Performance

Gary Tischler • September 9, 2013

The National Archives William McGowan Theater was the setting, and iconic movie and television star Shirley Jones sat on the stage, being interviewed by Washington Post film critic Ann Hornaday.

It was a kind of two-for-one occasion, maybe even a three-for-one, in the sense that Jones, now 79 and looking good, was here for a book signing of “Shirley Jones: A Memoir”, which is, well, a memoir, but also appeared as part of the Archives’ ongoing and expansive exploration of an exhibition ”Searching for the Seventies: The DocuAmerica Photography Project”.

So here was Jones, a big star of post-Golden-Age Hollywood with early big-time starring roles as Laurey in “Oklahoma” and Julie Jordan in “Carousel”, two big-big screen versions of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals in the 1950s. Those roles and a turn as Marian the librarian in the movie version of “The Music Man”, made Jones an iconic embodiment of cinematic wholesomeness that might have made even the reigning virgin queen of the times Doris Day jealous.

Not to worry: Jones gave up the title with a juicy role of prostitute Lulu Bains in the film version of the Nobel Prize winning American novelist Sinclair Lewis’ 1920s portrait of a tent-show preacher huckster “Elmer Gantry”, with Burt Lancaster in the title role.

The musicals and “Gantry” figure were strongly in the talk at the Archives, as well as stories about her even more iconic role as Shirley Renfrew Partridge in the hugely popular 1970s television series “The Partridge Family”, which featured her step-son David Cassidy and a young actress named Susan Dey. Cassidy, as some of us all know and remember, went on to become the Justin Bieber of his day, achieving the kind of rock star fame that in the end he didn’t handle well, or never recovered from.

The book itself—which was referenced often—has been a fodder of celebrity headlines for its tales of sexual escapades and awakening of Jones—a nice young small town girl from Smithson, near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania whom was fortunate to be blessed with a marvelous voice and good looks. As a young girl she married a guy named Jack Cassidy—the “love of my life”—and was transformed. The details of that transformation—most of it about the eccentric, unfaithful, charismatic and sexually voracious Cassidy whom she describes as her “Svengali”—while making it to the airwaves (“Access Hollywood”) and the blogosphere, do not get into the conversation here. It was, after all, the National Archives, and there were tourists, families and children in the audience.

Which is just as well, because Jones’ life and career and her candor about her life make for a terrific American success story as is.
“I was an only child, and I was willful,” she acknowledged. She looked vibrant and down to earth, no-nonsense. She and Cassidy, who would die in a tragic fire, would divorce, but she’s now married to standup comedian Marty Ingels whom she describes as “the love of my life now.”
“Marty loves going to red carpet events and having me by his side,” she said. “Once, when I couldn’t go to one of those things, he took a cardboard cutout of me to the red carpet.

“I married two crazy men,” she said. “What does that say about me?”

What you can really say about Shirley Jones is that she’s brave, funny, resilient, and gifted, with an appetite for life. Which is not a bad legacy.

She had been invited to New York to perhaps audition for a show, although she had no idea who she was auditioning for. “I had never heard of Rodgers and Hammerstein, I didn’t know who these men were. But apparently they liked what they heard.”

She was young, inexperienced, but managed to snag roles in “South Pacific”, “Me and Juliet” and “Oklahoma.”

It was the same when it came to films. “I was asked to audition for the film version,” she said. “I had never made a movie in my life.”

“Director Fred Zinneman wanted me for the part. He was a brilliant director, an actor’s director, he was incredibly patient and helpful,” she said. She was Laurie to Gordon MacRae’s Curly and they also co-starred in “Carousel” as Julie and Billy Bigelow. “That was as my favorite all time musical, period.”

She confided that Frank Sinatra had been originally cast in the role of Billy Bigelow. “They’d already shot some scenes, and the movie was being done in two versions, in regular Cinemascope and a bigger version of the same process. That meant that they’d do two takes. When Frank Sinatra found out, he said, ‘I don’t do two takes’ and walked off the set. That’s one take Frank for you. Gordon, by contrast was easy going, he’d do a scene or the recording, and off he’d go to play golf. That’s what he really wanted to do in life.”

Her reputation established, Jones knew she wanted to act, not just be typecasted. “I got a call from Burt [Lancaster] and he asked me to read the book “Elmer Gantry”,” she said. “Read the book. I want you in the movie.”

“So I read it,” and I called him. “I want you for the part of the prostitute, he told me. I said ‘what!’ ‘It’s perfect for you. You watch. But the director, Richard Brooks, didn’t really want me. And he didn’t direct me. Burt insisted. Brooks saw the rushes from the first scene. He said ‘I want to apologize to you. You’re going to win an Oscar for this.”

And she did. She won best supporting actress, beating out Janet Leigh in “Psycho,” no less, and Lancaster got a best actor nod.
You get the idea she could talk about her old Hollywood compatriots for hours. She does a better than decent Jimmy Stewart imitation and sings praises of the under-rated actor and star Richard Widmark. She worked with both in a John Ford western “Two Rode Together.”

