Showing posts with label Actors Gang. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Actors Gang. Show all posts

THEATER REVIEW: BREAK THE WHIP

Giselle Jones and Chris Schultz in Break the Whip. Photo by Christopher Ward.

A theatrical people’s history of the United States

By Ed Rampell

Add a quart of Commedia dell’ Arte masks, an epic cup of Brechtian alienation effects, a pint of Vsevolod Meyerhold’s biomechanics, a dash of Indonesian shadow puppetry, a tablespoon of Eugene Ionesco-esque Theatre of the Absurd, an ounce of African Djembe drumming, a soupcon of slide whistles and slapstick plus a gallon of radical politics, sprinkle liberally with Howard Zinn and Yogi Bear, stir vigorously over a high flame until boiling, and what do you get? A spicy recipe for theatrical gumbo and agitprop that only the Actors’ Gang chefs could whip up and serve -- and boy is this avant-garde troupe cooking with its new production, Break The Whip. 

Writer-director Tim Robbins’ new play is a theatrically rendered people’s history of what is now the United States, told from the point of view of the oppressed, of the not-so-wellborn common folk, of the indigenous, enslaved and indentured, instead of from the top down perspective of the hoity-toity, high and mighty. Nowadays there’s lots of anxiety among reactionaries that whites may become outnumbered by nonwhites in America, and Robbins’ sizzling story is set in a period when this was indeed the case: Shortly after the founding of the Jamestown settlement in Virginia, when Europeans were indeed a minority in a “New World” largely populated by indigenous tribal peoples, along with African slaves imported before the Mayflower. This combustible ethnic combination could be called “when worlds collide.” (Set on the East Coast in the early 17th century, Break the Whip doesn’t get into the Latino demographics of the Southwest -- that is another story.)

Break the Whip’s plot is fairly complex, especially as there are so many characters, and difficult to summarize. Suffice it to say that Break the Whip explores the class divisions between the English settlers, racial clashes between the Africans, Europeans and indigenous people, as well as tribalism among the latter. Quino (Chris Schultz) is an indentured servant who may have a same sex relationship with a lad who perishes during a famine sweeping Jamestown. Quino is outraged when the grave dug for the stricken boy is, instead, given to an upper class Englishwoman. In the second act Quino’s interracial romance with an African woman, Lumbine (the superb Giselle Jones), upends the racist colony and despite torture, leads to a desperate act of defiance that crowns the play, moving it along to its inexorable conclusion.

So how successful is the show, with its cast of 23 actors (many in multiple roles) in dramatizing history and making it entertaining instead of pedantic? The various special effects deployed by the Actors' Gang certainly enliven the production, which takes place on a bare stage, minus curtains or even dressing rooms, as cast members dress and undress on the side in the dark. The costumes designed by Christina Wright, from deer to bears, braves to slaves, highborn Englishmen to indentured servants, are eye catching. Creation myths are cleverly, amusingly depicted via wayang kulit (Indonesian shadow puppets projected on a screen, which the Actors' Gang also used to great effect a few years ago in its adaptation of Gulliver’s Travels). Fabrics of cloth denoting rivers are deftly deployed. The appearance of a spectral bear (Pierre Adeli) during Abooksigun’s (Jean-Louis Darville) vision quest is more Yogi Bear than spiritual talisman -- although, to be fair, while the clawed creature is cartoonish, he is indeed smarter than the average bear.

The chase scene in the second act, which is when the action picks up and the story really comes alive (the first act has lots of exposition), is extremely cinematically rendered, and one of the most exciting escape sequences seen onstage since Eliza fled slaver Simon Legree and his baying bloodhounds on the ice floes in productions of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

But the use of masks -- a Commedia Dell’ Arte convention -- by the entire ensemble throughout the production is eyebrow raising. These masks worked perfectly in the Actors' Gang’s 2003 anti-Iraq War gem, Embedded, but then Robbins’ was, in part, depicting public figures, such as Condoleezza Rice and Donald Rumsfeld, whose faces were well known to audiences. However, in
Break the Whip, fictional and obscure characters (by the way, Jamestown’s Pocahontas and John Smith don’t make special appearances here) are portrayed, and the masks deny the thespians much of their innate dramatic power, as spectators can’t see their faces, facial expressions and in many cases, even their eyes. As with the lack of a proscenium arch, Robbins may be using the masks to achieve Bertolt Brecht’s alienation technique in order to create a Lehrstuck (a teaching play) effect, wherein the illusion of theatrical naturalism and reality is shattered so, instead of empathizing with the characters, theatergoers are encouraged to think about them and the story instead. In other words, ticket buyers are prodded to use intellect instead of emotions to process the playwright’s lesson and perspective. If this is the case, one wonders if more is lost or gained in Break the Whip by disguising the actors’ faces and thereby diminishing their expressiveness.

