When Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the originator of "magical realism," died a few days ago, he unfortunately left no Cliff Notes that would render the quintessential Latin American literary genre clear to me. I have always thought of magical realism as a mash-up of realism and fantasy—to the detriment of one to the other. It certainly requires that the audience suspend their disbelief, big time.
As described in the advertising copy and the program, Luna Stage's final production of the season, José Rivera's Marisol, had me scratching my head in confusion as to what was real and what, fantasy, but upon reflection, I realize that the play has quite a bit to say about the world we live in today.
Set in early 1990s New York City, Marisol recounts the story of a young Latina—a graduate of Fordham University (Phi Beta Kappa) who has a job in science publishing and is, as she puts it, "middle class"—forced to navigate a world left in disarray when her guardian angel leaves her to fight a battle of biblical proportion. Along the way, she encounters drug addicts, mentally disturbed homeless persons, Nazi skinheads and babies born addicted to drugs who have died soon after birth. In this post-apocalyptic landscape, coffee and apples are extinct, the financial world is in crisis, milk tastes salty, buildings have vaporized, north has become south, a foot is 14 inches long—nothing is as it once seemed. To further complicate matters, Marisol Perez has been named as a murder victim in the newspapers, bludgeoned to death with a golf club on a Bronx street. Is the woman we see onstage a ghost, or is she a real person, albeit one who is in the throes of a nightmare? Rivera does not answer that question; the mixing of the real and the unreal are the basis for magical realism, so we are forced to look for deeper meanings to this puzzle.
However fantastical the plot—and the landscape (which resembles that of those end of the world films so beloved of 18-35 year old males—the acting onstage at the little black box theater is very real. Cynthia Fernandez shines as Marisol, convincingly conveying the character's confusion and fear. Onstage for every minute and speaking reams of dialogue, Fernandez never loses her character's focal point: She is a true innocent adrift and aghast at what she finds in this future world. Emma O'Donnell as her friend June and Debbie Bernstein as a Woman with Furs depict the burned-out souls of people suffering from the ills of this upside-down universe; Bernstein is especially poignant as a woman hit by the credit crisis. Her wild-eyed look is absolutely riveting and scary.
Christopher Kelly does a splendid job in multiple roles: zany as the guy wielding a golf club and spouting nonsense in the subway (who hasn't seen one of them in the New York underground?); screaming as the Ice Cream man who hasn't gotten paid for a job he performed in a film with Robert DeNiro; wild as the mental wreck Lenny, June's brother; and touching as Scar Tissue, the man badly burned and still looking for the skin he lost. Although these characters all appear to be variations on the same theme, Kelly delineates each one as a separate entity. Nehassaiu deGannes has a small role as Marisol's Guardian Angel, complete with wings, but this heavenly being appears to have lost her way, too, as she seeks to dethrone a God she thinks has gone senile and replace Him with another more competent to deal with Earth's ills.
Production values are as solid as the acting. Niegel Smith's steady direction keeps the action moving from one end of the theater to another; the stage runs between two banks of seats, encompassing various venues where action takes place. Arnulfo Maldonado's post-apocalyptic set design, Jorge Arroyo's atmospheric lighting, Erik T. Lawson's otherworldly sound and Deborah Caney's costumes transport us through time and space to a magical place while remaining rooted in reality.
In 1993, Marisol conjured up a world that has, in many ways, come to pass. Homelessness is still a problem, especially for returning veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan and those affected by the recession of 2008. We read stories in our news papers about homeless people attacked and beaten by gangs of marauding youths. Our food is being affected if not by salt, then by pesticides and antibiotics. Crime may be down in New York City, but post-911, we live in fear of terrorism and mass shootings.
Marisol shows us the consequences of unheeded warnings and, as Artistic Director Cheryl Katz writes in her program notes, "[We] find ourselves at a point where things that might once have been thought unthinkable now reign as the norm . . . the future conjured up in Marisol has come to pass." A sobering reality, and if it takes some magic to drive home the point, so be it. Marisol may confuse you a bit, but it will make you think—perhaps enough to act.
Marisol will be performed through May 11 at Luna Stage, 555 Valley Road, West Orange. There will be a talkback after the April 24th performance. For information and tickets, call the box office at 973.395.5551 or visit online at www.lunastage.org.
REVIEW: AN ENCHANTED EVENING IN “SOUTH PACIFIC” @ THE PAPER MILL PLAYHOUSE
Opening night of South Pacific at the Paper Mill Playhouse was truly "some enchanted evening" as Richard Rodgers' lush melodies and Oscar Hammerstein's clever and affecting lyrics, sung by attractive and talented actors, enveloped the playhouse's cavernous auditorium, transporting the audience to the South Pacific Ocean where Americans battled the Japanese in the 1940's.