Fame and stardom of a different sort came with “The Partridge Family”. The show vied with “The Brady Bunch”, another iconic 1970s show of a similar stripe minus the rock band element, for public glory. “They told me not to do it, that I’d be associated with the role forever, that it would be hard to go back to what you were,” she said. “And they were right.”

“It was funny,” she said. “David (Cassidy) and I were cast separately and he didn’t know I was in the show,” she said. “So here we were and he looked at me and said ‘What are YOU doing here’ and I said, “I’m in the show. I’m your momma.”

Over the years she’s been in almost countless television shows. She toured with Cassidy in musical productions. She is unsinkable, indefatigable, and in some ways still the girl from Smithson, the kind of town were people tend to straight-talk.

Whether it is Marian the Librarian, Shirley Renfrew Partridge, Julie Jordan or Shirley Jones, she remains, memoirs and all, an American original.
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Gary Tischler •

Where does the time go.

Scena Theatre, under its artistic director and founder Robert McNamara, is winding up for its 25th season, now ensconced in its current digs at the Atlas Performing Arts Center on the H Street NE corridor with a production of Oscar Wilde’s eccentric, stylized and scandalizing version of “Salome.”

Looking at this production, which McNamara directed, populated with what seems like a patchwork map of local theater history, you can be excused, if you were around at the beginning of this quarter-century stretch, that very little has changed. McNamara and Scena Thaetre are still the masters of the rarely-if-ever seen, the theatrical road not taken, the Vasco de Gamas of theatrical exploration.

Things don’t always go just right at the often vagabond Scena family, but we can thank McNamara and company for bringing us works rarely performed otherwise in Washington over the years. He gives us Greek tragedies, contemporary Easter European plays, rising young Irish actors, and a borderline obsessive string of Samuel Beckett works (thank you so much). There are also the lesser known entities for Us audiences, such as the recurring presence of Stephen Berkoff’s plays, a powerful presentation of “The Persians” in the Tivoli Theater complete with actual thunder, the audacious “Mein Kampf” by George Tabori about a young Adolf Hitler, and even a recreation of Orson Welles’ radio play “The War of the Worlds” (at the DCAC).

The 25th anniversary season seemed—except for “Salome”—almost typical: a production of Anthony Burgess’ “A Clockwork Orange”, a Berkoff adaptation of Franz Kafka’s “Metamorhosis,” and “Shining City” by one of the current top dog lads of Irish writing, Conor McPherson.

“Salome” is different for Scena in the sense that Wilde’s work—his popular comedies—is not a staple of the Scena iconography. But then “Salome” is very wild Wilde—if it’s anything, it’s in cahoots with the Strauss opera, it has the sulfurous odor of scandal and sweet, and the sexual extravagance that trails Wilde’s latter-day downfall like a cacophonous, witchy lament.

What McNamara has done with it results in an evocation of another time and place, and a sort of mash of theatrical styles. It’s biblical with the presence of the man in the pit—the bleary-eyed imprisoned prophet Iokanaan (John the Baptist) and the overheated story of Herod, who lusts after his daughter Salome with tragic results. The play made its murky, painful debut in 1893—written in French no less and promptly censored by the Victorians, for whom the charming Irishman Wilde was both an affront and a chief wit, while ultimately and finally a debauched victim.

But McNamara, instead of looking too far back, evokes the Roaring Twenties of Gatsby and America, as courtiers dressed in tuxedos and clingy gowns make metaphorical, almost sing-song comments coming from faces painted white, appearing like mimes who memorized speaking.

There are courtiers, Romans, and a young Syrian, who is infatuated with the languidly draped Salome, played with an overpowering petulance by Irina Koval, who often performs with the stylized (and mosty silent) Synetic Theater Company. At the center front it all is the prophet, prophesying with a passion that has its own ardor, elevating death and rejecting the flesh offered with insistence by Salome, who has her own, simpler obsession. “I would kiss your lips, and I will,” she insists to the prophet, who shuns her.

In walks Herod and his wife Herodias, his eyes ablaze with want and desire, his manner seemingly casual, his ardor for himself and his desires always to the fore. He wants Salome. “You look at her too much,” Herodias says, often and with contempt. But want is want. He says “Dance,” and finally she gives in, but with a price: “I want the head of Iokanaan,” she says.

Herod fears the prophet, fears his death so much so that in a remarkable speech, really an inventory of his heart’s desires fulfilled, he tells her everything he would give her, except that damned head. Brian Hemmingson, a heavy man, turns that speech into a spillage, a kind of aria of imagined desires—“I have a hundred, rare pheasants, the last of them I’ll give them to you.”

Hemmingsen has a history not only with Scena, but the late Horizons Theater, the Washington Shakespeare Theatre, and has graced Washington stages for decades, often with his talented wife Nanna Ingvarsson. He is a deceptively gifted actor who can startle with the power of his voice and the variety of his movement. This is (no pun) a crowning achievement of a mad, supremely avaricious, reckless king.

