"Once" Shines at Ivoryton

Once -- The Ivoryton Playhouse -- Through October 14

Katie Barton and Sam Sherwood.
Photos by Jonathan Steele

                In the opening week of a live-theater production it’s normal to see some rough edges, minor problems with blocking or line delivery that the director, via notes or additional rehearsals, seeks to smooth out. Well, Ben Hope, the director of the delightful “Once” currently playing at the Ivoryton Playhouse, can put his feet up and relax, for this highly polished production is just about near-perfect. From the opening musical numbers that greet the audience as it enters the house to the final, heart-touching reprise of “Falling Slowly,” just about everything works, and works to perfection. This modern-day, somewhat bittersweet fairy tale (Yes, it’s “Once upon a time…” with a modern twist) is a show that simply embraces the audience from curtain to curtain.

            The fairy-tale quality of the show is established immediately, for the cast (save for the leads) is out front for all to see and performs several musical numbers that are either vivacious or contemplative. This approach is appropriate, for the show is as much about the joy of creating music as it is about boy meets girl. We then have the appearance of the characters who will be swept up in the fairy tale: the Guy (Sam Sherwood) and the Girl (Katie Barton). That’s how they are named – just a guy and a girl who happen, serendipitously, to meet on a street in Dublin, he a somewhat despairing musician who’s doing some corner-singing for small change and she a Czech émigré with a dysfunctional Hoover vacuum cleaner. This meeting occurs while the rest of the cast, all who play instruments, are sitting stage right and left and who will, at various moments, facilitate the growing relationship between the guy and the girl.

            Okay, so I’ve held off as long as possible (two paragraphs worth), but here comes the fulsome praise: Katie Barton as the Girl is, well, mesmerizing. Whether she’s playing the piano, singing, or creating a character, complete with a Czech accent that has her bite into her dialogue, Girl appears to be as tough as nails but hides a heart that aches, and in doing so Barton simply owns the stage. In the fairy-tale world of the show within a show, she is the driving force, compelling the Guy, ably acted by Sherwood, to ditch his despair and again begin to dream.

            As Barton glistens, there are numerous standout moments. In a scene in which the Girl forces the Guy to perform on a stage, the other cast members (the audience for the open mike show) slowly stand and begin, one after another, to respond to his song, playing instruments and then dancing in unison (compliments of Hope, who also choreographed the show). It’s a giddy moment, a delightful visual response to a performance that, I would think, tempted the audience to also rise and gambol.

            In another scene, Girl wants Guy to record his music, but renting a studio costs money, so they go to a bank to get a loan. They meet with a bank manager (Andreina Kasper) who is at first skeptical. After Guy sings for her she hauls out a cello, reveals that she, herself, is a songwriter, and proceeds to murder her own composition, “Abandoned in Bandon.” When she finishes, all Guy and Girl can do is stare at her in amazement. Finally, Girl gives her a terse piece of advice.

The supporting cast of "Once"

            The fairy-tale, quasi-romance of Guy and Girl is framed by the musicians – the rest of the cast – and they are supremely accomplished and, well, appear to take great joy in creating music. Since the show is based on a film written and directed by John Carney, there’s a certain filmic quality to this framing, not the least of which is that there is a “film score” that permeates the show. In several numbers that feature Guy and Girl singing, violins softly rise, percussion provides a back-beat, and guitars and a cello add their “voices.” Never once (at least for one audience member) does the question arise: “Where is this music coming from?” It’s all of a piece and integrated so artistically that it enhances the overall “Once upon a time…” trope, giving the audience the feel that they are watching events unfold in a musical Wonderland.

            A confession. At intermission I pondered whether this was a true Ivoryton production or whether it was a co-production with another company – that the cast might have been imported and been together for months. Such is not the case…and all I can say is “Wow!” Here we are in the hinterlands of Connecticut seeing a production that is worthy of a Broadway stage, a production that boasts talent galore and seems to take delight in its very being. What is more intriguing, and impressive, is that this is Hope’s directorial debut. Yes, he played the role of Guy on Broadway, but that’s not always a guarantee that an actor can make the transition to the responsibilities of director, that he can envision the production not from his own character’s point of view but from a very different perspective – the whole rather than the part, if you will. That “Once” is so polished is a testament that Hope is fully capable of making the actor-director transition.

            A final accolade. What Ivoryton has boarded makes me, a critic who got a free ticket to see the show, want to spend my hard-earned money to see the show again, if only to bask in the show’s exuberance and to once again watch Barton work her magic. There was a packed house at the matinee I attended and I only hope that the seats will continue to be filled throughout the show’s run, for it’s one of the best shows – and that’s saying a lot – that this venerable theater has ever produced.

