Performance

Gary Tischler • November 19, 2014

The pianist Orion Weiss, the 2010 Classical Recording Foundation Young Artist of the Year, will have an unusual partner in his Washington Performing Arts concert at the Kennedy Center in the Terrace Theater Nov. 11.

In addition to performing three Schumann pieces—“Papillons,” “Blumenstuck, Op.19” and “Novellette, Op. 21, No. 8”—he also has DeBussy’s “La boite a joujoux (“The Toy Box”) as the centerpiece of his concert.

His creative partner in the concert will be something you might have coming out of a toy box, the renowned Salzburg Marionettes, one of the oldest marionette companies in the world, founded in 1913 in Mozart’s birthplace.

The company—it has its own puppet version of “The Sound of Music,” for one thing—is noted for its performances with live musical accompaniment. Still, a solo artist taking on puppets is rare—Andras Schiff has also done it.

The presence of the famed marionette company is part of a special program by Washington Performing Arts, saluting puppetry called “Welcome to Mars: A Salute to D.C. Puppetry”.

There was a community puppetry building event at the Brookland Farmer’s Market Nov. 8 as well as a D.C. Puppet Slam with Washington and Baltimore area puppeteers at Bus Boys & Poets at 5th and K Streets Nov. 10..

Featured area puppetry artists included puppeteers Schroeder Cherry, DinoRock Productions, Don Becker, Katherine Fahey, the Puppet Company, the Black Cherry Puppet Theater, Blue Sky Puppet Theater and Pointless Theater.

It’s under the umbrella of the Mars Urban Arts Initiative, created by Washington Performing Arts with the support of Jacqueline Badger Mars and Mars, Incorporated. The Initiative works to fuel joint planning between WPA and grassroots neighborhood arts makers, local business, local arts institutions and local residents.
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Gary Tischler • November 17, 2014

The director Robert Richmond is not shy about messing with the classics—he’s known for his bold stagings at the Folger Theater, including a ‘Richard III’ which practically disemboweled the stately, familiar Elizabethan theater and saw that grand old villain Richard and other characters mingle with audience members while the many murder victims were unceremoniously dumped in openings on the stage.

Richmond isn’t quite so extravagant with “Julius Caesar”, that most familiar of Shakespeare’s plays, but he does put a recognizable and pointed touch on the tale of the consequences of murdering the overweening, charismatic and ambitious Roman would-be-ruler-of-them-all.

You might not recognize the play or the place when you walk in—no senators in white robes, ceremonial or otherwise, no red-cloth generals, no sunlit forum. The prevailing colors are all dark—shades of gray, black and brown and so are the costumes. Ghosts abound—as soon as a characters die—and many of them do—they become hooded wanderers in the afterlife to haunt the living, looking a lot like the soothsayer.

We are not, by the looks of things, in Republican or ancient Rome, but rather in ancient-ancient Rome in the first act, in what looks like the landscapes of modern warfare in the second act, in the middle of yet another war to end all wars, where the dogs of war have indeed been loosed.

This has the effect of electrifying the play, make it something brand new, but at the same time, there’s a certain amount of confusion in this approach, especially the attempt to put a stamp of “war is hell” on the second act.

But enough: “I’m here to praise this ‘Caesar’”, not to bury it.

What Richmond’s approach does do is make this play fresh and by reputation alone, it needs it. This is the best “Caesar” I’ve seen in a long time, maybe ever, short of the Brando-Mason black and white movie version many, many moons ago.

This is a Shakespeare that practically sounds like a staged version of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, so familiar are so many of the lines and speeches in the play. And yet, perhaps because of the unsettling staging, the lines and speeches seem somehow fresh, accessible, almost contemporary in the speaking and the playing.

Just a stone’s throw from Capitol Hill, where many a scheming senator makes a living, this is also a very political play by its nature. It’s about politics and power, its uses and misuses, about action and inaction, about calculation and mis-calculation. Here we have a man—Julius Caesar who’s all but created the foundation of the expanding Roman empire through his military victories. Here’s a man with populist charisma who’s not very interested in sharing power. He’s a modern man of his times, in a Roman republic built on strands of Greek democracy and an unbending class systems.

In the shadows, Roman senators, seeing themselves as upholders of Republican tradition, plot against Caesar, because he’s ambitious, because he’s taken on aspects of a tyrant. Cassius, with his lean look and jealousies, knows they need Brutus, the Roman with the noblest lineage, to participate in the assassination of Caesar.

In this murky, dark atmosphere, there is a sense of foreboding all around—not just a soothsayer warning again of the Ides of March, but dark omens, and whispers in the dark. Cassius enlists Brutus by appealing to his honor, pride and ego, until, in the end, he delivers the final thrust of a dagger to his mentor and friend, who collapses with his famous last words: “Et Tu, Brutus?”

Yes, him too.