Using James Michener's Tales of the South Pacific, Rodgers and Hammerstein cobbled together several of the books sketches to create a tale of love and loss. Somewhere on one of the distant Solomon Islands, a group of Seabees wait for the war to come their way. At the officer's club, Ensign Nellie Forbush, a nurse, has caught the eye of suave French planter Emile de Becque. As their romance blossoms, it is paralleled by that of Lt. Joseph Cable, sent to the island to find a way to spy on the Japanese and attack them when they least expect it, and the beautiful Tonkingese maiden, Liat. These couplings are unorthodox for the time: they both involve mixing the races and cause Nellie and Cable much anguish. But all is not gloomy and sad; the frisky Seabees hilariously pine for "dames," stage a Thanksgiving extravaganza and, one of them at least, the wily Luther Billis, tries to find way to get to the mysterious island of Bali H'ai to witness exotic rituals involving boars' teeth and find the virginal maidens the natives have hidden away from the horny Yanks.
Director Rob Ruggiero, choreographer Ralph Perkins and music director Brad Haak give us a production worthy of Broadway. The cast they have assembled is talented, energetic, attractive and have no trouble carrying both the music and the dance steps. Erin Mackey is a lovely Nellie, not so far removed from Little Rock, Arkansas, that she's lost her Southern twang. Her clear soprano soars as she reveals she's a cockeyed optimist who's in love with a wonderful guy whom she later wants to wash right outta her hair! As Emile de Becque, Mike McGowan conveys the man's gravity while letting us see how besotted he is with Nellie. He is very handsome, and his baritone bowls us over as he sings of that enchanted evening when he first spied Nellie. As Nellie slips through his fingers, he sings "This Nearly Was Mine" so poignantly that it brings a tear to the eye.
Doug Carpenter, as Lt. Joseph Cable, conveys the yearning of a young man far from home who falls in love with a native girl, winsomely played by Jessica Wu. She may not have any dialogue, but her body English tells us all she'd want to say. Carpenter's tenor is especially suited to the song that Oscar Hammerstein wrote that sums up the play in a nutshell (and caused quite a stir when it was sung at the premiere), "You've Got to Be Taught." Tally Sessions' Luther Billis is a real operator, but one who can sing and dance, kicking up his heels as he leads the Seabees in their lament "There is Nothin' Like a Dame" or as Honeybun at the camp variety show. And Loretta Ables Sayre brings down the house as the conniving and profane Bloody Mary; her rendition of "Bali H'ai" will not be forgotten.
These stellar actors are aided and abetted by a handsome group of Seabees and a bevy of lovely nurses who add to the hijinks. Youngsters Gabby Gutierrrez as Ngana and Bonale Fambrini as Jerome, Emile's children, are darling; no wonder Nellie falls in love with them!
The set designed by Michael Yeargan evokes the God-forsaken island, complete with the blue South Pacific, palm trees and an elegant planter's villa. John Lasiter's lighting, Randy Hansen's sound and Catherine Zuber's costumes (with the assistance of Leon Dobkowski and Leah J. Loukas) complete the effect.
This sublime example of American Musical Theater reminds us of how much we have missed with the passing of two musical geniuses. A big thank you goes to the Paper Mill Playhouse for reviving South Pacific just in time for its 65th anniversary. When it opened in 1949, starring Broadway's darling Mary Martin and opera great Ezio Pinza, its themes were edgy and the war had been over for just a half decade. That it has stood the test of time is testament to its brilliance and, yes, to the fact that racial prejudice is still with us. And, it is a prime example of the heights to which the Paper Mill Playhouse will go to entertain us.
Note: You can take children ages 10 and up to see this show. The little boy behind me sat quietly through the entire play, but burst into tears learning of Cable's demise! And I heard other patrons burbling about how this could be just the show to introduce kids to the theater. There are no special effects, cartoon figures brought to life or jukebox melodies; what there is onstage is what the American theater does best: musical theater in all its glory.
South Pacific will be performed at the Paper Mill Playhouse, 22 Brookside Drive, Millburn, through May 4th. For information and tickets, call the box office at 973.376.4343 or visit online at www.papermill.org.
REVIEW: “TROUBLE IN MIND” SOARS @ TWO RIVER THEATER COMPANY IN RED BANK
Wiletta Mayer may not have trouble in mind when she arrives to rehearse her leading role in what everyone hopes will be Broadway's next big hit, but by the end of Trouble in Mind, now onstage at Two River Theater Company, she's done just that—in spades!
Penned in 1955 by Alice Childress, the first African American professional playwright to have a play produced in New York City, Trouble in Mind uses a standard play-within-a-play structure to explore the way people talk—or don't talk—about race, while creating a hilarious backstage drama about clashing egos, how artists work, who we are and who we want to be.
