Throughout American Century Theater’s production of Abby Mann’s Judgment at Nuremberg, ensemble members portraying Nazis and their victims act as silent witnesses — ghosts, if you like — whose presence provides context for the legal proceeding at its heart. But these are not the only ghosts haunting any production of this powerful script: the memory of the Stanley Kramer’s 1961 film, with a brilliant cast including Spencer Tracy, Burt Lancaster, Maximilian Schell (who won an Oscar for his performance), Richard Widmark, Montgomery Clift, Judy Garland, Marlene Dietrich, and even the then young and pretty William Shatner is hard to keep out of one’s mind when viewing the stage version of Mann’s story.

At the center of the play is retired American judge Dan Haywood (Craig Miller), brought to Germany to preside over the 1947-48 trial of German judges who had collaborated, or actively participated, in Nazi-era injustices. The headline-grabbing war crimes trials, convicting Goering and other leading Nazi figures, were already complete, and the looming threat of a Cold War confrontation with the Soviet Union was leading many to believe gaining support from a revived German nation was more important that pursuing justice against smaller fish.

Haywood is the very figure of what we would want an American judge to be: low-key; kind; seeking the intellectual, historical, and cultural background of the case; understanding of the complexity of human motives; and focused entirely on justice, notwithstanding considerations of realpolitik. Miller is utterly believable in the role, never showy, always inhabiting the character. Some of his best moments are those in which he expresses uncertainty — “I don’t know what to think,” he says more than once. Even when delivering the sternest of judgments, he does do in a compassionate tone. Without attempting to channel Spencer Tracy, Miller makes Haywood a memorable and admirable figure.

In what is the play’s showiest role, defense attorney Oscar Rolfe, Steve Lebens does, to an extent, channel Maximilian Schell’s take on the role. A brilliant advocate, adept at devastating cross-examination, he acknowledges the horrors of the Nazi regime while, as a German patriot, he insists that it is not right to brand the entire German nation as criminal, something he sees as the inevitable implication of the trial. As he questions witnesses who were treated brutally in the defendants’ courtrooms, trying to show that there may have been a legally sound basis for executions and sterilizations, he knowingly reopens their emotional wounds. Lebens is at is best when facing the moral compromises of his own position, attacking people he knows to have been victims on behalf of persons who he knows acted unjustly, not only in the cause of his lawyer’s obligation to zealously defend his clients but in the cause of defending the honor and future of his nation.

The tragic principal defendant, Ernst Janning (Michael Replogle), was a leading jurist and legal scholar before and after the Nazis took power. He gave credibility to the Nazi legal system, and he personally and knowingly made unjust decisions on behalf of that system. As Haywood comments toward the end of the play, Janning loathed the evil he did, yet still chose to do it. In the film, Burt Lancaster gave Janning a commanding presence, dominating even those scenes in which he had no lines, proud even in taking responsibility for his crimes. Replogle takes the role in a quite different direction, displaying less gravitas while giving Janning a somewhat diffident, almost academic air, with an overlay of humility, more willing to admit, in his voice and body, that his choices in life have defeated him.

The approach Replogle takes to Janning is echoed, in one important respect, by Karen Rosnizeck’s Mrs. Bertholt. Both members of the pre-Nazi elite, they hated Hitler and his followers not so much for their evil as for their middle-class grossness. Mrs. Bertholt recounts a story in which Janning told Hitler to his face that he was too “bourgeois,” and Janning himself recoils at sharing prison quarters with his fellow prisoners, who in addition to their corruption were not the sort of people with whom he would ever have shared time and space. Mrs. Bertholt is the widow of a Wehrmacht general hanged for his part in the Malmedy massacre (the murder of 84 American POWs during the Battle of the Bulge). Aristocrats both, they despised the Nazis but supported the war as patriotic Germans defending their country. This class division among the Germans, and Hitler’s success in co-opting the old elites despite their disdain for him, are sometime-forgotten aspects of the period’s history that Mann illuminates in the script.

