Performance

Gary Tischler • August 7, 2015

Barring unforeseen circumstances, by the time anyone reads this, the folks at the Keegan Theatre — which is to say, founders Mark A. Rhea and Susan Marie Rhea — will have come full circle.

Keegan will have settled into its newly and finally renovated theater on Church Street just off Dupont Circle, giving both a climax and new beginning to a story that had its start in the 1990s, when Keegan was a fledgling, nomadic enterprise with a not-always-certain future.

Their 2015-2016 season will have opened with a production of Tennessee Williams’s classic play “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” which resonates in American theater history, but also in a highly personal way both for the Rheas, who are co-directing, and the company.

“Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” is famous on a larger stage as one of the great playwright’s bigger Broadway hits, and as a gaudy 1958 MGM film starring Elizabeth Taylor at her zenith, as Maggie the Cat in a negligee; Paul Newman as Brick, her boozing, haunted husband; and Burl Ives as the formidable (and dying) Big Daddy. The play won a Pulitzer Prize for Williams. The original 1955 production was directed by Elia Kazan and starred Barbara Bel Geddes as Maggie and Ben Gazzara as Brick; a 1974 revival, directed by Shakespeare Theatre Company Artistic Director Michael Kahn, starred Elizabeth Ashley as Maggie and Keir Dullea as Brick, with Fred “Munster” Gwynne as Big Daddy.

“Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” was the first play Keegan staged, in 1997-1998. Not only that, but the last time the company took on the play, during its 2001-2002 season, Mark was Brick to Susan Marie’s Maggie the Cat.

“Oh, God, yes,” Susan Marie said. “This production, with all that’s going on, is so special to us. We’re opening the season with a play that began our history. We’re directing actors in roles that we played. All of this while the finishing touches to the renovations are still being done. And, of course, it means something very special on a personal level.”

We’re talking as the smell of fresh wood, long planks of wood on the side of the lobby, still lingers in the new theater.

“We had known each other, and worked together before [in the “The Taming of the Shrew”], but something happened during the course of the ‘Cat’ production,” she said.
“Our relationship deepened,” Mark said. “I mean, this play asks so much of you, you have to really dig deep and expose some parts of yourselves which under normal conditions people might never get to see. We fell in love, deeply.”

“He proposed and, I think perhaps a year later, we were married. We’ve been together ever since,” said Susan Marie.

So part of the story of Keegan — actors falling in love while acting in a searing, emotionally draining play — is a love story. A love story that includes the building of a company, regular tours in Ireland (Galway, County Killarney, Cork), staging plays and making theater in a certain way, with each bringing particular gifts to the process.
Mark, whose background is Irish, has a deep passion for Irish theater, plays and playwrights. “They’re dark and funny, and character driven,” he says.

“We’ve almost always done the Irish tour,” says Susan Marie. “We take American classics — Tennessee Williams, Miller, Mamet, Albee — and bring them to Ireland. In Europe, and for sure in Ireland, that’s what people really want to see and experience — that is, our classic plays — and, of course, many people have seen the ‘filums,’ as they say it.”

In the Washington area, “We’ve been everywhere,” she says. “Arlington, Northern Virginia, in churches and schools. It was something of a vagabond existence, but we built an audience over the years, and we have an audience now.”

The theater on bucolic Church Street, which used to be a private school, has attracted an eclectic set of companies over the years: outliers from the suburbs like the award-rich Synetic Theatre, theaters without homes, and New Playwrights. Keegan had been there off and on until, a year or so ago, in the midst of a full and successful season, the opportunity arose to buy the theater for over $2 million, accomplished with a special fund drive.

Renovation proceeded apace, though not necessarily with ease. Even as the opening approached, there were still things to be done, permits to finalize and agonizing details to finish off. But the new theater, with more open air and glass-enclosed views of the leafy setting — not to mention enough bathrooms for everyone — is a big improvement on the past, without losing the most important thing Keegan offered as a theater environment: intimacy.

“Cat” will run through July 25. Other shows in the 10-play season include a new musical, “Dogfight,” in August; “The Dealer of Ballynafeigh”; “An Irish Carol”; and Green Day’s “American Idiot.”

Gary Tischler •

One thing you can say about the folks at the Keegan Theatre: they don’t shy from a challenge.

To inaugurate its new and permanent digs at the Keegan on Church Street in Dupont Circle, co-directors Mark and Susan Marie Rhea chose to open with Tennessee Williams’s  still startling and ferocious 1955 Pulitzer Prize-winning play “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” in all its three-hours-plus fury, a play that on scale of one to ten in terms of tasking and testing actors and directors as well as the patience and will of the audience is around an 11.

If that wasn’t enough, the official opening performance July 30 heightened the difficulty level with the cancellation of two preview performances due to weather difficulties that occurred during the last finishing touches to the renovation.

