Back Porch

Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
Bluestem Productions at the Victory Theatre Center
Through July 9

RECOMMENDED

An old-timey small town in Kansas. A young person chafing at its limitations and longing to see the world. A handsome stranger of uncertain moral character who appears as a catalyst for change. These plot elements appear front and center in William Inge’s Pulitzer-prize-winning play, Picnic, and they’re appropriated with fair success by playwright Eric Anderson in his new play Back Porch, a gay love story that turns on one youth’s sexual awakening and his inauguration into the difficult choices maturity may usher in.

The time is 1955. Eighteen-year-old Gary (Isaac W. Jay) and his younger brother Del (Cody Lemmon) live with their widowed Dad, Barney (Karl Maschek), whose wife had passed away when Del was born. A bright kid from a family with limited funds, Gary has graduated from high school and is slated to attend, on a scholarship, the local teachers’ college in the fall. The idea doesn’t exactly thrill him; secretly, he dreams of being an actor, a fantasy that takes wing when a movie company arrives in town to shoot the film, Picnic, with William Holden and Kim Novak. While Gary fails to be cast as an extra (which devastates him), his kid brother Del gets the call. One day on the set Del meets a man named Bill Holman (Jordan Morgan) whom he mistakes for the star William Holden, and invites him to visit their home. Holman, Holden’s good-looking stunt double, takes him up on it and shows up one evening. He’s a man with plenty of charm and bedroom eyes that alight on Gary, who shyly, and then decisively, responds.

Directed by Kelie McIver, the play follows the short-term evolution of their attraction, all in the shadow of the stern gender precepts of mid-20^th century middle-America. At first the only person to notice anything outside the margin of social acceptability is Gary’s distant relative, Myron (Eric Zak) — but since he’s an obnoxious prig, no one pays much attention to his agitated finger-pointing. Later, Barney’s neighbor and good buddy Millard (Jonathan Fishman) catches Bill and Gary in a small, intimate moment, and their relationship becomes an issue.

One of this play’s strengths is that, in creating his characters, Anderson eschews formula; in Millard and Barney, he gives us people who act according to their conscience, rather than simply behaving as spokespersons for the social mores of their time.  It’s also to the playwright’s credit that the family unit which serves as backdrop to the love story is atypical for that era, with a dad who’s chosen to raise his children on his own.

In a role that is mostly that of an observer, Fishman delivers the production’s preeminent performance as a warm, caring and perceptive friend. Zak frequently steals center stage as the goody-goody puritanical Myron. Maschek’s low-key Barney displays, at the end, the acting chops he possesses but has kept under wraps for most of the play, given the character’s taciturn manner.  Morgan has the most challenging role as the enigmatic Bill: Is he a good guy or an exploiter? The charismatic Morgan captures aspects of both. Jay labors mightily to fashion the persona of a naïve youngster, but it’s not a guise that come naturally, and the production suffers for it. In the later scenes, where his Gary has lived a bit more, the actor is more successful.

On a tiny proscenium, designer Kenneth Klimak’s simple set, with a backdrop to the side suggesting a boundless sky, serves the story well, as do Carol Doehring’s lighting and Cinthia Nava’s sound. As to Molly Martin’s costumes, I had to wonder why Millard and Barney kept their ties on so much of the time they were lounging together on the back porch, out of the public eye.

Toward the end, the play leans, somewhat precipitously, into soap opera melodrama, but not so much as to obscure what’s likable about the story and the adept performances that bring it home.

Bluestem Productions at the Victory Theatre Center, 3326 W Victory Blvd, Burbank. Fri.-Sat., 8 pm, Sun., 4 pm; thru July 9. onstage411.com/BackPorch Running time: approximately two hours and 15 minutes with an intermission.

The Darkness: Goddess Revealed 

Reviewed by F. Kathleen Foley
The Actors’ Gang
Through June 17

It’s not a good sign when a critic has to read and reread the advance press materials in an anxious but sincere effort to understand a play.

After viewing The Darkness: Goddess Revealed at the Actors’ Gang, I felt as if I had witnessed something profound, powerful and very moving.

I also felt as though I had struggled with overlying philosophical concepts that were so intellectually obtuse as to be nearly indecipherable.

Writer Nick Gillie has essentially assembled his play into three lengthy monologues, all richly comprehensible, but punctuated by far less coherent interstitial segments.

