performance

The Reality Shows

tina — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Described by Ben Brantley of the New York Times as someone with the “power to disturb,” Karen Finley is a woman with her finger on the pulse of America.

Renowned for her performance art, she is an underground favorite and a feminist idol. Her ability to tie satire, sex, and snappy political commentary into every aspect of her work is a brilliant, modern-day re-vamp of the “personal is political” mantra.

Finley’s most recent book, The Reality Shows, is a collection of transcripts from performances spanning the last decade. “Make Love” is an intimate recollection of the September 11 attacks and “The Passion of Teri Schiavo” is a biting and brilliant essay on America’s almost hysterical infatuation with the “victimized woman.”

Finley’s fictional portrayal of political and pop culture figureheads is challenging and at times, absurd. In “George & Martha” she describes, in great detail, a fictional affair between Martha Stewart and George W. Bush. Later on, the reader ventures inside the mind of Silda Spitzer in the days following the prostitution scandal that forced her husband Eliot to resign as the Governor of New York.

Finley’s plays, complex in nature, daunting, and a hotbed of controversy and debate, are simplistic at their core. Each essay, performance piece, and poem invites the audience to take an introspective look at the passions and insecurities that govern most actions. Finley has an incredible ability to peel back the layers of the world’s most powerful figureheads and reveal the fragility underneath. In a world driven by hysteria, misinformation, bias, and greed, this is a truly refreshing take on the American political landscape.

The Reality Shows is not a book that a large audience will appreciate, but that’s never been Finley’s style. It is a thought-provoking, laugh-producing read that will leave the reader wanting to see more of the world filtered through Finley’s eyes.

Written by: Cheryl Santa Maria, April 11th 2011

Baby Universe (A Puppet Odyssey)

mandy — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 19:00:00 +0000

Baruch Performing Arts Center

Baby Universe, a one-hour, adult-themed puppet show, begins with a DJ from Apocalypse Radio announcing to the audience that he is ”broadcasting live from the darkest corner of the bunkers.” His tone conveys urgency as he reports that the program will include an interview with one of the last people alive. The situation, we’re told, is grim: “These are the last days. Nothing can keep death from us. The plants are scorched, the animals blistered…The seas? What seas…? Soon everything will perish.”

Using more than thirty puppets ranging in size from nine inches to nine feet, Baby Universe explores the imminent environmental catastrophe facing the earth’s inhabitants and questions whether anything can be done to stop this seemingly inevitable destruction. Special effects are in large supply—spectators are repeatedly stunned by flashing lights, the appearance of fire and smoke, and the sounds of crashing waves—as five onstage puppeteers, clad in gray spacesuits, their faces completely covered by enormous gas masks, manipulate their charges. It’s highly inventive and totally captivating.

Among the subjects explored is the notion of “baby universes,” human-generated black holes that scientists in Japan and Switzerland currently believe can lead to the development of alternative life forms. Baby Universe introduces the concept of scientifically generated “babies,” manufactured beings whose sole function is to attempt to create a new solar system. If they are successful, the play tells us, animal, plant, and human life will continue on another planet, far from our devastated earth.

Time, of course, is of the essence, and whether this can succeed or not depends on baby number 7001, a hand puppet, (Peter Russo provides the pitch-perfect voice, part whiny child, part messiah) who has been reared by an always-doting surrogate mother (voiced by Gwendolyn Warnock). Can this savior come through and protect the biosphere’s few remaining survivors? Or is it already too late?

As the performance progresses, it raises a plethora of controversial subjects, not the least of which is whether scientists are usurping the role of God. The matter is left for the audience to ponder, and the show smartly avoids heavy-handed moralizing on the matter. Still, in raising the issue it asks viewers to not only address the trashing of diverse ecosystems, but to think about what our behavior will mean for evolutionary development. It’s big stuff.

That said, Baby Universe is anything but ponderous. While heavy philosophical issues are touched upon, and serious themes regarding religion, science, and ecology are presented, the play is highly entertaining and often funny. There is ample shtick—including an almost-Vaudevillian moment in which 7001 discovers that he lacks a penis—as well as several musical digressions. Indeed, music by Norwegian composer Lars Petter Hagen adds tension and zest to the production. Similarly, the simple set designed by Naho Tatuishi, Joy Wang, Brett Jarvis, and Kate Leahy—movable scrims onto which images are continually projected—give the show an eerie feel.

Strange, moving, and intriguing, Baby Universe is a timely look at looming environmental catastrophe. There’s melancholy, tempered by hope, throughout. “Life is so fragile,” one of the puppets declares near the end of the production. “It’s the most beautiful thing I know.”

