Posts Tagged ‘michael friedman’

Performance diary: THE BLUE DRAGON and MR. BURNS

September 24, 2013

9.20.13 – The Blue Dragon at the BAM Next Wave Festival is a spinoff from The Dragons’ Trilogy, the two-part six-hour epic that I saw at the Los Angeles Festival in 1990, my first exposure to the work of Quebecois director Robert Lepage. Set in Quebec, Toronto, and Vancouver, the trilogy told a sprawling story about the influence of Chinese immigrants on Canadian culture in the 20th century. The Blue Dragon concerns two Canadian characters from the trilogy 25 years later in Shanghai, art dealer Pierre and vacationing ad executive Marie, where they interact with a young Chinese artist named Xiao Ling, Pierre’s protégée and lover. Pierre and Marie married for a lark as kids and never bothered to divorce; now Marie wants a child and has come to adopt – or, more accurately, buy one on the black market.

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The Blue Dragon
contains all the things I admire about Lepage’s work – the visual splendor, where the sets and images are constantly transforming from one thing to another; the narrative ambition to connect vastly disparate worlds; the low-key humanity at the heart of the performances. I’d never seen Lepage perform onstage until now, only on film, and he has a compelling intimacy and beautiful speaking voice. The works he creates with his company (first Theatre Repere, now Ex Machina) always contain little nuggets of research on topics that seem offhand but wind up pertinent to the plot (Chinese calligraphy is a big one here). The play is co-written with Marie Michaud, who plays Marie, and Xiao Ling is played by Tai Wei Foo, a Singaporean dancer who does two gorgeous dances that show off the mesmerizing and original lighting design by Louis-Xavier Gagnon-Lebrun. My only quarrel with the play is dramaturgical – the set-up of the story is compelling and rich, but at a certain point the authors realized that they’ve set up an easy plot resolution (Xiao Ling becomes pregnant, Marie wants a child, so…) and then contort the story to avoid landing at what seems like a perfectly obvious and reasonable conclusion, and the contortions don’t make sense. I love that the script is published as a graphic novel (below), which I bought at the BAM bookstall.

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9.21.13 – Saturday afternoon I had the pleasure of interviewing Lepage live in front of an audience as part of BAM’s Iconic Artist Talk series at the Hillman Studio in the new Fisher Building. He talked a little bit about his early training with Alain Knapp and the influence of artists like Lawrence and Anna Halprin, Ariane Mnouchkine, and Pina Bausch on his aesthetic taste in composing theater. A period of time he spent working in Japan directing opera made a life-changing impression on him. And he talked a little about the tetralogy he is at work on now called Playing Cards, which concerns the impact of the Arab world on global culture.

9-21 lepage et moi
9.22.13 – Something told me I had to see Anne Washburn’s play Mr. Burns – a post-electric play at Playwrights Horizons, directed by Steve Cosson (of The Civilians) with music by Michael Friedman. It’s a smart, unusual variant on the much-used theme of “what if X-and-such cultural artifact was the only thing left after the apocalypse and creatures from other planets relied on it to make sense of life on Earth?” After nuclear plant explosions have wiped out the electrical grid, survivors form community around recalling episodes of The Simpsons (which are themselves repositories of a dense assortment of cultural references). The first two acts are intriguing and surprising; the third goes on about three times longer than is needed to make its point. The cast is one of those high-powered ensembles of Off-Broadway heavyweights: Quincy Tyler Bernstine, Susannah Flood, Gibson Frazier, Matthew Maher, Nedra McClyde, Jennifer Morris, Colleen Werthmann, and Sam Breslin Wright (the characters are named after them). This is one of those brave Playwrights Horizons productions that divides its core audience – some people who get the cultural references love it, some people hate it, not much in between. As usual, the theater has made available a bunch of cool background material for people who want to know more about the show — online you can listen to separate podcasts with the author and composer, and at the theater after the show you can pick up a copy of a long illuminating interview with Washburn by artistic director Tim Sanford.