Having slain the head of state, it’s all downhill for the conspirators, if not the play. Brutus, being an honorable man, makes the mistake of letting Anthony speak last in the funeral oration, and the war is pretty much lost by the conspirators right then and there.

I’m bothered by the mix-mash of WW1 (and WWII) helmets worn by the battling forces—it’s a civil war after all, but the second act also moves like a chariot race.

Directorial flourishes aside, it’s always the actors that make a bad, fair, good to better than good “Julius Caesar”. This one’s better than good. Michael Sharon gives Caesar an almost rock-star quality, a man who believes absolutely in his star power, and will eventually veer towards absolutism. And speaking of rock stars—there’s Maurice Jones as Mark Antony, Caesar’s ally and friend, who kills it in the funeral oration, essentially lighting up Rome in a civil war. And Louis Butelli practically channels John Malkovitch as Cassius in a lights out performance that makes the character more than just a jealous conspirator—his wooing of Brutus is based in friendship and love.

Anthony Cochrane, I think, has solved the riddle of Brutus—he’s the pivotal character in the play, yet somehow never takes command of the play. That’s not the actor’s fault—this Brutus is a cerebral man, a careful man who errs always on the side of humility lest he appear arrogant, like Caesar, which of course he is. He holds himself in—even when he gets the news that his wife has killed herself by eating fire, he barely raises an eyebrow until he shudders alone in his tent.

It’s a revealing way to deal with Brutus—“the noblest Roman of them all” has a noble lineage but not enough of a noble bearing to carry the day. He’s been told that he’s an honorable man by too many people, including with sarcastic and deadly effect by Antony.

Gary Tischler •

The thing about the bad Jews in the young playwright Joshua Harmon’s play “Bad Jews” is that they’re really baaad, as in Ming the Merciless bad.

I don’t mean to suggest that they’re evil or villains—it’s that I care not a whit and wit about how deep the wounds or that they open with their verbal assaults on each other, how much damage they do, how much blood is on the floor.

Yes, the play, now being given a blood-sharp, claustrophobic staging at Studio Theatre under the direction of Serge Seiden, and with a brilliant cast of young actors is terrifically engaging. If these guys and gals were riding a bus, they’d be thrown off, but on stage. The verbal combat they engage in is compelling: you can’t shut your eyes, you can’t close your eyes and you can’t escape. So, you might as well stay and go into shock.

Part of the fascination is that the play is very, very smartly, sharply written and is very, very funny, like a late-night set with Lenny Bruce at his most intelligently, incessantly and carelessly cruel.

The characters in the play are all Jewish, but there’s no wise men here, no cliché Jewish mothers. It’s not even “Fiddler on the Roof,” which oddly enough wrestles with some of the same core issues that lie at the heart of the scorched-earth debates in “Bad Jews.” Is being Jewish a religion or a culture? Is secular better than orthodox? Where does self-interest meet or simply bypass strict religious observance? What does it mean to be a Jew in the early part of the 21st century?

The major combatants in this close-quarter (it’s set in a cramped New York City apartment) fight are Daphna, a transformed, fierce champion of being a real Jewish woman in an increasingly secular world, and Liam (ne Schlomo), who is as cooly, briskly, smartly secular young Jewish man as you want to meet. They’re all college age—Liam and Daphna, as well as Liam’s nebbish and soft brother Jonah and Melody, the wispy, waspy, blonde girl and intended future, non-Jewish wife who was once a music major.

The occasion: it’s the day after the death of their grandfather and emotional, heritage lynchpin of the family, a Holocaust survivor who’s always been part metaphor, part beloved patriarch to the young cousins.

Liam, being stuck without a cell phone in Aspen, Colo., didn’t make it to the funeral, and instead has brought Melody along. They’re all stuck in this high-end little place Liam and Jonah’s parents have bought for just such an occasion. Daphna, who’s returned from a life-changing trip to Israel—she wants to join the Israeli army, she’s got a presumed Israeli boyfriend—comes from a less well off part of the family and is full of anger—not just about Jewish traditions or the lack thereof, but economic envy and resentment as well

In comes another complication, the real source of the battle, a fight for a “Poppy” heirloom, a life-symbol pendant or “chai” that he kept under his tongue at the concentration camp. He used it as an engagement gift in his early years, and it’s intended for that use, apparently. Now, who gets the heirloom?

Liam wants it to use to give to Melody. Daphna says she deserves it because she’s the genuine article as an observant, traditional Jew. The fight once it gets going, appears about other things too—it’s entirely likely that Daphna’s resentment of Liam hides a deep-seated crush.

The fighting words are witty, funny, viscous, to the core and heart—Daphna is all passion, but armed with a gift for crushing insults. Liam is all precision and manipulation, the rational man, who whittles away vulnerable hearts until they’re the size of a raisin.

