and seniors). For info, visit www.galleryplayers.com.

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Theater review: A hot little 'Nutcracker' from Company XIV

By Meredith Deliso

’Tis the season for “Nutcrackers” of all stripes, be them faithful or irreverent. For a sexed-up retelling that’s full of eye candy, Company XIV’s reimagining, “Nutcracker Rouge,” doesn’t disappoint.

The Carroll Gardens-based dance-theater troupe has made a name for itself thanks to its sensual, over-the-top productions that are as much a celebration of the human body as the dance that it performs. And “Nutcracker Rouge,” the company’s vamped-up contribution to the holiday tradition, now through Jan. 9, turns the classic tale into a sumptuous treat that’s certainly not for kids.

At the helm of Company XIV’s version is Drosselmeyer, a dramatic narrator who demands as much attention as the characters he introduces — including his goddaughter, the virginal Marie Claire, upon whom he bestows one fateful Christmas a nutcracker who is actually the prince of the Kingdom of the Sweets whose past deeds includes fending off an army of mice but who is now miserably awaiting his queen.

The kingdom itself is the real sweet here, ripe as it is with half-naked dancers who represent chocolates, cherry truffles, licorice and macaroons. Oh, the macaroons.

The dances — set to a jazzy score based off the original Tchaikovsky music — feature a harem of “Turkish delights,” perfectly synchronized lap dances, and even a rousing can can number. The climax comes, of course, during the dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, at which point Marie Claire sheds her girlish, stifling dress for a tiny burlesque number, complete with pasties, for the big reunion.

Choreographer Austin McCormick’s sensuous production is playful and cheeky at heart — bubbles descend like snow at the opening dance, sex acts are pantomimed to much laughs, and, in case you missed the cues, there’s even a laugh track and drum roll, however tacky.

As our Sugar Plum Fairy, Laura Careless is mesmerizing, her face appropriately angelic or cloying, and she deservedly owns the stage during her anticipated solo. The production also truly leans on our narrator, Jeff Takacs (who wrote the script, and clearly loves every word). He gamely dresses in S&M dungeon-esque duds, operatic drag and traditional Baroque fair, as is the company’s aesthetic. His theatricality lends itself well to the company’s over-the-top flair, but we were too distracted by the beautiful dancers.

Despite its charms, this “Nutcracker” is not without some sour moments. A big reveal of the Kingdom of the Sweets is underwhelming. Some of the otherwise engaging dancing falls flat; in particular, a Spanish flamenco number. Those eye-popping floor-dropping dances and stripper poles come at a price, and thanks to all that bared flesh, the evident bruises on our poor Careless are a tad distracting.

Still, this “Nutcracker” is a tasty holiday escape, favoring style over substance. And it’s nothing without style.

“Nutcracker Rouge” at Company XIV [303 Bond St. between Union and Sackett streets in Carroll Gardens, no phone), now through Jan. 9, with performances Friday through Sunday at 8 pm. No shows Dec. 24-26. Tickets $30, $25 for students and seniors. For info, visit www.companyxiv.com. 

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Theater review: Gallery Players’ ‘Lughnasa’ is something to dance about

By Alex Rush

The last thing anyone needs is another “Dancing at Lughnasa,” the Brian Friel drama that made its debut 20 years ago before earning three Tony’s on Broadway and more acclaim for Meryl Streep in the subsequent movie version.

Fortunately, the drama about a rural Irish town in the Great Depression is in good hands on 14th Street, as the Gallery Players do a great job of making the work seem fresh and lively again.

This dialogue-driven drama centers on 7-year-old Michael Evans, who lives in a cottage with his single mother and four aunts. The schoolboy version of Evans never actually appears in the play; when the family addresses him, it is Evans the narrator who sets the scene, letting the audience know what his young self was thinking.

This Evans (played by Zac Hoogendyk) remembers certain events around the time of the harvest feast at Lughnasa, an annual pagan celebration that his aunts and mother want to attend. But their Catholic piety, poverty and lack of dates hold them back. Instead, they dance around their kitchen to their faulty radio.

Evans also muses on his uncle, Father Jack, who has just returned from missionary work at a leper colony in Uganda. Jack had been a local legend due to his travels, but Evans sees him reduced to a malaria-stricken man who can’t seem to adjust to life in Ireland after 25 years in Africa.

“Back at home,” is how Father Jack starts many stories about his time abroad.

Some of the strongest scenes involve Evans’s flaky father, a wandering Welshman named Gerry who always has some new job, new silly story and new promise to never keep. His casual comings and goings drive Evans’s mother, Chris, into bouts of depression. She is very much in love with Gerry, but rejects his annual marriage proposals because she knows he’s prone to disappearing for months at a time.

The play’s storylines are entirely dependent on the skills of the actors, who do a great job of unveiling their characters’ complexities. Susan Ferrara is particularly notable for her role as Kate, Evans’s oldest aunt and self-appointed family matriarch. Kate proclaims herself to be a “self-righteous bitch,” but shows that she is vulnerable when she confides that she may lose her job and worries about her simple-minded sister, Rose.

In addition to monumental occurrences, “Dancing at Lughnasa” explores religious conflict, as Kate’s stern monotheistic beliefs clash with her sisters’ interest in the pagan harvest festival, and also with Father Jack’s love for African rituals.

Another important theme is industrialization, which hits the household when Rose and her sister Agnes lose their jobs as knitters.

During his final monologue, Evans says that in his memories, “atmosphere are more real than incident.” But with “Dancing at Lughnasa,” The Gallery Players make both the poignant story’s atmosphere and its incidents seem as vivid as one’s own memories.

“Dancing at Lughnasa” at the Gallery Players [199 14th St. between Fourth and Fifth avenues in Park Slope, (718) 595-0547], through Dec. 19.