Taut and well-written, these monologues, all performed by Gillie with astonishing intensity and craft, represent the experience of three Black men from different walks of life and historical periods. Each speaks as he enters the afterlife and is met by three spirits in Black female form (Liza Cruzat, Raquel Rosser, and Erin Nicole Washington.)

The first posthumous monologue — or more appropriately, confessional — concerns Dr. Glory Banks, a successful surgeon whose revenge-driven existence was prompted by a childhood incident in which he witnessed his father viciously beaten by a White man in his native Alabama. Since then, Glory has made the Whites who disrespected him, one in particular, the target of his conniving, often graphically sexualized reprisals — only to become an abuser himself, as monstrous as the hated White tormentor of memory.

Then we meet the “outlaw,” Patrick Bartholomey, who tells us that, while he was still just a child, he shot his father’s killer dead. That act gave him a sense of omnipotence that helped him survive a weary world, yet kept him emotionally isolated, save for one older female lover, the sole human connection in his life. His refusal to have children with her resulted in their breakup, yet he mystically reconnects with her “soul” via one of the women spirits in the Darkness, i.e., the afterlife. (I told you it got confusing.)

In the most heartbreaking reminiscence, Darrick Taylor describes his experiences as a Mississippi slave — the grinding toil, the relentless sun, and most agonizingly, the pain of having his beloved children torn away from him and sold. His humiliating public whipping and sodomizing by a White overseer is so harrowingly recapitulated, it’s hard to hear. Yet Darrick is inspired to carry on by his intrepid wife and his fellow slaves, who support him in song and lend a spiritual (no pun intended) dimension to the account.

Live drumming by Mizan Willis, projection design by Corwin Evans, A/V design by Cihan Sahin and lighting by Bosco Flanagan all effectively contribute to the otherworldly ambience of the evening, while director Dwain Perry, Gillie’s frequent collaborator, contributes a typically assured staging.

A former staff writer for American Gods, Gillie apparently intends to redress the negative connotations associated with the words “Black” and “Darkness,” and to create a new mythology based on the African American slave experience.

That’s almost certainly an oversimplification of Gillie’s worthy cause. However, it’s those interstitial segments that leave us in darkness. Are these wraiths of the afterlife the spirits of Darrick’s stolen children? Is one of them the progeny of a White abuser who must pay the penalty for the sins of her fathers? Must another remain in semi-corporeal form before she can assume her full role as one of the ethereal “We?”

We strive to understand but get lost in the weeds of Gillie’s philosophical/mythological construct, which might have been better served as a one-person play.

The Actors’ Gang, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City. Fri.-Sat. 8 p.m. through June 17. (310) 838-4264. boxoffice@theactorsgang.com. www.TheActorsGang.com. Running time: 90 minutes with no intermission.

A Soldier’s Play

Reviewed by G. Bruce Smith
Ahmanson Theatre
Through June 25

RECOMMENDED

A Black sergeant is killed, shot to death with two bullets. His body is found in the woods near the Louisiana army base where, in 1944, a company of Black soldiers is stationed. Yes, Charles Fuller’s A Soldier’s Play, winner of the 1982 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, is a riveting whodunit, a murder mystery that keeps you guessing until the end. But it is much more. At its core, it tells the story of a particular kind of pernicious trauma brought on by racism — a self-loathing that leads to tragedy.

Captain Richard Davenport (Norm Lewis), a military police lawyer, is sent to the base to investigate the murder. He clashes with Captain Charles Taylor (William Connell), the White commanding officer who doubts that a Black officer can conduct an effective investigation. Over the course of the play, the two men continue to have conflicts, sometimes with racist undertones, but it turns out they are on the same page: finding the killer.

As Davenport interviews the soldiers who were under the unforgivingly strict command of the murder victim, Sergeant Vernon C. Waters (Eugene Lee), we learn in tantalizing dramatic beats about this deeply conflicted man and the events that led to his death. Waters was hard on all his men, but particularly tough on Private C.J. Memphis (Sheldon D. Brown), an uneducated Mississippian and a gentle soul, who sings and plays the blues, captivating his audiences. Waters is relentless in demeaning Memphis. To Waters, Memphis represents the worst of Black Americans, those who will “bring us down” when World War II ends and when (Waters hopes and sometimes believes) Blacks will achieve equality with Whites.

And yet, Memphis feels sorry for Waters. “Any man who don’t know where he belong gotta be in a whole lot of pain.”

Memphis is right. We learn that Waters is full of self-loathing, trying to fit into a White world while acknowledging “they still hate us.” He is also wracked with guilt over an action he took that leads, ultimately, to his murder.

