skip to main |
skip to sidebar
"Maybe I'm a dinosaur talking. Maybe I'm a dinosaur sucking up the oxygen from you cunning little mammals hiding in the bushes waiting to take over. Maybe I'm speaking a lost language unknown to your generation. But a generation that does not aspire to seriousness, to meaning, is unworthy to walk in the shadow of those who have gone before, I mean those who have struggled and surmounted, I mean those who have aspired...."
(--Mark Rothko in John Logan's "Red")
John Logan's Tony-winning "Red", now playing at Chicago's Goodman Theater, is a 2-character dialogue about art and ideas, that is inspiring, exciting, and unnerving. It is a play for artists, consumers and appreciators of art, and art critics (or anyone who aspires to any of these.)
The magnificent Edward Gero plays abstract expressionist painter Mark Rothko, at the height of his popularity (and controversy), circa 1958. Into his life walks Ken, (the lithe and boyish Patrick Andrews), a young painter who has applied for the job as Rothko's assistant. Ken, a fictional foil that Logan created to give Rothko a voice for his turmoil, listens to Rothko's philosophy, tries to get Rothko to notice him and his own artistic efforts, and then angrily challenges him for selling out.
As the play opens, Rothko, whose art is a statement against banality, has just accepted a commission by the Four Seasons Restaurant to paint murals for the walls of the newly-opened establishment. Rothko's disheveled and grungy studio is the setting for this play.
An artist and his new young assistant. A master and a novice. Employer and employee.
They proclaim themselves, yet struggle to understand each other. They become inextricably entwined, and yet violently resist one another. It's a tug of war with Art as the object of their tugging, each one holding tight, each testing the strength of his sensibilities in an ever-more dramatic and heated contest of wills and opinion.
That is "Red."
An opening monologue describes the best way to "see" a painting (or most any other creative work:)
"Stand closer...You've got to get close. Let it pulsate. Let it work on you. Closer. (Not) too close. There. Let it spread out. Let it wrap its arms around you; let it embrace you, filling your peripheral vision so nothing else exists or or has ever existed or will ever exist. Let the picture do its work--But work with it. Meet it halfway...Engage with it!... Be a human being for once in your life! These pictures deserve compassion and they live or die in the eye of the sensitive viewer, they quicken only if the empathetic viewer will let them. That is what they cry out for. That is why they were created. That is what they deserve."
(--Mark Rothko in John Logan's "Red")
Logan may have written this play to challenge his own place in the artistic pantheon of writers. In awe of the giants who have gone before who inspired him, he must come to terms with the changes in taste and style and technology that dictate new forms of art, and new ways of creating art, that could render himself obsolete. I, too, struggle with this notion. Perhaps most people who are creative today must confront this idea more and more.
The play raises many questions to ponder. Does the "new" in art render that which came before obsolete? Can one subvert history without knowing history? Can one create art without knowing one's place in the artistic continuum? Is true art always "significant"?
"You know, not everything has to be so goddamn IMPORTANT all the time! Not every painting has to rip your guts and expose your soul! Not everyone wants art that actually HURTS! Sometimes you just want a fucking still life or landscape or soup can or comic book!....."
"...You're just mad because the Barbarians are at the gate. And, whattaya know, people seem to like the Barbarians."
(--Ken in John Logan's "Red")
(Mark Rothko)
I suspect Logan leans closer Rothko's view; the dialogue he has written for him is sure and strong. Logan works hard to reconcile himself to new ideas about art, to adopt them so as to remain "relevant". Yet, while Ken's monologues are delivered with much volume, I could not be sure if Logan was as convincing with these ideas, or believed in them as much. (Warhol is used as an example of the cutting edge at the time, and his mention gets a few ironic laughs, but I wasn't sure if it was a fair example.)
Still, Logan accurately describes the fear of obsolescence as a kind of death, as "the black swallowing the red", of "being weighed in the balance and found wanting".
I loved watching this play. In spite of a tiny loss of conviction toward the end, when Rothko seems to have capitulated to Ken and his desire to stomp on Rothko's artistic demise, I admired and appreciated the audacity of a play about intangible things, set in a artist's messy studio, and played impeccably by two able actors. I felt as though I had discovered a treasure box of valuable items that I thought might be swept away forever in the tide of modernity.
I loved how the play introduces shadings from Rothkos' life without dragging it into simple chronology. For instance, in a scene late in the play, Ken finds Rothko drunk, his arms dripping with red paint, in a subtle allusion to Rothko's actual demise, from suicide, and having been found by a young assistant.
