The Road To Mecca

Plonking an intimate three hander like "The Road to Mecca" in a large venue like the American Airlines Theatre looked like a bad idea. My word they've pulled a blinder. "Mecca" is a play that creeps up on the audience, starting small and somehow encompassing huge cosmic issues through what is at heart, a simple character drama.

Athol Fugard based "Mecca" on a true to life figure, Helen Martins and her "Owl House". The bird like Miss Helen, played by the incredible Rosemary Harris, isn't much too look at initially; quiet, insecure, troubled. We soon learn she is a far more fascinating figure than first meets the eye. After the death of her husband' she transformed herself from conventional housewife to controversial artist and has filled her house and yard with sculptures. For this she is seen as an outsider in her small white, conservative South African community and is being driven from her home by the local people, led by the slimey Reverend Marius. She seeks help from her sole friend, a much younger schoolteacher, Elsa, and from this seemingly simple set-up Fugard generates endless searing emotion.

The acting is beyond high quality. Harris is simply sublime, radiantly carrying the embing emotions of the narrative and simply oozing love and care. So easy to associate with because Helen hums with humanity. Gugino dials the sex appeal right back as the headstrong and passionate Elsa. Though her accent struck me as belonging nowhere (roving from South Africa to England with pitstops elsewhere), she captured Elsa's dichotomy of strength and insecurity with impressive ease. Completing the trio was Jim Dale's creepy but altogether human Marius. You want to hate him, his patronising manipulations difficult to stomach, but Dale brings a depth to the role that allows the audience to understand the reasons behind the Reverend's dinosaur-like attitudes to Helen.

Though the wide stage isn't ideal, Michael Yeargan's detailed set does well to delineate the action and keep the performers towards the front of the stage. Miss Helen's sculptures are quite brilliantly left to our imagination, gaining a power that one would never expect of something completely unseen. A wonderful play given a tremendous production by Gordon Edelstein. If life really is a journey to our own personal Mecca, then "The Road to Mecca" brought me closer to mine.

(Review of Performance on Wednesday, February 29th, 2012 at the American Airlines Theatre)

The Lady From Dubuque

There's a lot of denial in Edward Albee's "The Lady From Dubuque" including whether this existential rabbit hole goes anywhere. Reviving Broadway flops seems very in vogue of late (we've had "Carrie" and "Merrily We Roll Along" in the last month alone) and at least this one keeps the audience on their toes. Zipping from start to finish, I certainly couldn't describe myself as bored.

The lights go up on a tired couple's party with too much alcohol having been drunk and tempers beginning to fray. We're safely in "Virginia Woolf" territory, lots of biting remarks and simmering tension. Quickly however, Albee breaks with convention: actors talking straight to the audience to explain themselves (always in ear shot of the other characters), which is either quirky or a bit of a gimmick depending on how charitable one is feeling. It rapidly dawns that Jo, one of the characters, is terminally ill and the evening slips quickly into morose nothingness. The second half shifts towards the absurd, conjuring Pirandello and Beckett in its philosophical musings. A mysterious man and lady appear and the question is repeatedly asked as to are these people are, though I can't say I ever particularly cared.

This play is many things then, but one thing it isn't is easy. The first half is relentlessly unpleasant, even more so because the cast are currently struggling to make the jokes funny. Instead we're left with a lot of nasty people drinking too much along with a heady dose of pained screaming. The mysteries and riddles come thick and fast but finding the substance beneath the style is a challenge in itself.

The artifice of the language undoes most of the cast, particularly Tricia Paoluccio's Carol who delivers lines like she's a theatrical device rather than a character. In fact, in general the acting isn't nearly as strong as it needs to be to carry the contrivances of the plot. Laila Robins's terminally sick, and rather unpleasant, Jo came across forced and fake. Her disease induced screams sounded excruciatingly real but emanated from facial expressions that suggested someone acting. The role of her husband was better served by Michael Hayden, though the roller-coaster of emotions that he flows through only sporadically rang true. The second half perked up thanks to Peter Francis James's hilarious Oscar and Jane Alexander's haughty Elizabeth, the absurdity of the pair strangely more human than the theoretically earthbound first act.