Hemmingsen, the tart-voice Rena Cherry Brown as his wife, Koval and the remarkable Joseph Carlson as the prophet, dominate the stage when they need to. But there’s also time to appreciate the chorus and Tony Strowd as the young Syrian smitten with Herod, making his use of the word “princess” sing.

In the end, “Salome” is Scena’s 25th Anniversary gift to Washington theatre.

“Salome” is performed at the Atlas Performing Arts Center at 1333 H Street NE through August 18
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Eve Barnett •

Signature Theatre’s new musical, “Spin,” invites us to reflect on the challenges of personal growth, all the while laughing about the unexpected twists of family, fame and fortune. A seemingly lighthearted performance about washed-up, wanna-be pop star Evan Peterson, played by James Gardiner, “Spin” offers a web of ambition, relationships and love that reveals a engaging and introspective look into a modern American family.

“Spin,” written by Brian Hill with lyrics and music by Neil Bartram, is based on the 2008 South Korean film “Speedy Scandal.” It depicts Peterson’s development from a boy-band wonder to a reality television host to a father – and grandfather. Peterson’s life of serial one-night stands and take-out gets spun upside down when his daughter Makalo, played by Carolyn Cole, and Jesse, played by Holden Brown, knock on his door. Because neither his ego nor his suede couches are prepared for the responsibilities of father- and grandfather-hood, he understandably goes a little haywire.

After spending more time with them, he begins to see his own musicality reflected in them. Despite his initial unhappiness, Makalo and Jesse sneak their way deeper into his life until he ultimately chooses, after a series of distressing circumstances, them over personal fame.

Also, the unfolding stories of Evan’s romance with Jesse’s teacher Allison, played by Erin Driscoll, and workplace competition with his coworker Richard, played by Bobby Smith, add intrigue, helping the audience understand – and root for – Peterson.

The familiar plot of a man balancing work and family could have made the show fall flat, but the musical’s production makes it, instead, quite a lively performance. With an expressive chorus, jazzy tap dance routine, and dynamic set, the show never loses the audience’s attention.

“Spin” is the first work ever created in Signature Theatre’s new “siglab.” Siglab describes itself as “a special laboratory series that gives writers the opportunity to rehearse their shows for four weeks with professional actors and designers – focusing on structure, storytelling, music and script – and to see their work come to life as fully-staged productions.” Given its unique mission, it allowed writer Brian Hill, lyricist Neil Bartram and director Eric Schaeffer to experiment and perfect the show before its debut.

Furthermore, because “Spin” stems from the South Korean film, “Speedy Scandal,” siglab allowed the production team the time and resources to Americanize the performance. Interestingly enough, “Spin” will be translated into Korean and brought to Seoul, South Korea, after it leaves Arlington’s Signature Theatre.

The audience reaps the benefits of siglab and its resources, enjoying dynamic staging, a modern script and artfully integrated technology. For example, since the script was continually revised during rehearsal, the show’s pop culture references to scandals, such as Paula Deen’s recent one, feel immediately relevant. The production uses big-screen televisions to flash funny photos and quips, engaging the audience throughout the performance.

A family-friendly, thoughtful performance, “Spin” has all the ingredients to make you rhythmically tap your foot, anxiously scoot to the edge of your seat and pensively stroke your beard. Looks like its time to add this musical to your calendar.

“Spin,” with a time of two hours and 20 minutes, runs through July 27 at Signature Theatre, 4200 Campbell Ave., Arlington, Va. — 703-820-9771 — Signature-Theatre.org.

Jordan Hellmuth •

Fresh off his newest album, “All That Echoes,” which debuted at number one on the Billboard charts, Josh Groban has been selling out shows all over the country, from three sold-out nights at the Hollywood Bowl to a special show with the Colorado Symphony at Red Rocks. His August 16 show at the Filene Center at Wolf Trap will be no exception; it is sold out.

Known for smooth tenor sound in his 2005 Grammy nominated single, “You Raise Me Up,” Groban released his sixth studio album, “All That Echoes,” in February.

Recently, PBS has begun re-broadcasting Groban’s television special “Josh Groban: All That Echoes,” the taping of his live concert at Lincoln Center in February.

Be on the lookout for tickets to Groban’s show through alternate ticket outlets.

Gary Tischler •

The “A Chorus Line” production now at the Olney Theatre Center in Maryland—already extended through Sept. 8—isn’t perfect by any means, nor would you expect it to be, nor, in the end, should it be.

The little glitches—miking, mostly—here and there, a voice off track here, a note not quite reached—all the things that probably won’t repeat themselves next time or further down the line, end up being an almost natural (and poignant) part of this production of a classic show about a group of dance gypsies, vying for a spot on the chorus line of a musical eventually bound for Broadway.

That was the basic material for genius producer-director Michael Bennett’s 1975 record-breaking, Tony-award winning and legendary music which remains more than 35 years later a one-of-a-kind achievement, a gift, really to the lore and legend of Broadway and to audiences, both then, and now. We saw a matinee production which was worth the trip to Olney, among an audience of older folks, dotted with more than a few walkers and wheelchairs, full of people who would be in fact be the current age of most of the performers in the original show.

