An Intimate "Evita"

"Evita" -- MTC Mainstage -- Thru Nov 1

Katerina Papacostas. All photos by Joe Landry

When you think of “Evita,” the Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber musical that opened on Broadway in 1979, you think of, among other things, big production numbers: crowds of mourners, a room full of generals, a nightclub filled with dancers. If the 1996 movie comes to mind, then “spectacle” is probably operative. However, an adjective that probably doesn’t come to mind is “intimate,” so when MTC Mainstage announced that it would open its 2015-2016 season with a production of the iconic musical, some might have scratched their heads a bit. Even with the enlarged space of MTC’s new digs, “spectacle” is not something that is possible. As he did with MTC’s marvelous production of “Cabaret” several seasons ago (in an even smaller venue), director Kevin Connors has managed to downsize the musical while still making it vital and often compelling.

Anyone familiar with musical theater doesn’t need to be told what “Evita” is about. Suffice it to say, for those who have been stranded on a desert island for the last 40 years or so, the musical chronicles the rise of Eva Duarte, who became Eva Peron, the first lady of Argentina, a woman who slept her way to the top only to die at the age of 33 of cancer.

The musical opens with the announcement of her passing, causing a wave of hysterical mourning that the narrator, Che (Daniel C. Levine) views with a marked degree of cynicism. This is immediately followed by a flashback to 1934, when a 15-year-old Evita (Katerina Papacostas) essentially seduces Magaldi (Christopher DeRosa), a second-class tango singer, and forces him to take her to Buenos Aeries so she can get a bite of the “Big Apple.”

Daniel C. Levine

Jumping from bed to bed as she first becomes a model, then a star on the radio and finally a film actress, she finally hooks up with Colonel Juan Peron (Donald E. Birely) at a benefit concert in 1944. They immediately connect – he brings her home and Evita promptly ousts Peron’s mistress (Carissa Massaro) to begin her final rise to ultimate fame, power and purloined fortune.

Whether on a large or small stage, the fortunes of “Evita” rise or fall with the two actors playing the main roles of Che and Evita, and Connors is fortunate in his casting, for Levine and Papacostas both do splendid jobs.

Donald E. Birely and Katerina Papacostas

The muscular Levine evinces the necessary degrees of cynicism and suppressed devotion that make the Che character so intriguing. His “Oh What a Circus” number at the start of the show let’s the audience know that it can sit back and relax, professionals are in charge, and this is confirmed as DeRosa does his “On This Night…” number, milking the “lounge lizard” effect for all it’s worth.

Christopher DeRosa

But what about Evita, who must travel from a 15-year-old on the make to become the regal “queen” of Argentina? Papacostas is more than up to the task. As the 15-year-old Eva Duarte she is feisty and sexually aggressive; as the budding starlet she is cynically seductive; as the first lady of Argentina she is cold and regal, until her body fails her and she pleads with Peron that “You Must Love Me.” And, yes, she nails the “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” number that opens the second act.

With Levine and Papacostas turning in fine performances, they more than carry the show, and the sexual tension between their two characters is ably captured in the “Waltz for Eva and Che” number. There’s limited room for the several dance numbers nicely choreographed by Becky Timms, and some line-of-sight limitations prevail, but the numbers are essentially effective, especially in the “Money Kept Rolling In” number, in which Levine comes close to stealing the show.

The only glaring problem with this production is with the lighting scheme created by Joshua Scherr. Often, major characters are in shadow and key scenes are under-lit or mis-lit. In fact, during many numbers actors seem to disappear into dark holes. One can only wonder what marks they are searching for to get themselves back into the rather haphazard lighting plot so they can be seen.

Lighting aside, this is a vigorous, well-acted and nicely staged production of what has become a classic of musical theater. Connors utilizes every inch of available stage space to tell the story, and is especially effective in his blocking of the difficult “Rainbow Tour” number, where Evita must travel from Spain to Italy to England. Yes, this is a down-sized “Evita,” but that doesn’t mean that the show’s inherent power is lost. In fact, Evita’s rise and fall seems all the more compelling and Che’s anger, frustration and desire all the more visceral when you are sitting mere feet away.

