First
and foremost is Storefront Church,
written and directed by John Patrick Shanley; an unpredictable and unexpected rumination on
faith, morality, economics and community, which leads to a confrontation
between a handful of unlikely, disparate characters in the small storefront
church of the title. Funny, provocative and touching, it is, in fact, an early
contender for best play of the season, as far as I’m concerned, and it really deserves
a transfer to Broadway. Certainly the audience reaction would confirm that.
Here’s hoping it may be in the works—replete with as much of its original
cast as possible: Bob Dishy, Giancarlo
Esposito, Zach Grenier, Ron Cephus Jones, Jordan Lage and Tonya Pinkins.
Next
is Tom Gualtieri’s That
Play: A Solo Macbeth. The
versatile actor and co-adapter (with director Heather Hill) has turned the tragedy of the political schemer,
the wife who runs him and the witches and ghosts who haunt him into a fairly sprightly
affair, replete with pauses for wry commentary and a little audience
participation—well, cooperation at any rate. The discursive chattiness
put me in mind, of all things, of Asimov’s Guide to Shakespeare (the
only book anyone ever needs for a quick-dose guide to understanding everything
that comes up in clear, concise, conversational prose). The piece has a limited
performance schedule, but it keeps getting extended and of this writing has a
few weeks left. An even longer life in New York would be nice, but this also
strikes me as a little tour de force that would do well in the UK (presented,
say, by an institutional theatre with numerous playing spaces, including an
amenable small one, like, say, the National; or prominently featured in a
Fringe festival or venue)…and that might also have a life beyond Mr.
Gualtieri’s own performance. Something to consider, anyway. And market
accordingly…?
Lost
in Staten Island, recently
closed at La Mama, is the third
installment of what has so-far been a bi-annual, auto-biographical series
called Tales of Modern Living in which writer-performer Richard Sheinmel
dramatizes signature moments in his life
to be played out by him (as a character re-dubbed Mitch Mitchell) and a small
ensemble of supporting actors, two of whom have appeared in each to play
recurring roles—specifically those of his life partner (Mick
Hilgers) and mother (Wendy
Merritt). This third installment is about
the day he spent with his Mom on Staten Island, arranging for the cremation of
his younger brother Robby (Chris Orbach in flashbacks and a few imagined visitations), who suffered from severe
Asperger’s syndrome and eventually committed suicide.
It’s
easy to see why the series has earned such a following. Sheinmel is an amiable
presence and he has the rare ability to write about his recent life and with
enough “omniscient” objectivity to retain a sense of himself as an
idiosyncratic, flawed character. And he writes about simple—yet not so
simple—human problems. He’s aided and abetted by composer-lyricist Clay
Zambo a musical theatre writer who
provides (mostly but not entirely) commentary songs to highlight particular
themes and turning points; and it’s musical material of an unusually high
literacy and sophistication for a small, upstairs cabaret space in a very
downtown locale. His energy as a songsmith and Shienmel’s as a storyteller are
a good match and a good contrast for each other.
If
there’s any caveat I have it’s that Sheinmel delivers a little too much
minutiae in the cause of “keepin’ it real” and giving us the tiny passing
moments of dropped beats, hiccups of parenthetical realization, objects handed
back and forth etc.—existing for no reason other than passing
identification—and almost all of them could be trimmed away. We’re with
him on the verisimilitude train right from the start—he doesn’t need to
“sell us” any further—and ironically, the little “assurances” of
authenticity pull us out of the narrative, because they pull focus from the
thematic spine.
But
as those are small moments, it’s likewise a small caveat. I can see where this
series could stand a commercial production, at least in a cabaret setting like
the Triad, and, if Sheinmel’s life gives him enough material, I can see it
becoming an annually (or semi-annually?) refreshed institution. Knowing Clay
Zambo as I do, I’m pretty sure his well
won’t run dry in a hurry…
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