“A Chorus Line,” then and now, is a stretch in the sense that it runs a little over two hours with no intermission. It’s worth the stretch and the effort, because of Stephen Nachamie’s relentlessly faithful and push-ahead direction, because of the cast, because of the ghost of Bennett, Marvin Hamlich’s music and a tart and touching book by James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante.

It’s worth it because, in a spotlight here, a moment there, in a spark when the cast in full glitter and voice take over stage, minds and heart is a kind of audience blessing.

The musical-play may seem and feel dated—there are references for instance to the Ed Sullivan Show and the Ted Mack Amateur Hour, and the wannabe dancers give their ages, which puts them in the specific yesterday and yesteryear time. But up close on a mid-week afternoon, they are as fresh as now as are the songs. It’s a fresh and real energy being brought to the show here far from an audition stage, far from show biz and Broadway and bright lights and big city.

Twenty-two melting pot aspirants arrive to vie to be in the chorus line under the sharp, authoritarian and prying voice of a director named Zach (played with straightforward honesty by Carl Randolph), and they know that the end result will be a four-and-four, that only eight of them can make the show. What was revolutionary about the show—it was based on taped interviews with actual dancers—is that it focused on this almost side-show aspect of theatrical show business with pungent language, honest and authentic stories and affecting outcomes, and blessed the characters with moments to strut their stuff in the spotlight and come together in spectacular fashion.

It’s a piece of Americana up there: gay dancers still suffering then, but not so much now, tall and short dancers, busty dancers—the subject comes up in the daffy, the tarty “Dance Ten: Looks: Three“ — lovelorn girls, unhappy boys, but all of them dedicated up to their eyeball to what they do.

Some of the songs have acquired legend status—“What I Did for Love” for instance, and the invitation to dance, “One”, done not once but twice, the last as a kind a kind of wonderful tribute—the hats, the gloss, the gold the glitter, the unison—to the boys and girls of the chorus line.

Even a chorus line isn’t equal, not even in a show about the chorus line—in this cast there are great dancers, great singers and great groups; some are better singers than dancers and vice versa. But Michelle Arvena, petite, dark-haired, restless and eager, who had to take over the lead role of Cassie close to the show’s opening, is the complete package. In her “The Music and the Mirror” number, she demonstrates a range, tactile, go-anywhere voice that matches her dancing moves, a complete set of gifts with the extra add-on of fine acting.

This is a one-of-a-kind show because it has room in the middle of proceedings to hear the heart-breaking, moving story of Paul as a monologue, a tale of struggling and identity that Bryan Knowlton tells haltingly, softly, in a quiet voice that packs tremendous power.

Other standouts include a wonderful tap number: “The Tap Combination,” Kyle Schliefer’s sprite sing and dance “I Can do That” and Colleen Hayes’s dead-on rendition of Sheila, a curvy, knowing blonde with attitude, it’s a smart, funny and touching performance.

This is a heart-felt, enthusiastically staged production, and a reminder of just how gifted the late Bennett was, and a deserved moment of glory for all the boys and girls of the chorus line, which—like newspapers—are rapidly disappearing.

Later, nevertheless, the numbers remain in your head: Five-six-seven eight . . . the call to act for the dancers on the line.

Gary Tischler •

The title and the occasion has déjà vu written all over it.

Here’s Donna McKechnie, a Tony Award winner for playing the star-making role of Cassie in the original Broadway production of Michael Bennett’s “A Chorus Line.” She performs in her one-woman cabaret piece “Same Place, Another Time”, at 7 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 1 on the historic stage of the Olney Theatre Center in Olney, Md.

Not coincidentally, the Olney Theatre Center’s production of “A Chorus Line” (extended through Sept. 8) was also playing at the center. Same place, another time, indeed.

McKechnie never performed the role of Cassie in the Washington area, but she was at the Kennedy Center for a production of “State Fair” in 1996 and at the National Theatre starring in the dramatic opening of a Broadway bound revival of Bob Fosse’s “Sweet Charity” in 1987.

She had come in with “Same Place, Another Time” from San Francisco, bringing with her ménage of songs, and personal story telling. It was her way of resurrecting the 1970s, when her star shone brightest. For, indeed, “A Chorus Line” was a “singular sensation,” as was she. This was New York, disco, the Hustle, and Broadway was still some leftover part of its own self. It was where you wanted to end up as a dancer, a star, and your name in lights.

Jim Croce’s music is here, a disco version of “Where or When”, a quintessential New York song, and songs from Broadway shows of the time. Which was quite a time.

“It’s an affectionate tribute to that time, the people I worked with—especially someone like Marvin Hamlisch, whom I really miss, because we both started out way back when in “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying,” McKenhnie said. Hamlisch, who was the NSO Symphony Pops Director, passed away last year.