“Evita” runs through Nov. 1. For further information or ticket reservations call the box office at: 203.454.3883 or visit: www.musictheatreofct.com.

"Third" is First-Rate

"Third" -- TheaterWorks -- Thru Nov. 8

TheaterWorks has chosen to open its 30^th season with a production of Wendy Wasserstein’s final play, Third, and it is a wise choice. As a matter of fact, theatrical wisdom is abundant in this production, from the acting to the directing, staging and lighting design. It’s smart, engaging theater and bodes well for the continued success of the venue.

Directed by Rob Ruggiero, TheaterWorks artistic director, Third is set in the hermetic environment of an elite New England liberal arts college, an institution that Professor Laurie Jameson (Kate Levy) has, over her two-plus decades of tenure, helped to transform from hide-bound and paternalistic to liberal and multi-culturally sensitive. Into this environment, and into Jameson’s class, comes Woodson Bull, III (Conor Hamill), the “Third” of the title. He is a graduate of Groton, but he is an athlete, a wrestler, and when he turns in a paper on King Lear that seems too good (read “too intelligent for a jock”) to be true, Jameson accuses him of plagiarism. The charge leads to the student’s academic suspension until he is found not guilty of the charges.

Kate Levy and Edmond Genest. Photo by Lanny Nagler

Jameson is a committed, determined woman – this is her strength and also her weakness, for although she has had a major impact on the institution where she teaches, she has become, over the years, as rigid and hide-bound in her own way as those she challenged, in the process alienating friends and family. She has allowed herself to be defined by the causes she has championed, but life, in the form of a colleague, Nancy (Andrea Gallo) battling cancer, her daughter, Emily (Olivia Hoffman), a Swarthmore student struggling to become her own person, and Jack (Edmond Genest), her father, who is slowly sliding into dementia, demands that she must eventually reevaluate who she is, what she believes and what she has allowed herself to become. The process provides the emotional arc of the play, and if it becomes somewhat forced, this doesn’t take away from the enjoyment of watching this fine cast bring to vivid life their characters.

Levy, the recipient of the Connecticut Critics Circle 2014 Outstanding Actress award, turns in another stellar performance. She gives us a woman made of brittle steel, confident in her beliefs yet blind to the emotional needs of others and her own frailty. The strength of her performance is best captured in a scene in which Jameson visits her psychiatrist (unseen). Reclining in “the chair,” she exhibits a broad range of emotions and reveals a woman in conflict with herself. It’s a riveting moment.

Conor Hamill. Photo by Lanny Nagler

Hamill, a recent Hartt School graduate who once interned at TheaterWorks, often seems somewhat stiff, as if he is standing at attention to deliver his lines. However, he also has his emotionally compelling moments, especially in a scene with Hoffman set in a bar where Third bartends. In a nice piece of dramatic irony, Third goes off on the “bitch professor who almost ruined his life, not knowing that he is speaking to the professor’s daughter. Hoffman, who is given many great one-liners to deliver, creates a believable portrait of a young woman in controlled rebellion who labors to emerge from her mother’s shadow. This effort is compellingly captured in a scene that immediately follows the bar scene, when Emily returns home to find her mother, wrapped in a blanket, watching a 60s musical retrospective. The generational clash is painfully realized by the two actors.

Rounding out the cast, Gallo, as Nancy, provides a necessary counterbalance to Jameson’s “take no prisoners” approach to life. Faced with the reality of her own mortality, she urges moderation in all things, including Jameson’s pursuit of Third. In a touching scene near the end of the play, Gallo offers us a woman who has been given a new lease on life and is determined to make the most of it. Her delight in finding that she has fallen in love (both with life and a man) is palpable.