Another point raised by an African-American woman who attended the premiere is that, apparently, few if any Native American actors play Paspahegh and Powatan roles. It seems that palefaces in “redface” and “blackface” (or mask, as the case may be) portray tribal and African characters. If so, is this perhaps perpetuating old stereotypes, with members of the dominant majority culture still controlling how minority ethnic groups are depicted? Los Angeles has a relatively large Native American population, and indigenous actresses such as Irene Bedard and Delanna Studi live within driving distance of the Actors' Gang’s Culver City theatre. If a play seeks to comment on injustices that subject peoples have been subjected to, it seems that those presenting the work should make extra efforts to include members of the maligned group in the cast.

On the other hand, you don’t necessarily have to be a chicken to know an egg. It’s a fair point that Marlon Brando, who wasn’t Italian, won a well-deserved Oscar for playing Don Corleone in 1972. At the time, some criticized The Godfather for caricaturing people of Italian ancestry as mobsters, yet Brando sent an indigenous woman, Sacheen Littlefeather, to decline his Academy Award due to Hollywood’s racist portrayal of Native Americans. So the issue of ethnic representation and misrepresentation remains extremely complicated and problematic.
An Academy Award-winning actor, Robbins has a cinematic sensibility, as well as a theatrical aesthetic, which he overall skillfully combines in
Break the Whip. Above all, in this parable about colonial America, Robbins’ well known progressive politics win the day, with a rare depiction of a maroon community of escaped slaves and Natives, plus indentured whites, as the prototype of a “better future” for all Americans. But this elusive “Beloved Community” of equal rights for all is yet to be.

Break The Whip runs through Nov. 13 at the Actors’ Gang at the Ivy Substation theatre, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City, CA 90232. For more info: 310/838-GANG;
www.theactorsgang.com





     
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THEATER REVIEW: OUR TOWN













The Actors’ Gang is just Wilder about Thornton



By Ed Rampell



When I think of the Actors’ Gang, I conjure up visions of Clifford Odets storming the theatrical barricades with agitprop, such as the Gang’s productions of the antiwar dramas, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine and Bury the Dead. So my curiosity was piqued by my favorite theater company’s decision to present Thornton Wilder’s 1938 Our Town, for which the playwright deservedly won the Pulitzer Prize (Wilder also won a 1928 Pulitzer for his novel, The Bridge of San Luis Rey). How would this quiet (except, perhaps, for Brian Kimmet’s drolly played not-so-simple Simon Stimson, the high strung church organist and village drunkard) play fit in with the rallying cry canon of the Gang? I was curious to see Wilder get the Gang treatment.



As opposed to the rootin’ tootin’ rousing call of arms in Gang productions such as the Iraq War farce Embedded by artistic director Tim Robbins, Our Town is a philosophical look at small town Americana, and at the big questions of love, life and death. Over the course of three acts the action takes place in Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, following a series of hayseed New Englanders from 1901 to 1913.



This latter date is key to understanding both Wilder’s original intent, as well as why the usually actor provocateur Gang chose to stage this period piece many regard as “quaint.” In 1913 both the Federal Reserve and income tax were introduced, and the planet was perched on the precipice of World War I. Wilder’s drama subtly shows America’s transition from a rural to an industrialized and increasingly globalized nation, as automobiles replaced horses in what was rapidly becoming more and more of a consumer society. This is the nub of why the Gang finds Our Town to be relevant now – it’s their contention that today, as we confront capitalism’s collapse that we, too, stand on the brink.