That probably accounted for a certain under-rehearsed quality to parts the production, but it also ratcheted up the raw emotional qualities of some of the longer scenes, and the Keegan’s gift and history for intimate directness. What you got was a true, authentic version of “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,”  which in terms of its history is a play full of the ghosts of legendary past productions and a brilliant, if entirely muddled all-star movie version to haunt actors and directors. 

The renovation includes new entrance and a glossy and glassy outdoor sheen, plus the addition of several new rest rooms throughout the theater, an addition that was entirely welcome for a play lasting three hours plus, three acts with two intermission.  

It’s a taxing proposition for an audience, but this is the reward: the realization in the end of just what a forceful masterpiece of American theater this Tennessee Williams play is, what a gift for language, mixing crudeness with poetic imagery, he had, how he managed to peel the onioned layers of lies the characters hold savagely close, and how this more than 60-year-old play resonates so sharply today.

The Keegan stage has remained the same—it makes any production an exercise in intimacy. With the characters in “Cat,” this is a proximity that can sear.  

Here we are again in the brilliantly white bedroom, occupied by the self-described Maggie the Cat in the most alluring slip in stage history, holding forth, pacing more like a lioness than a mere cat, laying out the Southern situation, gathered here in this thousands of acres-estates for the birthday of Big Daddy, her husband’s overbearing father. 

Big Daddy may be dying, but he thinks he’s dodged a cancer bullet.   At stake is love and hatred and Big Daddy’s estate.  Maggie wants it for herself and her husband Brick, haunted by the death of his best friend Skipper,  refusing to have relations with his wife, guzzling booze by the shot glass at an alarming rate until he hears the  click that stops his pain.  His lawyer brother Gooper and his snooping, snooty wife Mae have produced a passel of what Maggie calls “no-neck monsters,” five kids with another on the way.  Big Mama, strident, emotional frets over Big Daddy’s health.

Williams, a gay man and Catholic son of the South, takes his time with the characters—in a long first act, Maggie, played with  the intensity of a striving but unsatisfied woman, using her Southern accent like a musical story-telling instrument by company member Brianna Letourneau, dominates the stage, alternatively haranguing and trying to seduce her husband Brick, trying to prod and provoke him into life. 

When Big Daddy arrives, he comes on with strength, bolstered by news of an apparent escape from the Big C judgement, and he revels and reeks of the life force that he carries with him—he’s an inhaler, a dominate storm force. It’s a kinetic performance by Kevin Adams.  It’s not in the big, bigger-than-life bigness of a Burl Ives or even James Earl Jones. It’s mainly real and layered.  Adams makes an aria out of storming into the room and yelling, “What’s that smell? I smell . . . mendacity.” He lingers over the little-used word, as if it were a bomb that was stealthily building to explosion.

This “Cat” is directed and laid out to the point where every word counts. You strain to listen and hear it right, accompanied by the atmospherics of that family house, veranda, walkways, voices heard from outside, a storm exploding, servants walking in and out singing fragments of gospel songs, peeking in, passing by. 

In this scene—once occupied by the likes of blue-eyed Paul Newman in the movie version—Kevin Hasser is a great deflector as Brick. He pushes aside accusations, the allure of Maggie, Big Daddy’s attempts to push him into action.  That understated quality to this Brick is as haunting as every drinks he pours and downs.

The production isn’t perfect. It’s rough around the edges, but never at the core. Sometimes, the sheer length of it can bludgeon the audience member, who’s bearing witness.  

You watch this, and you see that has the quality of a classic play. It has the ability to drag you in and make you hear the music of our times. 

The movie version muddled the issue of the true nature of Brick’s relationship with Skipper, which appeared to be homosexual, even though Brick denies it.  “No,” he says. “Not that. People hate that. It wasn’t that. People think it’s disgusting.”  That phrase just a few days after gay marriage became the law of the land resonates mightly.  So does the plantation mentality and atmosphere in which Big Daddy strides so confidently, given recent events.

Mostly, much of this production is a gift, not only to the audience, but to Tennessee Williams.

“Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” runs July 7 through July 25 at the Keegan Theater at 1724 Church St. NW. 
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Gary Tischler • July 16, 2015

The 11th D.C. Jazz Festival ended Tuesday in an expansive stretch of concerts all over the bustling Washington landscape, stretching boundaries, embracing new genres, serving youth — with occasional backward glances at this most American of musical forms.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, on June 11, Randolph Denard Ornette Coleman died at the age of 85. Coleman was a jazz giant from the past who was also always about its future. Once you start reading about him, and listening to some of his particularly free and flowing music (on You Tube, if not elsewhere), you get lost in his story and his music.

Coming out of Texas, he aim was to set jazz free, blowing the alto sax, composing, arranging, playing most often with his jazz family of cornetist Don Cherry, bassist Charlie Haden, drummer Billy Higgins and others, including pianist Paul Bley. Sometimes he played with his son Dernardo on drums. He also played the trumpet and the violin.