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, December 31st 2010

Hibiki (Resonance from Far Way) (10/20/2010)

alicia — Wed, 01 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Sankai Juku

Dance Center of Columbia College

The dancing performed by the Japanese butoh company Sankai Juku in Hibiki (Resonance from Far Away) at the Harris Theater in Chicago, Illinois, manages to invoke simultaneously everything and nothing. In choosing the word ‘everything,’ I am attempting to describe the fact that the six dancers and their choreographer execute actions that remind the viewer, possibly, of children, stones, priests, frogs, soldiers, streams, women, the wind, and a flower. By saying ‘nothing,’ I am acknowledging that the gestures and poses themselves are so controlled, so elemental, that the observer must concede that some degree of the perceived meaning or symbolism is projected.

In the beginning, lights slowly rise to reveal a sand-covered stage strewn with twelve symmetrically placed shallow glass saucers approximately a meter in diameter. Above, four glass bulbs shaped like art nouveau separating funnels steadily drip, the soundtrack either amplifying or suggesting the drops. The huddled figures of the dancers could be mistaken for driftwood or rocks, but of course unfold from their embryonic curls to entrance so completely that time itself seems somehow altered. The six tableaux directed by choreographer Ushio Amagatsu explore the very rhythms of existence—origin, end, and resurrection.

Sanjai Juku manifests conventions of butoh with the white rice powder coating, shaven heads, and simple robes of the dancers. While some versions of the school appear darkly anarchic, this dance concert is profoundly poetic and minimalistic. The performers move with such precision that their bodies come across as a series of statues with gradually changing poses placed in one location. The movement of a few can entrance so thoroughly that the remainder evaporate from the stage, unnoticed.

Amagatsu appears in a solo sequence, executing gestures like the movements of the most necessary rite of an undiscovered faith. The dancers can march through one another in crossed ranks so dense that they appear a multitude, and in the final sequence, move with such coordination that they could be mistaken for one organism. In the fourth scene—Outer Limits of Red—the dancers gather around a saucer now filled with red liquid, their lower robes augmented with red-laced bodices and dangling ear ornaments.

The laces mimic the stitches that may follow abdominal surgery, but I had to speculate—due to the corsetry and the predominance of blood-color—that this segment acknowledged something specifically feminine, but by no means consoling. At one point their hands move with cutting synchronization, first scissors, then claws. The predominantly electronic score, composed by Takashi Kako and Yoichiro Yoshikawa, mostly complements the austerity of the performance but occasionally swells with an unnecessary exuberance that might be more suited to a movie version of Hibiki.

The closing sequence resonates magnificently, a broadening aperture of light opening to silhouette the circled dancers. The following standing ovation was the longest that I have witnessed in my life, every echoing slap of palm on palm completely earned.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, November 30th 2010

An Evening of Madame Bovary with Lydia Davis (10/4/2010)

mandy — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

92nd Street Y

Following a glowing introduction by translator and essayist Richard Sieburth, the acclaimed author Lydia Davis read several passages from her recent translation of Gustave Flaubert’s classic novel, as well as selections of her own work, at the 92nd Street Y’s An Evening of Madame Bovary. The poetic flow of the writing lends incredibly well to a live reading and the audience was spellbound. As a fan of the novel, I could have listened to Davis read from Madame Bovary for hours, and the event left me eager to purchase her translation so I could compare it to the one I had at home.

Davis told the audience that while working on her translation she read letters Flaubert wrote during the time he wrote the book. She was so taken by the letters that she wrote a collection of ten short stories based on them when she was finished. The collection, Ten Stories from Flaubert, was published by the Paris Review. Those of us in attendance had the wonderful privilege of hearing Davis read an excerpt from the collection. It was a wonderful treat for both fans of the timeless novel, as well as Davis herself.

An Evening of Madame Bovary did not end with the readings. Sieburth joined Davis on stage to engage in a conversation with the audience during a question and answer session. The discussion meandered through various aspects of the translation process, a topic that was of much interest to the crowd, but left me wishing more time had been allotted for questions about the novel itself.

On the whole, this event was great for those who are fans of the novel, and an eyeopening experience for those unfamiliar with Davis’ work. And as always, the 92nd Street Y provided ticket holders with a wonderful experience that was both educational and stimulating.

Written by: Janice Formichella, October 15th 2010

Cho Dependent Tour (9/23/2010)

mandy — Wed, 06 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Margaret Cho

Anaheim, California

Margaret Cho's hour-long set at The Grove began with a story about her recent experiences as a contestant on Dancing with the Stars that parlayed into a story about using a vocal coach from American Idol while touring in support of her newly released album Cho Dependent. Apparently her vocal coach made her drink shots of olive oil when she developed a sore throat, and as a result, Cho suffered from uncontrollable flatulence and diarrhea. This was a reoccurring theme of the night (I actually wasn’t aware Cho had such a penchant for poop jokes), and while I spent half of Cho’s act loving her intensely and laughing out loud, the other half I found myself wondering if she’d lost her edge.