Third and Emily are both emerging from the cocoons they have been swathed in and are eager to fly; Jameson and Nancy are, each in their own way, struggling with mid-life crises and are of unsure of which way to fly; Jack has fallen to the ground and flutters helplessly. Genest, in a truly touching performance, creates a man lost in his own mind. In the scenes he plays with Levy and Hoffman, Genest brings to life a man who is desperately clinging to shreds of reality, who is proud that he can count back from 100, even though he loses his way long before he can get to 80.

In scene after scene, you can see the cast members feeding off each other to create powerful vignettes that reveal their characters’ emotions and motivations. If there are any reservations about Third, it is in Jameson’s epiphany and “rebirth,” which comes rather too abruptly at the end of the play and seems, if not out of character, at least dramatically unearned. It almost feels as if a scene or two is missing, scenes that would justify Jameson’s visit to Third’s dorm room. In perhaps the play’s only false moment, Jameson “knights” Third before she departs – it’s simply not believable.

Closing scene aside, Third is good theater and can be appreciated on several levels, including the artful, turntable set designed by Michael Schweikhardt and the subtle lighting created by John Lasiter that evokes the changing seasons (although there is a moment early in the second act when you wonder if TheaterWorks is experiencing power problems as the lights dim and rise – it’s an attempt to suggest TV’s successive electronic moments, but it is visually disruptive and unnecessary).

Levy and company, under Ruggiero’s astute direction, deliver an enjoyable, often engrossing two hours of theater. If you are left with questions, they can be put aside. Third may ultimately devolve into mushy emotionalism, but until it does it is often taut, testy and dead-on.

Third runs through November 8. For tickets or more information call 860-527-7838 or go to www.theaterworkshartford.org 

Broken Lives

"Broken Glass" -- Westport Country Playhouse -- Thru Oct. 24

Stephen Schnetzer and Felicity Jones. Photo by Carol Rosegg

There’s a specter that haunts Broken Glass, one of Arthur Miller’s later plays (written in 1994) that recently opened at the Westport Country Playhouse under the direction of its artistic director Mark Lamos. Set in Brooklyn in 1938, the play focuses on a Jewish couple, but as the play’s title implies, there is more going on in the world of this play than the problems the couple faces, for half a world away humanity is slowly yet inexorably losing its grip on its sanity. In Germany and Austria, Jews are being pursued and persecuted and glass is being broken: the glass of shop windows and synagogues. The horrors are being reported daily in the newspapers and on the radio and, in this often stirring production, they reverberate in the couple’s broken marriage.

Yes, Kristallnacht is the operative metaphor in the play, but it is the echo of a distant nightmare, for what this play really deals with is the “burden” of being Jewish and the introspection, denial and self-hatred it can sometimes engender. It is also a study of a marriage that is as brittle and fragile as glass.

Phillip Gellburg (Steven Skybell) is the only Jew working at an old-money mortgage bank. He takes great pride in this, as he does that his son attended West Point and is now a captain in the Army. After all, a Jewish boy attending West Point. It’s…

Yet Phillip is a porcupine embarrassed by his quills, a man who looks in the mirror every morning and sees: Jew. He has tried to assimilate, and in so doing has taken on some of the characteristics and views of those who would persecute him, for as he explains to Dr. Harry Hyman (Stephen Schnetzer), the German Jews…well…they can be…Phillip waves his hand -- they can be pushy, difficult. It’s a chilling moment, for it reveals in a gesture, in just a few words, the price one must pay if one decides to “go along.”

He is meeting with the doctor because Phillip’s wife, Sylvia (Felicity Jones) has suddenly lost the use of her legs. Now bedridden, she obsesses over the news from Germany being reported in the newspapers, and the doctor, learning that there is nothing physically wrong with his patient, suggests that her problem might be psychological. The doctor’s wife, Margaret (Angela Reed), questions his deep concern for his patient, implying that the interest might be more than just medical, but he assures her that his concern is merely professional. Trying to understand the dynamics of Sylvia’s condition, he interviews her sister Harriet (Merritt Janson), who suggests that Sylvia’s problem just might be sexual.