            “Once” runs through October 14. For tickets or more information call 860-767-7318 or go to www.ivorytonplayhouse.org.

The Sins of the Past

All My Sons -- TheatreWorks New Milford -- Weekends Through October 13



Noel Desiato and Thomas Ovitt

                Ghosts take many forms. There are those bed-sheeted wraiths who wander the streets on Halloween seeking candy, and there are those who supposedly haunt castles or ancient houses where evil deeds have been done. But the ghosts that most of us confront are those that lurk in our minds, memories of misdeeds, dishonorable actions that, though repressed, never spoken of, denied, rattle their chains and cannot be exorcised. Such hauntings are the subject of Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons,” which recently opened at TheatreWorks New Milford in a mostly gripping production under the balletic, sure-handed direction of Jane Farnol.

                Miller, one of the great American playwrights of the twentieth century, was initially unsuccessful. His first play, “The Man Who Had All the Luck,” ran for a grand total of four days on Broadway. However, his second play, “All My Sons,” which opened in 1947, was a success, earning him a Tony. Although dealing with topical issues, this play, as well as many of his other successful plays – “Death of a Salesman,” “The Crucible,” “The Price” – never loses sight of the fact that it is in the family that “great issues” reverberate, that it is, inevitably, not concepts or philosophies that rise or fall, that suffer, it is people.

                Set in 1947 in a middle-class American town, “All My Sons” introduces the audience to the Keller family and its neighbors and friends. There’s Joe Keller (Mark Feltch), the pater familias, a businessman who must gently deal with his wife, Kate (Noel Desiato), who is high-strung and clinging to the belief that their son, Larry, a pilot ostensibly lost in World War II, will somehow reappear. Their other son, Chris (Tommy Ovitt), actually made it through the war and now works with his father and has invited Ann Deever (Paige Gray) to visit them.

                Ann’s arrival comes with a tangled web of associations. The Deevers once lived next door to the Kellers and Ann’s father, Steve, was once Joe’s business partner but was sent to prison for selling defective airplane parts – Joe was exonerated. Then there’s the fact that Ann was once Larry’s “girl” and they were expected to marry after the war.

                Other neighbors often drop by – there’s Dr. Jim Bayliss (Jonathan Ross) and his somewhat disgruntled wife, Sue (Stacy-Lee Frome), and Frank Lubey (Rufus de Rham), an astrology enthusiast, and his wife Lydia (Meg Jones), who once was romantically inclined towards Ann’s brother, George (Deron Bayer), now a returned veteran who has become a lawyer.

                It would appear to be a typical, post-war suburban semi-paradise, captured by the trim rear of the Keeler house and back yard, compliments of set designer Jim Hipp. But, of course, there are ghosts in this American garden of Eden, and the play consists of the gradual calling forth of these ghosts, a dramatic séance of sorts that will lead to more than mere eerie knocks on the wall and tentative table shakings.

                I described Farnol’s directions as “balletic,” and that needs to be explained (I guess).  A graduate of The Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, Farnol appears to be extremely sensitive to the “pictures” she creates in her blocking, none of which are static. If there’s more than one actor on the stage, if he or she makes a cross (a movement), many of the other actors will adjust their positions to create a new “scene,” a new balance that supports the dialogue that is about to be delivered and the tensions inherent. There are moments when there seems to be emotional distance between the characters and this is reflected in the blocking, and then there are moments when the distance is assaulted or destroyed and, again, the blocking supports and enhances what is occurring on stage. This subtle, chess-piece movement doesn’t call attention to itself and thus it is all the more effective.

                If there’s one somewhat distracting note to the production, it’s the casting of Ovitt as Chris. It’s not that Ovitt doesn’t deliver – he’s especially effective in the play’s final moments – it’s just, well, Chris is supposed to be 32 years old, a former Army company commander, a seasoned veteran, and Ovitt simply doesn’t look the part. A recent graduate of Western Connecticut State University, he is fresh-faced and, like it or not, exudes a visual innocence that belies his character’s history.

                However, there’s no miscasting involved in giving Desiato the nod to play the somewhat bedeviled Kate. In fact, although the play’s main focus is on the truth about the sale of the faulty airplane parts and how that bears on Joe Keller, it’s Desiato as Kate who draws the eye whenever she’s on stage. Her interpretation of Kate often suggests that her character just might explode into a million pieces at any moment. You believe that she believes that her dead son just might return, such is the strength of her performance. Desiato manages to convey mania as well as subtle moments of deep perception about human nature, no more so than in the final reveal that explains, amongst other things, why she has clung to her belief that her son will…must…return. It’s a mesmerizing performance.