The actors dive into this with relish—especially Irene Sofia Lucio, as Daphna with her wild hair, her breathless, wild and looping thrusts, and Alex Mendell as Liam, the cold, rational, deadly customer. Theirs is a fight that seems close to violence and possible murder. They get so close to each other at full, screaming volume that you almost plug your ears.

Maggy Erwin, who has a sweet heart as the sweetheart of Liam, has her moments. She’s both touching and funny, including in a show-stopping moment, while Joe Paulik makes the most out of his silence and physical moves as the shy pacifier, who wants nothing more than to escape the bloodletting.

It’s terrific theater—and Harmon has the gift of gab. Nevertheless, because the fighting is so horrific, you want a little more consequence, a little more what-happens-next and why. Maybe that’s impossible, given the wounds inflicted.

“Bad Jews” runs through Dec. 21 at Studio Theatre.

Gary Tischler • November 10, 2014

She came, she talked and told stories, she laughed and, of course, she conquered.

In a nutshell, that was the story of the appearance of new Kennedy Center President Deborah Rutter at the Georgetown Media Group’s latest and last of this year’s Cultural Leadership Breakfasts at the George Town Club.

Her appearance was a part of an ongoing story—her story, as she navigates her way through the city and the center, telling and listening. In every telling, at every stop, she fills out her story and thinking and philosophy about the art and artists, about the Kennedy Center’s place in the city and the nation, and about her own life in the arts.

We have had occasion to encounter Rutter at least four times—at the public announcement of her being named to what may be the biggest cultural and performance arts job in the country, in a telephone interview on her first official day on the job, when she started the conversation by talking about what was her biggest job that day: “picking out my daughters clothes for her first day in school.”

Several weeks ago, we saw Rutter in her first talk at the National Press Club. Even as she deftly handled being grilled on such matters as the stature of the National Symphony and the Washington National Opera and the state of the Millennium Stage and the contratemps surrounding Kennedy Center Honors selection, she began to formulate certain themes—collaboration with other arts institution, art as life, story telling, bringing the arts to the neighborhoods, the ideas of arts and performance arts especially, as a shared and unique experience.

In the process, certain characteristics emerge—she has what seems a sense of humor based in enthusiasm—at the George Town Club, an intimate setting that speaks to history, she delighted in being introduced as growing up in Encino, Califo., “which makes her a Valley girl.” She laughed and agreed. “I am a Valley girl,” she said. “And I’m proud of it.” Which reminded me of the telephone conversation, we had when she said, “Don’t let anybody kid you. We’re all rock and roll babies.”

Over time, that accessibility leads you to a very democratic notion about the arts — not only that art is for everyone but that all sorts of things can be art. “I believe there is such a thing as art for art’s sake, but it shouldn’t be a limiting idea, the notion that art is only for a certain amount of people. It’s the one thing in life that makes everyone’s life better. To me, it becomes art for life’s sake. There is something there in art that unites us—watching the WNO’s ‘La Boheme’ the other night was a beautiful experience. It’s a beautiful work, and it brought in young people and older people. In this way, it’s all a shared experience.”

“We are all in this business in one way or another,” she said. “It’s about story telling. Some of you I know do that, tell stories, factual stories, about the arts. We’re all story-tellers, all the arts tell stories—film, music can tell a story, paintings tell stories, the opera—love, betrayal, anger, murder, greed—stories, powerful stories.”

Rutter told stories—some short vignettes, about moving here. “I like to settle in to have my neighborhood grocery store, the school, the park, for the length of time that I’m here,” she said. “I was in Chicago a long time, certainly, and it’s hard to say goodbye to friends and places, but it’s also exciting to be in a new place with new challenges.” When she was told there was a Giant in her neighborhood about to open, she was delighted. Art in life, everywhere.

She told the story, and it took a while, it was one she had told before, how when she hired and she was right, I’d heard it before but in the telling—how when she was head of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra Association, she had hired famed Italian conductor Riccardo Muti as music director. “We all had thought of ways to reach out to the larger, under-deserved community in Chicago, trying ways to do that.

“Muti suggested we go to prisons,” she recalled. “Our jaws dropped. What in the world kind of moment.”

In the end, she said, “That’s what we did, we went to a juvenile detention center for teenaged girls. One of our chorus people set up a program to teach some of the girls composition, writing melodies or songs, about their own lives, making a kind of art out of their lives, art as life. And Muti came, and they performed their efforts, and he hauled in this Steinway into the prison, and oh, my God, it was a powerful experience, for them, communicating their lives to us because it was not easy for them.”

“This is also what it’s about, art is the way we communicate our lives to others, through stories, through music,” she said.

Rutter is known for collaboration, for promoting the works of living composers and was intrigued by last year’s hip-hop festival. She is interested in the challenge and opportunities presented by the Kennedy Center’s proposed new renovation and expansion.