A Soldier’s Play crackles with rising tension, enhanced by Kenny Leon’s crisp direction and a relatively sparse set designed by Derek McLane in which the actors can move smoothly. The entire cast is superb, but particularly noteworthy are Brown, whose portrayal of Memphis is raw, vulnerable and heartbreaking, and Lee, whose Waters is a tortured soul and a complex man. Both characters are vividly brought to life on stage.

Adding a haunting element to the production are the blues songs that members of the cast sing, either as a group or as solos. And the staccato of marching boots is a subliminal reminder of the bullets fired in the war abroad — and at home.

Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., downtown LA; Tues.- Sat., 8 pm, Sat., 2 pm, Sun., 1 pm & 6:30 pm; thru June 25. CenterTheatreGroup.org. Running time, two hours with a 15-minute intermission.

Ain’t Misbehavin’

Reviewed by Martίn Hernández
Nate Holden Performing Arts Center
Through May 28

RECOMMENDED

Ah, they don’t write them like that anymore, and if jazz composer and pianist Thomas Wright “Fats” Waller had not passed away in 1943 at the all too early age of thirty-nine, there would be more than the four hundred copyrighted songs in his repertoire for us to savor.

In 1978, Richard Maltby, Jr., and Murray Horowitz culled several Waller classics — as well as standards from many of his contemporaries — and crafted a tribute revue that became a New York cabaret hit that later ran for almost four years on Broadway. Running the gamut from the sad to snappy and the sublime to satiric, the songs have, for the most part, stood the test of time and are embedded in the fabric of this country’s musical history.  

Welcome to the “Harlem Renaissance,” a period that fell roughly between the 1910s and the mid-1930s and showcased the social, political, and cultural achievements of Manhattan’s historically Black Mecca. In a posh brownstone, our hosts for the evening — Yvette Cason, Wilkie Ferguson III, Connie Jackson, Marty Austin Lamar, and Natalie Wachen — have invited us to a swinging cocktail party and set the evening’s tone with a rollicking version of the show’s title Waller/Harry Brooks/Razaf tune. Maltby’s and Horowitz’s so-called “book” then has our stalwart performers engage in solo or combined vocalizing, using each song as mini vignettes rather than fully developed dramatic scenes.

“Honeysuckle Rose,” the Waller/Razaf composition, gets a delightful rendition by Cason and Lamar, abetted by Dominique Kelley’s comically combative choreography. Lamar’s dreamlike vocals on “The Jitterbug Waltz” is another highlight, as the singer calls on his love to keep on dancing, exhaustion be damned. Jackson’s jokily overblown performance of “When Nylons Bloom Again,” epitomizes the bane of many a woman in the USA during World War II.

Ferguson presents up some “smokey” vocals in Stuff Smith’s amusing ode to marijuana “If You’re a Viper” — recorded by Waller in 1943 under the title “The Reefer Song” and credited as such in the program. Andrew Schmedeke’s crimson-hued lighting and Ferguson’s sinuous moves, staged by Kelley, enhance the dream “about a reefer five feet long.” Cason’s touching “Mean to Me” is a cry for kindness from a less-than-courtly lover, leaving her “singin’ the blues and sighin’”. Wachen delivers a captivating “Keeping Out of Mischief Now,” as a coquette who declares that her “flirting days are gone” now that love is in her heart. 

Though some tunes remain timely, others remind us of how times have changed. In a brassy performance by Cason and Jackson. “Find Out What They Like,” suggests women “give them what they want” when it comes to men and their desires, while Ferguson and Lamar gleefully body shame a rotund gentleman in “Fat and Greasy” – and encourage the audience to sing along. The ensemble’s take on “Black and Blue,” a critique on racism against Black people, is harmonically haunting, though the song’s lyrics – “I’m white inside, but that don’t help my case, ‘cause I can’t hide what is in my face” — would give some radical Black political theorists a field day.

Nevertheless, director Wren T. Brown emphasizes the playful and joyous nature of the music, which is enriched by the exceptional quintet of pianist/musical director William Foster McDaniel, drummer Land Richards, saxophonist Keith Fiddmont, trumpeter Fernando Pullum, and bassist Dwayne Augustine. Wren keeps an easy rhythm to the proceedings and Kelley’s choreography, from solo soft shoe by intricate ensemble work, adds more liveliness to the show. The ample and impeccably detailed set, with furniture and arched doorways, is itself a work of art by the late, great designer John Iacovelli. Designer Wendall Carmichael’s retro awareness to his costumes adds to the shows sense of the historical — and the colorful.