When she was in town for “State Fair” in 1996, playing a glamour queen performer plying her art at state fairs, she remembered exactly what happened. Cassie won her a Tony, got her on the cover of Newsweek, and made her a star. She also ended up marrying Michael Bennett in a whirlwind of change and the bright kiss of fame.

“When I came to New York I wanted to be a ballet dancer,” she said. “I kind of scoffed at musicals until I learned better, that there was this rich history and tradition of music, drama, theater and dancing. It took me a while but then “Chorus Line” came along and it changed everything.”

“That was my life on that stage,” McKechnie said. “That was a unique musical. There had never been anything like it.”

Back then, she admired and wanted to be like the dancing divas Chita Rivera and Gwen Verdon. “That’s what you did, you admired them and picked up elements of them, and create your own style, and I was there, right there, and when it finally happened, it was over.”

More or less, Broadway, in the thrall of other genres that had little room for chorus lines or dancers, had stopped doing shows like that.

Irving Berlin will be heard, and stories, and “Time in a Bottle”. “God, I love that song,” McKechnie said.

“Same Place, Another Time” was also performed in 54 Below, a New York Club now in the basement of the building that used to be Studio 54. Talk about the ‘70s.

McKechnie has kept busy with concert work, singing in clubs, choreographing and writing, working in another time. With the proximity of “A Chorus Line” on stage as she preps for her performance Sunday, you can’t help but think of different places.

We both remembered the night of Sept. 23, 1987. “Sweet Charity” was a revival of one of Fosse’s inimically stylized, brash, brassy hits with his signature style. McKechnie was the star as a kind of dime a dance girl. A Broadway wannabe singing and dancing in high style biting songs like “Big Spender”, “If My Friends Could See Me Now. “He spent a lot of time rehearsing us, working with us, we worked like the devil leading up to that night,” she remembered.

Outside, Fosse, the creator of “Chicago” and “Dancin’”, and film director of “Cabaret” and the astounding “All That Jazz”, was on his way to the National Theatre with his ex-wife Gwen Verdon when he collapsed on the sidewalk on Pennsylvania Avenue and died of a heart attack at George Washington University Hospital.

“None of us knew,” she said. “You know, nobody would tell us. It was opening night. Afterwards, I saw people looking upset, and someone came up to me and said ‘Sit Down’. I thought maybe the Broadway opening had been cancelled. I didn’t know. Everybody, me and everybody in the show was just stunned.”

It recalled the Broadway opening of “42nd Street” when producer David Merrick had kept the news of the death of director Gower Champion, who had died of cancer that morning, from the cast and everyone else until the show was over.

Broadway stories and lives, one and all, including the story of the 1970s, the singular sensations of the decade. Another time, different place.

Rachel Scola • August 15, 2013

If William Shakespeare were around today, and after someone had explained to him what movies are, there is no doubt he would be very pleased with Joss Whedon’s interpretation of his comedy “Much Ado About Nothing.”

We have all probably read “Much Ado About Nothing” once, probably in high school. Allow me to refresh your memory. War heroes Claudio and Benedick have just returned home, where Claudio is reminded of his strong love for Hero, the daughter of the governor, and Benedick engages once more in a war of wit with Hero’s cousin Beatrice. Like any Shakespeare comedy, there is confusion and irony and a wedding, but I won’t spoil it all for you.

Whedon’s adaptation puts lovers Claudio, Hero, Beatrice and Benedick in a modern setting, a favored choice for most of today’s Shakespeare adaptations, but that’s where the similarities to most other adaptations ends.

The entire film is in black and white, which in this case only helps the viewer. Without the distraction of color, the audience can focus solely on the story, how the characters are interacting with each other and what the characters discover about themselves. We are able to pay more attention to the actor’s actions, which pays off marvelously in a critical scene of both Benedick and Beatrice (played by Alexis Denisof and Amy Acker, respectively) eavesdropping on separate conversations about their love lives. The easy-on-the-eyes gray scale also lets the dialogue shine through, as Whedon chose not to use modern-day English and instead stuck with the bard’s own words. This isn’t, of course, the first film to keep the same language. But the use of the original language and lack of color, both harkening back to older days of film, somehow give this film a very contemporary air.

There was a slight murmur through the audience when it became apparent the dialogue had not been updated, but it soon died down as everyone adjusted and settled in to enjoy the film.

And enjoy is definitely what you will do when you watch this film. Whedon offers a refreshing retelling of the story, something we have come to expect from this director. For those unfamiliar, Whedon brought us 2012’s Cabin in the Woods and the superhero blockbuster The Avengers, but is also known for television’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Many of his projects reach cult status due to his talent of creating relatable and beloved characters whose storylines raptly involve the viewers.
It is also a common fact that Whedon likes to reuse actors, so to say, and he chose an excellent cast once again for Much Ado. Aside from Denisof and Acker, the film has Clark Gregg (The Avengers) portraying a humble and doting father to Hero, Sean Maher (Firefly) as antagonist Don John, Fran Kranz (Cabin in the Woods) as lovesick Claudio and Jillian Morgese (The Avengers) as the quiet Hero. Perhaps the best boast Much Ado has though, is Nathan Fillion (Serenity) as Dogberry, the bumbling and asinine watch-guard for the family, who brought a round of applause when he first appeared on the screen and continued to bring the laughs every time the camera panned to him.