He was — once he knew what he was, which was, as described in many a headline, a “jazzman” — always pushing, looking ahead in the same way that Charlie Parker was, rearranging the whole damn thing. Hence, and soon enough, in 1959, came “Tomorrow is the Question!” — a boppy, beyond-boppy and singular composition that posited an answer to the question of “What Is To Be Done?” The answer: “The Shape of Jazz to Come.”

This seems immodest, but it was also true. Critics called it avant garde, as they would some of Miles Davis’s work.
Coleman’s music was a strange kind of avant garde. It had melodic spurts, sweet stuff and blues and rambling, rumbling moments of sax and horn. It could be mistaken for another version of Americana, deeper and more wounding while optimistic. His music was often controversial: praised by the likes of Leonard Bernstein, but not so much by Davis himself, who called him “all screwed up inside.”

No matter how far you stretch jazz or decompress it, or bastardize it or marry and fuse it to something else, it always brings with it its favorite child, improvisation. That’s the genius of jazz, that’s how you bend it and blend it at the same time. Jazz without improvisation (for a minute or twenty) is really jazz without its soul, if not its heart. Coleman understood that, which is not to say that he wanted the music to change to the point that nobody understood it, or worse, wanted to listen to it.

You get a sense of where the train went off the tracks into the future in “Free Jazz.” One player called it organized chaos.

But it’s also the kind of thing you’re still likely to hear on a given night in some drifty club, a quartet, the sax going on off, out of bounds, getting joined in disjointed fashion by a horn, drums coming on soft, then in a fury, and bass catching up, drifting off, coming right on in. If there’s a piano, well, something different.

It’s a funny thing, this envelope pushing. Stick around long enough, and everybody recognizes who you are at last, and that you’ve touched everyone. The obituary in Rolling Stone by David Fricke, for instance — called “Ornette Coleman: The Man Who Set Jazz Free” — recalled a story about Jerry Garcia playing on Coleman’s album “Virgin Beauty,” the point being that Coleman, like Parker, influenced everybody, everywhere.

On You Tube, the music gives you an idea of a journey: “Free Jazz,” the classic “Lonely Woman,” “Bebop with Hard Bop,” “Skies of America,” which one critic said Virgil Thompson would have been proud of. The tributes in the comments came in American, in Japanese, in German, Arabic, French and Spanish, rest in peace and swing.

Coleman’s spirit lives in every new note, and every old one too. The jazzman is home.

Gary Tischler •

Over the 40-some years of its existence, GALA Hispanic Theatre, under the leadership of founders Hugo and Rebecca Medrano, has proven to be an eclectic institution that, while culling Spanish-speaking culture for iconic works, has also pushed the envelope with productions of new ones.

Still, in all of its history of bringing receptive Washington audiences classic plays by Spanish authors — from Lope De Vega to Lorca — as well as newer works from Latin America, and a treasure trove of musical and family presentations, it’s likely that the Medranos and company haven’t tackled something quite as challenging and unusual as the show now playing at the GALA stage in the renovated Tivoli in Columbia Heights.

That would be “Las Polacas — The Jewish Girls of Buenos Aires,” an edgy, salsa- and tango-tempered musical about … sex trafficking. The “Polacas” are young Jewish girls from Poland who were lured to Buenos Aires, Argentina’s capital city, by false promises of marriage or work in the 1920s.

Like GALA’s website, the production is bilingual, Spanish and English — GALA, incidentally, stands for Grupo de Artistas Latinoamericanos — with projected English subtitles. Performances continue through June 28.

Written by Argentinian playwright Patricia Suárez-Cohen, with music by Mariano Vales, the show is a commissioned production, which is to say that it’s a ground-up work by GALA, a fact that, alone, should make the project daunting for all concerned.

Recently, we talked to founder Hugo Medrano, as well as Samantha Dockser and Martín Ruíz, two critical members of the cast of “Las Polacas,” at the theater.

“We recognized that this could be a major challenge for us,” said Medrano, who seems to thrive on challenges. “The subject is not the most likely for a musical, for one thing, but it has a historic importance, in that this actually occurred, long before people talked about such things and gave it a name. We wanted to make a musical to give it a flavor, a theme, a setting — which is Argentina and Poland in the 1920s. It’s the kind of thing that needs to find its audience, not just among Jewish people, but a universal one.”

It probably helps that Medrano is a native of Argentina, as is Ruíz, the striking actor who plays Schlomo, the seductive protagonist who helps lure young girls to Argentina, where a life of prostitution awaits.

“The most important thing was that we had to find the right young actress to play the part of Rachela. She had to be the right person, believable right off the bat. She had to embody that part,” Medrano said.

And that’s how they chose Samantha Dockser, a 20-year-old senior BFA acting major at the University of Miami, in Coral Gables. Dockser, who is from McLean, Virginia, is performing her first professional role — the lead role in the production.

With dark long hair and fine features, Dockser has the kind of unassuming loveliness that a girl like Rachela requires. “I saw the notice for the audition and I thought, maybe I could do this, and it didn’t hurt to try.” She got the part.

