By the time the pair leave the Belvoir stage, both it and they are swimming in blood. Some will undoubtedly find those opening minutes confronting. But to be honest, my problems with this new show — co-produced with performance collective Post — begin once the gore is cleaned up.
Very, very slowly, to opera. Which provides nice punctuation and contrast, but is rather overdone given the general heft of the play. I can tell you about my great-auntie Marie, who was so keen to be prepared she put the toothpaste on the family toothbrushes the night before. I can tell you about my grandma Babs, who read Lady Chatterley's Lover but didn't realise which was the rude word. I can also tell you about my late mother, an Old Paulina who read history at LSE, recited Keats and Shelley to herself to soothe her soul when she was dying, who was accomplished at calligraphy, the nurturing of herbaceous borders, and petit point, and who fried gefilte fish in the garden in an electric pan attached to the lawnmower extension lead to keep the smell out of the curtains.
I can tell you about my cousin Beverley; our mothers were two first cousins who married two first cousins, so both our grandmas were always at all the weddings at which we were bridesmaids. She fed her children tubs of imaginary food to keep them happy on outings to watch the kosher cows being milked in Barnet. Do I think Jewish mothers are "more" than other mothers? Are we extra-double maternal with a diced carrot on the top, epic breastfeeders, exuders of bumper turbo-charged emotions other mothers cannot match?
Do I think we have the monopoly on love, manipulation, guilt, blackmail or suffering? Of course I don't. Just like everyone else, we're happy to embrace the stereotype when it flatters and keen to reject it when it doesn't. When my baby, my Saskia, the light and joy of my life, decided to spend her whole gap year in the land flowing with milk and honey, I went to Stansted airport to see her off. As she schlepped her rucksack through the departure gate, I couldn't help myself.
Something primeval arose within me. At the top of my voice I shrieked: "Saskia. Know this. The music is difficult, often non-lyrical and best executed with significant choral and musical backup. In fact, given the six standing mikes on a stage and the obviously limited human and financial resources, the Company would have done better to present this in concert style, which is how the production often seemed anyway. With the audience on three sides, the staging consisted mostly of main characters circling each other or circling the room.
It was enough to induce dizzy spells. The ensemble, composed mostly of non-dancers in spectacularly low-budget costumes pastel-colored t-shirts, anyone? It did seem, on many occasions, that despite their perfectly adequate voices, they were straining in the rangey songs the musical specializes in. As staged in London, the show was an elaborate, high-tech spectacle, which, though it ran for three years, never recouped its investment.
The titillating behind-the-scenes-story concerns the two leads, Patrick J. The couple just got engaged, and this is their first time playing opposite each other. Their onstage chemistry was lovely and those kisses looked deep and real. Christopher Miller is winning as the temperamental Freddie Trumper and Skyler Dennon is aptly slimy and amusing as the American ad-man. Brian P. Evans and Chrissy Burns bring dignity and credible accents to their roles as the Russian seconds — he as player-coach, she as betrayed wife.
There are some effective and melodious moments in this production, but the new Stage Company space proved less than welcoming. I wish artistic director Tim Heitman and his wife Paula Pierson-Heitman more felicitous flexibility in the future. Guare has a lot on his mind, from fame to religion to terrorist acts. What types of people are we looking at on our stages?
What types of ethnicities are we looking at in our major productions? Because nearly all the plays are written by straight white men, a lot of the power structures follow those kind of people. Arts All.
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