The cause of Sylvia’s paralysis is never fully revealed, and its connection to events in Germany is, at best, tenuous. If you look closely at what unfolds during the 90 minutes of the play, what you thought might be made apparent is not and what you might have assumed the play was about turns out to be wrong. Because of this, once you are out of the theater and driving home questions might arise for which Miller has supplied no answers, but while you are sitting in the theater that doesn’t really matter.

Jones and Skybell, as the couple now skating on the frozen surface of their marriage, give riveting performances. The ache, the frustration and the thwarted needs in their characters’ marriage are palpable. Individually, Skybell gives us a man at war with himself, and his moments of misdirected rage are truly frightening and his need to dissemble when dealing with his boss, Stanton (John Hillner), is painful to watch, only because he captures something that goes beyond being Jewish and speaks to being human. We have all, at one time or another, kowtowed.

For her part, Jones creates a woman whose physical paralysis speaks volumes about the loss of love and the denial of desire. Confined for most of the play to a bed, Jones is able to convey an amazing range of emotions, many of which are captured and reflected in the mirrored set designed by Michael Yeargan.

In the long run, Broken Glass is less than the sum of its scenes, but many of the scenes are gripping and the entire cast never hits a false note. Lamos paces the scenes so that you never pause to question what is really going on, you don’t have time, for your attention is artfully focused and your emotions are manipulated. The manipulation (the word is not being used in its pejorative sense) continues until the final epiphanic scene, which seems so right, so fitting…until that drive home and those questions arise.

Broken Glass runs through Oct. 24. For tickets or more information call 203-227-4177 or go to www.westportplayhouse.org.

What is "Indecent"?

"Indecent" -- Yale Repertory Theatre -- Thru Oct. 24

Adina Verson and Katrina Lenk. Photo by Carol Rosegg.

There’s a play within a play about a play currently playing at Yale Repertory Theatre. It’s the world premiere of Paula Vogel’s Indecent, directed by Rebecca Taichman, and it is an often mesmerizing yet somewhat emotionally aloof effort to make a mountain out of a dramatic molehill.

Back in 1907, the Jewish author and playwright Sholem Asch wrote a play in Yiddish called The God of Vengeance (see Psalm 94 for the allusion). Given the era, it was a daring attempt to depict Jewish characters warts and all, for it is set in a brothel run by a Jewish father (the family lives on the second floor of the establishment) and features a lesbian relationship between his daughter and one of the prostitutes, a relationship that eventually has the father turn away from God and desecrate the Torah scrolls. Heady stuff.

The play migrated to New York in 1907, as did Asch, and was produced in the thriving Yiddish theater for many years and, eventually, in English translation, was staged by the Provincetown Playhouse and then, after it was “cleaned up,” on Broadway in 1923. It soon closed, with the cast, producers and theater owner arrested for obscenity, a charge brought by a local rabbi.

Context is all here. Even with the notes in the show’s program, one never really understands the importance of Asch’s play to the Jewish community or what is exactly up for grabs. Hence, watching as the troupe of fine actors depicts Vengeance’s many manifestations, including a production in a ghetto in Poland during World War II, one can’t help but feel a bit removed from what is happening up on the stage. It’s obvious that someone – or many people – think all of this is important. Would that Vogel could have figured out a way to convey that importance.

And yet, this is, by and large, an enjoyable evening of theater, thanks to the stellar cast and Taichman’s deft direction. For most of the evening, it’s actually a romp, with the actors dancing and skipping from scene to scene, moving to the music provided by Lisa Gutkin, Aaron Halva and Travis W. Hendrix, who form what might be thought of as a klezmer pick-up band. The actors, guided by Richard Topol, who plays Lemml, the stage manager, take on multiple roles as historical characters (Eugene O’Neill even makes an appearance in an Irish bar, a perhaps superfluous scene) and as characters in Asch’s play.

