Found

Reviewed by Katie Buenneke
IAMA Theatre Company
Through March 23 [NOTE: Closed early due to COVID-19]

If you’ve ever wondered if a talented musical theater composer could take literally anything and turn it into music, Found, now playing at The Los Angeles Theatre Center, is proof that that’s possible. Composer Eli Bolin, who wrote a number of winning songs for the Netflix special John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch, works with book writers Hunter Bell and Lee Overtree to take the notes that people misplace and turn them into a musical.

If this sounds like an endeavor that might be light on plot, it is. There is a facile attempt at a structure, wherein Davy (Jonah Platt), who possibly has feelings for his surly friend Denise (Jordan Kai Burnett), finds a note meant for someone else on his windshield. When he reads it out loud to Denise and his best friend Mikey D (Mike Millan), he realizes he’s discovered more than just an errant scrap of paper — he’s found the impetus for a zine, publishing various notes from strangers, and perhaps a cultural phenomenon.

At times, the show is outright hilarious, especially when the cast, under Moritz von Steulpnagel’s direction, underline the absurdity of some of the notes. You can’t help but wonder what the people who wrote these notes are like, and it’s great fun to watch the cast hypothesize with you. But the production’s strengths are undercut by two huge, structural issues with the book.

When the focus is on Davy and the other main characters, I was left wanting. The dramatic thrust of the piece has little impact because the character beats are so cliché and generic that the next plot point can be seen from a mile away. In these moments, it’s easy to yearn to return to the notes, which are funny in a completely unpredictable way. But there can be too much of a good thing, and as the show wears through note after note after note set to music, it’s easy to wish for a more consequential story, rather than sequences of segments that have little narrative impact. Triteness aside, the issue is primarily one of balance — the text feels like distinct chunks of story, then notes, then story, etc, rather than notes gracefully interwoven with story.

The show is sung quite well, and as a composer, Bolin shows great aptitude for both fresh sounds and mimicry of established musical styles, in a way that’s reminiscent of Alan Menken. His musical prowess, however, is occasionally at odds with the text he’s required to use as lyrics. Take “Looking for Love,” a would-be ballad sung by Becka (Karla Mosley), Davy’s other love interest. Ballads tend to be laconic, but the sheer number of words in the note Bolin is setting to music throws off the song’s scansion, frustrating the overall experience. But songs like “Shit That Has to Be Done” are so joyous and innovative that they absolve the rest of score of most of its sins.

Besides the songs, the stars of the show are Millan’s delightfully vivid Mikey D and the ensemble, each of whom is given an opportunity to shine. Sheila Carrasco and Parvesh Cheena stand out especially, crafting memorable moments each time they’re on stage. Platt and Mosley, as Davy and Becka, however, feel very generic, though the script doesn’t give them much to work with. Burnett is perplexing, as she seems to grapple with her character Denise. Burnett simmers, creating the sense that there’s more to the actress than what we’re allowed to see on stage. She comes into her own towards the end of the second act, but for most of the show, it feels like Burnett’s vivacity is being dampened by Denise.

Von Steulpnagel’s staging makes interesting use of the small space at LATC, though frustratingly, a few scenes are blocked with two actors in conversation on opposite sides of the theater, requiring the audience to either miss half of the performance of the dialogue or flip their heads back and forth, like they’re watching a tennis match. The intent of Sibyl Wickersheimer’s set design is good, creating distinct spaces with a hipster aesthetic and layers of notes pinned to the walls, but those same walls don’t pair well with Yee Eun Nam’s projection design, rendering the text of blown up and projected notes nearly illegible. Still, I often found myself squinting to try and read the notes, since between the loud drums and Cricket S. Myers’ sound design, it was difficult at times to understand the lyrics as sung.

In a number of ways, though it’s a new work, Found doesn’t feel like a musical of this time. The premise — that someone would find and publish other people’s notes — hearkens back to a different age of the internet, when blogs like PostSecret were tremendously popular, paving the way eventually for Brandon Stanton to pair pictures of people with their confessions in Humans of New York (indeed, the actual Found Magazine was first published in 2001, four years before PostSecret). Text is more ephemeral now, captured on phones and computers, even erasing after 24 hours via Snapchat and similar apps. You can tell that the musical senses this, as Davy rails against digital technology like an octogenarian telling kids to get off his porch. But when people write and read everything from grocery lists to declarations of love to this very review on screens, the act of putting pen to paper feels like a relic of a distant era.