Viewers can revel in discussions about art vs. "business", about the way artists love their works like children, about excess vs. restraint, about Michelangelo and Pollock, and about collectors who buy art to match their decor; but, like Rothko's art, these discussions pulsate, and are never dry.
As Rothko, Edward Gero commands the role with a terrific voice and a close resemblance to the artist. He makes these words his own; he exudes passion and menace, and actual affection for the paintings that he refers to as "blind children being turned loose in a room full of razor blades." In the role of Ken, with no real-life counterpart, Patrick Andrews creates a believable character, moves well on stage (I loved watching him as he and Gero primed a canvas) and puts some real strength into his delivery. Andrews often drains himself of gesture, allowing his vocal inflections to carry shades of meaning.
Personally, I took comfort in and found inspiration from Rothko's point of view as expressed by Logan in this play. His attitudes can be easily applied to all arts, to anyone who celebrates their highest humanity by seeking the fullest, deepest experience art can provide....even to someone who enjoys writing about film:
"You have a lot to learn, young man. Philosophy. Theology. Literature. Poetry. Drama. History. Archaeology. Anthropology. Mythology. Music. These are your tools as much as brush and pigment. You cannot be an artist until you are civilized. You cannot be civilized until you learn. To be civilized is to know where you belong in the continuum of your art and your world. To surmount your past you must know your past."
(--Mark Rothko in John Logan's "Red")
"Chinglish", which has become so popular in Chicago that its run has been extended here, is the fourth and final event in our season series at the Goodman Theater. This smart and timely play came with an excellent pedigree, and was the freshest, most thought-provoking and funniest play in the series. It's no wonder that "Chinglish" is on its way to a Broadway opening in the Fall.
Playwright David Henry Hwang has created a multi-layered, sexy and cynical work that looks at our global marketplace, specifically American-Chinese business relations, as represented by a naive Ohio businessman who wants to sign a lucrative contract for his sign-making company with a savvy and attractive Chinese businesswoman. The initial, hilarious mis-translation and social faux-pas committed on both sides soon becomes a spellbinding comic romance between two lovers, whose bedroom revelations and misunderstandings effectively describe the tricky one-upsmanship and intrigue of doing business across insurmountable cultural obstacles.
Hwang has had huge success on and off Broadway, writing about Chinese and American culture and the often uneasy mixture of the two mindsets. His best-known works include the book of the 2002 revival of "Flower Drum Song", the fact-based gender-bender and Tony-winner "M. Butterfly" (1988), and the Obie-Award winners "Golden Child", "Yellow Face", and "FOB".
The title "Chinglish" refers to mistaken translations between the Chinese and Enlish languages, and the often hilarious mishaps when badly-skilled translators muddle things even more. A simple English statement such as "Ours is a family-run business" can become, in translation, "His business is small and insignificant." A constant barrage of sur-titles keeps the laughs coming as even more outrageous errors build to a crescendo of misunderstanding.
James Waterston (Sam is his Father) brings a lanky and likable presence to the naive Daniel, an American who is shocked to discover that it could take weeks, instead of days, to cinch a contract to create the signage for a Chinese Cultural Center, and who, at the end of Act One, drops a surprising bit of information that leads to a delicious and equally surprising second-act interview.
His Australian translator, Peter, played by the awesome British stage actor Stephen Pucci, delivers to Daniel--and the audience--a nicely written crash-course on the Chinese concept of "guanxi", which can be best defined in one English word: "patronage". Guanxi is so pervasive in Chinese life and business that it corrupts almost all transactions and relationships.
Jennifer Lim, who is getting raves for this role, plays Xu Yan, the ball-busting official who nevertheless finds something about Daniel worthy of consideration. Slowly, her real motivation fades into view, one that seems sly and self-serving, until one has some understanding of her outlook, a different way of thinking that is foreign to many Americans.
The play is excellent in providing audiences with the information necessary to understand some of the subtleties of Chinese written characters, the spoken inflections that can give one word wildly different meanings, and a divergent cultural mindset. The play gives us a lot of fascinating information and does so amusingly, so that, as the sur-titles come rapidly and the complications of the story grow exponentially, we are squarely inside the story and appreciate the characters behavior from all points of view. There are no heroes or villains (except, maybe, the crooks of the now-defunct Enron, who happen to figure in the plot).