Culture Vulture: LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST, BLUE JASMINE, Amanda Palmer and Rosin Coven

August 11, 2013

THEATER

The musical adaptation of Love’s Labour’s Lost in Central Park reassembles the major dudes responsible for Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson – writer/director Alex Timbers (who adapted Shakespeare’s early comedy), songwriter Michael Friedman, choreographer Danny Mefford, and some key players (Lucas Near-Verbrugghe and the hilarious Jeff Hiller). The show is even more fantastic than I could have dreamed it would be – a fast, funny, smart update of one of Shakespeare’s un-sacred texts. The four aristocrats renouncing pleasure are frat boys (they open the show ceremonially locking in a trunk a six-pack, a bong, and a string of condoms) who are as cute as a boy band. The four party girls who tease them out of their vows hit the stage like the cast of Bridesmaids crashing the set of Girls.

Love's Labour's Lost Public Theater/Delacorte Theater
The nutty secondary comic plot actually sizzles because of Caesar Samayoa’s brave and funny turn as Don Armado, with a lot of help from his Jacquenetta (Rebecca Naomi Jones, late of Murder Ballad) and the band (musical director Justin Levine jumps in and out of the action playing Moth). The cast is full of newly minted downtown stars – Daniel Breaker (Passing Strange), Colin Donnell (Anything Goes, the Encores! version of Merrily We Roll Along), Patti Murin (Lysistrata Jones), and, hello, Rachel Drach for good measure. I especially enjoyed Audrey Lynn Weston’s stoner-chick Katherine. Friedman’s songs are fiendishly witty (I think I heard the word “apothegms” fly by in one of the lyrics), and Timbers happily ladles in references to Hair, Passing Strange, and (for some reason) Einstein on the Beach. I would gladly see this show several more times. I can’t believe it’s not going to extend or move after its scheduled run in the park finishes next Sunday. It’s every bit as good as anything I’ve seen in Central Park.

MOVIES

I think I’d gotten a vague inkling that Woody Allen’s new movie Blue Jasmine somehow referenced A Streetcar Named Desire, but watching the movie I couldn’t believe how note-for-note the plot follows Tennessee Williams – one more instance of Woody Allen defying predictability. He’s been on a roll with his string of feel-good travelogue movies (Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Midnight in Paris, To Rome with Love), but Blue Jasmine breaks that cycle. Yes, it’s set in San Francisco (and the Hamptons) but it’s not a love letter to any location, and the story swerves dark. What makes the movie a must-see is Cate Blanchett, who has played Blanche DuBois onstage to rave reviews (wish I’d seen it) but here perfectly embodies Woody’s interpretation of Blanche (mixed in with Ruth Madoff) as a woman whose beauty allows her to deceive her way into powerful men’s hearts because her looks makes her vulnerability and desperation come across as strength. But the cast is full of yummy performances by terrific actors: Sally Hawkins in the Stella role, Bobby Cannavale and Andrew Dice Clay (!) as two versions of Stanley Kowalski, Louis C.K. as Karl Malden, plus Peter Saarsgard, Alec Baldwin, and Michael Stuhlbarg.

MUSIC

Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra headlined Friday night’s show at Lincoln Center Out of Doors in a light drizzle. AFP (as her legion of hardcore fans, including Andy, refer to Amanda Fucking Palmer) did a modified version of the concert she gave last fall at Webster Hall on the launch tour for her album Theater Is Evil – a couple of the major numbers from that release (including the hit-single-that-shoulda-been, “Do It With a Rock Star”); guest appearance by her former cohort from the Dresden Dolls, Brian Viglione; plenty of time spent off the stage moshing around with the folks standing in front of the stage; a couple of plaintive, emotional, inspiring solo numbers on ukulele; the odd cover (“Smells Like Teen Spirit”); encore of “Leeds United.” I confess that I dug the Webster Hall show a bit more, partly because the stomping crowd during the encore made the floorboards bounce, an effect not quite possible in Damrosch Park. For me the gift of the night was getting to hear the opening act, a quirky outfit known as Rosin Coven: a flame-tressed singer fronting a string trio, a vibes player, two horns, and a drummer. Andy called it “mystic Goth jazz,” not a bad summary – smart, ambitious, nutty and intriguing arrangements putting me in mind of Boston’s genius band of the mid-70s Orchestra Luna, with traces of Dan Hicks and his Hot Licks and Frank Zappa’s Mothers of Invention.

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