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Theater review: Seeing 'Red

By Meredith Deliso

Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale, “The Red Shoes,” has inspired its fair share of adaptations, from films to musicals. But none have stuck as closely to the source material, while still making the story its own, quite like this one.

In the Kneehigh Theatre’s reimagining of the enduring children’s story, running now through Dec. 12 at St. Ann’s Warehouse in DUMBO, the Cornish company brings the macabre tale to life with much humor, sensuality and haunting visuals. 

Lady Lydia, a transvestite witch of sorts played with good fun by Giles King, is at the helm of the production, leading an androgynous, mostly mute group of bald storytellers wearing nothing more than white undershirts and briefs. The minimal costuming makes them anonymous, but also easily enables them to transform into the story’s various characters. 

Most prominent are a blind old woman who takes charge of a young orphan, known as Karen in the fairy tale, but simply “The Girl” here.

The Girl deceives her sightless caretaker into buying her a red pair of shoes — shoes that, while somewhat clunky, make her feel sexy and unique. She wears them to church, even though she’s only supposed to wear black, and is soon skipping service to dance and smoke cigarettes with a soldier. Her vanity gets the best of her, though, as her beloved shoes become permanently planted on her feet, and an angel dooms her to dancing until “skin hangs off your bones.”

To relieve herself of this torture, the girl convinces a butcher to chop the shoes — and her feet — off. In their place, he makes her wooden shoes.

It’s at this point that the gripping production gets away from itself, taking on a manic pulse that unravels most of the haunting overtones that came before it. The otherwise inventive theatrics also seem a bit amateurish. Though freed from their prisoner, the red shoes still taunt The Girl, flying about her head as she tries to seek shelter in her church. This aerial effect is achieved by attaching the shoes to fishing line, with red lights to help them stand out, but the effect is clumsy and distracting. 

This being a children’s story, you might be thinking of bringing your family to the show. The  production is silly at times — in one of the theater’s characteristic cabaret moments, there’s an amusing magic trick where one of the storytellers levitates — but it is not as suitable for children as the theater’s marketing efforts make it seem. That’s especially true during the moments with the butcher with the sound of sawing and screaming.

It’s a reminder: fairy tales are supposed to be grisly (and they’re not really for kids).

“The Red Shoes” at St. Ann’s Warehouse [38 Water St. between Dock and Main streets in DUMBO, (718) 834-8794], now through Dec. 12. Tickets $35-$60. For info, visit www.stannswarehouse.org.

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Theater Review: Embrace this 'Madness'

 Photo by Bella Muccari.

By  Meredith Deliso

The Gallery Players have gone to pot — but you’re the one who’ll get high.

The Park Slope theater troupe brings “Reefer Madness,” a musical based on the 1938 propaganda film of the same name, to the stage this month, and this smoke-filled room is a laugh-a-minute affair.

The exploitation film was originally a big blunt of Acapulco gold for Kevin Murphy and Dan Studney, who turned “Reefer Madness” into a musical in 1998, embracing the film’s over-the-top seriousness and ridiculous scare tactics for an uproarious performance.

In the Gallery Players’ silly, kinky production, the sparse set comes alive quickly after The Lecturer takes to the stage to warn us about “true events” that transpired as a result of the demon weed. And it starts off with a bong, er, bang, thanks the raucous opening number, “Reefer Madness,” featuring zombified teens — the victims of marijuana.

The Lecturer (Greg Horton, whose mustache should also get its own credit) goes on to tell the “true” story of the wide-eyed Jimmy Harper, a 16-year-old who, with one puff of the ganga, goes from a good egg to a bad apple, much to the dismay and confusion of his girlfriend, Mary Lane. He becomes a regular at the reefer den of Jack Stone, Mae Coleman, Sally Debains, and Ralph Wiley, who prey on the local teens to support their own bad habit.

As Jimmy gets deeper and deeper into their world, becoming a sex-crazed creep who ecstatically steals from his mom and the church’s collection, we learn some valuable lessons, such as “reefer makes you sell your babies for drug money,” and “reefer kills poor old men.” Not even Jesus (played with great charisma by Jose Restrepo) can save him.

It’s a quick-moving performance, with great sight gags, that goes off without a hitch. The comically choreographed numbers use the space well, especially with the full ensemble (“The Orgy” is a stand out), and there’s as many costume changes as a Lady Gaga concert, as the fresh-faced ensemble easily transforms into flesh-rotting zombies, high heel, corset-sporting cherubs (men included), and wholesome, milkshake slurpin’ kids.

Jason Edward Cook makes Jimmy’s own embellished transformation believable, with little more than an untucked shirt and tussled hair. The innocent Mary Lane is appropriately doe-eyed — so the fun really starts when she gets her turn in the inhibition-destroying drug den.

Michele Scully is sultry as Sally, and, in a show without many stand-out vocal moments, Jaygee Macapugay steals the stage as the maternal Mae during “The Stuff” and its reprise. Zak Risinger also earns his laughs as the strung-out Ralph thanks to his wiry physical comedy.

For all the high times, the musical isn’t without some downers. The cast is unmic-ed, so some singers, especially the soft-voiced Cook, are difficult to hear. And in such a silly show, the violence is difficult to react to. A rape joke fell completely flat, and the abuse between Jack and Mae, played straight, wasn’t really funny until an outlandish prop was brought in. In a production as sardonic as this one, where pot turns teens into zombies, it’s at its best when it keeps it over the top and embraces the madness.

“Reefer Madness” at the Gallery Players [199 14th St. between Fourth and Fifth avenues in Park Slope, (718) 595-0547], now through Nov. 14. Tickets $18, $14 for children and seniors. For info, visit www.galleryplayers.com.

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