The Los Angeles Theatre Center, 514 S. Spring St., Downtown L.A.; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 4 p.m.; Mon., 8 p.m.; through Mar. 23 [NOTE: Closed early due to COVID-19]. Iamatheatre.com. Running time: two hours and 25 minutes with a 20-minute intermission.

The Great Leap

Reviewed by Katie Buenneke
East/West Players at the Pasadena Playhouse
Through December 1

Lauren Yee is a truly gifted playwright. In a way that feels unique and independent of her contemporaries and predecessors, she’s able to weave a personal story amongst irrefutable facts. She’s done this in King of the Yees, an autobiographical piece about her father, and in Cambodian Rock Band, which sets a different father-daughter story against the background of the Khmer Rouge’s genocide in the titular country.

The Great Leap, with a title derived from the 1958-1962 “Great Leap Forward” in China, takes place in two cities on different continents, and two times: San Francisco — and Beijing in 1989 and 1971. In 1989, a high schooler, Manford (Justin Chien) tries to convince Saul (James Eckhouse), the USF basketball coach, to let him play in the upcoming game between the USF team and the Beijing University team. Saul, full of white pride and ignorance, is sure his American team will trounce the Chinese team, coached by Wen Chang (Grant Chang). Eighteen years earlier, Saul had visited China, tried to coach the players, and returned home skeptical that the China could ever have a good basketball team, much less good basketball players. Before he left, Saul named Wen Chang, who was his translator, coach of the Beijing University team, a high-profile role Wen Chang neither asked for nor wanted — as he tells the audience about China under Chairman Mao’s rule, “Growing up, you did not want to be someone. You wanted to be the person three people behind someone. Because being someone could get you killed.”

Saul’s not too keen to let an overexcited teen join his team, but after Manford’s cousin Connie (Christine Lin) points out that the Beijing players are all going to be a lot taller than Saul is anticipating, Saul reluctantly lets Manford join his players. As Saul says before they get on their flight in June of 1989, “It’s China, four days, what could happen?”

Well, anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of the broad strokes of contemporary Chinese history knows what’s going to happen, what’s inevitable, in June of 1989. Massive student protests, which the audience knows — but the characters don’t — will culminate in a fatal event at Tiananmen Square. Events that have added resonance today, in light of the protests in Hong Kong.

Yee gracefully interlaces history with a compelling story, combining factual and emotional truths into a gorgeous tapestry.

With material so rich, it’s a shame that the production being staged at the Pasadena Playhouse isn’t as strong as the text deserves. Eckhouse and especially Chang are great as the two coaches, but under B.D. Wong’s direction, the performances of the younger actors are noticeably weaker. Wong’s staging also leaves much to be desired, over-relying on a tendency for the actors to hit their marks and turn out to face the audience to deliver monologues. It feels clichéd, and it’s hard not to feel that this text merits a more thoughtful staging.

Lex Liang’s scenic design mostly relies on Hana S. Kim’s projections, which bring much-needed life to the drab stage. Leon Rothenberg’s sound design feels too feeble to effectively fill the Playhouse’s auditorium.

The Great Leap’s final image packs a potent emotional punch and lingers in the memory long after the house lights come up. It’s a shame the rest of the production isn’t as strong as the script, or that moment.

Pasadena Playhouse, 39 S. El Molino Ave., Pasadena; Tues.-Fri. at 8 p.m.; Sat. at 2 p.m. and 8 p.m.; Sun. at 2 p.m.; through Dec 1. PasadenaPlayhouse.org. Running time: two hours, with a 20-minute intermission.

Little Shop of Horrors

Reviewed by Katie Buenneke
Pasadena Playhouse
Through October 20

Little Shop of Horrors is a beloved show, near and dear to many musical theater aficionados’ hearts. It’s widely licensed, meaning many people have seen (or been in) a non-professional production of the show (this critic performed in the show in high school), and it was the musical that got Alan Menken and Howard Ashman on the map. Together, they went on to write songs for The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast , and part of Aladdin, before Ashman died of complications from AIDS.

So it’s a shame that the production now playing at the Pasadena Playhouse is so underwhelming. Despite strong, additive casting, director Mike Donahue’s choices undermine the show’s text and result in a production that feels slight.

For those unfamiliar with the plot, it follows Seymour (George Salazar), an awkward young man who works in a flower shop with Audrey (Mj Rodriguez). Seymour has a tremendous crush on Audrey (who’s in an abusive relationship with a sociopathic dentist, played by Matthew Wilkas), so when he comes across a strange plant, he names it Audrey II. The plant’s strangeness brings attention to the struggling plant shop, much to the delight of the shop’s owner, Mr. Mushnik (Kevin Chamberlin). But Audrey II doesn’t survive on plant food and water — no, the plant (voiced by Amber Riley) will only grow when fed human blood. The action throughout is narrated and commented upon by a Greek chorus of street urchins, played here by Brittany Campbell, Tickwanya Jones, and Cheyenne Isabel Wells.