Shitty stories aside, I’m convinced that Cho and I have the potential to be best friends. During her set I learned that we have many of the same concerns (like who will fuck us when we’re old) and interests (e.g., gay men and the American south). I’m considering a move to the south, in fact, but one of my biggest concerns is the lack of multicultural and LGBT communities, two things that are vital to my happiness here in Los Angeles. Cho touched on the south many times, as her Lifetime show Drop Dead Diva is filmed in a small suburb of Atlanta where Cho now spends a great deal of her time. Besides picking up a southern boyfriend with a massive dick (her words, not mine), she’s made a few gay friends as well.

Cho revealed that while living in Georgia she’s encountered many people who feel the need to share their opinions about homosexuality with her, a majority claiming it’s in opposition to their religious beliefs. She says her standard response to this and other statements made by close-minded folks has become, “Well, fuck you then.” I mean, really, when no amount of philosophizing or arguing will get through, what else are you able to say?

Sexuality is always a major part of Cho's performances, and as always, I applaud her candor. At the Anaheim show she expressed her love of the now-defunct Craigslist casual encounters ads, and joked about her many sexual conquests, her desire to be fucking well into her seventies, and her recent attempts at having a baby with a drag queen sperm donor. (Maybe that last one wasn't a joke?)

While listening to Cho, a woman who seemed so badass and ballsy when I was younger, I realized that the forty-one-year-old comedian may very well be less edgy. Although she may be more apt to discuss topics pertinent to her changing lifestyle, her mainstream success, and her audience’s changing demographics, Cho's biting social commentary, brazen sexuality, and championing of the LGBT community will always be enough to keep me coming back for more.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, October 6th 2010

Sex in Mommyville (8/19/2010)

mandy — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 10:00:00 +0000

The Flea Theater

New York, New York

For feminists marriage and motherhood have always been gray areas. While feminists of the seventies were quick to write off these roles as domestic slavery, some contemporary feminists have embraced these roles, finding that one can be an independent woman and still be a loving mother and wife. However, finding a balance between the roles of independent career woman as well as wife and mother can be a struggle. This struggle is at the crux of The Flea Theater’s production of the one woman show, Sex in Mommyville. The play’s main focus is the struggles a feminist faces when she finds her life focusing on maintaining a home for her children and husband, rather than pursuing her own professional and intellectual goals.

The play opens up while Fishbeyn’s character Artemis is in the process of writing an article for Bitch Magazine on the sex lives of mothers, explaining how both her pessimistic Russian immigrant parents and pregnancy lead to her dreams of writing being pushed aside for years. She tells us that sex with her husband has now become an “elusive dream”. Just how much of the play is based on real life experience is unclear as Fishbeyn is ostensibly playing a character. While all of the play’s material rings true from the get go, it could have been more moving had Fishbeyn based the experience on her own life rather than shrouding things with the guise of fiction. Fishbeyn excels as the play’s sole performer. She is warm and engaging from the get go, speaking to the audience as if they were a long lost friend stopping by for a visit. She makes use of the small stage well, effectively using physical humor as she enacts sexual situations with her husband. Surely, director Sande Shurin has a knack for staging and physical comedy. Fishbeyn launches into a humorous and highly accurate analysis of the stereotypes surrounding mothers, joking about the mothers who only have sex to please their husbands as well as the current pop culture phenomenon of the “MILF."

The first hour of the play focuses on her disastrous attempts to have hot sex with her husband due to the constant interruptions of her offspring. Many of the mothers in the audience (with surprisingly silent babies in hand) laughed hysterically throughout the work. My guess is that for those who have lived through the stress of motherhood, the jokes will hit spot on. After the first hour, Fishbeyn changes her comedic tone for a somber one, showing she is just as gifted at drama as she is at comedy. She delivers a heartfelt monologue on the frustration she feels as she attempts to be both a writer and a loving mother and wife. She feels that no matter which role she focuses on she is neglecting another.

At this point Fishbeyn walks to a series of screens at the back of the stage and begins to deliver an analysis of the current state of women in popular culture, looking at both the ageism and hyper focus on physical appearance that burdens women. Her talk is peppered with images of wrinkle cream and The Bachelor, an additional use of images would have made this segment even stronger. Her monologue, though not necessarily original, is both humorous and true, sounding a lot like a pop culture savvy version of Naomi Wolf’s The Beauty Myth.

Fishbeyn concludes the play with Artemis admitting that there will never be clear answers for her in her struggles. In the end, she raises a shot to her fellow mothers , acknowledging that it is inevitable that in their lives they will at some point have to neglect or make compromises when it comes to their professional and academic aspirations. While Sex in Mommyville offers little in terms of definite answers, it raises important questions.

Written by: Adrienne Urbanski, September 6th 2010

Mangos with Chili (7/11/2010)

admin — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Bluestockings

New York, New York

I was thrilled to be able to attend a special Mangos with Chili show on Sunday night at Bluestockings in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. I was thrilled not just because I consider the founders, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha and Ms. Cherry Galette, dear amig@s, nor because dear amig@s of mine have performed under the spicy sweet banner, pero because the center is queer, trans, and gender nonconforming artists of color. Sunday night, people packed the bookstore and activist center to bear witness to the words and work of Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, Victor Tobar, Ignacio Rivera, and Jai Dulani.

Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha opened the floor reading a piece from a memoir she’s working on about her life as a queer femme from Sri Lanka and creating community. Victor Tobar, in a series of stunning spoken word pieces, brought us to the Bronx and Brooklyn, and explored struggling against gentrification in those streets, what those streets demand of of their queer brown children, and how those children grow into adults, not easily, but wrapped in memories that constrain and free.

Brooklyn Black Boricua Ignacio Rivera used words to redefine the body as an answer to negative socialization and abuse and, in doing so, reclaimed kinky sexuality in his own terms. Rivera forced the listeners to confront our histories of violence and our daily interactions with it above and underground.

Jai Dulani closed the circle by presenting a film he has been working on regarding Caster Semenya entitled Caster Semenya: Wrong is Not Her Name. The film, through the use of news clips, looks at the invasive scrutiny Semenya’s gender underwent following her win in the women’s world 800-meter race. Dulani shows how race and gender biases collided and the history of the white, male, heteronormative gaze on the bodies of those who claim “woman.”

The artists in this Mangos with Chili performance reveal a breadth of talent fed by real life experiences rooted in personal struggles and continued survival. Some of their work will make you uncomfortable because of its frankness and raw reality, pero for many it will feel like someone opened the curtains in a dark secret room you were sitting alone in, let the sun in, and then threw a party.

It was all love.

Please follow Mangos with Chili as they decide their next tour and please follow all of the amazing artists. Arte, poesia y imagen can change the world.

Cross-posted at VivirLatino

Video credit: Sins Invalid

Written by: Maegan La Mala Ortiz, July 20th 2010

A Parallelogram (7/1/2010)

admin — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 18:57:00 +0000

Steppenwolf Theater

Chicago, Illinois

In Euclidean geometry, parallel lines never intersect. In post-Euclidean geometry, all parallel lines under specific conditions—for example, placed on a globe—will converge. In Bruce Norris’ new play, A Parallelogram, parallelogram is the term used to describe a window of sorts in space and time. The protagonist’s future self visits her through such a passage and discloses details of her life and the world to come. The intersecting lives—that of Bee, her boyfriend Jay, and the garden worker J.J.—are sharply critiqued by future Bee (henceforth referred to as “Bee 2”) to comic effect. The relentless quality and sharpness of the playwright’s words counterbalance the poignancy of Bee’s predicament: informed of the future, she rallies her will to intervene, with results that are futile at best.

Marylouise Burke plays Bee 2 and wins the audience over with her depiction of the idealistic young woman transformed into a bespectacled, chain-smoking, oreo-gobbling, sweatsuit clad pile of cynical resignation. The primary benefit of aging, she confidently yet conspiratorially announces, is no longer giving a shit. Younger Bee (Kate Arrington) becomes an increasingly engaging character, moving from annoying to genuinely concerned and of concern as the origin of her conundrum emerges and is further complicated by Bee 2’s interventions. Tom Irwin plays Bee’s boyfriend Jay, a man buffeted by his personal relationships who breaks off the relationship under the weight of Bee’s apparent insanity. J.J.—the sincere and ultimately unassuming lawnboy—is portrayed by Tim Bickel.

Big ideas are bluntly addressed—Is there free will? Is love real? Does life hold any meaning whatsoever?—but the play’s most engaging moments lie in its precise comic timing and repartee. Norris shares explications of men falling in love with folding chairs, or individuals saved by parrot’s bites, and these specific sights brace the sides of this quadrilateral form. Anna D. Shapiro’s direction deftly renders repeated scenes gripping instead of tedious, and keeps baldly comic elements fresh. Todd Rosenthal designed a splendid set, a standard middle class condominium that spins to show a hospital room and back again. The quandary of the play is presented on its programs: "If someone could tell you in advance exactly what was going to happen in your life, and how everything was going to turn out, and if you knew you couldn’t do anything to change it, would you still want to go on with your life?" If my reiterated existence included another outing to the Steppenwolf to see A Parallelogram, I would.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, July 13th 2010

Black Pearl Sings! (6/18/2010)

admin — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The Adrienne Theater

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

With their current production, Black Pearl Sings!, InterAct Theatre brings a powerful story to the Mainstage of Philadelphia’s Adrienne. The intimate performance space, where third row is a mere six feet from the floor-level stage, helps one feel immersed in the story.

Written by Frank Higgins and directed by Seth Rozin, the two-act play stars C. Kelly Wright as Alberta “Pearl” Johnson and Catharine K. Slusar as Susannah Mullally. In the story, set during the Great Depression, song collector Mullally meets Johnson while visiting a Texas prison. Mullally hopes to find an old song that has never been documented, a song that might land her a university teaching job. She helps to obtain parole for Johnson, with the condition that Johnson will be in Mullally’s custody. After parole, the women go to New York, where they present a performance meant to make both of them famous. The play ends with a powerfully triumphant Johnson in control of her own future, and Mullally humbled and grown through this relationship.