                Although set in the early post-war years, what the play deals with still seems topical, for beyond the specifics of the sale of faulty airplane parts it, like “The Death of a Salesman” and “The Crucible,” focuses on the “deals’ we make with ourselves to survive in a world that often demands we cut corners, embrace lies or succumb to the mob-psychology that blinds us to reality. These “deals” inevitably turn into the ghosts that haunt us and, more often than not, eventually force us to look into the mirror and acknowledge the phantom looking over our shoulder.

                Written six decades ago, “All My Sons” still has the power to move and engage an audience, and TheatreWorks’ production by and large does that. The play’s title says it all, though its true meaning isn’t revealed until the final moments. That meaning continues to have relevance, for as John Donne famously wrote, “No man is an island”…what we do, the sins we commit, the falsehoods we embrace, take spectral form that haunt the lives of others.

 

                “All My Sons” runs weekends through October 13. For tickets or more information call 860-350-6863 or go online to theatreworks.us.

The Past Haunts

Make Believe -- Hartford Stage -- Through September 30

All photos by T. Charles Erickson

                Okay, so lots of people think that theater critics are jaded misanthropes who take great delight, in trashing the endeavors of artistic, creative people who strive to bring beauty and meaning into the world. Well, perhaps, but not in this case. So here’s my review of “Make Believe,” which recently opened up at Hartford Stage.

                Wow!

                That should be sufficient, but I guess the exclamation needs to be clarified. So, under the astute and trenchant direction of Jackson Gay, Bess Wohl’s new play seduces you at the start and then, as the one-act play develops, delivers several body punches that made the audience gasp and moan. It’s smart, perceptive playwriting that carries the audience full circle and would bring a smile to Aristotle’s face, for I defy anyone to say that they do not experience moments of catharsis as “Make Believe” comes to its riveting conclusion.

                The entire play takes place in the playroom of a suburban, upper middle-class home. Scenic designer Antje Ellermann has created a children’s paradise with baskets of toys, posters on the wall, a play table with chairs, a tent upstage that serves as a fort, and cushions galore. Ah, childhood bliss.

RJ Vercellone, Sloane Wolfe, Alexa Skye Swinton,
and Roman Malenda

               Not exactly, for the four siblings in the house seem to have been left alone. In the background, the phone continues to ring and we hear the greeting message left by the children’s mother, but the mother is absent, so the children are left to their own devices – Kate (Sloane Wolfe) meticulously doing her math homework, Addie (Alexa Skye Swinton) playing with her doll, Carl (RJ Vercellone), the youngest, doing his dog routine and Chris (Roamn Malenda), the oldest child, bouncing his soccer ball, until he viciously attacks Addie’s doll (the motivation for this violence will be revealed late in the play).

                Ah, but listen to the messages that are left on the answering machine – they embrace the conflicts of an adult world that impinge on these four children and taint their lives, even though the children appear to disregard the angst, anger and anxiety that these messages convey (the parents are heard but never seen). Instead, the children proceed to act out what they perceive to be normal family relationships, complete with a dominant, abusive (perhaps alcoholic) father, a somewhat subservient mother, a dutiful daughter and an extremely repressed (he doesn’t speak) son. What first appears to be four children simply playing slowly becomes an analysis, albeit subtle, of how adult actions influence children’s lives. It’s to Wohl’s credit that here she doesn’t moralize or become didactic, she just lets the children do what they want (have to) to survive and allows the audience to draw its own conclusions.

The “kids in the playroom” part of this one-act play also involves the four children gathering in the tent/fort, their forms silhouetted by Paul Whitaker’s lighting. While inside, Chris tells them a ghost/monster story that should be closely attended to, for although it seems the stuff of childish imagination it will play a large part as the play draws to its conclusion.

                Eventually, after some more acting out, the children disappear back into the tent, and we flash-forward to the present day as some of the children, now grown, appear. First to show up is the adult Kate (Megan Byrne), followed by Addie (Holly Ward) who has been sharing a romantic moment in the children’s tent with Chris (not her brother – the new Chris played by Chris Ghaffari), a man who has worked with the brother, Chris, at a fitness gym.

Molly Ward, Megan Byrne, Brad Heberlee

                It’s difficult to discuss the latter section of the play without a spoiler moment, but…whatever. The siblings have gathered for the funeral of their brother, Chris, who apparently died of an overdose. Carl (Brad Herberlee), whose flight was delayed by weather, eventually appears – so we have three of the four siblings gathered in the playroom, plus Chris from the gym. What follows is something of a memory game, with fallacies and falsehoods falling away and revelations that give an entirely different perspective on much of what happened earlier in the play, all leading up to a riveting reveal that sends a shudder through the audience.