The Stage Manager (expertly, adroitly drawn by Gang stalwart Steven M. Porter) who breaks the fourth wall by directly talking to the audience while narrating Our Town says: “They’re waitin’ for something that they feel is comin’.” The Gang asserts that we are, too. The play’s relevancy also lies in its daring to ask those big eternal, existential questions underlying our lives: “What’s it all about? What does it mean?” Still relevant to ask, long after that medieval morality play, Everyman, asked (and unlike Wilder) answered those questions centuries ago.



The multiple character cast includes Andrew E. Wheeler (another Gang veteran who recently rocked the rafters as one of the prophetic Berrigan Brothers in Catonsville) as Mr. Webb, editor of the Grover's Corners Sentinel. In Embedded and offstage, Robbins has been extremely (and justifiably) critical of what passes for a media whose nose for news has been notoriously stuffed, when it comes to coverage (or lack of) of current events such as the Iraq War. So it is particularly interesting to see his theater company’s depiction of a turn-of-the-century journalist, who is sort of the town intellectual, while today’s pundits are often the village idiots who would probably perform character assassination on contemporary Wilders, just as they tried to do to Robbins and his partner, actor Susan Sarandon, for having the temerity of exercising their constitutional rights, and even worse, as things turned out, being factually correct in their dissent. (Say, where are those WMDs, anyway? Has Bush searched Grover’s Corners yet?)



Deftly directed by Justin Zsebe, the expert ensemble cast includes Chris Schultz as George Gibbs, who literally romances the girl next door, a winsome, wistful Vanessa Mizzone as Emily Webb. The play follows them from childhood to becoming sweethearts to, literally, the great beyond. While the second act may initially seem slight, in fact, when seen in the context and totality of the entire drama, it deeply adds to Our Town’s overall impact.



The spectral third act is visually realized by the scenic, lighting and costume designers -- Will Pellegrini, Jacqueline Reid and Suzanne Scott -- and is an optical tour-de-force that fully realizes Wilder’s vision. Our Town insists that everyday life is full of miracles, and that we should value each and every moment, and it is in this transcendental sense that I cherish the experience of seeing the Gang’s thought-and emotion-provoking production of this classic.





Our Town plays through June 6 at the Ivy Substation, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City. For more info: (310)838-GANG; http://www.theactorsgang.com/.



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THEATER REVIEW: THE TRIAL OF THE CATONSVILLE NINE


The Actors’ Gang presents the gripping anti-Vietnam War drama

By Ed Rampell

The mood was set opening night when octogenarian author/activist Gore Vidal rolled up in his wheelchair to Tim Robbins at the Actors’ Gang’s theatre lobby, extending his hand to the troupe’s Artistic Director, intoning the word: “Solidarity.” Inside, in front of the stage, flanked by Robbins and Managing Director Elizabeth Doran, Vidal and another wheelchair warrior, Vietnam veteran Ron Kovic, spoke out against today’s wars before the curtain rose for the evening’s play.

The Trial of the Catonsville Nine is a dramatization of one of the most celebrated acts of resistance against the Vietnam War, which Vidal had been a vocal opponent of. Six years ago this February, at a Sunset Blvd. rally Vidal also spoke out against the then-impending invasion of Iraq as part of the largest mass demonstrations in human history. Robbins, too, publicly opposed attacking Baghdad, and so, in a sense we have gone full circle from Indochina to Iraq -- although the imperial swan song unfortunately remains the same.

While French students and workers revolted in that merry month of May 1968, two priests, Daniel (Andrew E. Wheeler) and Philip Berrigan (Scott Harris), and seven other Catholic activists forced their way into Local Board 33’s selective service office in Catonsville, Maryland, seized 378 draft files and proceeded to burn the records.

The play opens with a pantomiming of this defiant action, while the rest of the production is largely Daniel's free verse dramatization of the court case against the zealous defendants, who came to be called the Catonsville Nine and to help rally the growing movement against the Vietnam War, lending the cause a spiritual dimension.

