Review - Lover. Muse. Mockingbird. Whore. & Wonderland

Another bed. Another woman. More curtains. Another bathroom. Another kitchen. Other eyes. Other hair. Other feet and toes. Everybody's looking. The eternal search. You stay in bed, she gets dressed for work and you wonder what happened to the last one and the one before that.

The terse observations of Charles Bukowski, that poster boy for male freedom defined by womanizing, boorishness and unlimited self-centeredness (a lifestyle many would say all men dream of, though few would admit to it) is not the kind of literature one might immediately think of for supplying the text to a dance piece. But what makes Artistic Director Austin McCormick's Company XIV so invaluable to Gotham's performing arts landscape is a healthy passion for the unexpected.

McCormick conceived, choreographs and directs Lover. Muse. Mockingbird. Whore., a two-person theatre/dance piece that takes its words from Bukowski's 1978 novel, Women, the semi-autobiographical account of Henry Chinaski, a slacker alcoholic writer who is recognized as a rock-star poet late in life, indulging in a parade of now-available women; none of whom he can relate with satisfactorily.

A recording of the actual Bukowski at a live reading gives way to the voice of actor Jeff Takacs, who portrays the author with casual gruffness as he speaks into microphones surrounding the dance area and eventually settles into an apartment (Zane Pihlstrom designs the sets and costumes) where he's barely seen through window blinds.

In an assortment of wigs and provocative outfits, dancer Laura Careless appears first as the tempting and elusive Scarlet who writhes with satisfaction in the primary playing space; a large rectangular field bordered by fluorescent lights that give her surroundings the feel of a cheap dive or a strip club. She also portrays the "$100 whore" who is only seen as "the biggest blonde of all - all ass and breast." ("There are ordinary women and then there is something else that wants to make you tear up paintings and break albums of Beethoven across the back of the john.") There's the one he calls the black widow spider, luring men in with love and homemade breakfast.

Takacs and Careless are both excellent and Gina Scherr's dim, shadowy lighting and McCormick's use of the large, wide playing space keep them from appearing fully as people in the roles they play. His steady, unemotional tone feels more like the sound of the written word as the mind reads and her abstract physicality, beautifully contrasting with each character, replicates how the imagination sees each woman; reality clashing with objectification.

Photos of Laura Careless and Jeff Takacs by Corey Tatarczuk.

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Last week the first wave of New York critics smacked around the new musical, Wonderland, pretty badly, many displaying far more wit in their write-ups than could be found on stage at the Marquis Theatre. And while I'm in agreement with the sound panning from my colleagues, I see no reason to add to the carnage here, so just a few straightforward remarks.

As usual, composer Frank Wildhorn offers up a collection of reasonably pleasant and uncomplicated melodies, but once again teams up with a lyricist who weighs down his tunes with insipid lyrics like "Low tea, high tea / Drink your own but don't drink my tea." The book is worse, loaded with ghastly exchanges like, "I'm tardy! I'm tardy!" / "I thought it was, 'I'm late! I'm late!'" / "Disney owns the rights."

One song uses the running gag of quoting a series of showtunes like, "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina," "Nothing Like a Dame," "Trouble" and "Everything's Coming Up Roses," but apparently nobody was clever enough to think of capping it off with Wildhorn's most famous melody, "This Is The Moment." Or maybe someone did but Leslie Bricusse owns the rights.

The visual design elements are frequently garish and tacky.

While I wouldn't wish the company anything less than a healthy run with appreciative audiences, I also wish proper showcases for talents of Janet Dacal (a modern day outer-boroughs Alice), Kate Shindle (a PG version of a sexy and evil Mad Hatter) and Karen Mason (stuck with lines like, "I'm a real head case," as the Queen of Hearts).

Photo of Kate Shindle by Michal Daniel

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