This is a stripped-down production, with minimal sets and props, and a lean cast; the show, which is often filled out with an ensemble, relies on Wilkas and Audrey II’s puppeteers to step into some minor roles. This, combined with feeble sound design and sparse orchestrations (two keyboards, a guitar, a drummer, and a bass), gives a sense that this production is too thin for the Playhouse’s large space. The props and costumes indicate that Donahue has made the perplexing choice to set the show in the present day, which creates some tremendous idiosyncrasies. At one point, a new-looking dentist’s chair emerges from the floor, like something you’d find in any dentist’s office post-2008 or so. Wilkas’s dentist picks up a clean instrument that looks brand new as the following dialogue takes place:

Seymour: What’s that?

Dentist: That’s the drill, Seymour!

Seymour: It’s rusty!

Dentist: It’s an antique. They don’t make instruments like this anymore. Sturdy, heavy, dull.

Audrey II in this production is also pink, which would be an inconsequential design choice if there weren’t a heartbreaking joke that depends upon the plant being green. Confusingly, the plant does not grow in size after being fed — it remains the same small size, but seems to have a growing doppelgänger that only occasionally exists.

Fortunately, this production has a few things going for it, and they all come in the form of casting. George Salazar is perfectly cast as Seymour, and it’s nice to see the actor, who has often played quirky best friend characters in the past, step into a quirky leading man role. And Amber Riley is fantastic as the voice of Audrey II, a role often voiced by a man in professional productions. Their duet, “Feed Me (Git It),” is far and away the highlight of the show. Both are phenomenal vocalists, and the number really lets them shine. Rodriguez’s lower register is beautiful, and her duet with Salazar on “Suddenly, Seymour” is entrancing.

Rodriguez’s casting also brings layers of subtext to the role, as research shows that transgender women, and especially trans women of color, face higher rates of violence, and especially physical violence by an intimate partner, than the wider population does. In a recent L.A. Times interview, Rodriguez expressed that she doesn’t necessarily want to invite speculation about whether Audrey, the character, is transgender or cisgender, but casting a name actor in any role requires casting and contending with that actor’s personal backstory in the role, whether it’s Leonardo DiCaprio in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood or Rodriguez, who stars in the FX show Pose, in Little Shop. In an ideal world, it would go without mentioning that Rodriguez is a trans woman, because the practice of casting transgender and nonbinary actors in cisgender roles should be commonplace and normalized, but sadly, such casting is uncommon.

Across the board, the performers are solid. This helps the production a lot, because even when the director’s vision is limited, the performances keep the show from being unwatchable. But Little Shop’s source material is so strong that it’s a shame that, despite good casting, this production is middling at best.

Pasadena Playhouse, 39 S. El Molino Ave., Pasadena; Tues.-Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 2 p.m. & 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m. & 7 p.m.; through Oct. 20. PasadenaPlayhouse.org. Running time: two hours, with a 20-minute intermission.

Skintight

Reviewed by Katie Buenneke
Geffen Playhouse
Through October 12

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It’s tempting to think that what playwright Joshua Harmon does is easy. His way with language seems effortless, easily conveying characters’ backstories without feeling obviously expository. This high quality and ease of storytelling can be seen in this and his other plays (including Bad Jews and Significant Other, both of which appeared at the Geffen in previous seasons).

The story centers on Jodi Isaac (Idina Menzel), a 40-something whose ex-husband has just gotten engaged to a 24-year-old woman. Jodi is already sensitive about the new woman’s comparative youth, so it hits a particularly sore spot when she learns that her father, Elliot Isaac (Harry Groener), who’s turning 70, is in a committed relationship with Trey (Will Brittain), who, at 20, is the same age as Jodi’s son, Benjamin (Eli Gelb). As the characters trade barbs, the evening becomes a rumination on pursuing youth (or at least the perception of it) and love.

Harmon often utilizes a shortcut of sorts, creating characters that will be familiar to the types of people who see plays at upscale professional theaters such as the Geffen and Roundabout Theatre, which has premiered most of Harmon’s works (including Skintight — this version at the Geffen is billed as “The Roundabout Theatre production of . . .”). It’s likely that by drawing, and drawing on, characters so familiar to upper-middle-class theater-going types, Harmon is alienating potential audience members who don’t see themselves represented on the stage. That said, these characters ring remarkably, eerily true. They articulate all the nastiest thoughts that we may have, but we have the restraint to keep them to ourselves, in order to avoid hurting our loved ones. As in, say, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, there’s a vicarious thrill in hearing vicious words spoken without consequences.