“She’s a young girl, an innocent, and she is vulnerable to a man like Schlomo, who’s charming and handsome and all of that — and she has no idea what is going to happen to her,” Dockser said. “But she’s also strong and defiant. I can relate to her age, but in terms of the reality of the situation, that’s empathy and imagination.”

“It’s difficult material,” she said. “Ruíz’s character hits me at one point, and I was worried that my dad would get upset watching that. But he understood what was going on.”

For his part, Ruíz is glad to be reunited with GALA (where he appeared in “Momia en el Closet: The Return of Eva Peron” in 2011). “It is a wonderful place to work. The projects are unusual. The people are like a family,” he said through a translator. “I think, you know, that Schlomo presents himself as a kind of romantic revolutionary or anarchist, you know, changing society. And that can be appealing to a girl like Rachela. But it’s her mother who essentially sells her to him.”

On stage you can see a kind of mountain of mementos of the girls’ former life in the villages of Poland: luggage, a toy ocean liner, clothing and books, and the like.

Being here, in this theater, you become mindful of Medrano’s and GALA’s long history and how the Tivoli venue has changed and solidified GALA. The company — which has also presented music, including salsa, flamenco and tango — has occupied many spaces, but it only obtained a permanent home, in 2005, after it won a bid to become part of the renovated Tivoli.

In earlier years, Medrano often acted in the plays, winning a Helen Hayes Awards for best actor in a resident play, for his star turn in “Kiss of the Spider Woman.”

Staging “Las Polacas” may seem like a challenge and something of a brave choice, but it’s also emblematic of how Medrano and the people who have supported GALA — audiences, artists, fundraisers and trustees — have gotten this far, enriching the city with a unique tapestry of Hispanic performing arts. [gallery ids="102112,133813,133811" nav="thumbs"]

Ari Post •

There is a moment in artist Shirin Neshat’s short film, “Munis,” where a dead man is lying on the ground of an empty stone courtyard beside a dead woman. “In place of past and remembrance,” says the dead man, speaking in Persian, “all that remains are my dreams.” The scene is a sort of magical encounter between the recently deceased, and the statement is not so much a symbol for anything as a blunt expression of sociological displacement.

The short film follows Munis, a young Iranian woman in Tehran in the summer of 1953, as she listens to radio reports of clashes between supporters of the Mosaddeq government and unnamed “opposition groups” aided by “foreign forces.” As the radio conveys Mosaddeq’s exhortation to the Iranian people to “stand firm,” Munis’s brother enters, chastising her to get ready to meet a potential suitor. She ignores him, but he yanks the cord from the radio, severing her only link to the outside world.

Stepping outside to the rooftop of their home, she listens to protestors chanting in the distance. Munis then looks down to see an injured demonstrator collapse on the street below. She stares at him for a long moment, and then leans forward and falls silently to her death — or rather, she drifts weightlessly as a feather to the ground.

Lying beside the dead man on the ground, Munis’s conversation with the dead man commences. She comes into his dream, and we find her suddenly amid a throng of proShah demonstrators, at first observing and then shaking her fists and yelling slogans of resistance as the crowd is ruthlessly dispersed by the military. Only in death can she finally participate in the strange carnival of political unrest.

It is impossible to disentangle Shirin Neshat’s work and biography from the turbulent recent history of Iran, the country where she was born in 1957 and lived until 1975. As she herself observes, “Every Iranian artist is, in one way or another, political. Politics has defined our lives.”

“Shirin Neshat: Facing History,” now on view (through Sept. 20) at the Hirshhorn Museum, seeks to illuminate the political and cultural influences that have informed Neshat’s creative life. The first Hirshhorn exhibition organized under the directorship of Melissa Chiu, the show confronts the complex cultural dynamics of our day with work that offers a transnational perspective, an invaluable perspective for understanding the contemporary art world.

Presenting Neshat’s work in a sequence that allows viewers to experience an unfolding of history through the artist’s eyes, the exhibition opens with “Munis” (2008), set in 1953 during the coup that ousted Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddeq from power and consolidated the rule of Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi. It then moves to the photographic and video works Neshat made in response to her first visits to Iran since the establishment of the Islamic Republic in 1979. Finally it progresses to her monumental photographic series, “The Book of Kings” and “Our House Is On Fire,” created in the wake of the Iranian Green Movement protests of 2009 and the subsequent Arab Spring uprisings across the Middle East.

Consistent in all of these works is Neshat’s depiction of women as a sometimes hidden, but potent, source of resistance and strength. Often in contrast to their male counterparts, Neshat’s female characters are rebellious, always taking action.

In Neshat’s short film “Turbulent,” a man sings a charming waltz of an Iranian song to a group of men, who cheer merrily. As soon as he concludes, a woman, projected onto a screen on the opposite wall, emits a sound then slowly accelerates into a startling, unpredictable, gut-wrenching surge of musical expression, part song, part force of nature. It is not a mere performance such as the man delivered — it is something simmering from deep within that comes roiling to the surface. The men watch her from the opposite screen, stunned, speechless and unmoving.