Set in the mid-1950's, the plot revolves around a supposedly ground-breaking production of a drama entitled Chaos in Belleville; it's ground-breaking because it is the first to feature African American actors in prominent roles, and it addresses the serious subject of lynching. Indeed, the liberal director, Al Manners, thinks the play will arouse sympathy for the Negroes' plight and thus help the cause of integration.
Maybe it will, but the goings-on in the rehearsal studio show anything but sympathy for, in this case, the black actors' experiences. For one thing, the script is riddled with stereotypical characters, whereby the black characters must affect the dialogue and servile demeanor of "darkies"—quite insulting to these talented actors! Directing his first Broadway play (he's only made movies in Hollywood), Al Manners is a big fan of Method acting and is given to using unorthodox methods to elicit a "real" performance from his actors; Wiletta bristles when he rudely accuses her of "acting" and asks her not to "think" about her role or the play. As the rehearsal progresses, the black actors wrestle—to varying degrees—with their roles as written, but when Wiletta, finally fed up with what she has been asked to do in this well-meaning but dreadful play, decides to speak up, all hell breaks loose. Will her fellow actors support her, at the risk of their much-needed jobs? Can a frank conversation about race exist? Will such a dialogue bring about change?
Brenda Pressley is magnificent as Wiletta, a talented actress thrilled by her first Broadway starring role. In the opening scene, she counsels a young black actor to kiss up to the white folks by laughing at their jokes and agreeing with their pronouncements, behavior that has the young man labeling her an Uncle Tom. Pressley brings a naturalness to Wiletta's evolution from one who "goes along to get along" to finally working up the nerve to question what she is being asked to do and say—setting off an emotional and explosive argument about power, fear and equality. She is a real joy to watch.
Her terrific performance is matched by Steven Skybell as the clueless, self-absorbed, self-important, Al Manners, a man whose problems with his ex-wife and son (who needs orthodontia and psychiatric therapy)—not to mention his need to raise money to mount the play—often take precedence over those of his actors. Skybell rants, raves and blusters until he finally loses it in the penultimate scene, revealing a dirty little secret about the reality of the race relations that exist under the veneer of civility—onstage and off.
Amirah Vann brings sassy verve to the role of Millie Davis, an actress often cast in marginal parts; her riff on the names given to black female characters is a stitch! McKinley Belcher III's young John Nevins is appropriately starry-eyed, and Hayley Treider as the young white ingénue Judy Sears, supportive of integration, is as annoying as anyone "protesting too much" would be. If she mentions her "mommy and daddy" in Bridgeport one more time, you'll want to slam her. As Bill O'Wray, the only other white actor in the cast, Brian Russell displays a cringe-worthy tone-deafness in the way he talks to his fellow cast mates, and listening to him recite his speech by the segregationist candidate Mr. Reynaud is hilariously scary. Jonathan David Martin's stage manager Eddie Fenton is deliciously inept, every director's nightmare.
Robert Hogan has a small role as Henry, the septuagenarian doorman, but he makes quite the most of it. His rousing speech about Irish Home Rule is both entertaining and inspiring. And he is the only character who offers the frustrated Wiletta comfort and support without condescension; he's there for her and she, I think, is positively affected by his treatment of her.
Rounding out this stellar cast is Roger Robinson (left) as the older black actor Sheldon Forrester who refuses to upend the proverbial apple cart; he needs this job so he can pay rent and attend to his physical needs, so he'll do whatever he's asked, even whittling wood. However, his eye-witness account of a lynching stops the action cold. Not a sound could be heard onstage or in the audience. His riveting delivery, sans histrionics, sent the theater temperature plummeting as a collective shiver ran through the opening night crowd.
Jade King Carroll has directed with a steady hand and a good dose of spirit, so that this character-driven play never sinks into caricature, the dialogue remains convincing and clever, and the curve balls are never signaled beforehand. Alexis Distler has created a more than credible backstage, strewn with detritus of earlier shows, its messiness a metaphor for the messiness of the time's race relations. Nicole Pearce's lighting is unobtrusive; just witness the increase in light onstage as the stage door ostensibly opens! And Karen Perry's costumes, appropriate to the era, telegraph a great deal about these characters, from John Nevins' snappy double-breasted blazer and tie to Millie's beautiful suit that shows off her economic status (her successful husband wants her to stay home instead of work).
That Two River Theater Company has decided to produce this mostly forgotten play is especially prescient, given the 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the speech President Obama gave last week lauding President Lyndon Johnson's efforts to get it passed, efforts that, as he said, made it possible for him to assume the highest office in the land. Wiletta Mayer (and Alice Childress, I think) would have been proud to hear it, but that these conversations continue more than a half century later reminds us all that we still have work to do.
Trouble in Mind will be performed at the Rechnitz Theater, 21 Bridge Avenue, Red Bank, through April 27. For information and tickets, call the box office at 732345.1400 or visit online at www.tworivertheater.org.