Under Daniel Aukin’s direction, the cast is nearly perfect. Every actor is truthful and speaks authentically, but Groener feels miscast as Elliot, a Ralph Lauren–type fashion designer who is obsessed with both being and looking young. Unlike his character, Groener appears to have settled in nicely to his natural age rather than fighting it, putting his appearance at odds with how we might imagine Elliot to be, especially given that the character undergoes a Botox procedure during the events of the play.

Lauren Helpern’s scenic design is sleek and intimidating, fitting a family like the Isaacs. More perplexing is Vincent Oliveri’s sound design, which is definitely trying to achieve something towards the end of the first act, but it’s not clear what, making it seem like there’s some sort of issue with the speakers, rather than a conscious design choice.

Skintight is such a remarkably specific play, it likely won’t speak to many people. But for those who see themselves and their loved ones in the characters on stage, it’s an engaging and amazing night at the theater.

Geffen Playhouse, 10886 Le Conte Ave., Westwood; Tues.-Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 3 p.m. & 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; through Oct. 12. GeffenPlayhouse.org. Running time: two hours and 15 minutes, including a 15-minute intermission.

Latin History for Morons

Reviewed by Katie Buenneke
Center Theatre Group
Through October 20

John Leguizamo has a remarkable knack for drawing an audience in and making them feel comfortable immediately. Before you realize you’re even watching a one-man show, you’re well into it, you’ve unknowingly taken a leap of faith and you’re trusting this man to guide you through the next two hours.

Leguizamo is no stranger to the form of solo performance, with past outings including Freak (which debuted on Broadway in 1998) and Ghetto Klown (which played at the Montalbán in 2011). He slides in and out of the various characters he plays (his son, wife, and daughter, primarily, in addition to various historical figures), but that’s not the main attraction in this show.

As the title would indicate, Latin History for Morons is Leguizamo’s version of a collegiate lecture, a primer on a topic often left out of the curriculum. So often left out of the curriculum that Leguizamo is compelled to learn and teach — the show is framed by his quest to find a Latinx hero for his son to look up to (and write about, for a school project). “If you don’t see yourself represented outside of yourself, you just feel fucking invisible,” he says early on, and it’s the first of many gut-punching moments throughout the evening.

Leguizamo strikes a delicate balance in the show, keeping the audience’s spirits high from joke to joke, but then — just as the audience might be starting to get comfortable — he tells you the unvarnished truth about what happened to the Latinx people of the Americas not too long ago, before bouncing back to levity. The history of Latinx people is a history of repeated genocide and intentional persecution, which continues to this day under the Trump administration’s inhumane treatment of citizens, immigrants, and refugees. Presented without comic diversion, the topic might be too much of a downer for most audiences, but by telling parts of the story humorously, Leguizamo makes learning about trauma more tolerable.

Speaking of audiences, Leguizamo knows his. He knows that most of the people in attendance at The Ahmanson Theatre will likely be white and the type of people who listen to a lot of NPR. He jokingly makes fun of the audience, but he never talks down to them. Of course, there are layers to his circumspection; perhaps he’d like to bellow about the unjust treatment of Latinx people and the intentional obfuscation of the contributions of Latinx civilizations, but he wouldn’t be able to take it out on his (white) audience, no matter how representative he feels they are of the injustices people from his culture face. There’s a power dynamic at play that’s too easy for white audiences to ignore, but likely impossible for Leguizamo to forget. Though he never states as much, he subtly indicates that there are two types of white people: outwardly racist ones (like Trump and a dad at his son’s school who often references being descended from a line of Civil War generals) and the types who’d shell out $35-$145 per person to see a show that’s literally called Latin History for Morons. By virtue of being a part of the latter group, it’s tempting for the audience to become complacent, and distance themselves from the horrors of their ancestors, but the success of European colonizers in the Americas is inextricably linked to their proclivities to exploit indigenous peoples.

Here’s the conundrum: Perhaps it’s odd to want a performer to make the audience feel worse about themselves just by virtue of their ancestry, but by failing to make this context explicit, it lets the (majority white) audience off the hook. It’s too easy for white people to live in ignorance of the atrocities their ancestors committed upon communities of color, or simply to argue that those crimes aren’t theirs, but those of their ancestors, and hence they’re not responsible. But it’s impossible for the descendants of oppressed people to forget those same actions, and to let bygones be bygones.

