Antigone, Presented by the Girls of St. Catherine’s

Reviewed by Taylor Kass
Sacred Fools Theater Company
Through April 11 [NOTE: Closed early due to COVID-19]

St. Catherine’s Catholic girls’ school is bringing back drama club — and the show must go on. But what if that means covering up a scandal that has the potential to ruin not only their production of Antigone, but the lives of teachers and students alike? Sacred Fools Theater Company’s production of Antigone, Presented by the Girls of St. Catherine’s, is the West Coast premiere of Madhuri Shekar’s play about friendship, first loves, and breaking the silence.

For the girls of St. Catherine’s, the real drama is behind the scenes. Greta (Madeleine Hernandez) is playing Ismene, although she secretly wishes she was playing Antigone. Her best friend Marilyn is playing Antigone, but she’s more interested in her charming and passionate drama teacher Mr. Reed (Luis Fernandez-Gil) than she is in the play. When Greta discovers a shocking secret, she must grapple with her own sense of morality and duty. Hernandez as Greta and Scarlet Sheppard as Susan — the head girl who is entrusted to protect her peers and help run the drama club — deliver the most grounded and nuanced performances in a cast that occasionally tips into shrill teen girl stereotypes. In Greta and Susan, we see the Greek tragedy play out. Do they stand up for what’s right and risk everything, or swallow injustice in order to keep the peace?

The set (Amanda Knehans) attempts an aesthetic blend of the worlds of Antigone and St. Catherine’s, but ends up as a confusing and less-than-functional amalgam that doesn’t reveal any information about the school or its environs. Temporally, the play is firmly in the 90s — think uniforms accessorized with scrunchies and the Spice Girls as transition music. This allows the relationships between the girls to unfold without the influence of social media, isolating them from the outside world.

The plot and that of Sophocles’s Antigone are a bit too divergent, making the play-within-a-play framing device seem occasionally clunky. Still, the problems of these high schoolers are emphatically depicted with appropriately high stakes, making the story feel gripping and engaging. The slow-burn revelation of the girls’ secret is achingly frustrating, made even more painful with the realization that knowledge doesn’t always equate to power in a battle against authority.

The Broadwater Main Stage, 1078 Lillian Way, Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m. (except Mar. 15); Mon., 8 p.m. (Mar. 30 only); through Apr. 11 [NOTE: Closed early due to COVID-19]. https://www.sacredfools.org/. Running time: 100 minutes with no intermission.

All My Sons

Reviewed by Taylor Kass
Pacific Resident Theatre
Extended through March 1

Arthur Miller’s 1947 masterpiece All My Sons is unforgiving and precise in its path of destruction — it unravels the American dream and dismantles the nuclear family in one fell swoop. Joe Keller (Richard Fancy) is a husband, father and beloved neighbor, accused but acquitted of knowingly selling faulty engines to the military during World War II and causing the deaths of dozens of pilots. His wife Kate (Terry Davis) is convinced that their son Larry, who went MIA years ago, is still alive. When Larry’s former girlfriend Anne (Amy-Helene Carlson) arrives to pursue a relationship with the Kellers’ second son Chris (Marc Valera), years of secrets, denial and guilt all come to a head. Now in an extended run, the Pacific Resident Theatre’s production of this seminal American classic successfully encompasses the play’s emotional peaks and valleys yet lacks the forward momentum that drives the story to its dramatic conclusion. And with a script this close to perfect, any less-than-stellar moments stand out.

The production is staged in the company’s tiny, rectangular black box theater. While scenic designer Dillon G. Artzer has attempted to recreate the Kellers’ inviting backyard, he’s failed to commit either to deconstructed impressionism or detailed hyper-realism. The half-constructed walls of the Keller house feel incongruous next to a collection of lived-in furniture, while Larry’s fallen memorial tree is also somewhat lamely reduced to a lone branch on the floor. The narrow walls of the theatre remain black, adding a distracting layer of artifice to what Miller intended to be a realistic environs.

Although their “private little revolutions” are minimized by the older generation, the young people in All My Sons are willing to unearth the truth at any cost. Amy-Helene Carlson imbues former girl-next-door Anne with sweetness and incisiveness, expertly crafting a young woman who cares deeply for others but is unwilling to be pushed around. Chris Keller (Marc Valera), the younger brother who made it through the war but lives in the shadow of survivor’s guilt and parental expectations, is gifted with some of the most beautiful poetry in the play. Valera uses the text to his advantage to emphasize Chris’s sensitivity, but he lacks the youthful angst and insecurity that plagues his character.