Each of the actor’s talent and Whedon’s directorial choices combine to tell an entertaining romance that engages its audience, never making them bored or annoyed, but instead anticipating and intrigued. There is no doubt that even the most stubborn moviegoer will find one thing he likes in this film, and can convince anyone that Shakespeare can be fresh and loved in any year.

“Much Ado” could make a great family outing, provided everyone in the family is mature enough to understand the language and sit through the few risqué scenes that grant a PG-13 rating. Overall, it is a must-see, while it is in theaters. Its limited release began June 21, and the film is yet another masterpiece from Joss Whedon.

Gary Tischler •

All things considered, it’s tempting to say that director-author-adapter — and, oh, just genial genius — Mary Zimmerman has the Midas Touch when it comes to bringing to the stage our dreams, our oldest stories, our gods, our myths, oldest jokes and sorrows.

Of course, after seeing “Metamorphoses,” Zimmerman’s astonishing and remarkably durable version of the 2,000-year-old “Metamorphoses” by the Roman poet Ovid (based on David Slavitt’s translation) at Arena Stage, set in a raging, slithering, slappy-sloppy giant water- and emotion-filled pool, you might not ever use that phrase again.

The tale of King Midas — and the tragic reality of having his wish fulfilled by a god — is one of the many myths and tales which spring to life in Zimmerman’s production. You could say it’s yet another of her collaborations with the authors—sometimes nameless, sometimes not—of our most essential beliefs, myths, legends and stories. Certainly, “Metamorphoses” is characteristic of her own touch and tools of the trade, she brings us to stories by which in the telling we are awed, shocked, moved, sometimes to tears, reconciled, filled here and there with laughter, both refined and coarse. She does it often with children’s toys, remnants of costumes, cloth, context and storytelling so old that it seems brand new, language that is at once just a step away from chants and intonation, and as vernacular as a an unfettered blogger.

We have seen Zimmerman in action before in Washington: “Argonautika,” “Candide” and at Arena the year before around this time with “Arabian Nights,” so full of magic, jokes and the sadness of a lost civilization.

We know the stories here, and almost immediately accept the setting, this giant pool of volatile, versatile, sweet birthing water, nearly a character in a play where characters splash with abandon. They roust and roil and disappear under the waves, come to grief and forbidden love, and are transformed, metamorphosed into forever. The pool, quite near front row audience members at the in-the-round Fichandler, is rarely still or peaceful. The result is that those audience members are offered towels but still are startled by splashing water — much like the action in this theater and play: you never know exactly what will happen next, where, when or how.

This is a play, first produced at Northwestern University, in which Zimmerman has invited here and there the Greco-Roman gods to mingle—why else is Zeus (aka Jupiter) referenced? Then again, you could say this is part of the theme here after all, which is one of transformation. That theme makes the play about life its own self: we recognize these sons and daughters of gods, but also merchants, fools, drunks, lovers, parents, louts and swains and sailors and actors as ourselves.

So, when in the thick of things, we meet Phaeton, he’s complaining to his shrink about his father, the sun god Apollo. Feeling guilty that his son has been bullied at school, Apollo asks him, “What do you want?” Phaeton smartly answers, “I want the keys to the car,” like any overconfident kid. But the car is the sun, of course, and Phaeton definitely isn’t ready to drive, burns the earth and falls to his death.

This is done with humor, as are the multiple disguises Vertumnus adopts to get the attention of the wood nymph Pomona, whom he loves but who ignores all his guises. It’s one of Zimmerman’s trademarks to get you to laugh at some basic level—there’s the “what’s-in-the-bag” playfulness and the wedding joke in “Arabian Nights.” But in the end, first and foremost, this production is about loss and transformation, about grief and how we manage to endure life and the burdens given to us by the gods.

All manner of stories will stick with you—I suspect it depends on state of mind and station. For me, the transformative tales haunt you into stillness. Thus, the powerful tale of King Ceyx, who is drowned on an ocean voyage his much beloved wife Alcyone begged him not to take. After ghostly visitations and an abundant display of grief and sorrow, the gods take pity and transform the couple into seabirds. (Alcyone’s father, the wind god Aeolus, calms the air and seashore so that she might nest with ease; hence our word, “halcyon.”) The familiar tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—told twice to include the German poet’s Rainer Maria Rilke’s version, who doubles down on the sadness—makes your hold your breath as Orpheus fails to retrieve his bride from the underworld by breaking the rule not to look back.

The most wrenching and shocking tale is that of Myrrha and her father, King Cinyras. Myrrha, a bounding teen uninterested in love and suitors, angers the goddess Aphrodite and is cursed to lust after her father. That lust and its consummation are depicted in a furious interaction in the pool, it’s looks physically dangerous and emotionally disastrous.