One of the more brilliant scenes in the play has Xu Yan explaining to Daniel, who declares his love for her and his intention to divorce his wife, a startling concept about infidelity: she sees her "escape" with Daniel as a way to keep her sane in her partnership with her husband. More than anything else, this complex but clearly stated monologue allows the audience a clear focus on why, in order to succeed in business, it may be necessary to delve deeper into a culture than we ever imagined.
The cast is brilliant, especially Pucci, who becomes a somewhat tragic figure when his "guanxi" comes back to haunt him. He is a fine translator, but learns too late that the language alone is only part of the delivery of meaning. Pucci speaks mandarin (to my ears) flawlessly, and strikes a delightfully authentic pose as he joins another official in a bit from a popular Chinese musical number.
Lim is amazing in a role that requires a believable clipped broken English and also a flawless fluency in Chinese. I have heard that the actress is fully American, and in interviews appears much younger than her character in the play. (There are already some whispers of Tony glory for her in this role).
And Waterston, to me, was spellbinding. Easy to look at for sure, he was also terrific as a nice guy who learns some hard lessons, and maintains his easy veneer even as he becomes a hard businessman with the glad hand and insincere smile. The play drips cynicism at the end and Waterston walked the fine line well.
This is a marvelous production in every department, from the brisk and intelligent writing, to the amazing characterizations, from the energetic direction to the revolving sets and percussive music. Until I understood its scheme and rhythms, the opening scene between Daniel and Peter threatened to make the play feel static. After a few minutes however, after Peter's initial explanatory lecture is finished, the whole thing takes off.
It's a great mixture; global business, the emergence of China as an economic super-dragon, clandestine love as a microcosm for cultural misunderstanding, the betrayal when one's skill no longer being impressive in the marketplace, the importance of language driven home with big laughs, even the bashing of Chinese acrobats..."Chinglish" is play I wish I had written myself, and one that has given me the inspiration to find the thing I know best, and, like "Chinglish" does, impart that knowledge in a wholly original and terrific, entertaining fashion.
Imagine ending an intense love affair years ago. Then imagine you are an actor who has just been cast in the romantic lead of a new play. Now imagine that your stage partner is your ex, with whom you must share a number of passionate kisses.
Could you play these scenes without old feelings intruding? Would you draw on these old feelings to make the play authentic, even if it endangers your real-life marriage, family, or relationship? What if old love was rekindled?
That is the intriguing premise of "Stage Kiss", a new play in the Goodman Theater series, written by Pulitzer nominee Sarah Ruhl ("In the Next Room or the vibrator play", "The Clean House"). It succeeds as farce, deftly weaving the actors' reality with their stage persona in the first act, then digging deeper in act two for a darker tone, and a resolution to the intrusion of their art into their lives, and vice versa.
Act One is definitely the more successful. In fact, it's a breezy and affectionate satire on theater. We meet She (Jenny Bacon) during an appropriately embarrassing audition, with a stand-in (Jeffrey Carlson, who is wonderful in multiple comic characters) and a director (Ross Lehman) who is comically inept. The play-within-the-play is a long-forgotten 1930's bedroom comedy, and She is required to play a socialite who can sing. Soon, she meets He, her male lead and lover of years past (Mark L. Montgomery), and the old passions and conflicts immediately resurface.
During a slapstick rehearsal period, in which their stage characters provide us a glimpse into the relationship that once was, we learn about who they are now (She is married with a daughter, He is a Peter Pan moving from girlfriend to girlfriend). The play they're in allows them to rekindle their affair, with their characters providing enough fantasy to cloak the truth of their infidelity.
From the giddy, romantic one-upsmanship of the leads, to the bit players' bumbling and upstaging; from hilariously Bad Dialogue to wobbly backdrops that keep threatening to fall down; Act one gives us the pleasures of an old-fashioned comedy with an original premise that is not at all far-fetched.
The small cast skillfully plays broad physical comedy, and charm us with their mischief, as Ruhl's dialog and impossibly goofy situations unfold rapidly like a live-action version of "Purple Rose of Cairo". Bacon and Montgomery find the right nuances in their "real" characters, so that they are recognizable as they inhabit their stage "characters". The audience is brought right into the middle of the fun, and while we're laughing, we have time to consider the dilemma of these two flawed and likable beings. The job of Acting allows a certain dispensation to play out one's fantasies, and in a situation filled with real emotion, the opportunity is delectable.