Producer and lead actor Richard Fancy leans too hard into Joe’s likability; he comes across as more of a goofy grandpa than a charming-yet-menacing patriarch. His performance lacks the gravitas that keeps Joe at the center of the family; occasional bursts of yelling only serve to erode any sense of real power. Compared to Joe, the delusional Kate seems sane. Terry Davis plays Kate with intelligence and vulnerability, but her portrayal of a woman whose entire world hinges on a lie is too controlled. On several occasions, Joe tells Kate to “calm down” when in fact she is talking in a whisper.

The question at the heart of All My Sons isn’t whether or not Joe is guilty — it’s how far he and Kate are willing to go to convince themselves that he isn’t. Fancy portrays Joe as a man who knows he’s done something wrong, but it would be far more interesting if Joe fully believed in his own innocence until finally forced to face the truth.

If All My Sons is a pressure cooker, this production overheats too early, prioritizing emotion over action. The third act appropriately achieves a violent and feverish crescendo, but it would be even more impactful if cracks in the Keller family facade took longer to appear.

Pacific Resident Theatre, 705 1/2 Venice Blvd., Venice; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m. (except 2/14, 2/15 & 2/21); Sun., 3 p.m. (except 2/9); extended through Mar. 1. (310) 822-8392 or https://www.pacificresidenttheatre.com/. Running time: two hours and 30 minutes with a 10-minute intermission.

Musket and the Rat

Reviewed by Taylor Kass 
Dull Boy Productions
Through January 18

RECOMMENDED

In the violent and unpredictable city of Chicago, if “you play, you pay.”

Musket Cherry lives in her alcoholic mother’s basement, selling heroin to support her family and, hopefully, pay her brother’s bail. Her two closest confidantes are her best friend Gay Stevie and her boyfriend Billy. But when tragedy strikes, not once but twice, a desperate Musket is willing to do anything to right a wrong and regain control over her life. Dull Boy Productions’s Musket and the Rat is a modern-day tragedy about the futility of violence and the difficulty of breaking the cycle.

Musket and the Rat feels firmly rooted in its setting, with references to Chicago landmarks and characters who speak with a thick regional dialect. While the slang seems to sit more comfortably in the mouths of some than others (creating a few moments that break the illusion), this world is rich and engrossing. The detailed dialogue and rich characterizations make clear that playwright Sammy Horowitz is speaking from personal experience; his bio states that he grew up involved in the same world of addiction and incarceration that his characters are in.

The eponymous Musket, played by Maya Schnaider, is an unconventional leading lady who takes no shit from anyone. She’s fierce and smart, with a secret soft side that only appears when she’s talking to her beloved brother. As her boyfriend Billy, Adrian Burks is sexy and charming, but underneath his swagger is a rootlessness and insecurity that keeps him tethered to Musket. The supporting array of customers and acquaintances are uniquely crafted, although Gay Stevie (Adam Pasen) and Musket’s mom Tabitha (Michelle Holmes) seem overly affected in their street-hardened personas and ultimately feel out of place in the hyper-realistic script.

The set by Aaron Glazer looks lived-in and dressed to perfection, with Sunny-D bottles and half-smoked joints littering the basement. The half-intact ceiling smartly makes the relatively spacious stage at the Arena Stage Hollywood appear smaller, allowing director Simon Lees to emphasize how the characters’ trapped energy erupts into violence.

Musket and the Rat is a well-structured play with a well-earned twist, although the final moments could use a bit more breathing room to allow the surprise ending to land. Musket is a complicated protagonist who both participates in and is victimized by the cutthroat world around her. This makes her story all the more truthful — and vital to include in the often male-centric conversation about drugs and gang violence. It also underscores that side of a city that gentrification hides — even though this play is set in Chicago, its parallels to Los Angeles are clear.

Arena Stage Hollywood, 1625 N. Las Palmas Ave., Hollywood; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; through Jan. 18. (800) 838-3006 or https://musketandrat.com/tickets/. Running time: 90 minutes with a 10-minute intermission.

Bad Habits

Reviewed by Taylor Kass
Ruskin Group Theatre Company
Through January 26

It’s going to take a miracle to save St. Cyril’s from the clutches of a greedy Bishop. Luckily, a miracle comes knocking one stormy December night in the figure of Maria (Kelsey Griswold), a young girl with a dark past and an uncanny ability to speak with God. The sisters of St. Cyril’s have a choice to make — keep the vulnerable Maria safe, or exploit her skills to save the bankrupt convent. A world premiere based on a new script by Steve Mazur, the Ruskin Theatre Group’s Bad Habits has all the ingredients of an enjoyable ensemble comedy, but its structural flaws and lagging pace make it underwhelming.

At the heart of the story is a quirky crew of nuns who run St. Cyril’s convent and elementary school. Each has a distinct personality and her own naughty bad habits. Unfortunately, in this production, there is little chemistry among the cast: Rather than play off each other like a true ensemble, each performer seems to be vying solely for her own laughs.