The play is based upon the true story of musicologist John Lomax, who collected songs for the Library of Congress during the 1930s. In a Louisiana penitentiary, Lomax met guitar player Huddie Ledbetter, later known as Lead Belly.

During the course of the play, Mullally reveals that her wealthy family has disowned her for pursuing a nontraditional path (“Why would I want to get married?”), and that a man used her research to advance his career. I sat shaking my head in disbelief, thinking to myself, “So now you are going to use a woman to advance your career? At one point she asks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” to which Johnson replies, “We’re friendly.” For how can there be true friendship when one party’s freedom is dependent on another’s exploitation?

There were many moments when I found myself embarrassed for Mullally, as well as the ignorance of the community in which she moved, which viewed Johnson as a discovery or exhibit. In Act II, Mullally reads a review in which Johnson is referred to by the writer as “Black Pearl.” Johnson responds indignantly, “How come you ain’t White Susannah?” Mullally was schooled through her relationship with Johnson, and at many times humor eased the way.

For me, the greatest beauty of this show lay in the voice of C. Kelly Wright as she sang a cappella spirituals and folk songs, and her visceral expression of emotions throughout the performance. Her rich voice brought tears to my eyes multiple times, and manifested great power and strength. I felt her voice not only in my ears but in my bones.

Written by: Lisa Rand, June 24th 2010

Prophecy (6/6/2010)

admin — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

East Fourth Street Theater

New York, New York

Forty years ago, Edwin Starr’s “War” was a Billboard Top 100 hit, an explicit denunciation of armed conflict. “War, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing,” he trilled. Karen Malpede’s Prophecy takes this sentiment as her starting point. Her latest play, an ambitious, layered look at the damage wrought by centuries of strife on the battlefield—and in the personal relationships that ensue once military action is over—is bold and dramatic. It’s also shrill.

Numerous stories unfold simultaneously. Jeremy Thrasher (Brendan Donaldson), recently back from fighting in Iraq, is studying acting at a well-respected New York conservatory. His teacher is former Broadway actor Sarah Golden (Kathleen Chalfant). A monologue Golden instructs Thrasher to deliver—the Tiresias speech from Sophocles’ Antigone unwittingly sends him into a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder-induced rage. Golden is shocked by the violence of his in-class outburst, and in short order not only has to help him deal with the trauma he has experienced, but also has to re-examine her own past, including a volatile relationship with Lucas Brightman, a former student who fought in Vietnam and later died. Golden and Brightman had been lovers and Thrasher’s struggles bring Golden face-to-face with a host of complicated recollections and emotions from the early 1970s.

At the same time, Golden and her husband of many decades, Alan (George Bartenieff), are having difficulties. As the director of a refugee aid organization, Alan is often busy “saving the world,” making Sarah feel as if her work as a teacher is frivolous. Also distressing, many years back Alan had an affair with his assistant, Hala (Najla Said). But it was not just lust that propelled Alan into bed with Hala. A Jew whose father saved hundreds from Hitler’s ovens, Alan felt a tremendous need to propagate, to do his bit to replace those lost to the Fuhrer’s genocide. Sadly, Alan and Sarah cannot reproduce; Sarah became infertile following an illegal abortion performed years before, prior to Roe v. Wade. After taking up with Hala, Alan’s dream was realized—after one miscarriage, Hala carried to term and delivered a daughter, Mariam, who she reared in Lebanon.

Out of sight is apparently out of mind and Sarah and Alan rarely talk about either Hala or the child anymore. In fact, Alan doesn’t meet Mariam (Najla Said) until years later when, as an adult, she lands on his doorstep and threatens to blow him to smithereens with a bomb she says is hidden in her purse.

And that’s not all: Turns out Sarah’s boss, Dean Charles Muffler, [Peter Francis James] was Lucas Brightman’s commanding officer in Vietnam and his possible role in Brightman’s death lurks over the two-act production. What’s more, Thrasher’s PTSD triggers long-buried feelings in Muffler and he is once again tormented by memories of serving in the country.

These themes give Prophecy incredible, palpable intensity. Despite this, Prophecy weaves a cloth of far too many threads. The similarities between U.S. involvement in Vietnam and Iraq are noteworthy, but on top of themes including marital fidelity, the desire to reproduce, the meaning of friendship, the Holocaust, successful mentoring, how best to assist refugees, the threat of terrorism, and the lasting impact of war on both those who fight and those who are fought against, it’s too much.

Still, Prophecy delivers an urgent message. Like Edwin Starr’s “War,” it reminds us that nothing good comes from military combat. “They say we must fight to keep our freedom,” Starr sang. “But Lord knows there’s got to be a better way.”