The opening scene has the actors arranged upstage – there’s no scenery -- the Rep’s innards are laid bare for all to see – and few props, just some suitcases and a desk for the final scene. The actors are set all in a row, as if they are sitting shiva. Projected text in English and Hebrew – integral to understanding what is going on – indicates that they are rising from the ashes. In perhaps the only false directorial move during the evening, as the actors rise and come forward ashes fall from their sleeves…and continue to fall…and fall…and fall. It’s a bit of overkill, so to speak.

However, once the dust clears, this talented group of thespians – Katrina Lenk, Mimi Lieber, Max Gordon Moore, Tom Nelis, Steven Rattazzi and Adina Verson – do put on a show, or rather multiple shows. Oddly enough, it’s the actors you come to care about and admire -- their skill and talent – more so than the multiple characters they are asked to bring to life. This holds true save for the Vengeance characters portrayed by Lenk and Verson, the two women who form a romantic relationship, for Vogel has wisely used their relationship, and their pivotal scene in Vengeance – the “Rain” scene -- as the emotional center of her play.

As Vengenace moves from venue to venue, it is this scene that is referenced over and over again, building audience anticipation to actually see what has mesmerized everyone involved with Asch’s play. Vogel, Taichman and scenic designer Riccardo Hernandez, as well as Lenk and Verson, deliver on the build. There is, in fact, a rain scene, wonderfully staged.

The basic problem with the play is that the audience really doesn’t know what it is supposed to focus on, what it is supposed to care about. Is it Asch’s artistic struggle (the final scene would suggest so), or what he viewed happening to the Jews in Europe? Is it the life of Vengeance, its historical and dramatic importance? Surely it’s not the fact that the actors and producers were arrested and brought to trial – this happens late in the play and is almost an afterthought, and Asch’s reluctance to step forward and defend his work seems muted. The play seems to echo other plays – oddly enough, even Cabaret -- to draw on them for emotional bulk and essence. There’s a lot going on as this play within a play plays itself out, and you certainly can appreciate all the skill and talent up there on the stage and the creative thought that went into its staging, but…the mind can be intrigued and diverted while the heart, well, it seeks something it can embrace. Indecent is intriguing, but it is not embraceable.

Indecent runs through Oct. 24. For tickets or more information call 203-432-1234 or go to www.yalerep.org

Tuesdays -- to Eternity

Tuesdays with Morrie -- Playhouse on Park -- Through Oct 18

Gannon McHale and Chris Richards. All photos by Meredith Atkinson

Sometimes, less is more. Such is the case with Playhouse on Park’s Tuesdays with Morrie, a gentle, touching play that inexorably works its way into your heart. Sensitively directed by Sasha Bratt, this adaptation of the memoir by Mitch Albom eschews flash and spectacle to focus on a relationship between two men, a teacher and a former student, that deals with the issues of death and, more importantly, the issues of a life well lived.

Written by Albom and Jeffrey Hatcher, the play chronicles meetings between Mitch (Chris Richards) and Morrie (Gannon McHale), as Morrie slowly succumbs to Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (Lou Gehrig’s Disease). The two first met at Brandeis University when Mitch took a sociology course taught by Morrie (the name, in Hebrew, relates to “my teacher’). Entranced and excited, Mitch eventually signed up for every course Morrie taught and, upon graduation, swore that he would keep in touch with “coach.”. He didn’t.

Sixteen years later, Mitch, who once dreamed of being a jazz pianist, is now a driven sports journalist who just happens to catch Morrie being interviewed by Ted Coppel on Nightline. Memories and guilt motivate Mitch to fly up to Boston to visit Morrie. The first meeting is awkward, for Mitch has issues about dealing with those facing the ultimate journey, but Morrie, who understands, among other things, the healing power of touch (he dubs a kiss on the forehead “extra credit”), gets Mitch to commit to weekly visits on Tuesdays.

 What follows is an exploration of friendship and shared humanity that, over the course of the one-act play, has the power to make you embrace all of the possibilities life has to offer, even as life comes to a close.

