Robert Encila-Celdran - Page 3

Leave it to Mark Klugheit to push the envelope in matters of theater programming. Rarely deterred by criticism for producing plays deemed too risky or out of bounds, he remains invested in cultivating candid discussions on staging exceptional works otherwise known for extreme shock value. 

The Wetzels are earnest in their mission to foster innovation and inclusion. SFCT aims to specialize in original works and to collaborate with local artists to create 'quality productions to inspire and uplift' the Tucson community. Like every 'itinerant' theater company across the country, SFCT must now rely on the stability of a partner institution with the physical foundation to serve its needs. At St. Francis, it's a classic win-win affair for two deserving entities.

Well, Georgia is back. Flamboyant as ever, she blazes a familiar trail like a captive hedonist spoiling for a bog splurge. To an anxious audience, there's nothing like a good dose of sassy uproar to nurse grievances and bear the cost of delayed gratification.

All of these theaters had programming that was - you know, sort of your tent poles on the mainstage, your occasional blockbuster musical. On the second stage, there was riskier work, new work being developed that might not appeal to a 700-seat audience. I thought that was incredible - you're doing these blockbuster Broadway musicals, the best of the best plays, and then new work that is exciting and thrilling. And that sort of became part of my DNA as I was thinking about directing.

Mimi Kennedy renders an imperious and brassy Pru Payne (her public moniker). She's a renowned intellectual, feared for her trenchant criticism and scathing takedowns of mediocre aspirations (a faint redolence of critic Michiko Kakutani's public feuds with John Updike and Norman Mailer et al). Pru exists in the lofty penthouse of her intellect. She deflects the impulse to linger in the subterranean region of emotions -- until she loses her bearing and meets Gus Cudahy.

Teale's dramatic conceit - a seamless juxtaposition of present reality and childhood memories - makes for an engaging theatrical form that justifies the Brontës' epic narrative.

Staging choices notwithstanding, Winding Road's production is a moving personal encounter. It recalls the existential confrontation we tend to ignore until we come of age: Do we choose love or fear? What happens if we compromise our mission for comfort and security? The proverbial clock nears midnight -- what becomes of me?

For the record, director Chanel Bragg didn't have to secure a movie star to manifest a compelling production of her own. She features a charismatic powerhouse in Lillie Richardson, who submits a resounding performance as the flamboyant matriarch. Ms. Richardson strides with regal confidence and speaks with a stately optimism that defies her fear of an austere future. Amanda has conjured traditional perceptions of an imperious monster, but Lillie Richardson plays against that tendency, showing us an overzealous mother who only wants the best for her children. Indeed she fluctuates between illusion and reality, and in Richardson, we see Amanda's inability to distinguish them as a tragedy.

American regional theaters have seen significant changes since the pandemic began. Reeling from a revenue loss of more than $3 billion since the Covid shutdown (SMU Data Arts), the industry has struggled to establish a new normal, with many redefining their programming in the apprehension of a vague future.

So here we are with a loud reminder of our mortal limits - not to mention the 'acceptable' limits of a public joke and a brazen sexual encounter - as Ms. Feiffer regards our presumed taboos with a shrewd riposte. I'm reminded of H.G. Wells' famous denouncement of the 'irreverent laugh,' man's presumed default from the paucity of insight into the natural order of things. Yet, in the playwright's judgment, irreverence is a natural byproduct of bottled outrage. There's no place in a sane world to land a good joke about terminal cancer - but now and then, wisdom takes the form of a middle finger, and with that comes a wink of personal advantage. Halley Feiffer attempts to reveal the unpredictable guffaw on the other side of grief; you have to face the uglies head-on, is all.

It's quintessential Lauren Gunderson and Margot Melcon, in which it is that highly stylized, laugh-out-loud comedy, undercut with heart and passion and vulnerability. And strong female characters who are smashing the patriarchy and choosing their own futures. Women who are finding and re-defining themselves. Which is what I've always loved about Lauren's writing.

But while Marlowe and Goethe's protagonist utilized his diabolical powers to serve their ambitions, Johanna uses hers to make the world a better place. Surprisingly, her pact with the devil begets a deep sense of altruism as she travels through centuries to navigate human progress, conferring with future movers and shakers of the world (chiefly women of distinction) to advance civilization.

RED HOT PATRIOT is a one-woman play based on the life and times of Molly Ivins. Written by twins Margaret and Allison Engel, both journalists, it premiered off-Broadway in 2012, starring Kathleen Turner (why, of course!). Nancy Davis Booth directs.

Not to get carried away, but in this current political storm that appears to put women on defense, it's heartening to find sisterhood as an emerging national motif. The underrated monolith is galvanizing to topple a perverse establishment - and LEGALLY BLONDE, with its tongue-in-cheek, goofy affectations, is no less a clarion call for a political makeover. Whether or not the connection was a conscious part of the selection, the choice turns out to be a prescient one.

The confluence of Ben's songwriting eloquence and his gritty tale of survival makes THE LION a worthy visit to the theater. Max Alexander-Taylor delivers a commanding performance that features a resonant tenor and a remarkable facility with five guitars. A confident actor, he has a natural gift for storytelling, though much of the nuanced execution can be ascribed to the deft staging ideas of Alex Stenhouse and Sean Daniels, who collaborated on THE LION'S revival.

GHOSTS OF BOGOTÁ is the first production in Stray Cat’s intrepid lineup. Playwright Diana Burbano (also an accomplished actress), has fashioned a dark, irreverent comedy, riffing on the incongruous motif of sexual trauma and unholy exorcism. It thumbs its nose on conventions of space and time — as it should, given the task of probing the collective unconscious and whipping up a contentious dialogue with deceased relatives.  Consider Kushner’s – or Ruhl’s – penchant for magical realism, but through the unique lens of  the Latinx experience. Burbano dispenses a delectable sass while flouting the spectral realm of departed kin. She checks the boxes, if you will, and treads where lesser dramatists might opt for a quick detour.

ALEX: You were playing Ben, you weren't playing Benjamin. That's a big distinction. In the writing of THE LION in various iterations of the show, you turned your life into various crafted anecdotes for the best dramatic effect for the story. There's always gonna be a slight level of making the story a little bit more compelling for an audience. What we did is we took what's on the page and built a character around it. So we built the character of Ben out of the script organically, with Max in the rehearsal room, rather than trying to recreate who Benjamin was. We created Ben off the page.

The play's timing is rather canny given our current global scrimmage with 'alternative facts.' We live in an age where information is obtained with a mere suggestion of a keyword, where unfettered access to data wields personal power but rarely makes for enlightened, critical thinkers. In certain political quarters, no amount of fact-checking can penetrate the most stubborn epistemic cocoon. That said, verifiable information is critical to journalistic integrity, but facts alone aren't sufficient to inspire a reader. So what gives? D'Agata argues that accuracy is not the same as truth, that a cogent essay may demand some fudging of statistics to 'track the development of consciousness on the page.' Denounce him as a fabulist, but he's nowhere close to a conspiracy theorist.

Here lies a critical distinction between Middle Alison and Bruce. In spite of the initial tumult around her sexual revelation, she revels in her transparent admission, only to discover that her father has been harboring secrets as a homosexual. His enduring shame from illicit affairs, coupled with his inability to accept the pain caused by his gradual unmooring of ethics (sleeping with hired help and seducing underage students) leads him to a tragic decision to end his own life.