The raw power and emotional energy of this video will likely floor you. And that would be enough. But it is worth knowing, going in, that in Iran, women are forbidden from singing in public.

So while this exhibition might at first seem oppressively political in its message, and out of place in an art museum, Neshat’s works are deeply human meditations on freedom and loss, at once personal, political and allegorical.

“Munis,” for instance, is part of a larger project that Neshat pursued between 2003 and 2009 to create a series of video installations — and even a feature film — based on the 1989 magic realist novella by Shahrnush Parsipur, “Women Without Men,” which tells the stories of five women whose troubled lives converge in a mysterious orchard.

Despite the complex and dynamic historical and political implications, there is such raw, aesthetic beauty to everything in the exhibition that you can allow yourself to deal with the art on its own terms. Neshat’s vision and delivery is so clear and powerful, it feels natural to let the art unfold simply before you.

This is work that is searching for liberation in expression and finding it in strange places, beyond the judgement of politics and the politics of judgement. It is found within, underneath the government-sanctioned hijabs that women are required to wear around their heads, beyond the strict Iranian constitution that controls both the public and private lives of women in the society.

Neshat finds freedom in the internal expression, and writes it large for those who don’t have the privilege to release it. [gallery ids="102113,133807,133810" nav="thumbs"]

Gary Tischler •

The Chamber Dance Project, the innovative dance company founded by celebrated choreographer Diane Coburn Bruning, made a spectacular debut and became a D.C. resident with its inaugural season here last year at the Kennedy Center’s Terrace Theater.

The company is in the midst of a second flurry of programs in year two through June 28 at the Lansburgh Theatre, where it’s in-residence, with a program oriented towards imaginative innovation of the kind you’re not likely to see anywhere else.

The program is a heady brew sparked by the presence of a roster of solo dancers from companies in Cincinnati, Atlanta, Milwaukee and Washington performing world premiere works with contemporary ballets and dances by four choreographers, complete with a live string quartet. The works are classic in echo and resonance and contemporary in style with athleticism, sensuality, and “arresting emotional shifts.”

The Chamber Dance Project will be performing two programs, including a world premiere of choreographer Darrell Grand Moultrie’s “Wild Swans,” founder Diane Coburn Bruning’s “Arranged,” and D.C. premieres of Ann Carlson’s “Four Men in Suits” and Bruning’s “Journey.” In addition, they will be putting on Bruning’s powerful “Exit Wounds” and “Time Has Come” as well as Jorge Amarante’s tango-flavored “Sur.”

Every performance includes CDP’s popular “structured improv”, in which the troupe builds a dance from audience suggestions.

There will also be house concert’s with the string quartet, open rehearsals, and preview performance As part of the group’s outreach organization, the CDP is donating 300 tickets to area youth and veterans

Dancers include Francesca Dugarte, Morgann Rose and Luis R. Torres from the Washington Ballet, Jacob Bush from the Atlanta Ballet, Chris Lingner from the Cincinnati Ballet, and Davit Hovhannisyan and Luz San Miguel from the Milwaukee Ballet.

Program A—“Wild Swans”, Arranged”, “Four Men in Suits” and “Timer Has Come” will be performed Friday at 7:30 p.m., and Sunday at 7:30 p.m. at the Lansburgh Theatre.

Program B—“Journey”, “Wild Swans”, “Exit Wounds” and “Sur” will be performed tonight at 7:30 p.m., and Saturday at 1 p.m. (Family Matinee Program) and 7:30 p.m. [gallery ids="102125,133742" nav="thumbs"]

Gary Tischler •

It’s 10th anniversary time for the Capital Fringe Festival, the annual summer performing arts festival that keeps on moving and keeps on staying.

Ever since the Capital Fringe Festival—which runs from July 9 to August 2 — appeared in and around Washington ten years ago as one of the many offsprings of the Edinburgh, Scotland, Fringe Festival, it has made yearly strides to become something more than a fringe thing.   It has become, by now, an imbedded, always fresh, always surprising enterprise, part of the Washington performing arts community, and was so rewarded with a Helen Hayes Award not so long ago.

Every year, sometimes by the skin of its teeth, the Fringe presents its gaudy package of theater and performing arts baubles, the work of a large, eclectic group of theater and performing arts artists and groups from Washington and all over the country.  Here are the classics reworked, new one-man and one-woman shows about everything under the sun, bawdy comedy,  clowns, new plays with new views done in new styles, music, dance, burlesque and vaudeville. 

Surprise is always the key element, but there is a certain spirit involved, too—an almost breath-taking inviting tolerance of the different, the new, the never-heard-of before.  In the past, the venues have spread all over the place, downtown, in Southwest, in bars, churches, art spaces, adding another eclectic layer to the proceedings.  

Under the leadership of co-founder  and president and chief executive officer Julianne Brienza, the festival has moved to at first survive, then branch out, preserve, and moves forward, and the festival has managed to do so with aplomb.  This year, it seems almost permanent after the festival purchased a former gallery space as its headquarters in Northeast Washington at 1358 Florida Ave., NE, which serves as the Logan Fringe Art Space, and one of the venues (actually two, since there are two theaters in the space) for the festival.