The set, designed by Christopher Hoyt, is simplicity itself: strips of parquet flooring angle out stage right, creating a saw-tooth design that is mirrored by the images on the back wall. The only furniture on-stage: two chairs and a book-laden table, plus a piano set extreme stage left. In the final moments of the play, a back wall opens and a bed slides forward: Morrie’s last resting place. The scene ends and the bed recedes into darkness bearing Morrie; it is a striking yet subtle evocation of the passage into the unknown, a stirring image, enhanced by Aaron Hochheiser’s lighting, that, opening night, evoked a palpable silence from the audience – you could feel those watching bidding Morrie adieu, perhaps with some tears.

This is an intimate play tailor-made for the venue, and Bratt has blocked scenes so that the emotions generated by the two actors can be felt by all, house left, right and center. And emotions there are aplenty. Richards gives a fine performance as a man conflicted, drawn to Morrie yet committed to the demands of a twenty-four-seven job. He has turned away from his heart’s desires and, in the process, lost part of his soul. This is best captured in a touching scene in which Mitch’s wife, a former singer, visits Morrie and sings for him (the wife is imagined). Morrie asks her to sing for him…and she does. At this moment, Mitch realizes that he has never really “heard” his wife, has never paused long enough in his hectic career to listen to the song of her life.

As impressive as Richards’ performance is, it is overshadowed, and rightly so, by McHale’s portrayal of Morrie. My play-going partner expressed it well when she commented: “What moved me most were not only the tears that the last scene brought

to my eyes, but also the impulse I had to get up out of my seat and help Morrie as

his struggle with the disease increased. I was physically drawn to comfort him

more than once.” Such is the power of McHale’s performance as he changes from a man eager to dance through life to one whose every movement creates pain. It’s a full, rich performance, made even more powerful by the theater’s physical intimacy.

Playhouse on Park is in its seventh year, and it continues to board productions that both move and, at times, astound. This is an organization that can tackle the boisterous, energy-filled demands of Hair and then stage an intimate, soul-searching production such as Tuesdays with Morrie. It’s a little theater with a big heart and a willingness to accept challenges. One can only wonder what surprises await when, at the end of this season, it stages. A Chorus Line. I can only hope that it will be a singular sensation.

Tuesdays with Morrie runs through Oct. 18. For tickets or more information call 860-523-5900, X10, or go to www.playhouseonpark.org

"Little Shop" Flowers at Ivoryton

"Little Shop of Horrors" -- Ivoryton Playhouse -- Thru Oct. 11

Laura Woyasz and Audrey II. All photos by Roger U. Williams

There’s something deadly growing out in Ivoryton. It’s big and green and mean – imagine the venus fly trap cross-bred with kudzu and then pumped full of steroids and you get the picture. This voracious creature goes by the innocuous name of Audrey II, but don’t be fooled – it will eat you as soon as look at you, but you may wish to look at it, at least from the safety of a seat at the Ivoryton Playhouse, where Little Shop of Horrors, a delightful, black-comedy spoof of 1950s creature-feature movies is currently enjoying a run. Following on the heels of Ivoryton’s successful productions of South Pacific and Memphis, this exploration of botanical Grand Guignol, briskly directed by Lawrence Thelen, is, by and large, a treat for the eyes and ears.

Azarria White, Denielle Marie Gray, La’Nette Wallace

 Graced by a highly adaptable, turn-table set designed by Martin Scott Marchitto, this sci-fi spoof opens with a Greek chorus of sorts: Chiffon (Azarria White), Crystal (La’Nette Wallace) and Ronnette (Denielle Marie Gray), grade-school dropouts, set the scene for the horrors that will ensue. They are denizens of Skid Row, where Mushnik’s florist shop is dying on the vine. Mr. Mushnik (David Conaway) is close to despair because business is so bad. In fact, he’s ready to fire his two assistants, the meek, amateur botanist Seymour (Nicholas Park) and the much abused Audrey (Laura Woyasz), a young lady working on exceedingly low wattage who is dating Orin (Carson Higgins), a demented dentist who grooves on pain.