Ironically, like modern day Harlem, the area surrounding the show’s South LA venue is facing increased gentrification and threatened displacement of Black folks. Hopefully, City Hall can reverse this trend and champion the preservation of Los Angeles’s own historically Black mecca. Like the cautiously optimistic Jimmy McHugh/Ted Koehler song says in the show’s robust finale medley, “I’ve Got My Fingers Crossed.” 

Nate Holden Performing Arts Center, 4718 West Washington Blvd., Los Angeles; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m.; through May 28. https://www.ebonyrepo.org. Running time two hours with a 15 min intermission

The Bottoming Process

Reviewed by Deborah Klugman
IAMA Theatre Company and the Los Angeles LGBT Center
Through June 12

RECOMMENDED

What happens when ethnic identity stops being a gift and starts being a curse? In Nicholas Pilapil’s The Bottoming Process, a gay Filipino American man becomes so obsessed with how his Asian-ness —and his sexuality — is perceived that he torches a mutually loving relationship with someone who, it would seem, genuinely cares for him.

An LA native and the American-born son of a Filipina immigrant, Milo (George Salazar) is an unpublished essayist and social commentator in his late 20s. One day in a trendy communal workspace he meets John (Rick Cosnett), a published author renowned for a hit series of books for young people. The two begin to date, after which — helped along by John’s connections — Milo’s career is launched. He moves into John’s comfortable home, and they share an idyllic few months before Milo’s inner demons seize control and sow doubt and dissention both in his own mind and heart and between John and himself.

The main issue tormenting Milo, reiterated over and again in his writing, is his identity as an Asian in a White society — which means, for him, that he’s viewed as someone lesser. More than anything, he’s haunted by the sexual stereotypes of Asians that have been perpetrated within Western culture, as either exotic or submissive or both. Milo takes this very personally because he translates it into the “feminization” of gay Asian men. His partner’s past struggles —as a youth, John fled a homophobic “Christian” community in Nebraska before establishing a life for himself in cosmopolitan LA —are perceived by Milo as of miniscule importance compared to the burdens he juggles daily as a gay man of color.

This toxic blend of hubris, resentment and raging insecurity plays out in vivid hues in Salazar’s high-powered performance. His Milo is one of those people who’s always “on” — an “on,” moreover, without a filter. Whatever Milo happens to think and feel at any given moment is laid out for anyone to hear. He often shares his passions and pains with his Korean American friend Rosie (Julia Cho) — whose tongue is as facile and biting as his but whose perspective embraces an affinity for the work of the very British Jane Austen, whose 19^th century heroines strive for domestic bliss in marriage, as does Rosie herself. (Some of the conversations between Milo and Rosie go on too long, either because one may not recall the particulars of Austen’s work that Rosie references, or because Milo’s racial resentments have been articulated once too often.)

Directed by Rodney To, The Bottoming Process is visually pleasing, with Christopher Scott Murillo’s harmonious, uncluttered set nicely augmented by Nick Santiago’s video design — a mix of gardens and other upscale interiors with multiple projections of the characters’ faces flooding the backdrop as they vent their opinions. Josh Epstein’s lighting and Jeff Gardner’s sound enhance these effects. The adept ensemble includes Anisha Adusumilli as John’s, and later Milo’s, poised and worldly agent, as well as Ty Molback in a variety of supporting roles, including Rosie’s laidback White boyfriend Daniel and a good-looking stranger whose attentions John fends off out of respect for his relationship with Milo. As John, an understated Cosnett serves as foil for Salazar’s hyper Milo; it’s a truthful performance, though I had been expecting a more mature persona; the age gap stipulated by the script is not apparent with these two actors.

Altogether, the production is well-assembled and directed. Yet it bears mention that, for any audience member who actively strives to respect others regardless of race, religion, ethnicity or gender preference, Milo’s diatribes against White people can offend. Only within the context of the character as a hurting and damaged individual do they become palatable.

 LGBT Center’s Lily Tomlin/Jane Wagner Cultural Arts Center, Renberg Theatre,
1125 N McCadden Place, Hollywood. Fri.-Sat., Mon., 8 pm, Sun., 2 pm, dark on May 29; thru June 12. iamatheatre.com. Running time: approximately one hour and 40 minutes with no intermission.