With that move, the festival—game and big as ever with 129 productions spread out across three areas plus additional venues—has became a part of the locus of where a good chunk of D.C. change is taking place, which might seem perfect for the possible audience of the festival, a younger-skewing audience in search of the irreverent, the informal, the brand new, the amusing and serious, which might speak to the times we lives in and the upcoming weeks as well.

Essentially, the Fringe Festival will be centered around three neighborhoods—Trinidad, Brookland and H Street NE or the H Street Corridor. These are all burgeoning, rapidly changing and culture and restaurant-bustling neighborhoods, in fairly close proximity to each other.  Trinidad will haves the Fringe Festival headquarters, including Trinidad Theatre. Other venues include the Tree House Lounge at 1006 Florida Ave., NE, Jenks & Son at 910 Bladensburg Road NE, the Gilbert C. Eastman Studio Theatre at Gallaudet University, 800 Florida Ave. NE and the Playground also at Gallaudet University.

Brookland venues will include the Morris & Gwendolyn Cafritz Foundation Theater at the Dance Place, at 3225 8th St. NE, the Hyman M. Perlo Studio at Dance Place, the Brookland Artspace Lofts Studio at 3305 8th St NE, banished? ARTillery (that’s how it is written), at 716 Monroe St. NE and Ward Hall at Catholic University.

H Street NE, where the trolley car is still not operating in a hot neighborhood, Fringe Festival are centered around the Atlas Performing Arts Center at 1333 H St. NE, sites of many Fringe performances last year, and at the Argonaut at 1433 H St. NE and Gallery O on H, at 1354 H St. NE.

Other venues around the District include the D.C. Columbia Arts Center in Adams Morgan, the Mead Theatre Lab downtown at Flashpoint, the Japanese American Memorial at New Jersey Avenue, Louisiana Ave and D St. NW, the Anacostia Arts Center at 1231 Good Hope Road SE and the Pinch at 3548 14th St. NW.

According to the festival website, there are 129 performing arts group schedule to do their thing, many of them are from Washington, D.C., Virginia and Maryland, but not exclusively. Surprise is probably the order of the day, but the name of the groups and some of their offerings might give you a hint of things to come—plus there are musical offerings at Fringe with late night cabaret and a music in the library program.

Here’s a dash of what’s up thoroughly at random:

“Belle and the Beasties” from the Actors Repertory Theatre; “Vanek Unleashed,” Alliance for New Theatre.org; “Sonata: The Naked Project” from Annexus; “Augustus the Sissy” from Dana Galloway; “It’s a Circus Out There,” the Federal Theatre Project;  “District of Cara” from Local Yogurt Productions; “Neighborhood 3:  Requisition of Doom” from the new Molotov Theatre Company; a Shakespeare sendup called “To Err is Falstaff” from Falstaff production and “The Winter’s Tale” from We Happy Few Productions; “The Second Coming of Joan of Arc” from Theatre Prometheus; “The Giant Turnip” from Beech Tree Puppets; “From Seven Layers to a Bikini Top in Less Than Five Hours” from Andrea Schell from California; “Bond, An Unauthorized Parody” from Tasty Monster Productions; “Dancing Ophelia” from Trajectory Dance Project; “Wombat Drool” from Uncle Funsy Productions; “The Last Burlesque” from Pinky Swear Productions of Virginia;  “The Life of King John: The Reprisal” from the Rude Mechanicals of Virginia. 

That’s just a few from a list of 129.  The rest you should be able to find by visiting the Capital Fringe Festival, along with ticket prices—reasonable, more than, times, locations, information about the shows, principals, and so on. And on.
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Gary Tischler • July 2, 2015

Robert Kellett van Leer, most recently managing director of the heralded European arts consulting firm Wonderbird, will fill the newly created position of senior vice president of artistic planning at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts.

Following other recent hirings, van Leer, who has dual American and Dutch citizenship, will complete Kennedy Center President Deborah F. Rutter’s senior management team. He begins work July 6.

“Robert brings a wealth of multidisciplinary arts experience and creative leadership to the table, and I am excited to partner with him and our creative curatorial team of administrators and artistic leaders to shape the artistic vision for the center in the years to come,” said Rutter. “His commitment and innovative approach to the artistic endeavor will build and expand on our mission to provide innovative programming that reflects the core of John F. Kennedy’s legacy.”

At Wonderbird, based in London, van Leer did strategic cultural consulting with preeminent performing-arts and visual-arts organizations and philanthropic corporate clients. Previously, he was managing director of Nederlands Dans Theater, one of the world’s leading dance companies, where he increased revenues threefold, managed a budget of $15 million and supervised a staff of 110.

Earlier, he was head of music at London’s Barbican Centre, transforming its concert hall into a creative center for the commission, curation and presentation of global music in a multi-arts context. He also held positions with Wigmore Hall in London and Lincoln Center in New York.