She was asked about the rise of women leaders in the arts. “Well, I have to tell you, I received a lot from my father, who made me believe I can do anything,” she said. “He was my first feminist. But I think it is a good sign all across the country. This is especially noted in this city, where women are becoming such a presence in government.”

A voice on the phone, a woman behind a lectern being introduced, effortlessly holding the Press Club audience or moving, without lectern, mike or notes, in the small confines of the George Town Club, at home and at ease in her skin in each setting. Rutter — who plays piano and violin — brings her own kind of music to each occasion.

Georgetowner • November 6, 2014

Now Playing
Julius Caesar—Director Robert Richmond fiddles with Shakespeare’s classic play about power and war in ancient Rome. The staging is at once compelling and a little crazy. It’s overcooked, but it sizzles. The play is familiar, but you don’t know just how familiar until you see it like this. The Shakespearean lines and the fast-moving plot comes through with powerful clarity. Plus, it’s a top-notch cast headed by a bristling, cagey Maurice Jones as Mark Antony, the stirring Michael Sharon as Caesar and Louis Butelli, almost channeling John Malkovich as Cassius. At the Folger Theatre through Dec. 7.

Absolutely! {Perhaps}—For all you fans of the 20th-century’s great avant-garde playwright Luigi Pirandello, and we know you’re out there, here’s a production of his comedy about spies, love affairs and paranoia. At Constellation Theatre through Nov. 9.

Elmer Gantry—This musical version of the Sinclair Lewis novel about a huckster preacher in the 1920s has Eric Schaeffer at the helm. Burt Lancaster won an Oscar for playing Elmer. At Signature Theatre through Nov. 9.

Sex with Strangers—A cross-generational love story of sorts in a new play by Laura Eason, in which an older woman becomes involved with a blogger. Starring Holly Twyford, a Washington gift to theatre. At Signature Theatre through Dec. 7.

Our War—A unique and varied take on the Civil War in the Kogod Cradle at Arena Stage. Actors perform monologues by 30 top playwrights, with the participation of local notables, including Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Georgetown University President Dr. John J. DeGioia, Mark Ein and council members Jack Evans and David Grasso. At Arena Stage through Nov. 9.

The Little Dancer—A ground-up, much-anticipated musical at the Kennedy Center, centered on the relationship between painter Edgar Degas and 24-year-old Paris Opera Ballet budding dancer Marie van Goethem. This production has talent to burn—book and lyrics by Lynn Ahrens and Stephen

Flaherty (“Ragtime”) and direction by Susan Stroman, who gave us the stirring dance piece “Contact,” as well as the recent “Bullets Over Broadway.” With Boyd Gaines as Degas and New York City Ballet Principal Dancer Tiler Peck as the young Marie. At the Eisenhower Theaer through Nov. 30.

How We Got On—An new across-the-generations play by Idris Goodwin set to the lively, edgy music of rap and hip hop. At the Forum Theatre through Nov. 23.

Fiddler on the Roof—Arena Artistic Director Molly Smith continues her exploration of the American musical with this production, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the show, by Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harrick with original choreography by Jerome Robbins, the original director. Jonathan Hadary stars as Tevye, the much put-upon shetl milkman who sings “If I Were a Rich Man,” among many classic songs. At Arena Stage through Jan. 4.

Coming Soon
The Gift of Nothing—At the Kennedy Center’s Theater for Young Audiences, a world-premiere production of a play conceived and written by Patrick McDonnell, Aaron Posner and Erin Weaver with music and lyrics by Andy Milton. Directed by Posner, based on the book by Patrick McDonnell. Based also on characters from the comic strip “Mutts” (Mooch, the tuxedo kitty, and his pal Earl, the small mutt with a big heart). At the Kennedy Center’s Family Theater, Nov. 22–Dec. 28.

The Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide to Capitalism and Socialism With a Key to the Scriptures—When Tony Kushner writes, you always have to pay attention. The author of “Angels in America” always has something to say. In this production of a new play by Kushner, directed by John Vreeke, a longshoreman and lifelong Communist confronts his offspring. At Theater J, Nov. 13–Dec. 21.

Diner—A world premiere of a new musical by Sheryl Crow and Barry Levinson, directed and choreographed by Kathleen Marshall. Based on Levinson’s classic movie about a group of Baltimore friends preparing for a wedding, At Signature Theater beginning Dec. 9.

Tiny Tim’s Christmas Carol—A adaptation by prolific playwright Ken Ludwig (with Jack Ludwig) of Dickens’s tale of Scrooge and Tiny Tim, directed by Jerry Whiddon. At Adventure Theater, Nov. 14–Jan. 1.

Five Guys Named Moe—A paean to the music of Louis Jordan, king of the jukebox, with a modern feel—all rolling out at the Funky Butt Club with tunes like “Let the Good Times Roll.” At Arena Stage, Nov. 14–Dec. 28.