Rosnizeck’s Mrs. Bertholt is a gracious, civilized figure whose expropriated house provides quarters for Judge Haywood. Rosnizek’s portrayal emphasizes Mrs. Bertholt’s bitterness over her husband’s execution and over the entire war crimes trial enterprise — she stalks out of the final court session after the guilty verdict is announced — but could have benefitted from an additional touch of world-weariness. Rosnizeck also served as the production’s accent coach, and she and the actors playing German characters deserve credit for very credible German accents.

Colonel Ted Lawson (Bruce Alan Rauscher), his memory seared by the sight of the Dachau concentration camp, is appropriately aggressive as the prosecutor, seeking to punish as harshly as possible anyone associated with the Nazi regime. Frequently over-matched by Rolfe as a trial tactician (apparently to the point of neglecting to cross-examine one defense witness), Lawson sometimes gives way to his frustration, yet has the overwhelming moral force of responding to Nazi atrocities on his side (he shows films of the death camps at one point in the trial). A stronger sense of the overwhelming anger eating away at Lawson’s soul would have been a welcome added dimension to Rauscher’s portrayal.

Mann’s script is filled with short character roles, all of which were played successfully. Christopher Henley, as Rudolph Peterson, a now-timorous and nervous victim of sterilization, and Mary Beth Luckenbaugh, as Maria Wallner, a victim of a show trial that resulted in the execution of an elderly Jewish friend, stood out. Luckenbaugh chose to make the character angrier, and less destroyed, than the equivalent character in the movie, played by Judy Garland. The choice worked.

This was one of American Century’s more ambitious shows technically. Sean Allan Doyle’s complex sound design included such items as excerpts from Hitler’s speeches, Nazi marches, snippets of Wagner, bird sounds in the prison courtyard, and a clang when a prison sequence began. They all fit the occasion and were cued impeccably. The production made extensive use of projections (credited to Patrick Lord and Shayne Weyker), for settings (e.g., the courtroom, the prison, scenes of the city, though not any of Nuremberg in its late-40s bombed-out state) and for the films of the carnage of the concentration camps. These were shown at one end of the oblong playing area, with a distracting but probably unavoidable cutout around the defendants’ dock. In the playing area, with audience seating on either side, Patrick Lord’s set design featured the defendant’s area at one end, the judges’ elevated bench at the other, set dressing pieces in between. The set worked effectively for the courtroom scenes but was less evocative for some other settings, such as the Judge Haywood’s residence, a bar, or the venue of a concert that Judge Haywood attended with Mrs. Bertholt.

Rip Classen’s costumes were appropriate to the period and the characters. Particular blessings upon him for getting the right color for U.S. Army uniform jackets of the era, something I have seen done wrong in more productions than I care to think about. The most notable, and very effective, feature of Marc Allan Wright’s lighting design were the four large fluorescent ceiling fixtures, which provided harsh illumination in the courtroom scenes, especially when they came on quickly following a scene with lower lighting.

Along with the Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, American Century consistently produces the best and most interesting dramaturgical material in the area. The Audience Guide for Judgment at Nuremberg is one of the most valuable the group has produced, containing fascinating history of the events portrayed in the play as well as thought-provoking discussions of the legal and ethical issues raised by the war crimes trials. Even if you don’t pick up a copy — and I recommend doing so — this is a play to see not only as well-produced and acted theater, but as a springboard for thought and discussion about matters that have a great deal of contemporary resonance.

Director’s Notes

Judgment at Nuremberg deals with the Allied war-crimes trials held just after World War II, in which significant players in the Nazi regime were made to answer for their actions between 1933 and 1945. Specifically, it treats the portion of the trials that dealt with judges who decided cases during the Third Reich that sent defendants to grisly fates, often on trumped-up charges. (Names have been changed in Abby Mann’s play, but the characters are based quite closely on real historical figures and actual trials.)

Much as the play deals with a particular slice of modern history, it sadly remains relevant today, as war-crimes, genocides, imperialist invasions, and politically-motivated kangaroo courts fill the daily news-stream. Mann told his story first as a life television play, then as a star-studded Hollywood motion picture, and finally as a Broadway play — keeping much of the material intact from medium to medium. We’re presenting the Broadway script, adding selected material from the film, and introducing a framing device that brings “ghosts” from Hitler-era Nuremberg into a silent dialogue with Mann’s eloquent writing.