Salvation arrives in the form of a small plant that Seymour came across during a total eclipse of the sun, a plant he has lovingly cared for and named Audrey II (animated by Austin Costello and voiced by Steve Sabol). As soon as the plant is put on display business starts to pick up, but every silver lining has a cloud attached – the plant is a persnickety eater: it desires only blood. At first this is supplied by Seymour, but soon the plant craves more and Seymour is forced to become murderously creative. The plant grows, Seymour becomes a success, in the process winning the fair hand of the ditzy Audrey, but there is a price to be paid when you sell your soul to a devil-plant.

Based on the cult film classic of the same name directed by Roger Corman, with book and lyrics by Howard Ashman and music by Alan Menken, Little Shop is not only a skewed take on the paranoid “scare” films of the 50s, it is a modernized Greek tragedy complete with characters with out-sized fatal flaws. It is also tuneful and energetic, although the energy takes a while to be generated.

Nicholas Park and Carson Higgins

 Perhaps it’s the initially uneven sound, designed by Tate R. Burmeister, or the less than innovative and somewhat stilted opening choreography crafted by Apollo Smile, but the musical’s initial scenes seem somewhat muted. The “Downtown” number, which should feature the voices of the two leads – Audrey and Seymour – is more of a mushy mélange. In fact, Woyasz’s voice seems to get lost in the vocal crowd (she’s blocked extreme stage right for much of the number and dimly lit) and Seymour, stage center inside the florist shop, is oddly distant. Matters aren’t helped by Conaway delivering his opening lines so big that he really has nowhere to go dramatically for the rest of the show.

These problems aside, the production quickly brightens and sharpens as Audrey II begins to grow and Woyasz, Park and Higgins take control. Anyone familiar with Little Shop, either in its Broadway or Hollywood iterations, has Ellen Greene’s performance as Audrey etched in his mind. To Woyasz’s credit, she creates an Audrey that’s all her own, using a walk that reminds one of a strutting turkey, plus dips, cringes and other mannerisms, as well as subtle body-language reactions. Once her voice is allowed to be heard, she delivers a poignant “Somewhere That’s Green” and a moving duet with Park in “Suddenly, Seymour.”

Park is sufficiently meek and gawky as Seymour, and he’s able to generate real angst as he begins to deal with the moral ambiguity presented by the continued existence of Audrey II. Higgins, who shined in Ivoryton’s Memphis, does the sadistic-dentist turn to a fault, especially in the “Dentist!” number, pulls off a great death-by-nitrous-oxide scene with Park, and shows his ability as a quick-change artist when he is called upon to play three different characters (including a female editor) all seeking to get Seymour to sign contracts.

The finale finds most of the cast having been devoured by the insatiable plant, only to reappear as its tendrils singing a final warning about the danger of feeding plants. The only problem here is the use of a smoke machine, which belches out so much smoke as the finale begins that it’s difficult to see what is happening on stage. The smoke envelops the actors and wafts out into the audience – a bit of atmospheric overkill that is totally unnecessary.

Quibbles and smoke screens aside, Ivoryton’s Little Shop is a sprightly production that consistently entertains. Artfully staged (actually amazingly so, given the size of Ivoryton’s stage) and nicely paced, with excellent lighting effects by Marcus Abbott, the show, which runs just under two hours with a 15-minute intermission, is well worth the drive out to scenic Ivoryton.

Little Shop of Horrors runs through Oct. 11. For tickets or more information call 860-767-7318 or go to www.ivorytonplayhouse.org.

A Slow "Opening in Time"

An Opening in Time -- Hartford Stage -- Thru Oct. 11

Deborah Hedwall and Patrick Clear. Photo by T. Charles Erickson

Sometimes you can gather the best of ingredients and follow a tried and true recipe and still, for some reason, the meal just doesn’t turn out right. Such is the case with Christopher Shinn’s An Opening in Time, which is having its world premiere at Hartford Stage. Directed at something of a snail’s pace by Oliver Butler, this slice of suburban Connecticut life seems to drag on for longer than its actual two hours, with the main plot somewhat under-spiced and the secondary plots served underdone.