While Alley Mills plays the nuns’ Mother Superior, the show’s Hail Mary is really Orson Bean, iconic actor and comedian of the stage and screen who still has killer comedic timing. However, his character — a cynical Bishop who wants to seize St. Cyril’s property and turn it into an eponymous cathedral — is confusingly crafted and behaves illogically. As hilarious as it is to see a 90-year-old bishop tell crude jokes, it doesn’t make sense that he would be telling them to the audience at a children’s Christmas pageant.

While Mazur’s script has moments of clever dialogue, almost all the scenes are purely expository. Any dramatic tension within the plot and among the characters is never fully fleshed out, so the stakes seem low. Several segments involve audience participation, but these feel unearned without a strong plot to support them. And while there are a couple of uniquely funny jokes, the long sequences of nun puns and non-sequiturs are never quite as funny as the script thinks they are. Comedy is at its best when characters are fighting tooth and nail for what they want and bumping into ridiculous obstacles along the way, but Bad Habits lacks the essential drive that makes comedy sing.

Ruskin Group Theatre, 3000 Airport Ave., Santa Monica; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; through Jan. 26 (Note: no performances Dec. 27-29 or Jan. 3-5). (310) 397-3244 or www.ruskingrouptheatre.com. Running time: two hours with a 10-minute intermission.

Before

Reviewed by Taylor Kass
The Odyssey Theatre Ensemble and Fishamble: The New Play Company
Through December 8

When the lights come up on Before, Pontius Ross (playwright and solo performer Pat Kinevane) only has an hour before meeting his estranged daughter. “I always fuckin’ hated musicals,” he tells us while making copious use of song and dance to describe growing up as the son of community theatre aficionados and unexpectedly becoming the father of a beloved baby girl. The play, developed by the Irish theatre company Fishamble and produced by the Odyssey Theatre Ensemble, is bold in its aim to combine music, dance, and solo performance into one 90-minute piece. But its disparate themes and indistinct structure prevent the audience from truly understanding its central character.

Before takes place in Clerys, an iconic Dublin department store that closed its doors in 2015. It’s where Pontius comes to buy a present for his daughter before their reunion — but otherwise these surroundings are irrelevant to the story, which is primarily about Pontius’s simultaneously idyllic and traumatic childhood in the Irish countryside. The design elements don’t do much to further clarify the indistinct setting — the few all-black furniture pieces and Kinevane’s all-black costume blend into the bare walls of Odyssey’s black box theatre, which feels too large for the sparse set. The fourth wall doesn’t exist either, as Kinevane addresses the audience in a presentational style, even breaking character to call out a woman rummaging through her purse. He stands mere inches away from the first row, blurring the boundaries between spectator and story until the story itself starts to get lost.

Before simply tries to do too many things at once, which confuses its message and dilutes its emotional impact. It attempts both to satirize and celebrate musical theatre, leaving its viewpoint unclear. Kinevane tries to deliver dramatic, emotionally charged monologues with a stand-up comic’s timing. The plot hinges on a succession of shock-value twists, each of which ring hollow and melodramatic in the scattered structure of the piece. Thematically, Before touches on religion, sex, politics and family, but doesn’t delve deep enough into any one. There’s a song about online dating that’s completely disconnected from the plot and seems to only serve as a fun opportunity to use technology in a dance number. There’s also a disturbingly violent discussion about women who make false accusations in order to screw men out of money and custody. Whether intentional or not, this is a controversial political statement to make at a time when women are still distrusted when they come forward with testimonies about their own mistreatment.

As Pontius, Pat Kinevane can’t escape his own talents. Even though the character is a self-described simple Irish farmer, Kinevane always moves with a dancer’s grace and delicacy. For all his jokes about the corniness of musical theatre, Kinevane is at his most sincere when he’s dancing. It is the overwrought monologues that feel affected and forced. Even with all of Pontius’s backstory, winks to the audience, and stunning dance combinations, he always feels out of reach, a performer rather than a person.

The Odyssey Theatre, 2055 S. Sepulveda Blvd., Sawtelle; Thurs.- Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 2 p.m.; through Dec. 8 (Note: no performance Nov. 28). (310) 477-2055 EXT. 2 or odysseytheatre.com. Running time: 90 minutes with no intermission.

Luminous Streets

Reviewed by Taylor Kass
The Roots & Wings Project at Words Uncaged
Through November 10

The streets of DTLA are dangerous for women: This immersive collection of five short plays makes that clear. If you are a femme-identifying person coming to see Luminous Streets, directed by Jesse Bliss for The Roots & Wings Project, expect to put yourself in danger — to park in an unlit parking garage, to navigate alleys to find the venue, to sign a vaguely-worded waiver. As you walk several blocks to each of the site-specific pieces, you and the other theatergoers are flanked by security guards, reminding you just how unsafe you really are.