                What makes this all work as well as it does is the superb casting. The four young actors, while ably depicting how children move and talk, seem to be very much aware of who they will grow up to be, and the personalities of the adult siblings are reflections of what the audience has already seen. It’s a deft piece of directing, for Gay never loses sight of where she wants this play to go and how she has to make the audience believe that the children they see in the first part of the play turn into the adults they see in the play’s conclusion. There’s even a nice moment at the curtain call involving how the young actors are brought back on stage – it initially seems “cute” but, when you think about it, it delivers a message that dovetails with what the play is all about.

                As for the adult actors, there’s not a false move or a suspect line throughout the entire time they are on stage. We saw them as children, and the characteristics that were made manifest early on have hardened into psychological cinder blocks, and the audience grasps how these adults have become who they are.

                Special mention must be made of Herberlee’s performance as Carl, the sibling who arrives late to the funeral. Carl had planned to give a speech at the funeral ceremony, but instead delivers it to his siblings in the playroom. It’s a moving, mesmerizing, heart-tugging monologue that brought the audience to a tense, palpable, painful silence.

                Watching “Make Believe” reminds us of why we go to the theater, and why live theater has existed for millennia and will continue to exist. Yes, it’s a cliché, but when you see a play that grabs you, belief is suspended – you travel into the world of the play and forget you are in a theater. In the case of “Make Believe,” for the 90 minutes or so that the play runs, you are in that playroom, first with the children and then with the adults, and for that time there’s nothing make believe about “Make Believe.”

                “Make Believe” runs through September 30. For tickets or more information call 860-520-7125 or go to www.hartfordstage.org

Less Than Stellar



 

Peter and the Starcatcher -- Playhouse on Park -- Through October 14

The cast of "Peter and the Starcatcher"

             

Are all pirates inherently hard of hearing? It would seem so, at least based on Playhouse on Park’s current production of “Peter and the Star Catcher,” which is under the direction of Sean Harris. In fact, at least based on the somewhat incomprehensible first act, most of the cast seem to be in need of hearing aids. That’s because, quite often, lines are delivered as if cast members are in different rooms, and even when the decibel level is lowered, the actors sound like they have been asked to chew on nouns and gnaw on verbs. This is especially irksome since the plot, as laid out in the first act, is somewhat (unnecessarily) convoluted. Thus, if you can’t understand what the actors are saying you are essentially adrift on a rough sea.

                Based on a novel by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, “Peter” is basically a prequel to J. M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan.” As scripted by Rick Elice, with music by Wayne Barker, what might have worked in the novel, since a reader has the opportunity to pause and ponder, becomes somewhat opaque as a play, especially given the aforementioned dialogue problems.

                As best as I could make out, it’s the late nineteenth century and Lord Aster (James Patrick Nelson) has been charged with delivering a gift from Queen Victoria to some foreign leader whose name and provenance I missed. With him is his daughter, Molly (Natalie Sanners), an apprentice star-catcher. What’s a star-catcher? Well, it has something to do, obviously, with stars, or shooting stars, but what, exactly, remains to be seen. There are two ships waiting to sail – the Wasp and the Neverland – and two crates, one of which carries the gift for the foreign potentate – it’s starstuff. What does the other contain? I believe it’s sand. Why the two crates? Beats me. In any event, for reasons lost in the garbled dialogue, Lord Aster demands that Molly sail on the Neverland while he sets forth on the Wasp. Oh, yes, the two crates are switched. Why? Again, beats me.

                Things quickly become more confusing, for it turns out that the crew of the Neverland harbors pirates, including their leader, Black Stache (Matthew Quinn) and his henchman, Smee (Miss Sandra Mhlongo). We now, at least for one audience member, enter terra incognita involving three orphan boys on the Neverland to be sent to the potentate as dinner entrees (one of the boys [Jared Starkey] will eventually be dubbed Peter and, then, in the second act, be given the surname Pan). There’s a chase at sea, a violent storm that casts all crew members of both ships into the drink, along with the crate that has been sailing with Molly (yes, the starstuff). They all end up on the island of Mollusk. Thus, thankfully, ends the first act.

                Perhaps their time in the briny ocean has affected the cast members’ vocal chords, for there is little yelling in the second act and the dialogue, by and large, becomes understandable. The second act also brings us to more familiar territory, for it suggests the origin of the Peter Pan legend, the eternal conflict between Pan and Captain Hook, and the source of the Lost Boys.

                It’s also in the second act that many of the characters emerge from the first act’s foggy plot and munch-crunched dialogue, chief among them Black Stache. Quinn has been licensed by director Harris to play Stache as broadly as possible, and Quinn makes the most of it, preening and posing and reveling in his character’s many malapropisms, corrected by Smee. It turns out that the starstuff has magic qualities. Peter gets to shore atop the crate that contains the starstuff, but it leaks out, working wonders, especially to some sea creatures – fish of various varieties – that are all turned into mermaids, leading to the second act’s rather entertaining opening number, “Mermaid Outta Me.” It is here that we are also introduced to the island’s potentate, Fighting Prawn (Elena V. Levenson) who, for no special reason, speaks with an Italian accent. Levenson vies with Quinn to see who can best stay just this side of an over-the-top performance – if nothing else, it’s fun to watch them milk their respective roles for all they are worth.