“To work with the extraordinary artists and experienced, talented programming professionals at the Center across such a wide spectrum of the performing arts is a particular delight for me,” said van Leer. “Working together alongside our colleagues in education, as well as partners old and new, will provide the creative opportunities to manifest the voice of the Center for a new era while respecting the original vision.”

Gary Tischler • July 1, 2015

The singer-songwriter-memoirist-performer-author-rocker Storm Large is a sort of gaudy cruise ship that has sailed exotic, dangerous and, naturally, stormy musical (and probably personal) waters for a number of years. Large — her given name is Susan Storm Large — is a star to anybody who’s encountered her, and a legend in places like San Francisco and Portland,
Oregon, where she lives and performs.

But Storm Large and Frank Sinatra? The combination hardly seems likely for someone who quite successfully fronted a rockish-punkish-and-beyond band called The Balls (as well as other bands including “Storm and Her Dirty Mouth”), who was a contestant on “Rock Star Supernova,” who blogs on her website in blunt and honest terms and has written and performed her harrowing, affecting memoir “Crazy Enough.” She is an American original.

But then, so was Sinatra. Large will be part of “Let’s Be Frank: The Songs of Frank Sinatra,” organized by NSO Pops director Steve Reineke. The tribute will feature Reineke and piano man Tony DeSare conducting — and what Reineke terms his own “rat pack” of swell singers, including Ryan Silverman and Frankie Moreno, in addition to Large. The show will be presented in the Kennedy Center Concert Hall June 5 and 6 at 8 p.m.

“I always liked the whole idea of the Rat Pack and Frank Sinatra, all those kinds of very cool atmospherics,” Large said in a telephone interview. “I have an enormous amount of respect for him as a singer. I think he was the kind of guy who was always prepared. He trusted the lyrics, he made sure that he got the emotional truth of the songs. That way, his approach was blue-collar, which is where he came from.”

It’s not the first time Large has been at the Kennedy Center, a huge venue when compared to places like the popular Joe’s Pub in New York and clubs in Portland and San Francisco. She was here in 2012 with the eclectic pop group Pink Martini and the NSO Pops, performing to sold-out audiences.

“She was remarkable on that occasion, and she’s a remarkably talented singer,” Reineke said of Large. “Back then, she had to appear, on very short notice, for the group’s lead singer China Forbes who was ill.”

“She’s a fantastically gifted singer, and she’s grown so much—from rock to jazz to cabaret,” Reineke added. “She’s brave and tough and very sweet.”

She’ll be singing duets, songs like “Come Rain or Come Shine,” as well as solo numbers, notably “My Way” and “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”

“I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” by Cole Porter song is about obsessive love. “I don’t do it like most people. It’s usually upbeat, confident, buoyant. Mine is a little different — it’s more like you have this big love that you can’t get rid of. It’s like you can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like a woman who sits in her car in the rain watching her lover. She’s a little like a stalker.”

“I’ve Got You Under My Skin” is also part of “Le Bonheur,” a remarkable album which she produced last year with Robert Taylor and musicians James Beaton, Scott Weddle, Greg Eklund and Matt Brown. It’s almost a natural flow from her rocker days to Pink Martini to this album, which astonishes with its selection of songs, from Cole Porter and Rodgers and Hart tunes to “Unchained Melody,” a longing song which the Righteous Brothers turned into a megahit, “Saving All My Love for You” by the iconoclastic Tom Waits and the charming, puffy-go-lightly “Satellite of Love” by Lou Reed.

There are also two songs written by Large herself, “Stand Up For Me,” a straight-up inspirational anthem, and the moving “A Woman’s Heart,” somewhere between a love song and a rueful lament.

Songwriting is yet another aspect of this queen of creative multitasking. She’s a great storyteller, intelligent and cogent in her opinions, awfully funny and often profane.

Large comes from Southborough, Massachusetts, attended a famous private school, where her father Henry was a history teacher and football coach, and went to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. “I think sometimes my parents weren’t sure when I went out the door where I was going — to school or running away with the circus.”

You can track her career and persona erratically on the Internet. On YouTube, watch her in a club in Mill Valley doing not just the song but the lead-up to “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” a 1983 super-hit which shows off Large’s playful, rocker side, as she tells the story of a song written on a napkin. She’s a natural-born clown; she loves making faces. And she’s hard to ignore as a presence, a dazzling, six-foot, hard-striding blond woman whose voice is as big as her shadow.

“I think you grow up a little as you go along, the things you can do, what you want to explore,” she said. “You go deeper into the music. You live your life more. I’m 46 now. You can’t do 300 shows a year all of the time.”

Listening to her talk, reading hair-raising parts of her memoir, seeing her on YouTube and listening to that voice, you get how she relates to and is at home in the deepest part of Frank Sinatra’s songs.