Like Philip, Daniel has been an apostle of nonviolent civil disobedience, a righteous leader fighting the good fight in the prophetic, liberation theology tradition of the “worker priest” movement. Although it is true that Daniel is indeed a poet and writer, he is first and foremost an agitator for social justice and peace -- indeed, he’s believed to be the “radical priest” Paul Simon refers to in "Me and Julio Down By the School Yard." So Daniel’s 1971 adaptation of the verbally rich trial transcripts are primarily by an activist interested in persuading audiences with a work of agitprop intended to inform and inspire action, not to entertain. Daniel is a prophet first, priest second and playwright third.
A trained bard with a deep dramaturgical background might have been able to take the court’s transcripts and turn the words into theatrical action to be performed on the boards. This was far easier with that other celebrated sixties’ court case, the Chicago 7/8, which was filled with many moments of low comedy, thanks largely to the Yippie antics of Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, and moments of high drama provided in particular by Bobby Seale, whose demands to represent himself led, unbelievably, to the Black Panther being bound and gagged by the judge. But the Catonsville Nine’s courtroom proceedings had neither the vaudevillian panache or Shakespearian tragedy of their Chicago brethren’s trial. Whereas Daniel’s closing words after the verdict is pronounced are: “This is the greatest day of our lives,” Rubin, with his usual pop cultural flair, likened being one of the Chicago 7/8 defendants to “winning the Academy Award” of activism.

A key commandment of writing for stage and screen is: “Don’t tell me; show me.” The playwright needs to bring the words alive with passion and action. Daniel, however, is more interested in delivering a sermon of the stage that will move the audience to take action against evil, and his rewriting of the trial transcripts results in a play that seems at times to be talky.

But having said that, what wonderful words they are, spoken with great passion and conviction, clarion calls Americans so desperately need to hear today -- and one may add, words expertly delivered by the Actors’ Gang. The dialogue, at times, is poetic, tackling the great moral questions of existence that are the basis of all great art. The ethereal Daniel asks: “What would it mean to be a Catholic” in 1968 America. At times, it’s as if the words tumble off of angels’ tongues or Gabriel is sounding his horn. Philip tells the court the Nine took action “to bear witness, first by blood, then by fire.”

Much to the chagrin of the beleaguered judge (Adele Robbins) the various defendants try to explain how different facets of Washington’s foreign and domestic policy – the CIA overthrow of Guatemala’s reformist Arbenz government (which led Che Guevara to join Castro’s guerrillas), the apartheid-like treatment of blacks at home, you name it – drove them to their civil disobedience. But nothing is more moving than the description of napalm, the burning jelly that indiscriminately burnt women and children, as well as Viet Cong. Stepping into the lion’s den, Daniel declares that the defendants acted “to save the innocent from death by fire.” Another member of the Nine declares: “I wanted to let people live.” One of the two female defendants explains: “I want to celebrate life, not death.”

The Catonsville Nine were true Christians, not the phony kind that had backed George W. Bush and his bloodthirsty wars. (A difference between Vietnam and Iraq is that President Lyndon Johnson claimed he was fighting communists. Bush’s main rationale for attacking Iraq was those fictional Weapons of Mass Destruction that never materialized. Whether one agreed with LBJ or not, at least it was true that there were indeed communists in Indochina.) If you want to see real Christians, look no farther than the Berrigan brothers and their acolytes, not those phony baloney backers of Sarah Palin and John McCain, who has made a career out of being a war criminal, attacking a country that never posed a military threat to our borders.

Sibyl Wickersheimer’s set design literally sets the stage for this play: a huge flag hangs from the ceiling, with a parachute behind it. (Wait till you see what these “un-Americans” do with Old Glory!) The sparse set’s seats, etc., are sometimes suggestive of a courtroom, at other time of the pews of a church, which is what one suspects the Berrigans hoped to turn the courthouse into, as they bore witness against the war machine and its lackey, the judicial system.

The skilled, tireless actors perform admirably in multiple roles, alternating between playing defendants, witnesses, attorneys, prosecutors, et al, as the ensemble troupe rousingly brings alive a history that is, alas, still very much with us. For this reason, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine remains very topical and a must see, as the war in Iraq drags on and the Obama administration plans its Afghan surge, while beefing up military spending.

In its agony, ecstasy and glory, The Trial of the Catonsville Nine dares to remind us that at the core of the Judeo-Christian ethic is the edict that, from Hanoi to Baghdad to Kabul to Gaza, “thou shall not kill.”

The Trial of the Catonsville Nine plays at the Ivy Substation, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8:00 p.m. and Sundays at 2:00 p.m. through March 21. For more info call 310/838-GANG or log onto www.theactorsgang.com.