Act Two puts She and He into another awful new play, and this time it stirs up recollections of what caused them to break up. By the end, we may be charmed by the resolution, marriage is preserved, and everyone ends up in their rightful place; but it strains credibility, even within its farcical logic, and gets just a wee bit moralizing. The thing is, I liked She and He. I wanted the play they were in to provide them with a second chance to get their love right this time. I didn't see either of them as the whore or the asshole the play labels them (even in jest) at the finish.
Even so, Act Two has some amazing physical movement and fight choreography (again. played for laughs), some screamingly funny 1970's "urban" costumes, and fine performances.
I think, with a few revisions, it might even play in New Haven. (You had to have been there.)
Saturday's production of Yasmina Reza's 2009 Tony-winning play, "God of Carnage", at the Goodman Theater was commendable for efficient direction (Rick Snyder), a beautiful minimalist living-room set, and good performances by energetic actors who were appropriately over-the-top. Moreover, an evening at the Goodman is comforting, enveloping one in art and enlightenment in the company of open-minded guests within an intimate and friendly surrounding.
And there was the excitement of the promise of a world-class, award-winning comedy by a renowned international playwright.
Unfortunately, I had major reservations after this play was over, and felt at odds with what appears to have become an inviolable darling of Broadway. I was roundly disappointed, even annoyed, by Reza's work. At first I thought I was missing something, but ultimately decided to trust my instincts.
Although Reza writes good, crisp, often amusing dialogue, and understands pacing and the construction of a deliverable monologue, her ideas come off as glib and unoriginal. That didn't seem to bother the scores of theatergoers around me who howled with laughter. I wondered if they were honestly reacting to what was unfolding before them, or to the reputation that preceded this production.
True, context is everything. But is the sight of a woman spewing vomit on rare art books anyone's idea of a witty evening at the theater? Are stories about cruelty to helpless animals, (in this case a monologue about one character's abandoning a pet hamster to die in the street), funny in any context? Does a character's obsession with his cell phone automatically make the work Timely and Relevant?
It is a simple premise. Two eleven-year-old boys have a fight at school and one of them has some teeth broken. As the play begins, the parents of each of the boys have gathered in the apartment of one of the couples to determine how (and if) they can intervene for a resolution to the conflict.
Their blistering and rambunctious sparring, self-revelations, and constantly shifting loyalties comprise the play's 70--yes, 70--minutes,, not enough to treat any of the dozen or so issues with any depth. But 70 minutes was enough to shake me up, and send me out without having too many honest laughs.
I think Reza intended to shake up her audience, but I wasn't with her on this one. I resented "God of Carnage."
The injured boys parents are Veronica (Mary Beth Fisher), a high-functioning Type-A, who is writing a book on the crisis on Darfur, believes in the ability of people to co-exist, and is proud of her appreciation for art and home-baking; and Michael (Keith Kupferer), a housewares salesman, seemingly liberal in deference to his wife, and whose mother may be suffering harmful side effects from a prescription drug.
The parents of the violent son are Annette (Beth Lacke), who is a placator with the weak stomach but strong opinions about pain and marriage; and Alan (David Pasquesi), an attorney who is obsessed with his work, believes that the human condition is essentially primitive and cruel, and may be defending the drug that has made Michael's mother ill.
In short order, the carefully constructed facades and veneers of civilized behavior are stripped away, the schoolyard fight is all but forgotten and unresolved, and the couples descend into venomous farce and slapstick, wounding each other in so many different permutations one's head spins. It is played loudly and rapidly for laughs, but why? This could be the bleakest "comedy" ever produced.
Problem is, as drama (without the laughs) I got the point in the first 10 minutes...BEFORE Amanda vomits to demonstrate Reza's notion that underneath our exteriors we are all bile and filth. I get it. But I wanted to be dazzled with words, not a teen-flick gross-out.
I think it is the playwright's duty to translate ideas into words that can be spoken naturally by actors, whose task it becomes to use their skills in voice and movement to bring characters to life, under the direction of one whose mission is to create a technically sound and artistic environment for this expression. Theater is not, I think, primarily a visual medium, and I bristle at the recent introduction of motion-picture visual effects in what is essentially a medium of words and character.
Reza has material here for a lot of plays, and she almost successfully weaves humanity's flaws with global issues and philosophy. During the churning segment in which the characters clean up the vomit and try to save some rare books with a hair dryer and perfume, we get an inkling of an idea about how we have too many "things'. But it is dropped in favor of gender roles, the savageness of the human animal, the impossibility of coexistence, the minefield of marriage, the breakdown of loyalty, the heartbreak of raising children, and that ill-fated hamster.