Indeed.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, June 11th 2010

MILK (5/1/2010)

admin — Wed, 05 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

HERE Arts Center

New York, New York

Emily DeVoti’s provocative two-act play, MILK, opens in a spare farmhouse kitchen. It’s 1984. Ronald Reagan has just been elected US president and local newscasters seem to have nothing good to report. Meg (played by Jordan Baker), a former mathematician who loves precision and order, and her husband Ben (Jon Krupp), a former investigative reporter, are sitting at the table and talking, but it’s the kind of tense conversation that can quickly turn from controlled anger to fierce argument.

Things are bad, very bad. A drought has made dairy production virtually impossible, and land that’s been in Meg’s family for centuries is now on the cusp of foreclosure. On top of this, their college-aged daughter—who is never seen but is referenced at key moments in the play—wants to be an actress and their fourteen-year-old son Matt (Noah Robbins) wants material things his parents cannot possibly afford: name-brand sneakers, CDs, a bedside color TV, and stylish clothes, among them. Worse, there’s a city slicker on the prowl, and he’s made no bones about wanting to “help” Meg and Ben ease their financial woes. Ben thinks it’s good idea, "a gift from God"; Meg doesn’t.

Ben wins.

By the time businessman James (Peter Bradbury) and his teenaged daughter, Veronica (Anna Kull), arrive on the scene—in a private plane, no less—things have deteriorated even further. But James couldn't care less about the family’s personal difficulties. Instead, he’s turning his managerial acumen to improving the farm’s productivity. Although he knows nothing about cows, he hatches a plan that, on paper, will foster unprecedented growth and save the day: importing “wild, hairy, horned” bulls to impregnate the many heifers dotting the pastoral landscape.

As you have probably guessed, things don’t pan out as James—or Ben or a reluctant Meg—expect. While the second act of the play is far weaker than the first, the excellent cast, including Caroline Baeumler as Auroch, a talking bovine the Program Notes describe as “quite possibly the last living wild cow,” briefly explore a number of evocative themes including monetary pressures; urban versus rural lifestyles; marital fidelity; self-sacrifice; coming of age; and the festering ache that often accompanies keeping silent about things that matter.

In fact, by the time Veronica tearfully confides her father’s secrets to Matt, the pathos is so intense that James instantly morphs into someone less repugnant. In the end, while we may revile Matt politically, DeVoti renders him a multidimensional personality who is deserving of compassion.

There are no easy answers in MILK. Indeed, as the world changes, some customs and practices inevitably become obsolete and are replaced by newer rituals and activities. The key is figuring out which pieces of cultural and personal history to retain and which to let go.

At one point, Meg looks into a bucket of unpasteurized milk and declares that “the pure stuff, it corrupts so easily.” Maybe so. MILK asks its viewers to think about what’s negotiable and what isn’t. Regardless of what is ultimately decided, one thing is certain: after watching this well-executed play, urban audiences will think about cows in a whole new way.

Photo credit: Jim Baldassare

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, May 5th 2010

Elizabeth Gilbert (01/25/2010)

admin — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 18:18:00 +0000

Bagdad Theater

Portland, Oregon

I fell in love with Elizabeth Gilbert’s smart, poetic, humorous and utterly authentic voice while reading Eat, Pray, Love. In the four years since its release, I re-read the book whenever I need to be reminded that awakening and wisdom are rewards that await on the other side of suffering, if I can be true to myself and follow my heart.

I arrived at Portland’s Bagdad Theater to see young women buzzing with urgency and excitement swarming the ticket counter. The historic theater lobby with rich mosaic ceilings, stone columns, and lacy iron lanterns was packed with people holding wine, beer, and copies of Gilbert’s new book Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage (unfortunately my comp ticket didn’t include a copy of the book). Squeezing through the crowd, my friend and I were too late for seats on the main floor, but found comfy velvet armchairs and a good view in the balcony.

For twenty minutes Gilbert read from Committed and told the story of herself, “a bird who could dive,” and her lover Felipé, “a fish who could fly,” and their healing love which began in Bali while Gilbert was on the last leg of her Eat, Pray, Love journey. Deeply wounded by their first marriages, both had sworn never to marry again, but after a long time of Felipé flying in and out of the U.S. on ninety-day visas, Homeland Security decided enough was enough. “Like a stern, old-fashioned father” the U.S. government presented them with the options of separation or marriage, and so this unlikely bird/fish duo “had been netted.”

Following the reading Gilbert gracefully responded to questions, and the gushing of fans, for about forty minutes. Several of the questions belied assumptions commonly held about life after marriage, such as the notion of “settling down” and the expectation that Gilbert would somehow do, or be, less. Gilbert’s take was refreshing and conveys the quiet confidence of a woman who remains true to herself. Pets and a garden speak of her ties to a home-base, whereas her relationship (married or otherwise) exists in a realm that cannot be limited by walls and a roof, or even laws and social convention.