Leguizamo is insightful, with a razor-sharp wit and a knack for impersonation, but it’s uncomfortable when he uses his skills to mock other marginalized groups. In particular, there’s an extended sequence where he portrays the Aztec leader Moctezuma as a pre–Will & Grace–era caricature of a gay man. While Moctezuma made some extremely poor choices, Leguizano’s use of tired stereotypes to depict him as gay creates an implication or a correlation between being gay and being a bad person or an ineffectual leader.

Despite those occasional fumbles, Leguizamo has an effervescent presence, and he’s a great entertainer and teacher. The show lags slightly (it now runs 10-15 minutes longer than it did on Broadway or on Netflix), and while his portrayals of his family are affecting, the show is most compelling when Leguizamo is leaping in and out of history, showing the audience an aspect of history that was previously unacknowledged. It’s an educational evening, which Leguizamo tries to make palatable for as many people as possible.

The Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., Downtown L.A.—Civic Center; Wed.-Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 2 p.m. & 8 p.m.; Sun., 1 p.m. & 6:30 p.m.; through Oct. 20. (213) 628-2772 or CenterTheatreGroup.org. Running time: one hour and 50 minutes with no intermission.

Early Birds

Reviewed by Katie Buenneke
Moving Arts
Through September 7

When it comes to buffets, it seems the early bird does catch the worm — or at least, the early bird gets to eat her food before anyone else touches it. This is the conclusion that Nora (Jean Gilpin) and Ivy (Jayne Taini) reach in Dana Schwartz’s Early Birds. Moving Arts presents this world premiere at the Atwater Village Theatre.

The art for the show, which is used in the marketing materials and on the cover of the program, shows two senior women flashing the ocean from atop a ship. The image is somewhat misleading, for while both Nora and Ivy are gray-haired ladies aboard a cruise who are occasionally foul-mouthed, this isn’t a raunchy comedy, or even much of a comedy at all. It’s amusing at times, sure, but not laugh-out-loud funny.

We meet Nora and Ivy as they meet, staking out seats on the Serenity Deck of the cruise they’re on. Nora is prim, a wealthy widow twice over, while Ivy is more acerbic. Despite their differences, they get along quite well, and grow close quickly. In each scene, we see Nora and Ivy at the beginning or end of their day, occasionally interrupted by the ship’s captain, Devon (Wendy Elizabeth Abraham), a young woman who’s adept at connecting with and caring for retirees.

There are some really nice moments of emotional truth in the relationship between Gilpin’s Nora and Taini’s Ivy, but they’re obscured by a sense that the play is under-rehearsed and the script is half-baked. The actors trip over the text at times, which is distracting, but less of a cause for concern than the issue of the script; while the actors are quite likely to become more familiar with their lines as the run of the show progresses, the script is more of a fixed entity, at least for the time being.

Schwartz’s script isn’t bad, just uneven. Though Gilpin and Taini are strong actors, their characters’ emotions occasionally turn on a dime, and it’s hard for the performers to justify why the characters are behaving like that in that moment. Logically, the text doesn’t hold much water either — captains aren’t typically so social and hands-on with guests on a 500-person cruise (indeed, the ship as a whole seems quite under-staffed). Without getting into spoilers, there are other conceptual issues the script presents that don’t make much sense.

Like the actors, it seems director Elizabeth Swain is doing her best to give the characters emotional through lines. Within each the scene, the pacing works, but the transitions between scenes feel overly long — a stagehand replaces each of the four water bottles on stage between every scene, regardless of whether anyone has drunk from the bottles. Perhaps this is to create a sense of top-notch service aboard the ship, or to give the actors time for their costume changes, but it feels increasingly futile to watch the water bottles be changed out for the umpteenth time. John Iacovelli’s scenic design creates a posh environment, while Jeff Gardner’s sound designer appropriately balances the sounds of the sea with the ability to hear the actors. Martha Carter’s lighting design lights the small stage well, but the amount of light for the evening scenes feels too strong, more like dawn, which makes it difficult to tell when those scenes are set.

Too often, once women reach a certain age, they’re deemed “invisible,” and it’s nice to see a play that chooses to put an underrepresented demographic center stage. As such, praise is due to Moving Arts and Schwartz for tackling this subject matter — but it seems the play itself could benefit from the wisdom that comes with experience (and revision).

Atwater Village Theatre, 3269 Casita Ave., Atwater Village; Fri., 8 p.m.; Sat., 4 p.m. & 8 p.m.; Sun., 4 p.m.; Mon., 8 p.m.; through Sep. 7. MovingArts.org. Running time: 85 minutes with no intermission.