Sannes, as Molly, is an engaging young actress, but her character is ill-defined by the playwright, especially as it pertains to the exact function of a star-catcher and why she has been required to sail on the Neverland (it all may be there in the first act and I just missed it). Thus, although she is in many scenes, and develops a relationship, of sorts, with Peter, we never truly understand what is at stake for this main character – yes, she’s a plucky young lass but…so what? However, it’s nice to know that she will eventually return to England, marry and give birth to…you guessed it, Wendy.

“Peter and the Star Catcher” could have been an enjoyable trip down Memory Lane, a satisfying explication of how Peter Pan and Captain Hook came to be, much as the 2009 “Star Trek” film revealed how Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Scotty first came to be associated with each other. Alas, although the second act does offer some “Aha!” moments, the first act attempts to do too much that is, quite simply, not relevant, and although the starstuff may eventually explain Peter’s ability to fly, it remains a mysterious substance.

I saw the show on opening night, so maybe Harris, who was in attendance, will consider reining in his cast a bit, lowering the “Aarrggh” level of the dialogue and allowing the audience to grasp what the hell is going on in the first act. Maybe not. As I slipped back to my seat before the start of the second act I took a very random sampling of audience members, simply asking them if they had understood much of the dialogue in the first act. Most had not. One lady of a certain age said to me: “I don’t know what’s going on but I’m staying because my ride’s not available until after ten o’clock.” Not exactly a rave review.

“Peter and the Starcatcher” runs through Oct. 14. For tickets or more information call 860-523-5900, X10, or go to www.playhouseonpark.org          

 

 

Kafka Played For Laughs

The Understudy -- Westport Country Playhouse -- Through September 1

Brett Dalton, Andrea Syglowski and Eric Bryant. Photos by Carol Rosegg

When we see a play or a musical, we seldom are aware of what has gone on behind the scenes before the curtain rises on opening night. Most theatergoers are not privy to the various rehearsals, including the laborious and time consuming tech rehearsal (when, among other things, the sound and lighting cues are worked out) that brings the production to life (or doesn’t, as the case may be). Well, if you’d like a peek at these goings-on, get yourself over to the Westport Country Playhouse where Theresa Rebeck’s often hilarious “The Understudy” is currently being offered. As directed by David Kennedy, the play is basically a rehearsal where anything that possibly can go wrong does – theatrically and emotionally – and makes for an enjoyable two hours (no intermission) that may drag a bit at moments (possibly just a bit too much discussion of the Kafka mind-set), but has enough high points to easily get you through the evening.

The opening scene may be a bit confusing for some in the audience, for Rebeck immediately breaks the fourth wall by having Harry (Eric Bryant) enter, fire a gun and stroll down the aisle house right. The fourth wall? Well, when you look at a stage (in most productions), you have stage left, right and up-stage. Down-stage is usually defined by where the stage’s apron ends, and the actors “act” as if there is a fourth wall erected there that is, of course, not there at all, else the audience could not see what’s going on.

 

Harry ascends the stage in front of the curtain (this is called a scene-in-one, which normally allows for set changes). He proceeds with a monologue that deals with an actor’s frustrations, including gripes about Hollywood blockbuster movies that require a minimum amount of acting talent and a maximum number of explosions and other special effects. It’s only when Jake (Brett Dalton) appears, an actor in the play being rehearsed, that it becomes apparent that Harry has been venting to an empty theater. Ah, so the fourth wall really hasn’t been broken…the theater itself is the stage.

Jake challenges Harry’s presence – he’s apparently not supposed to be in the theater. Harry runs off, the curtain rises and Roxanne (Andrea Syglowski), the stage manager, appears to begin running the rehearsal. But Harry is supposed to be there – he’s Jake’s understudy, and the rehearsal has been called to run him through his lines and the play’s blocking. There’s one more character, “Laura,” who’s never seen or heard from, but “Laura” is responsible for many of the laughs the show delivers, for she is in charge of running the sound (compliments of Fitz Patton) and light boards, but apparently she is more than one toke over the line (or often mysteriously absent), so over the course of the evening, sets (deftly designed Andrew Boyce) roll in and out at inopportune moments, lights come up or go down with a mind of their own (at one point the theater is plunged into darkness, forcing the actors to use flashlights), and sound cues either arrive too early or too late, much to Roxanne’s frustration. Another unseen character is “Bruce,” the star of the show who makes mega-millions starring in the blockbusters Harry disdains. It doesn’t take much of a stretch to assume that Rebeck is alluding to Bruce Willis.