When asked about taking her husband’s name, Gilbert replied that to do so never occurred to her, and further, that the issue is a red herring that detracts from the more essential feminist issues surrounding marriage, including intimacy, privacy, and equal rights. Gilbert is a smooth and relaxed speaker, and she discussed her pre-nup, love life, affluence, and legal entanglements with candor. She also dispensed advice to aspiring writers on the virtue of discipline and the importance of following one’s curiosity.

Despite several cell phones going off, a writer’s “dump on” (I think she meant to say “pitch to”) Gilbert, and the feeling that I might be at an opening for Sex and the City rather than a book reading, I walked away feeling touched and inspired by Gilbert’s creative essence and self-possession.

Written by: Matsya Siosal, January 27th 2010

Emmylou Harris (10/27/2009)

admin — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 04:34:00 +0000

Overture Hall

Madison, Wisconsin

No matter how many songs Emmylou Harris sings or how many chords she strums, this legendary artist consistently sounds fresh and vibrant. At the Overture Center for the Arts in Madison, Wisconsin, I had the pleasure of seeing Emmylou and her Red Dirt Boys, along with special guest and opener Buddy Miller. The outstanding opening set included standbys and original songs written by the artist and his wife, Julie Miller. To the audience’s delight, Emmylou took the stage with Miller to join him on two songs.

Emmylou was every bit her unmistakable self. Cowboy boots, which she told the audience she purchased at Zappo’s; fishnet stockings; and signature swingy white-silver hair rounded out her country glam look. Her show included several songs from the recent release All I Intended to Be, including Merle Haggard’s “Kern River” and Tracy Chapman’s “All That You Have is Your Soul.” The playlist also featured “Red Dirt Girl,” “Michelangelo,” “Blackhawk and the White-Winged Dove,” and “Lost Unto This World.”

Harris’ fans know that, while songs like this are lovely, the lyrics can sometimes become heavy and depressing. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who was glad to have a few upbeat tunes in the mix, such as “Born to Run,” “If I Could Only Win Your Love,” and “Two More Bottles of Wine.” Harris and her band are fun to watch; passion for their art and appreciation for one another radiate from the stage. An intimate vocal collaboration on “Calling My Children Home” highlighted the group’s synergy and complementary talents. Bill Monroe’s “Get Up John (the Baptist)” ended the show. A standing ovation brought Emmylou and the band back on stage for a lilting, swingy rendition of “Save the Last Dance for Me.”

Two full hours of Emmylou Harris and her Red Dirt Boys was enough to send the audience home humming happily, hopeful that Emmylou’s next tour will bring her back to Madison.

Written by: Amanda Moss, October 30th 2009

Decibelle (10/15 -10/18/2009)

admin — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 09:56:00 +0000

Decibelle Festival

Chicago, Illinois

The Decibelle Music & Culture Festival was a mixed bag, so I’m going to break it down for you, Clint Eastwood style.

The Good

Me'Shell Ndegeocello is a blessing. My plus-one and I attended her 10 p.m. show at the Old Town School of Folk Music in Lincoln Square, an intimate venue with pews and cafe tables for seats and acoustics that are great for folk music. We walked in during Deep Blue Field, the opening act, which featured cello, violin, a DJ, and projected images. A lot of it was really beautiful, but most of the audience was in a coma by the time they got off the stage. I believe this was part of the intended effect; regardless, it was a nice change from fighting the weather. When the lights came up, the audience's reaction included confusion and lot of murmuring about coffee. Thankfully, The School has a full bar.

The mood change completely when Ndegeocello entered. Small in stature with short hair and giant glasses, she’s powerhouse of a woman with a big smile. She opens her mouth, picks up the bass, and out pours this gorgeous husky voice with a delicate lilt to the upper register. Ndegeocello performed old favorites, as well as songs from her new album Devil’s Halo. Her songs are driving and hard: even the love songs are tough, so much so that it seemed like the venue's system wasn't equipped to handle her sound. However, she had the audience so wrapped up in her music that few people cared.

Sister Spit: The Next Generation was also really great, once it got going. Appearing in this incarnation as a part of Women and Children First’s Sappho Salon Series for lesbians and their friends, Sister Spit is, as Decibelle explains, a queer “literary road show.” Co-founder Michelle Tea hosted a lively evening of fiction and humor, including painfully funny comics by Ariel Schrag and a novel about transgendered teens squatting in San Francisco.

The Bad

The pre-party on Thursday night at Berlin was not so great. In fact, I'd say it was gross. We arrived around 10:30 p.m., and after convincing the door person we were supposed on a list, my guest and I cozied up next to the bar, each with an aptly named promotional “mini-tini” and in close proximity to a giant jar of condoms. As the patrons trickled in, I started to think about life's difficult questions. Would my guest look as good in a high school wrestling uniform as the mustachioed bartender did? Should I start wearing more vests? Did that girl swinging her girlfriend in the air know how close the swingee's boot came to my face? Is it punishment enough that both are now pole dancing with a very real lack of rhythm in front everyone? Why hadn't I seen any of the DJs Decibelle's website had described using many exclamation marks and comparisons to Bjork? An hour and a half into the party, there was no sign of the Chicago debut of Emilie Simon, so we headed out.