We get build-ups to interesting ideas, only to be constantly interrupted by the cell phone. Yeah, I get that too, the irony of technology cutting off communication. But I really wanted these characters to come to some original points, without the tired interruptions.
Just when I was resolved to accept this as a type of theater of the absurd, the playwright seeks to wring emotion from the poor hamster and one of the children's reactions to its demise. As a symbol reminiscent of George and Martha's "murdered" son, it was simply unnecessary and unpleasant.
"God of Carnage" had potential to mix up some wicked ideas in a comic brew that left audiences thoughtful and wanting to come back for more.
As it is, all one is left with are some empty laughs and nasty spectacle, and the upcoming film version, directed by Roman Polanski and starring Jodie Foster and Kate Winslett, would not seem to hold anything new.
The play sure didn't.
~ ~ ~
I wish my readers could visit me in Chicago. I would love to take you on an exploration of the neighborhoods and history, the beauty of the lakefront and the variety of cultural experience. To dine on great food served anywhere from sophisticated open-air courtyards to a real library with a working fireplace. To ride the Chicago river and and marvel at the design and the architecture. To show it to you through my eyes, and to discover with you all that's unique, as I make it my mission this summer to take charge of this city.
Chicago is proud of its relatively new and vastly improved Theater District. Old movie palaces like the Oriental and the Chicago Theaters have become enormously popular venues for the latest live theatrical productions.
The Goodman Theater , a Tony-winning Regional Theater, has been a Chicago institution since 1925, when it was then the theater arm of the Art
Institute. The founders of the theater, Erna and William Goodman, made a legacy of $250,000 to the Art Institute in honor of their son, Kenneth Sawyer Goodman, a playwright who died in the 1918 flu epidemic at age 35.
In its long and sometimes turbulent history, the Goodman encompassed both the theater and a the Goodman School of Drama, among whose graduates are artists such as Karl Malden, Sam Wanamaker, Geraldine Page, Shelley Berman, Harvey Korman, Jose Quintero, Linda Hunt, and Joe Mantegna.
The Drama School has since been acquired by DePaul University, and the Theater itself has been independent from the Art Institute since 1976, so that it can pursue independent fundraising.
Last week, I had the pleasure of making my first visit to the Goodman. Thanks to a Christmas surprise from Mark, we are now season subscribers. Shockingly late, I admit, but an exciting moment, trying as I am to broaden a creative point of view for my benefit and that of my readers.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I can't think of a better, more intimate environment for the production of "The Trinity River Plays", my maiden voyage to the Goodman Theater.
Playwright Regina Taylor wrote this trio of one-act plays (better described as an epic 3-act play) after losing her mother to cancer.
The play, however, is neither too solemn nor religious in the least. It is lively and powerful, and it strives to find a spiritual center. The titles of the three plays (or acts), "Jar Fly", "Rain", and "Ghost Story", evoke the father, son and holy ghost of the trinity, and act as a motif to hold the stories together. The Trinity River is a mentioned but unseen place that surrounds the household of a group of black women who are the subject of the play.
Iris, the central character, celebrates her 17th birthday in the first act. It is 1976, as Iris yearns to become a writer, sharing with us her essay on the locust, a creature that emerges every 17 years. This segment introduces us the characters that are Iris' world: her doting aunt, her drug-addicted and charismatic cousin, her mother in mention only, the athletic boy she fancies, and her uncle, who perpetrates a crisis that Iris must come to terms with through the rest of the play.
The next act finds Iris 17 years later, successful as an editor but failing in her marriage.Her mother occupies the stage in the beginning stages of terminal illness. During this act there is a significant time change in which Iris must accept her mother's decline and seek her advice in dealing with the horrible secret that still haunts her.
Act three occurs one year later. It is the day of Iris' mother's funeral, and as Iris tries to make amends with her estranged husband, and resolve her conflicts with her aunt and cousin, her mother re-appears in ghostly fashion, and Iris joins her in the family garden to seek advice and love, and finally let go.
The play is helped in a big way by the elaborate and welcoming stage setting, a simple house with large kitchen and patio and garden with a big tree and real rain, and a stunning painted backdrop of clouds over all of it. I was drawn in by this setting, felt that I could move around and occupy it. With its garish 1970's decor, rooms and doors at various depths and levels, and excellent lighting conveying a natural feeling of sunlight and moonlight, the set was as much a participant in the action as the actors.