 

The play being rehearsed? Well, it’s never named, but it’s a recently discovered drama by none other than Franz Kafka, which allows Rebeck to offer up a lot of allusions for those familiar with Kafka’s work, from a castle and a trial with no apparent crime to, yes, of course, a bug. It also allows Jake, whose main claim to fame is the action films he has starred in (appropriately, Dalton will be familiar to many as Agent Grant Ward in the ABC series “Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.”), to prove that he’s not as shallow as Harry thinks he is (a running joke is a line of dialogue – “Get in the truck!” – from Jake’s last film that Harry taunts Jake with). However, some of the play’s slower moments have Jake pontificating at length about “meaning” and existentialism, much to Harry’s confusion.

These are actors rehearsing a play, but they are also people with outside lives, and this fills out what otherwise might have been a simple behind-the-scenes story about boarding a play. Jake feigns unconcern, but he is eager to learn if he’s landed a role in an upcoming film, so he’s often on the phone with his agent. Dalton’s delivery of his side of these conversations is excellent, no more so than when his character gets the final call, which he takes off stage, standing in the semi-dark house right. It’s a subtle yet deft piece of acting.

As for Harry and Roxanne, they have a history. In fact, Harry disappeared two weeks before they were to be married, which has left Roxanne emotionally scarred, a scarring that translates to controlled anger that finally bubbles over. This allows Roxanne to deliver a pain-filled monologue late in the show that is, for the audience, cathartic, for those watching have been waiting for Roxanne to let it all hang out and Syglowski delivers.

The play is filled with a lot of theatrical “in” jokes that many audience members got but were lost on others. However, what’s not lost is the controlled chaos that often occurs during a tech rehearsal as well as the two different acting styles evinced by Harry and Jake. Jake just wants to deliver his lines, but much to Jake’s and Roxanne’s growing frustration, Harry is constantly breaking character to ask for “motivation” or to question the logic of a scene or piece of blocking. It’s another running joke, often quite humorous, no more so than, again late in the show, Harry, in character, is dealing with life and death issues then abruptly stops to once again ask about motivation. It was unexpected, and after a beat or two, the audience erupted with laughter.

The actual rehearsals for “The Understudy” must have been very interesting, for there are so many scripted mishaps and intricate lighting (kudos to Matthew Richards) and sound cues and scene changes that all seem wrong and mistakes but are integral to the play that it must have taken a while for the actors to adjust and become comfortable with the mayhem. After all, in a “normal” play when you deliver a line about a violent storm descending and it doesn’t appear, well, you feel naked on the stage; when you’re working with one set and it suddenly slides off stage for no apparent reason you are a bit nonplussed.

Putting aside the “slow” moments, which, thankfully are few and far between, “The Understudy” is a delightful comedy that often borders on farce, with just a touch of slapstick, and the final scene, choreographed by Noah Racey, which has Harry and Jake doing a silly dance, is delightful. It captures, visually, the essential wackiness inherent in the play, a Chaplinesque answer to the angst, anxiety and darkness that was Kafka’s stock in trade. Much praise to director Kennedy for grasping all of the comedic opportunities in the play and coaching his cast to deliver them with style, grace and a great sense of timing.

“The Understudy” runs through September 1. For tickets or more information call 203-227-4177 or go to www.westportplayhouse.org

A "Singular Sensation"

A Chorus Line -- Ivoryton Playhouse -- Through September 2

Obviously, casting is important for any show – cast the wrong actor in a role and it can let the air out of one of the show’s tires. However, there are some shows that have become so iconic, and the characters so imbedded in the public’s mind, that casting it correctly is almost a death-defying, high-wire act (to switch metaphors) – one false move and the show plummets. Of course, you can cast against type, but that often draws more attention to the casting choice than to the production itself. Correct casting is never more important than when deciding to board “A Chorus Line,” the backstage show-biz musical that opened on Broadway in 1975 and is currently on the stage at the Ivoryton Playhouse. I am happy to report that Jacqueline Hubbard, the Playhouse’s executive/artistic director, and Todd L. Underwood, the show’s director, along with Michael Morris, musical director, walked the tightrope with nary a false step, for the cast, across the board, is outstanding, and the show is one, whether you’ve seen other productions or not, that should not be missed.

The reason why casting is so critical for this musical, with music by Marvin Hamlisch, lyrics by Edward Kleband and a book by James Kirkwood and Nicholas Dante, is that although it’s essentially an ensemble cast the show consists of a series of vignettes, some delivered via song and others via monologues, that literally puts the spotlight on individual actors. As they step forward to tell their characters’ stories, each has the opportunity to create a unique moment, and by and large they all succeed.