Gary Tischler • November 3, 2014

Lynn Ahrens is getting excited.

After literally years of working to bring the story of the girl who posed for Edgar Degas’s classic sculpture “Little Dancer Aged Fourteen” to the stage as a major musical, it’s about to happen.

“Little Dancer,” the Kennedy Center musical, will premiere Oct. 25 and run through Nov. 30 at the Eisenhower Theater. But there’s more. The National Gallery of Art will hold a focus exhibition at which the actual sculpture—which is in the NGA collection—will be the star. It will be surrounded by ten additional works, including the gorgeous pastel “Ballet Scene,” several monotypes and smaller original statuettes related to the original work beginning Oct. 5 through Jan.11.

The girl was Marie van Goethem, a 14-year-old member of the Paris Opera Ballet, who posed for Degas and became, after the fact, one of the most famous ballerinas in the world.

A number of years ago, Arhens, who wrote the libretto and book, while her partner Stephen Flaherty composed the music for “The Little Dancer,” saw the sculpture and wondered “who was that girl, what kind of life did she lead, what did Degas see in her. I was struck by the pose, everything about her. It just affected me, and I imagine that’s when I started thinking about a play, a musical, that would be about her, and Degas—I think they were like father and daughter, more than anything—and the whole world of the Paris Opera and Ballet, the painters and artists. The young dancers usually lived in poverty and helped support their families. They were called the little rats.”

“It was kind of a Dickensian world in Paris,” she said. “But it’s obvious that Degas was transported by her, enchanted, he was immersed in that world.”

This is what Ahrens and Flaherty do. They make great musicals and shows out of unlikely materials.
Ahrens and Flaherty are a rarity in Broadway and show business today. They are a composer and song and book writing duo who hugely successful and who’ve been working together for years. They’ve got the Broadway Triple Crown under their belt, winning the Tony Award, the Drama Desk Award and the Outer Circle Award for “Ragtime,” their theatrical version of E.L. Doctorow’s towering novel of America’s coming of age, which was also a successful film and play at the Kennedy Center twice in different incarnations.

They also created “Once on This Island,” a show which recently surfaced at Olney Theater and is a staple of regional theaters. There’s also been “Lucky Stiff” and “My Favorite Year” Most recently, they wrote the score for “Rocky” which arrived on Broadway with a big splash but never quite turned into a hit, although a version in Germany is drawing big crowds.
“Stephen and I are the best of friends, the best of partners, we work well together, always have. There’s no formula—sometimes he starts out with some bits of music and I’ll start writing lyrics, sometimes I start with the words, and he follows with the music,” she said.

It took a while to get “Little Dancer” done. “It took six years altogether that we worked on it, workshopped it, had labs and readings. We invited Michael Kaiser to take a look at a portion of what we were doing. He was absolutely taken with it and was behind it from the get go.”

“This is about art and life. We have one song called “In Between” which illustrates this, in between youth and growing up for the” little rat,” where art and life come together and touch.”

“We have a terrific group of people who came together on this, including, of course Susan Stroman” Ahrens said. “Stroman is the director of “The Producers,” and the beautifully original “Contact,” which was essentially a dance piece, as well as most recently “Big Fish” and “Bullets Over Broadway.” “She is perfect for this because she’s worked with ballet companies. She knows dance better than anybody.”

Playing the adult Marie is Rebecca Luker (of “Mary Poppins” fame) while New York City Ballet principal dancer Tiler Peck plays the young ballerina, the haunting young girl torn between trying to survive in a harsh world and expressing her gifts as a dancer.

“I think this is a show that everyone—including families—can relate to. It’s about family, survival, fathers, daughters, patrons and art.

“There’s a beautiful little original story ballet—about ten minutes long—which basically shows what the whole thing is about. It’s like recreating that world, that story, those people and what they did and loved.” [gallery ids="101847,138497" nav="thumbs"]

Gary Tischler • October 28, 2014

For being the work of a contemporary composer, Daniel Catan’s “Florencia of the Amazon”, which opened the 2014-2015 Washington National Opera season under the direction of Francesca Zambello, throbs with the often gorgeous, surging tones of 19th-century romanticism.

For sounding like a traditional opera, “Florencia” nevertheless appears often like a literary work, with a libretto by Marela Fuentes-Berain that tries and often succeeds to embrace and ech the tone and feel of its source material, the works of the famed Columbia master of magical realism Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

For the WNO, it’s also a first production, although not for Zambello, who directed and staged the original production at the Houston Grand Opera in 1996. Given that the source is Marques—principally, it appears, his great novel “Love in the Time Of Cholera”—there’s a stream-of-consciousness about the proceedings, an air of cultural surrealism, as if the characters and the audience are outward bound on more than one kind of trip.