The show’s program goes on at great length via an interview with Shinn about the setting being Connecticut, but it really doesn’t matter. It could be set in any wealthy suburban town in America -- you’d just have to change some street names. Into this town comes Anne (Deborah Hedwall), recently widowed and searching for…well, that remains to be seen. You see, she moved away years ago to live on a farm with her husband, leaving behind a very frustrated Ron (Patrick Clear), who believes that they once almost had a thing going on, or so he tells Frank (Bill Christ), his diner-dining buddy, while they are being served by Anetta (Kati Brazda), a Polish waitress who has eyes for Ron. But there’s more to Anne’s move than meets the eye, for she has also relocated to be close to her son Sam (Karl Miller), who has gotten into trouble by romancing a teenage girl.

Ah, but there’s still more, for Anne has purchased a house next door to a family that has fostered two brothers – one who has left, succumbing to a world of crime and drugs, and the other, George (Brandon Smalls) who is in the process of finding himself in terms of sexual identity. Anne soon befriends George and she, being an ex-high school teacher, naturally loans him a copy of Hemingway’s short stories, a surefire ice-breaker for a young twenty-first century adolescent male. George’s foster mother, Kim (Molly Camp) is somewhat edgy (in a fidgety, hyper-suburban housewife manner) with this relationship, especially after someone breaks one of Anne’s windows, which brings a police detective (Mike Keller) on the scene to investigate.

So all of the ingredients are on the table – actually, they are on or at a lot of tables, which keep popping up as if to show off some of the renovations the Stage has undergone. Diner tables and pizza parlor tables and even a table from a Denny’s restaurant rise up onto the stage as if they are majestic thrones – the first appearance of the diner counter, with Frank and Ron contentedly munching away, elicited some laughter from the audience, surely not scenic designer Antje Ellermann’s intention. Such over-production suggests that Ellermann and Butler simply didn’t trust the audience to fill in the scenic blanks.

In any event, the main set, upper stage left, is the interior of Anne’s house – specifically her kitchen. Anne doesn’t spend much time in the kitchen and when she does the semi-enclosed room seems to muffle dialogue. There’s a second house stage right, but it’s never made clear who lives in this house or why it’s even there, but that seems to go hand-in-hand with An Opening in Time’s major problem: why are most of these characters introduced and how do they relate?

If you’re interested in what’s nagging at neighbor Kim, well don’t hold your breath. Do you want to know who is breaking Anne’s windows? Wait for the sequel. Hoping for some resolution of Anne’s relationship with George? You can eavesdrop on a phone conversation and gather what information you may. Wonder where the hell Ron went? Sorry. Perhaps he ran off with Anetta.

There is, however, a resolution of sorts, and it provides the only sparks this play offers. Anne and Ron have to work out what really happened between them 30 years ago, and Hedwall and Clear suddenly to come to life, as does the play, in the middle of the second act as their characters confront each other about their interpretations of the past. The argument and subsequent resolution at, of course, a table, provide the only dramatic satisfaction the play offers, though it is pretty weak satisfaction at that. We’re not talking Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf here – it’s more along the lines of Love Story.

Most of the other scenes in the play seem to unfold in slow motion, with a lot of air inserted into the dialogue. One scene that is especially drawn out is the awkward meeting between Anne and Sam at the aforementioned Denny’s. The main point of the scene is that the wounded mother-son relationship can’t be healed in just one meeting, but it takes a long time to establish this fact, and Miller’s channeling of James Dean doesn’t help matters – the idea here is that intransigence can be conveyed through broken sentences punctuated by a lot of silence. In fact, extended silences appear to be the primary mode of emotional communication between many of the characters.   

If you’re intrigued by pop-up tables and moved by the sounds of silence, then An Opening in Time may be just your dish. For the rest of the theater-going public, there’s not much there to satisfy. You’ll come away hungry for a four-course meal that, from soup to nuts, pleases the palate and is served with a sense of immediacy.

An Opening in Time runs through October 11. For tickets or more information call 860-527-5151 or go to www.hartfordtsage.org.