The show’s gestation involved several workshop sessions with Broadway dancers, called “gypsies” because they have no permanent “home” -- they travel from show to show wherever the work takes them. Michael Bennet, the show’s original choreographer, sat in on these sessions and, although there is contention about exactly who came up with the idea, Bennet realized that what the dancers were telling him, their stories, was grist for the theatrical mill. Hence, “A Chorus Line” was born.

The show, save for the finale, is about the arduous, sometimes degrading, always stressful audition process, and opens on a bare stage lit primarily by a “ghost” light, a single light on a pole that is kept lit in most theaters, ostensibly to allow people to see where they’re going when the stage in unlit but, if you buy into theater lore and superstition, is really to keep theatrical ghosts at bay. It’s a bare-bones scenic design (compliments of Martin Scott Marchitto), save for mirrors that often line a rehearsal studio (actually they look like they’re made of mylar and make the dancers look like they’re dancing in a fun-house, but whatever) and a “rain” curtain in the final scene; the lack of scenery and props emphasizes that it’s all on the actors to provide the gloss, glitter and atmosphere.

In the musical, the show being cast requires four male and four female dancers, but three times as many dancers are auditioning, so there’s the inevitable winnowing process. The show’s director, Zach (Edward Stanley), is overseeing the process with the assistance of his choreographer, Larry (Max Weinstein), and after putting the dancers through an initial routine and making some cuts, Zach has those remaining literally toe the line and then requests that they speak about themselves, which sets up most of the production, for they all step forward, either individually or in groups, to tell their stories.

I’ve seen this show multiple times – know the characters, know their stories – so there was a possibility that my overall reaction might be, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Such was not the case. The stories, whether told via song or monologue, are still compelling and delivered with such conviction that one is compelled to attend and respond. My one somewhat negative reaction, and this is not the fault of this production, is the length of the opening sequence, which has the full company running through several dance routines, while occasionally breaking out with the “I Hope I Get It” song, punctuated by “I Really Need This Job” – it just seems to run on a bit too long. Since we have yet to be introduced to the individual characters, it seems, at moments, a simple flurry of dancing bodies.

However, once the cuts are made and Zach makes his request for self-revelation, the show begins to soar and never flags. As mentioned, this is an ensemble piece, but there are standouts. The first of them is Natalie Madison as Diana Morales. Her story involves her experience in a high school acting class in which she is constantly belittled. This is rendered via “Nothing,” and her haunting voice carries with it the sense of the demeaning nature of her experience. You can’t help but edge a bit forward in your seat as her story unfolds until it gets to the poignant final moment when she feels “nothing” upon hearing that her former teacher had passed away. Madison also gets to sing one of the show’s signature songs, “What I Did For Love,” which she does in such a heartfelt manner it’s like you’re hearing this song for the first time.

Another first among equals is Alexa Racioippi as Val, who delivers the best “tits and ass” sequence (“Dance: Ten: Looks: Three”) I’ve ever seen. She flaunts what the plastic surgeon has given her without shame – it’s sassy and stylish and basically demands that the audience acknowledge the essence of what the song is about. At one point Val turns to the audience and says, “You’re looking at my tits, aren’t you?” (this after a little hop-hop turn that makes her breasts jiggle and bounce). Yes, we are. Gotcha!

I could go on: there’s the opening story delivered by Mike (Dakota Hoar), the “I Can Do That” song, that brings to mind the “Billy Eliot” story. Then there’s the entire Montage sequence, which includes the touching “At the Ballet” number featuring Bebe (Kayla Starr Bryan), Maggie (Liv Kurtz) and Sheila (Lili Thomas), which offers a view of dancing school as a retreat for these three young women from the stark and somewhat painful realities of their home lives. The number also emphasizes how Marcus Abbot’s lighting design is so integral to this production. There have been times in the past when the Ivoryton lighting, at least in early days of a show, has been a bit shaky (especially with follow spots), but in “Chorus Line” it is flawless – it draws the audience’s attention to what they should be looking at without drawing attention to itself.

As for stark and painful realities, nothing tops the story Paul (Joey Lucherini) tells late in the second act. Reluctant to speak throughout most of the audition, he finally unburdens himself, relating how he came out of the closet and ended up in a drag show, only to have his parents confront him, when he is in full costume, back stage. Although the telling could have been sped up a bit, in the end it’s a story that can’t help but make the emotions twitch just a bit.

All of this leads to the final number, “One,” and although it’s been expected (and anticipated) by all who are familiar with the show, it still delivers a certain amount of elation and triumph for, unlike in the opening sequence, the audience now knows who these dancers are, their trials and tribulations, and although the show they have been cast in will inevitably close and they will move on (reality, too, for the actors up on the stage), for this one, brief, shining moment they have achieved success.