These particular characters are setting out toward the fabled city of Maunus, where the legendary opera diva, Florencia Grimaldi, is supposed to give a transforming performance. On board are a disparate and desperate group of characters: a constantly quarreling married couple forever searching for love; the sturdy captain in love with the sea; his struggling nephew Arcadio; Rosalba, a lovely young journalist hoping to finish her life’s work biography of Florencia; and Riolobo, who is the guide for the audience and the characters on this Amazonian journey as part crew member and part a member of the realm of the river god. Florencia also comes aboard at the last minute, although no one, except perhaps for the captain, recognizes her. Given that this is a journey of experience, bad things happen including death, wind, flood, and a terrible storm. And given that we’re in the realm of magical realism, things unhappen too.

Florencia, sung with powerful virtuosity by rising star and classic soprano Christine Goerke, is on the journey with the hope of finding a long-lost lover, a butterfly hunter named Cristobal who disappeared into the jungle. She does and she doesn’t find him.

Along the way, we’re treated to the appearance of a group of native sprites, led by the terrific dancer Alison Mixon. They act sometimes like river sprites, sometimes as saviors, sometimes as malicious and haunting presences.

The atmosphere, with a backdrop of projections and scrim that evoke a kind of lost world of flying creatures, ravishing sunsets, onrushing mists and sky, moves in somewhat helter-skelter and static fashion as the ship, the “El Dorado,” passes by. The boat is problematic at first—in an atmosphere of magical realism, it seems to be entirely too realistic and unimpressive. The captain may love his ship, but it’s hardly deserving of adoration. But then, this isn’t “Showboat” either. There are rough waters ahead.

Like many of the new devises of story telling in the production, you get used to the boat, because it does serve a purpose; it serves up the characters and set pieces like a wheel of fortune. Here is a card game where the couple squabbles; here is Florencia in a powerful aria about her love and desire to be reunited with her lover; here are Rosalba (beautifully sung by Andrea Carroll) and Arcadio (a dashing Patrick O’Halloran) discovering their mutual attraction in full-voiced duets, at turns suspicious, afraid, spirited and romantic.

The orchestral pace is ably led by young conductor Carolyn Kuan. It’s surprisingly full of urgent, powerful notes of brass. The cast, on the whole, is full of terrific singers – notably Goerke, but also O’Halloran, Carroll, Nancy Fabiola Herrera as Paula and Michael Todd Simpson as Alvaro. Norman Garrett is less effective in his singing but he presents a charismatic force as Riolobo nonetheless.

In the end, in spite of or because of the troubles on the Amazon, love is still the answer, requited and reunited, even for Florencia, who is both renewed and transformed in a spectacular and beautiful image that won’t soon leave your mind.

Goerke will sing the role of Alvaro Sept. 20, 22, 26 and 28 while Melody Moore will take the stage Sept. 24.

Gary Tischler •

“Evita,” the Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice mega musical from about the rise of the up-from-nothing wife of Argentine dictator Juan Peron, is back at the Kennedy Center’s Opera House in an electric, energetic, tango-flavored production that feels remarkably fresh.

To paraphrase the seductive song Eva purrs to Peron in suggesting a romantic-physical and political partnership, the show, directed by Michael Grandage from a West End production of several years back, was “surprisingly good for audiences.”

Historically, “Evita” marked the beginnings of the ascendancy of hefty, blockbuster English musicals like “Phantom of the Opera”, “Cats”, “Starlight Express” (“Cats” on roller skates), “Miss Saigon” and the omni-present “Les Miserables”, which dominated Broadway for a couple of decades. They were not really musicals, but pop (and sometimes rock) operas, fueled by high drama, big, splashy staging (the chandelier in “Phantom”, the barricades in “Les Miz”, the helicopter in “Miss Saigon”).

There have been few if any shows to match the success of the Rice, MacIntosh and Webber days. So, it’s probably good to see “Evita” resurrected. If you’ve seen the show back in the day, in various incarnations, or the Madonna film version, you’ll wonder how it holds up. If you haven’t seen it all, or know little about Evita Peron, the show should be an eye-opener.

Does it hold up? Yes, it does, and the reason is a highly effective cast, headed by young star Caroline Bowman in the title role, and the choreography of Rob Ashford, who gives the proceedings on stage a highly stylized energy.
It’s got fizz and buzz, moving to the sharp-and-high stepping rhythms of the tango, the dance and music that has always defined the national personality of Argentina.

Bowman does a transformation here—starting out as an ambitious Eva, eager to get out of her small town, using men dispassionately along the way as she hooks up with a pop singer to make her way to Buenos Aires, where politicians, usually wearing a uniform, abound. She becomes a singer, a radio star and eventually, man by man, a sexpot in the position to say: “Hello, Colonel Peron.”