The Ugly

The ugliest part of the Chicago festival was Chicago itself. The weather was classic: a painful mix of sleet and rain that felt terrible and messed with travel times for every form of transit in the city. Then, the Chicago Transit Authority in its infinite wisdom began construction on the Red Line, a primary artery of north-south transportation. Between the weather and the CTA, travel times between events tripled for both train riders and drivers. I was late to events, missed the Heartland Cafe's Music Lounge, took hours to get home after late nights, and was in such a surly state I wasn't willing to travel back down to Andersonville for the Saturday night after-party at Ole Ole.

Compounding the irritation of the weather and the transit were the organizational issues of the fest. Of the venues I attended, only the Old Town School seemed to know I was coming and didn't require several minutes of arguing at the door. The Berlin party consisted mostly of waiting. The Decibelle website and Women and Children First had different ideas about when Sister Spit started, so I chose the earlier time and wound up sitting around for half an hour waiting for the reading to start. This would have been fine if there weren't another event going on at the same time, which, as I mentioned earlier, I couldn't catch the end of because of the train.

The Future

I supposed one could argue that logistical issues are just part of the package when you're dealing with the arts, but it doesn't need to be the case. Most of these issues could have been avoided by improved communication between the festival organizers, promoters, and venues. In addition, I don't know that the spreading the events over a four neighborhoods had the intended effect, which I assumed was a cross-pollination of feminist communities. For the most parts, the boys stayed in Boystown for the dance party, the girls stayed in Andersonville at the bookstore, and the patrons of color stayed west of Western Avenue for the soul music. The lack of crossover was disappointing and points to Chicago's long history of segregation. I wish I had been able to make it back up to Rogers Park, one of the city's most diverse neighborhoods, to see how things shook out at the Heartland.

Despite these issues, the festival shows a lot of promise. Ndegeocello and Sister Spit were well worth the hassle; both of these events featured women who challenge ideas of gender in positive ways, and their intersection provided a space for thought about what it means to be a feminist.

Written by: H. V. Cramond, October 29th 2009

Sins Invalid (10/04/2009)

admin — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 09:21:00 +0000

Brava Theater

San Francisco, California

As a dancer, I feel most alive when I'm present in my body; when I breathe hard, feel the power of my feet on the ground, and sense the weight in my head and arms. To feel embodied is an exhilarating experience, and after seeing Sins Invalid's fourth annual performance, "An Unashamed Claim to Beauty in the Face of Invisibility," I was struck by the complexities of being present and proud in a body that can make others feel deeply uncomfortable.

The show opens on Matt Fraser, a disabled performer, dancing naked, unashamedly, and beautifully as an audio recording berates him. Instead of music that reflects the grace and power of Frasier's movement, the audience (and Frasier) is bombarded with voices that echo the internal reactions many have to seeing a body different from what they perceive as normal. As I watched Frasier throw himself across the stage, it became clear that for him to feel embodied takes more strength and courage than most people are asked to summon in a lifetime.

Sins Invalid is a performance project that celebrates artist with disabilities, centralizing those who are queer and gender-variant. The project itself was conceived of, and is run by, disabled artists of color whose mission is to redefine beauty, sexiness, and normality to include people of all marginalized communities. From the cheers, whoops, and applause I heard during the show, it was clear the audience was overwhelmingly supportive of and inspired by Sins Invalid's mission. When confronted with the bodies of the performers, the audience became audibly excited rather than uncomfortable. They embraced the idea that resonates throughout the show: every body is beautiful.

I braced myself as the narrator announced we were about to witness a piece that contained S&M. I wasn't sure if, in addition to wrapping my head around the difficulties that disabled men and women face, I could watch human beings inflict pain onto one another only twenty feet in front of me. As it turns out, the humor and wit that Ralph Dickinson, Leroy Franklin Moore Jr., and Seeley Quest brought to the stage was a delightful celebration of sexuality and seduction. Watching the dominatrix role-play with her client validated the disabled client's sexuality in a refreshing and empowering way.

As the show progressed, I kept thinking to myself, "any discomfort the audience feels is not even a fraction of the discomfort that some of the individuals on stage or those they represent feel daily." While it was wonderful to see an audience seeking out and finding empowerment in Sins Invalid's show, I believe it is equally important for those who wouldn't seek it out to experience it as well. I can imagine a different audience—perhaps less open to or familiar with the ideas brought up during the performance—that might have felt troubled by certain moments of the evening. To face the pain and suffering of others takes will power.

Sins Invalid speaks to those who are rendered invisible, as well as to those who render others invisible; we're all on both sides of the equation at some point in our lives. To watch the beauty and struggle of embodiment is an important experience for both the body and mind.

Written by: Rachel Costello, October 27th 2009