Ivoryton’s second summer musical is a crowd-pleasing winner. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve seen the show before (especially if you’re only familiar with the agonizingly flawed, over-produced film version) or are new to the world of the “gypsies.” This is the type of show where you just might resent there being an intermission because you want to get back to your seat and see and hear more, if only because there’s so much talent up there on the stage. You might well ask yourself, “Am I in Ivoryton or on Broadway?”

“A Chorus Line” runs through September 2. For tickets or more information call 860-767-7318 or go to www.ivorytonplayhouse.org.

An Aging "Barefoot"

Barefoot in the Park -- Sharon Playhouse -- Through August 12

If you’ve been around for 55 years you’re bound to look and sound a bit different than when you first saw the light of day. Once you were cute and cuddly but now, well, it all depends. Such is the case with Neil Simon’s “Barefoot in the Park,” the current production at the Sharon Playhouse. On Broadway, it ran for 1,530 performances and was Simon’s biggest hit, and it didn’t hurt that a young Robert Redford played one of the leads. The Sharon production, directed by Clayton Phillips, is professional and, at moments, quite engaging, but the play itself, despite the outstanding cast, is no longer cute and cuddly. There’s some joint creaking and wrinkles in the show and what might have drawn uproarious laughter five-plus decades ago now often elicits little more than a wan smile.

The premise is sitcom simple: a young couple, Corrie (Rebecca Tucker) and Paul (Craig Bryant Belwood) has just moved into a Manhattan apartment. The only problem is, it’s five (or six, if you count the stoop) flights up, a fact that provides one of the play’s running jokes: to climb the stairs is exhausting -- funny the first time it’s used as the telephone man (John Champion) staggers in, but it does become a bit old. Corrie is a free spirit, or at least as free a spirit as Simon could conceive of in the early 60s, while Paul, a lawyer, is buttoned-down. And…well…the play is about this young couple, over the course of several days, learning to adjust to each other’s personalities and quirks as they are visited by Corrie’s mother, Mrs. Banks (Susan Cella) and a flamboyant neighbor, Victor Velasco (Rex Smith).

The problem, not with the production but with the aging play, is that a lot has transpired in the past five or so decades and the problems, such as they are, that this young couple face seem, viewed with eyes that have seen everything from the sexual revolution to #MeToo, somewhat superficial.

That being said, there’s no faulting the cast, which does everything it can to bring life to this old comedic war horse. First there’s Tucker, who doesn’t stop moving throughout the entire evening – she’s a visual definition of effervescence. She prances, she pouts, she, at moments, plays the sex kitten and does a great job when the script calls for Corrie to be just a bit tipsy. Playing against her, Belwood is sufficiently upright and handles his character’s befuddlement at some of the goings-on with nuance and understatement. The two work well together, no more so than in the extended argument scene, when the rational gives way to the irrational. If there’s any part of Simon’s play that is timeless it is this, for I would suggest that the rise, crescendo and falling off of a couple’s argument style, complete with door-slamming, hasn’t changed over the decades, and Tucker and Belwood get it just right. It’s the high point of the evening.

Then there’s Cella as Mrs. Rose, a role that has become somewhat stereotypical, that of the intrusive mother-in-law (think Endora in “Bewitched”). However, Cella doesn’t settle for the stereotype, but creates a fully-fleshed lady of a certain age with style, flair and a great sense of timing. Her best moments are with Smith as the aged lothario Velasco. Her she uses controlled body language to convey her character’s hesitancy about associating with this man. Finally, Smith must tackle an essentially one-dimensional role, one that might tempt an actor to “ham it up.” Smith refrains from doing this, occasionally allowing the audience to see his character’s insecurity behind the façade of bravado.

Most of the play’s first act is sustained by the running joke and what seems like an extended amount of exposition not only to establish the characters but to drive home the situation. In essence, beyond the stair-climbing, not much really happens, a point that was reinforced by the audience’s reaction when the lights came up for the intermission – no one moved. More was expected. In fact, the ushers had to announce that it was, in fact, an intermission.

There have been tectonic societal changes since Simon’s play premiered in 1963, and those changes can’t help but affect the audience’s response to the play. Back then there may well have been unbridled, continuous laughter but the Playhouse audience was often silent, save for one man who found just about every line hilarious – his barking laugh became just a bit annoying. As the first act somewhat tediously crawled towards the intermission I glanced at those sitting around me – they often looked like they were watching an Ibsen play about marital strife – intent yet somehow expecting more than what Simon has given them.

“Barefoot in the Park” runs through August 12. For tickets call (860) 364-7469 (ext. 201 in the summer / ext. 100 in the winter) or go to http://sharonplayhouse.org/theatre/tickets/