The partnership is surprisingly successful—at Peron’s side Eva presents herself as a woman of the people. She’s one of them, which works very effectively because its true, all dazzling clothes and blonde hair. Her charm is not fully appreciated by the upper crust—every country has one—as she and her husband rise to the top. Her magnetism—“just a little star quality” – becomes so real that Eva herself starts to believe in the story, that she’s the country’s mother and sex figure all rolled into one. The people start to call her “Santa Evita”.

This remains a dazzling political story about the power and pull of celebrity on a national scale, and the music drives the story home. There’s small songs—“Another Suitcase, In Another Hall” for a dropped mistress, the amusing “Good Night and God Bless,” describing the musical chairs game of who’s in charge, the beautiful “High Flying Adored” and, of course, the overpowering “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina”.

This was a song you could hear in any piano bar when “Evita” was in town. It’s so familiar that it starts to get a hold of you once again. But it’s also Eva Peron’s transformative moment, and Bowman brings it off as if she had heard it just yesterday. The woman (Bowman is in her twenties) who moves bathed in a huge light in a dazzling white dress, has become Evita. Her latest and most permanent lover is the people. It’s a seduction, at turns a pleading and loving anthem.

As before, Eva is dogged by a Che Guevera—another Latin American who became a legend in his own time and probably mind, too—figure. Sung with perfect pitch by Max Quinlan, he’s witness, commentator, critic, reflective and charismatic. Sean MacLaughlin cuts a fine, sometimes oily and mostly cynical, figure as Peron.

It seemed to me that this production was on the move constantly — sometimes filling the stage, were people moving to the tango with sharp, edgy moves, that languid sexuality, sometimes high-stepping, sometimes lurching. It gave the production a flavor, a feeling that was intimately epic, along with renewed energy.

It’s remarkable, in the end, how a big musical-opera production about a woman who became a kind of legend and saint in Argentina and died young a long time ago, and was mourned by an entire nation, can still fascinate.

“Evita” runs through Oct. 19 at the Kennedy Center.

Gary Tischler •

The day after I saw the Washington National Opera production of Mozart’s “The Magic Flute” at the Kennedy Center’s Opera House, I ran into a neighbor of mine who has a daughter in first grade, a precocious and restless youngster. I suggested that he should he take her to the production, all but guaranteeing that she would like it.

This comes by way of noting that there were a lot of children of a similar age in attendance at the opening night performance and more during the “Opera in the Outfield” simulcast at Nationals Stadium.

Mozart’s “Flute” was, to a large degree. sourced from 18th-century fairy tale collections and must have seemed then, as it is today, an almost ideal way of introducing young audiences to the world of opera. Certainly, this production is in line with artistic director Francesca Zambello’s endeavors to stage more works for young audiences—we’ve already seen two Christmas productions in that arena, and now the “The Magic Flute” with “The Little Prince” scheduled for next season.

It’s entirely likely that the presence of young children in the audience—much as they might have same effect in “The Nutcracker”—added a measure of fresh energy to the enjoyment of the production for adults.

Still, given that this is Mozart’s last opera, with the still-young genius operating at full musical variety throttle, the added frisson of a youthful presence is a little like an extra glass of champagne.

In this production, in which the digital designs, projections and sets and costumes of noted ceramic artist Jun Kaneko, provide a kinetic engine for the opera as well as a truly magical background and foreground, there’s a lot of added value for adults to become enthralled by. Not only is Kaneko’s work a kind of visual magic flute in action, there’s the fact that the opera is sung and spoken in English, making it more accessible for all of the audience, with NSO dramaturge Kelly O’Rourke bypassing potentially treacherous pitfalls and temptations in her adaptation.

And, of course, there’s Mozart and the music, with a composition so rich in diverse motifs and moods, genres, moods and mastery. It’s almost a glossary of everything you can experience in opera. Listening to some of the familiar music, the traditional opportunities and challenges provided for singers, the wayward joys and shocks throughout, it makes you almost sick to think that this was Mozart’s last work. He died at 35 with half a lifetime of work still ahead.

This production does the work honor in many ways—the originality of the translation, the hyper never-seen-that-before quality of Kaneko’s work, the singing and the orchestra work all combine to reveal what’s always there, the true collaborative quality of opera, and how designers, singers, performers, and musicians can create what is essentially and literally a spell binder.

You can just imagine this in the hands of Richard Wagner, although it’s probably fair to say he never had much truck for children on stage, or perhaps under foot, either. Still, as a story, this is a quest tale—a young prince named Tamino, eager for life experience, is tasked with the rescue of a princess whom he falls in love with immediately. He’s been asked to sally forth and find the princess by her mother, the Queen of the Night, and brings along a spirited, down-to-earth sidekick named Papageno. The princess Pamino is supposedly in the hands of the evil sorcerer Sarastro. Tamino must find wisdom, truth, courage and strength along the way, passing, as heroes do, several tests. He must learn to see what’s true and ask questions—there’s a reason mom is queen of the night as opposed to queen of the daytime.