The production ends in a kind of vision, a hopeful dream of sheer beauty, light upon the water, a vision that opens up hearts to hope and makes souls transparent. We see them all then, a cast that is singularly and uniformly excellent, overcoming physical challenges—the water, the water, the air itself, the slippery path—to keep it real. I would single out Ashley Lathrop as Myrrha (and Midas’s daughter) who breaks your heart twice, Geoff Packart (he had the lead in “Candide” and “Liberty Jones”), an appealing and romantic heroic figure as King Ceyx, and Louise Lamson as Alcyone and Raymond Fox as Midas.

Because we have always told stories around campfires, in our hearths and homes, in liturgies and celebrations, between the covers of books and sacred texts, in ancient arenas, theater in its present and past forms has always seemed to be the place where we come to believe that what we see before us is both an artifice—artful and powerful—and a mirror through which we can fly, or in the case of this “Metamorphoses,” swim.

“Metamorphoses” runs at Arena Stage through March 17
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Gary Tischler •

Just when you think you might have a handle on the annual Helen Hayes Awards and the plays, artists and companies which get nominations every year, they throw you for an Oscar-like loop—you know, the one where Ben Affleck wasn’t nominated for a best director award for “Argo.”

This year’s major mysteries for the 29th annual Helen Hayes Awards announced earlier this week would appear to be the omission of veteran and oft-awarded and nominated actor Edward Gero for his bravura performance as the expressionist painter Mark Rothko in the Arena Stage production of “Red,” which was also not on the list of nominations for outstanding resident production, although director Robert Fall did get a nod for the production.

Stranger still was the fact that Synetic Theatre—the Georgian-led (as in the Republic of Georgia) troupe which specializes in highly stylized and totally original plays without dialogue and silent Shakespeare, which annually gets a slew of nominations and usually wins quite a few of them,—did not get a single nomination, an unlikely and odd turn of events strange enough to be called mysterious. It’s not likely that the company experienced a huge dropoff in quality in term of artistic excellence all at once, but there you are.

But, on the other hand, you can’t really complain about results per se—what the nominations almost always reveal is the excellence, the range and the sheer variety and size of the Washington theatre community. It’s a big tent approach. This year, Toby’s Dinner Theatre in Columbia, Md., with its production of “The Color Purple” got eight nominations in a category usually dominated by Signature Theater, which was right up there, too, with seven for its production of “Dreamgirls.”

Then there was Imagination Stages, a theatre specializing in plays for young people, which landed two best directors for musicals (as opposed to musical direction) for Janet Stanford and “The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe” (also up for a best ensemble award) and Kathryn Chase Bryer for “Rapunzel.”

Arena Stage itself led with a total of 18 nominations if you’re counting—with a variety of nominations for several plays, including “My Fair Lady,” “The Music Man,” “Pullman Porter Blues,” “Red Hot Patriot” and “One Night With Janis Joplin” among seven productions. Kathleen Turner—star turn—was nominated for best actress in a resident play, and Mary Bridet Davies—star turn—was nominated for outstanding actress in a musical for playing—let’s say channeling—Janis Joplin.

Direction seems to have been a stickler—six were nominated for outstanding director of a resident musical, including Toby Orenstein (founder of Toby’s) and Lawrence Munsey, and eight were nominated for best director of a resident play—Shakespeare Theatre Company’s artistic director Michael Kahn for “The Government Inspector,” and Ethan McSweeny for “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” and Christopher Bayes for “The Servant of Two Masters,” all Shakespeare Theatre Company productions among them, along with Aaron Posner, Robert Falls, Kirsten Kelly and John Vreeke.

Here’s your lineup for top resident musicals: “1776,” a top notch, clear-eyed production from Ford’s Theatre; “The Color Purple” from Toby’s Dinner Theatre; “Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris” from MetroStage; “Dreamgirls” from Signature and “Spring Awakening” from Keegan Theatre.

And here’s your lineup for top resident play: “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Shakespeare Theatre Company; Woolly Mammoth’s scintillatingly staged wrestling drama “The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity”; “Invisible Man,” Studio Theatre’s nervy and moving adaptation of Ralph Ellison’s novel; Theater J’s powerful “Our Class” and Folger Theatre’s Wild West set production of “The Taming of the Shrew.”

For a complete listing of the awards, visit theatrewashington.org. The Helen Hayes awards will be presented April 8 at the Warner Theatre.

Gary Tischler •

On Feb. 4, Ford’s Theatre, the city’s singular historical theater, will hold a 75th Anniversary celebration for Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town,” a play often performed, and often misunderstood, sometimes scorned, but always enduringly loved and unforgettable.

It has always seemed like a peculiarly American play, posited in a vaguely uncertain but specific place, that may, but does not usually, carry a New England accent somewhere in the early years of the 20th century and yet every word in it, every sentence said by every character strives, without seeming to try, for the universal.

Wilder, an ambitious, unique American novelist and playwright always thinks big but within readily identifiable framework: from the Rome of Julius Caesar in “The Ides of March,” to 18th-century Latin America in “The Bridge of San Luis Rey” to the wildly disarrayed, time-spanning family network and dynamics that exist in “The Skin of Our Teeth.”