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THEATER REVIEW: AHH! SCROOGE MUST DIE

A class struggle Christmas carol

By Ed Rampell

Going back to 1908, there have been at least 25 movies plus innumerable stage versions of A Christmas Carol, starring a diverse bunch of actors portraying the curmudgeonly Ebenezer Scrooge, including John Carradine, George C. Scott, Bill Murray, Cicely Tyson -- even an animated Mr. Magoo production featuring Jim Backus’ voice.

In October, cinema spoofer David Zucker’s (
Airplane, Naked Gun) An American Carol used the tried and true ghosts of things past routine in his rather unfunny attempt to mock documentarian Michael Moore. (As Tim Robbins told me about Hollywood conservatives: “They have no talent.”)

In any case, there’s never been a
Christmas Carol interpretation quite like the Actors’ Gang’s Aah! Scrooge Must Die, written and directed by Angelina Berliner.

With sincere apologies to Charles Dickens, the Actors’ Gang’s adaptation of his
A Christmas Carol is most definitely not for the kiddies. The scene is set as audience members entering the theater lobby are greeted by a drunken, foulmouthed Santa (Gang vet Steven Porter, who also plays Gaffer Scrooge) and bawdy elf. Onstage this adult version opens with Scrooge’s (Scott Harris) pants down, and in terms of decorum, it is – so to speak – downhill from there. The play goes on to feature orgies (although, alas, fully clothed), numerous homosexual references, incest, prostitution, atheism, murder and more mayhem, as Dickens meets Sweeney Todd and Bertolt Brecht’s and Kurt Weill’s Mack the Knife from The Threepenny Opera (another tales of Dickensian London).

Given the leftist tilt and windmill tilting of the Gang and Robbins (the troupe’s Artistic Director), the conflict between the stingy Scrooge – the quintessential capitalist pig -- and his oppressed underlings, Marley (Justin Zsebe) and Bob Cratchit (Chris Schultz), becomes a class struggle Christmas carol in Berliner’s reinterpretation. But in the end, the proletarian theater gives way to the Christian medieval mystery play genre, resolving the comedy-drama with the same old nostalgic pangs of conscience of Dickens’ morality tale (published five years before Karl Marx and Frederick Engels’ 1848
The Communist Manifesto). As one character notes: “He’s got one of those things that pumps blood.” “You mean a heart?” drolly asks another one of the dramatis personae. After all, with its theme of redemption, Ahh! Scrooge Must Die celebrates Christmas not May Day.
In any case, Berliner wittily takes aim at contemporary humbugs, and was quoted as saying: “Some of the people we see in our political and pop culture are just mean and take so much pleasure in it. People like Bill O’Reilly or Rush Limbaugh can be nasty, selfish and misanthropic. They’re the real Scrooges of today.” True to form, Harris plays Scrooge as if he is indeed a madman.

Scenic and Lighting Designer Francois-Pierre Couture’s moody, hazy lighting enhances the show and theme. The main problem with
Aah! Scrooge Must Die is that the Gang’s Ivy Substation, with its 99-seater Culver City venue, is too small a space for such a raw, raucous, rollicking production and its ensemble of 16 lusty, zesty thespians walking the overcrowded boards. This play is too loud for such a confined area, which adds to its over-the-top quality.

In this day and age of “Prop Hate” and mass protests against Proposition 8, gays may object to the homosexuality that seems to smack of “boogery” and “perversion.” Atheists may be displeased at being lumped in the same category as Scrooge (before he sees the light) in this production that has something in it to offend almost the entire audience. Or, as Tiny Tim (the handicapped lad is actually winsomely played by a female, Elora Dannon) puts it: “God bless us, everyone.”

As for me, with Barack Obama’s hawkish cabinet picks and his promised surge of Yankee troops at Afghanistan, I’m looking forward to the Actors’ Gang’s next presentation: the antiwar classic
The Trial of the Catonsville 9, which opens with a Gala Benefit Performance Feb. 6.

Aah! Scrooge Must Die i
s playing through Jan. 10 at 8:00 p.m. on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays; and at 10:30 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays at The Ivy Substation, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City, 90232. (Note: The theatre is dark Dec. 21-Jan. 2.) For more information: 310/838-GANG; www.theactorsgang.com. The Actors' Gang at The Ivy Substation 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City, CA 90232
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