This was my first outing to Signature Theatre's new, three theatre venue and I suspect I'll be heading back many more times over the coming years. Though little in the first season is a must see, the company are producing unusual, rare and even a few new, plays that'll all be worth a punt. "The Lady From Dubuque" isn't a success, but it's interesting enough to make for an engaging couple of hours.

(Review of Performance on Saturday, February 25th, 2012 at The Pershing Square Signature Theatre, End Stage Theatre)

Look Back in Anger

"Look Back in Anger" is about as seminal as British drama gets but somehow I've never actually seen the play live before. Back in the 50s (so well before my time) it brought about a wave of new drama by the "angry young men" and pushed Terrence Rattigan out of fashion (though the tables have recently turned with Rattigan being performed left, right and centre, Roundabout having staged one of his plays only last year). "Look Back" is a piece somewhat of its time and place, though efforts have been made here to drag it kicking and screaming into the present.

The theme of disaffected and abandoned youth is still deeply relevant and this is what Sam Gold's production pushes to the fore, doing much to distance the play from its period. The designs are pared back, the whole show staged on an incredibly narrow black strip at the front of the stage with only limited props for scenery (there's no avoiding the ironing board). The costumes remain period but not in an ostentatious fashion. Indeed, with the exception of the stratified class warfare, and even this is played down, Colonel Redfurn's appearance removed altogether, the whole thing could be taking place today.

It saddens me to say then that, despite the cramped setting, the tension begins to climb but then flatlines and never really hits the excruciating discomfort it should. The staging may be stripped back but given almost noirish lighting and hints of non-naturalism, what should be gritty reality begins to take on a strange otherness that is difficult to connect with.

The focus is firmly on Jimmy Porter, taken here by Matthew Rhys whose animal magnetism is ideal for the role. He prowls the stage dominating all others. Less strong were those who surrounded him. Sarah Goldberg'sAlison had a quite inexplicable accent and produced steely gazes that made a mockery of her put upon position. Charlotte Parry's Helena struggled to spark off the other characters, the relationship twists and turns coming from nowhere because they didn't feel genuine. Adam Driver's Cliff was deeply likable but somehow his "working class" demeanor suggested he had a disability which was frankly just weird.

There's a passionate yell at the core of "Look Back in Anger" and though it never quite escapes here, there's enough that works to make it engaging and at times thought provoking. The artifice of the production however, prevented the cerebral interest becoming emotional, the heartbreaking plot becoming something observed from a distance. For a play of considerably more than historic value, it deserves better.

(Review of Performance on Wednesday, February 22nd, 2012 at the Laura Pels Theatre)

Aida (Metropolitan Opera)

For visual spectacle the Metropolitan Opera's "Aida" is second to none. Its triumphal march ranks as one of the most eye popping creations imaginable. An opera consists of rather more than visuals however and on this count the current revival scores rather less well. If it wasn't for the total majesty of Stephanie Blythe, this would have been close to a total disappointment.

Marcelo Alvarez sang Radames at the Royal Opera a couple of years ago and fared quite well. The scale of the Met auditorium however is a different proposition and the evening felt like a constant process of damage control. He barely survived "Celeste Aida" but from then on found an ardent but small sound, that rarely rose to the heights it should, yet sustained better than his early moments suggested. Much the same could be said of Violetta Urmana who doesn't really have the chops for Aida in this house but tempered her limitations with thoughtful acting and an expressive soprano. With the exception of some shrill, uncomfortable top notes she's an accomplished singer trapped in an auditorium that demands huge voices.