Overall, the writing of each piece lacks nuance and clarity. The characters spout spiritual platitudes (“Where there is death, there is rebirth”) that seem more the playwright’s voice than the characters’, creating a bizarre disconnect between the visceral experiences they undergo and the detached way in which they describe them. And the acting is just as self-indulgent as the writing, with prolonged pauses and outbursts of emotion that are only cathartic for the actors themselves. Ironically, the only male performer in the show (Boogie Frantick) appears in three of the five pieces; he gets much more stage time than any of the femme actors whom this play is supposedly about.

The discrepancy between the lofty moral messaging and the reality of the immersive experience itself is jarring. The play Un Beso Porfa describes a character’s sexual assault in detail and even partially recreates the incident. However, the production provides no content warning whatsoever — so that an audience member who had experienced sexual assault in the past could potentially be profoundly triggered by watching this unfold onstage, with no chance to prepare or otherwise excuse him or herself to protect their mental health.

Monica’s World features a disabled character frustrated at how invisible she feels and how difficult it is for her to literally navigate the world. Meanwhile, we have just climbed up stairs, walked along crowded streets for several blocks, and remained standing for most of Luminous Streets‘ three-hour total run time. The problem is, anyone who is unable to meet the physical demands of this “Immersive Theatrical Tour” would not be able to see the play that is supposed to shed light on their experience. It is at best tone deaf and at worst exploitative to tell the stories of people for whom your show is partially or completely inaccessible.

The discrimination and other difficulties coped with by each character are all-too-real challenges faced by real women every day. But none of the women in any of these plays feel like fully realized people; they are merely vessels for presenting issues, bodies on which to inflict pain. If the message of Luminous Streets is that femme-identifying people are more powerful than the trauma they endure, these femme characters are, tragically, wholly defined by their traumas.

Words Uncaged @ Medallion Apartments, 334 S. Main St., Downtown L.A. — The Historic Core; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 3 p.m.; through Nov 10. www.therootsandwingsproject.com/. Running time: three hours with 10-minute intermissions at each site.

To T, or Not to T?

Reviewed by Taylor Kass
The Los Angeles LGBT Center’s Lily Tomlin/Jane Wagner Cultural Arts Center
Extended through December 14

RECOMMENDED

To take testosterone or not to take testosterone? That is the question. The solo performance piece To T, or Not to T?, written and performed by trans actor D’Lo, tackles even more questions, like: How do male-identifying folx like D’Lo embrace masculinity without falling victim to the patriarchy? Does passing as a man mean relinquishing visibility as a trans person? Will living his most authentic life bring D’Lo closer to his culture or push him away from his family? Even Hamlet would be stumped.

D’Lo begins the story of his life in Lancaster, California, where he grew up as the child of Tamil-Sri Lankan immigrants who loved him fiercely even as they struggled to understand his sexual orientation, his gender identity, and (gasp) his career as an artist. He slips back into his childhood self, a young person who idolized Queen Latifah and experimented with gender expression as he navigated personal tragedy and the pitfalls of growing up queer. He describes coming out as a lesbian in college, drinking to numb his unhappiness, and finding his life partner. He asks himself what kind of man he wants to be — and whether or not that includes taking testosterone.

With direction from Adelina Anthony, D’Lo plays a vast array of characters, from childhood friends to family members to drunk girls in a club. While Anthony’s staging and D’Lo’s vocal and physical versatility go a long way toward differentiating characters, things do get confusing when D’Lo plays more than two different people in a scene.

His portrayal of his father is the most tender and complex of all, especially in his recreation of the speech his father had given at D’Lo’s wedding. His dad cracks jokes, charms the audience, and uses male pronouns for the first time to refer to his son. D’Lo portrays his parent with reverence and empathy, and an unwavering love and understanding of the elder man’s own traumas.

The performance is relentlessly energetic and avoids a common pitfall of solo work — a pace that drags. The show feels personal as well as presentational, with a few hilarious winks to a knowing audience of LGBTQ folx and allies alike. Projection design by Meena Murugesan is playful, clean, and engaging, bringing extra detail to D’Lo’s story.

Solo performance is at its best when it is intimate and multifaceted. D’Lo is exuberant, warm and lovable, even in his pre-show speech — yet he doesn’t shy away from sharing his vulnerabilities as he describes the heartbreaks and victories on the road to knowing himself.

The Los Angeles LGBT Center’s Davidson/Valentini Theatre, 1125 N. McCadden Pl., Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m.; extended through Dec. 14. (323) 860-7300 or www.lalgbtcenter.org/theatre. Running time: 60 minutes with no intermission.