There is a dragon, a fool and a secret order. There is danger and spirits who float by in airy balloons. There is danger and romance and comedy tonight, mostly provided by the chatty Papageno.

Mostly, there are some wonderful performances, in particular by Canadian baritone Joshua Hopkins as Papageno, whose singing and acting are straightforward. He’s the lovable buffoon with a song in his heart. American soprano Kathryn Lewek as the Queen of the Night, gives glamour to being wicked and thrills to her vocalizing, with two of the most difficult and sweep-away, jump-out-of-your-seat arias ever composed, which she nails in bravura style. American bass and local favorite Soloman Howard again displays his lower range in moving fashion, making everything rich with intonation. American soprano Maureen McKay, slight in stature but mighty in a voice full of romantic yearning, makes an appealing heroine, who’s matched by Canadian tenor Joseph Kaiser’s steadfast and earnest hero Tamino.

This is a production for which the specific glues are Mozart and Kaneko. During the overture we’re treated to almost an illustration of the music by projections that look and feel like uncharacteristically frisky Mondrian paintings trying to escape their graphs, responding to something celestial and emotional. The projections are seen—and in a way heard—throughout, providing another element.

The words, too, are worthy of listening to. Some of the spoken asides are witty and right now, without debasing the content for its own sake, including a complaint about the constant chattering heard in the world.

This version of “The Magic Flute” in the end is seductive. It invites and encourages being seduced and diving in. When a depressed Pagegano momentarily considers suicide, he was encouraged by an audience member to “do it.”

This may not happen in succeeding performances. But something will—you just watch and listen.

Gary Tischler •

Septime Webre, the artistic director of the Washington Ballet, has always had a flair for finding the modern, even when doing traditional works, such as “Swan Lake,” “Giselle” and “The Nutcracker.”

“The thing with any season, with planning, is finding a way to bridge the traditional with the modern, the old with the new, the classic with the innovative,” Webre said in an interview this week.

“Swan Lake” and “The Nutcracker” are bread-and-butter and people-in-the-seats aspects of any dance company worth its name. Both are part of the Washington Ballet’s 2014-2015 season.

But the season opening offering is exactly an example of that bridge in the form of “Petit Mort,” a trio of Washington Ballet premieres of works by rising and contemporary choreographers who are in peak form.

“These are works we haven’t done here, and they’re also works that are examples of contemporary choreographers who bridge to what’s gone before, to Balanchine and other geniuses of the 20th century,” Webre said. “I think they’re three of the most innovative choreographers of contemporary times.”

Innovative, yes, but also, from the descriptions, accessible and exciting work, the kind that dancers are keen to work on, because they represent challenges and opportunities.

“Every art form has its innovators, its game-changers—Hemingway changed the way language was constructed and used in literature, for instance,” Webre said. “I think you’ll find that sort of thing in these three pieces.”

“Petit Mort,” the title piece of the trio, is the work of choreographer Jiri Kylian to the music of Mozart. “It’s exciting, daring, witty,” Webre said. “It’s the most innovative pas de deux I’ve ever encountered.”

Incidentally, “Petit Mort” is a French phrase, meaning “little death,” and is used as a euphemism for sexual orgasm. So, there you have it.

“5 Tangos” is by Hans Van Manen, considered to be one of the fathers of the Dutch Movement. “Here’s an example of new dance bridging back to the traditional or to other forms,” Webre said. “It’s fast, it’s sexy, energetic and wrapped in the flavors, music and moves of the tango,” Webre said.

Choreographer Christopher Wheeldon had his break-out moment at the New York City Ballet with “Polyphonia,” a haunting, dense, elegant piece, which echoes back to the collaborations of Balanchine and Stravinsky. “It’s a rich, layered piece, set to the music of Ligeti,” Webre said.

Wheeldon won the Critics Circle Award and the Olivier Award for “Polyphonia”.

“These artists began to work in the 1960s and 1970s, and they dismantled that gap between traditional and contemporary, modern work,” Webre said.

“Polyphonia” premiered in New York in 2001. “5 Tangos” opened at the Het National Ballet in Amsterdam in 1977. “Petite Mort” made its debut at the Netherland Dance Theatre in 1991.

Webre has been no slouch at innovation himself. Consider his literary interpretations: the lush, detailed and spirited productions of “The Great Gatsby” and “The Sun Also Rises”.

“Innovation is always risky, no matter what you’re doing,” Webre said. “Those projects were risky, and this one is , too, in the sense that it’s a little bit of a departure.”

*“Petit Mort” will be performed at Sidney Harman Hall, the Harman Center, 7:30 p.m., Thursday, Oct. 23; 7:30 p.m., Friday, Oct. 24; 1:30 p.m. and 7:30 p.m., Saturday, Oct. 25; 1:30 p.m. and 6:30 p.m., Sunday, Oct. 26.*