Yet, it has been “Our Town” that has, in terms of interest, readership vor revivals, outlasted all of his work and his own life by many years. Some critics have delved into it and tasted common (and perhaps uncommon) sentimentality and dismissed it, while directors treat it like a Shakespearean work, expanding the character base in terms of types and ethnic groups, fleshing out Wilder’s specific and specified stage landscape.

It is probably safe to say that somewhere in the United States and in the world, there is a production of “Our Town” being staged, often in the gymnasiums and auditoriums of small towns in America. Perhaps that’s what irritates critics—it’s a play that feels simple on the surface but is hardly simplistic. It charms you, even as it’s telling you hard, difficult truths about life and death and the whole damned thing, and if high school kids can do it and do it well, it cannot possibly be good.

Upon its first debut that the McCarter Theater in Princeton, N.J. on Jan. 22, 1938, followed by another debut at the Wilbur Theatre in Boston on Jan. 25 and then, officially on Feb. 4 at the Henry Miller Theatre in New York, “Our Town” was something of a revolutionary undertaking. Directed and produced by Jed Harris, the play ended up winning a Pulitzer Prize for Wilder, and anchoring itself in the imaginations of theatergoers everywhere.

With its bare-bones set—lots of places and things are talked about, but only seen by the characters—and its somewhat revolutionary role of the Stage Manager who is the audience’s guide to Grover’s Corners and “Our Town” traces the comings and goings of the residents of a very small town and specifically the fortunes of two particular families—the family of the town doctor, Frank Gibbs and the family of the editor of the Grover’s Corners Sentinel, Charles Webb.

The story’s protagonists are the young couple of George Gibbs and Emily Webb, whom we see in high school, whom we hear dream about their lives, whom we see fall in love, marry and suffer tragedy. All of it is about life and birth and death and love, and it affects audiences in mysterious and truthful ways.

If you have any doubts that in “Our Town,” Wilder is thinking big, just know how one of the characters writes a return address for a piece of mail, a letter: “Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, United States of America, Continent of North America, Western Hemisphere, the Earth, the Solar System, the Universe, the Mind of God.”

The Stage Manager, who takes on many characters in the play, never blinks in staring at and talking about his characters—it’s clear there is love there, but there is a diamond-hard, clear eye that knows that people often and maybe most of the time, don’t understand the life they’re living or appreciate it, or refuse to accept it. Paraphrasing another now forgotten writer, people sometimes wake up amazed at being in a life at all, but life’s rush of events, of daily duty and doings, erase that amazement, by plying it, not ever in equal doses, with joy and sadness. All of that sort of echo is in “Our Town”—it can take place in any mind’s memory and seem not alien at all.

“Our Town’s” life is extended often—by revivals like the one at Ford’s and ground-breaking efforts in New York and the Village, and there have been many stage managers (including Geraldine Fitzgerald, breaking the gender wall), as well as Spalding Gray and may Gibbs and Webb families and Emily’s and George’s, and trips to the graveyards by high school students playing the young lovers. I wouldn’t be surprised, were it not for the nightly awesome fear, that I dreamt of being the stage manager too.
William Holden, just on the verge of becoming someone special in the movies, played George to young Martha Scott’s Emily. There was a musical version on Producer’s Showcase, one of those network live plays with big stars, which featured Frank Sinatra as the stage manager, singing about “Love and Marriage,” and Paul Newman and the ethereally beautiful Eva Marie Saint play George and Emily. Years later, Newman became the Stage Manager in a television film version, still alive but not much longer.

Arena Stage took “Our Town” (and “Inherit the Wind”) to the Soviet Union, then, years later, restaged it with the perfect Stage Manager, Robert Prosky, who was the kind of actor who could command the stage with wisdom and comforting pity for all of mankind.

You see in “Our Town” newspaper boys, soldiers-to-be, daughters becoming mothers, a town that still had what it called the other side of the tracks, baseball players, an undertaker, the rumored drunk, the milkman, the choir director, the farmer.
The play is specific because of its title—but you could change that: our block, our neighborhood, our wherever we live in a group and as families, where there might as always be nightclubs and churches, clinics and homes.

In many ways, “Our Town” is a play in keeping with Ford’s tradition and image, which is still evolving, as it is the play itself. This production is directed by Stephen Rayne, who has put sharp Americana edges on “The Heavens Hung in Black,” “Sabrina Fair” and the dark musical “Parade.”

“ ‘Our Town’ is a play which transcends differences in culture, class and race, and speaks to the great themes common to all great art: love, death and marriage,” Rayne said. “From its first production in 1938, the play struck a powerful chord with the American psyche, and it is as fresh and relevant today as it was then. I am hoping to bring a fresh perspective to this great classic and present a production that Ford’s and Mr. Wilder will be proud of.”

“Our Town” will be performed at Ford’s Theatre Jan. 25 through Feb. 24.