Her voice — like her walk and talk — is rangy, and in its push to put emotional truth out there is marked by her persona, her experience of the sex, drugs and rock-and-roll life, as well as the highs and lows of vocalizing. Her voice really gets up there, but it’s hard to say whether it can break a wine glass. For sure, when Susan Storm Large sings, she can break your heart.

Gary Tischler • June 24, 2015

When directors and designers come face to face with the daunting task of staging a piece of classical theatre—a “Hamlet,” or a “Lear,” the world of Falstaff or the Spanish classics, or a Moliere—the temptation, even the urge to contemporize, to make relevant a work from the past is often irresistible.

That’s certainly almost an imperative at work in the production of “Tartuffe,” Moliere’s most famous, and perhaps most difficult, play now at the Shakespeare Theater Company.

Ostensibly in the lists as a comedy—as are all of the 17th century playwrights works—“Tartuffe,” more than most has its dark sides, it’s frustrating, “good” people behaving idiotically. And it’s “bad” people behaving far worse than you might image. If Tartuffe, the most nearly savage of Moliere’s villains in his avarice, his heartless manipulations and will to power, is a monster, then Orgon, the good and disturbingly pious man is almost his equal as Tartuffe’s enabler. He’s a monster of thick-headedness pinned to his own sense of wisdom and authority that is tyrannical to a fault.

“Tartuffe” has been done often at the regional theater level, but never by the Washington Shakespeare company, and strictly speaking this is a co-production with South Coast Repertory and the Berkeley Repertory Theatre, directed and designed by Dominique Serrand, who is co-artistic director of “The Moving Company.”

This production has already been staged elsewhere in California at Berkeley Rep, for one, where it received a lot of critical acclaim. Contemporary relevance is the goal here, but what often happens in high concept productions of the classics is a kind of tug-of-war between style over substance. This “Tartuffe,” it seems to me, is a kind of a draw, wherein the style of the play, a barrage of contradictory intentions, is trying to become the substance of the play.

“Tartuffe” is about a lecherous, primal and almost gifted grafter, who sets his sights on the wealthy Orgon, the very proud and pious head of a family that includes servants, a marriageable daughter, his younger (and smarter) and beautiful wife, a brother, and sundry others. Tartuffe pretends to be the most pious of pious men, even more than Orgon himself, pretending to want nothing while trying to take everything. Orgon, smitten hopelessly with Tartuffe, promises him his daughter, his money, his house, all except his wife Elmire, whom Tartuffe pursues relentless and with oily passion.

Proceedings proceed to the brink of disaster as Orgon is on the verge of losing his daughter, his house and his wealth.

Serrand has approached this material as a kind of horror story, focusing on religious fanaticism, social tyranny and hypocrisy, where people are always on the move, posing or re-arranging themselves or disappearing upstairs or downstage. There is a lot to like in his approach—the slapstick set pieces in the first act are loud little mini-silent movies in their comedic effects.

But often, this production seems to trying to have its cake and save it for a rainy day. It starts out in rhyming intonations, then drops into more modern speech with occasional bouts of rhyming. There seems to be no particularly good reason to do this.

It’s difficult to escape Moliere’s world of 1643, except of course for the fact that Moliere deals in archetypes—his plays are about and satirize quack doctors, misers, meddling heads of families, misanthropes, frauds, tyrants and religious zealots. They are with us always, and are quite easily recognized. Moliere’s particular gift was one of dexterity in the absolutist world of Louis XIV—he could attack religious zealotry, but not the church, he could satirize social tyranny, but not the king.

Steven Epp as Tartuffe is a self-assured rat—he’s sexy, confident and sly—trying to seduce Ermine, he flips open a breast plate to bare his chest, much like an eager knight of old popping a cod piece. He’s the kind of religious tyrant who talks about blasphemy even while being casually blasphemous. In one of the more chilling lines, he says to Elmire while trying to straddle her: “I can consecrate any evil I do.” Sofias Jean Gomez, who was the sprite Ariel in “The Tempest” at STC last year, makes a temptation out of Elmire for almost any man, even in her deception, she never stoops to pretending to be stupid.

The Orgon house is a curious affair—bright and full of light, it resembles the abode of a Calvinist trying to be stylish.

Tartuffe always has at his side, or in corners or passageways two assistants, oily, creepy men who catch small birds and snuff them out just to show that they can. There is in this house always a threat, of spying, of being caught, of any horrible thing at all. This may echo our own age of no privacy whatsoever.

You can see just how carefully Moliere had to tread by the way he ends things. Orgon and his family are saved by the king, or his agent, who recognizes Tartuffe for what he is. I saw one production—years ago at Arena Stage— in which the king arrived by helicopter in all his Sun King glory to save.

Serrand adds his own touch by having Tartuffe marched off whipped and carrying a cross, perhaps smiling. Could it be that Tartuffe has been Tartuffed?

The play, in fact, ends in a confusion of panic. Too much has happened for the day (if not the play) to be saved.

(“Tartuffe” runs at Sidney Harman Hall through July 4.) [gallery ids="102105,133858,133860,133851,133855" nav="thumbs"]