Blythe has just one of those voices: huge, soaring and all the more impressive for its tenderness and drama. Act IV let her bring full scope to the breadth of the role of Amneris, naively powerful but ripped through with sadness. Lado Ataneli also came over strongly as Amonasro, he's no actor but he delivered his material with unwavering strength. James Morris on the other hand proved himself way past singing roles like Ramfis, a weak, quavery sound. Marco Armiliato is a fine conductor who always produces a quality sound from the Met Opera Orchestra but he does appear to be slowing down the repertory one opera at a time: he began the season with a plodding "Bolena", rendered "Ernani" at a snail's pace and failed to find much momentum here.

Sonja Frisell's production is thrilling in its excesses but remarkably it's far more tasteful than many much more austere stagings. Any show that throws five horses on stage and a cast of hundreds is hardly using much restraint but Frisell makes the images count, screwing up the tension by expanding and contracting the acting space (thanks to the Met's ever impressive hydraulics). The designs by Gianni Quaranta are extremely attractive and though they take literalness to the extreme, in a Theme Park manner, they serve the narrative effectively.

The Met's armoury of productions has grown increasing diverse under Peter Gelb (something we should all be thankful for) but it's always fun to wheel out an epic, grandiose production such as this "Aida". The casting at this revival however, was subpar, no disasters but too many weak links, and Armiliato failed to find much excitement in the pit. A grand night out for the eyes but for the ears it was not quite up to scratch.

(Review of Performance on Thursday, February 16th, 2012 at the Metropolitan Opera)

La Traviata (New York City Opera)

The debacle that has been the New York City Opera (NYCO) over the last year is scarcely worth repeating, but for any who don't know, the very fact that this performance of "La Traviata" at the Brooklyn Academy of Music has occurred at all is pretty remarkable. The early rehearsals were cancelled owing to union negotiations and for a while it looked like hardly any tickets were going to be sold. I'd love to say it all came together in the end but it hasn't. Nothing went horribly wrong but the end product: second grade opera at best.

For starters, the imported Jonathan Miller production, revived by Elena Araoz, is complete dreck even by his recent low standards. Purporting nominally to be naturalistic but containing some of the most painfully stagey acting and a single design that evokes none of the required locations. Every scene takes place in front of the same grimy walls (variously rearranged) and the only indicator that Violetta's grand salon is any different from her aging country home is a few different pieces of furniture. You could forgive the cheap sets if the staging worked, but this is a mess too with old fashioned operatic arm gestures the major acting device. Far too often characters say one thing while doing another, often to the point of unintentional hilarity (this was also the first performance of Traviata I've seen that managed to induce giggles in Act III). The best I can say is that some of the dresses are quite pretty...

Musically the afternoon was no washout but only Stephen Powell's Germont rose above adequate. Laquita Mitchell acquitted herself quite nicely as Violetta in Act I, in full control of the lavish coloratura, but as the show wore on her soprano proved a blunt instrument. She sang far too much at a fortissimo and a harshness developed that just wasn't attractive. David Pomeroy's Alfredo was similarly unsubtle, a shouty, overbearing sort of tenor, and his acting was abysmal. I've seen few contemporary performers who look quite so uncomfortable with basic arm movements. Powell's entrance in Act II raised the stakes, a jot of drama finally entering the building and he even pulled Mitchell up with him, but it wasn't nearly enough to save the afternoon.

The orchestra fared decently under Steven White, the tempi were on the brisk side but White did well to bring out the more delicate moments. The biggest challenge though, came from coordinating stage and pit: there was the odd moment of disconnection, the minuscule chorus once or twice picking their own tempi, but more problematic was the sound balance which, very unusually, had the singers overpowering the orchestra.

"La Traviata" can survive an awful lot of mishandling but somehow the NYCO have turned it into a flat, lifeless dirge. The continuing presence of New York's second opera company on the cultural scene is something to be joyful about but they're going to have to do better if they want to justify their existence. This paltry Traviata runs for three more performances and then next week they're serving up the leaden Wainwright "Prima Donna". George Steel and his team are going to have to try much harder.

(Review of Performance on Sunday, February 12th, 2012 at the Brooklyn Academy of Music)