In the published edition of Mann’s Broadway play, there is an optional narration that starts the action. I felt it would make more sense to print it here rather than including the device of a theatrical narrator in the staging. The playwright starts with a telling point about the continuing legacy of the Nuremberg trials and gives us a concise bit of context for the events you will see unfolding on the stage. Mann, in his “narration” writes:

On January 1, 2001, then President Clinton signed the Rome Treaty for an International Criminal Court. He said, “In taking this action, we reaffirm or support for international accountability and for bringing to justice perpetrators of genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity based on our involvement in the Nuremberg tribunals that brought Nazi war criminals to justice.” Senator Jesse Helms of North Carolina called Mr. Clinton’s decision “as outrageous as it is inexplicable. I have a message for the outgoing President. This decision will not stand.” Many others echoed Helms’ objections, including President Bush. Their reason was it could inhibit the ability of the United States to use its military to meet alliance obligations and participate in multinational operations.

The first of the Nuremberg trials were concluded on October 1, 1946. Herman Goering, Reichsmarshall. Charged with conspiracy, crimes against peace, war crimes, crimes against humanity. The verdict: guilty on all accounts. The sentence: death by hanging. Rudolph Hess, Deputy Fuhrer. Verdict: guilty on two counts. Sentence: life imprisonment. Joachim von Ribbentrop, Reich Minister for Foreign Affairs. Verdict: guilty on all counts. Sentence: death by hanging.

Nuremberg, Germany. October 1, 1946. The conclusion of the trial of 22 top Nazis accused of war crimes. Twelve were sentenced to death. Three were acquitted. Seven received prison sentences ranging from ten years to life.

October 16, 1946. The sentences of death were carried out. Julius Streicher. Von Ribbentrop. Wilhelm Keitel. Ernst Kaltenbrunner. All except Herman Goering who cheated the hangman by taking his own life.

The first of the Nuremberg trials were over. Still to come were twelve more trials of 177 diplomats, generals, SS officers, high Nazi officials, doctors, judges, directors of IG Farben, leading German business and professional men, whose cooperation was essential to the success of the Nazi conspiracy.

We hope you find the play as compelling as the actors and I did while working on it.

Photo Gallery

Ellie Nicoll as Mrs. Halbestadt. Background: Jean Miller as ghost	Christopher Henley as Rudolph Peterson. Background: Tel Monks as Judge Ives
Michael Replogle as Ernst Janning, Kim Curtis as Emil Hahn, Victor Gold as Werner Lammpe, Tom Fuller as Frederick Hoffstetter.	Mary Beth Luckenbaugh as Maria Wallner. Background: Tel Monks as Judge Ives.
Bruce A. Rauscher as Colonel Lawson. Background: Kim Curtis as Emil Hahn, Tom Fuller as Frederick Hoffstetter.	Karin Rosnizeck as Frau Bertholt, Craig Miller as Judge Haywood.
Paul Klingenberg as Judge Norris, Craig Miller as Judge Haywood, Tel Monks as Judge Ives.	Michael Replogle as Ernst Janning, Craig Miller as Judge Haywood.
Steve Lebens as Oscar Rolfe, Michael Replogle as Ernst Janning.

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Colonel Lawson: Bruce Alan Rauscher
• General Merrin: Lyle Blake Smythers
• Judge Haywood: Craig Miller
• Captain Byers: Jorge A. Silva
• Judge Ives: Tel Monks
• Judge Norris: Paul J. Klingenberg
• Emil Hahn: Kim Kurtis
• Frederick Hoffstetter: Tom Fuller
• Werner Lammpe: Victor Gold
• Ernst Janning: Michael Replogle
• Oscar Rolfe: Steve Lebens
• Dr. Wickert: Ron Sarro
• Mrs. Halbestadt: Ellie Nicoll
• Frau Bertholt: Karin Rosnizeck
• Rudolph Peterson: Christopher Henley
• Dr. Gueter: Larry Kolp
• Maria Wallner: Mary Beth Luckenbaugh
• Elsa Lindnow: Vanessa Bradchulis
• Feldenstien: Jay Delehanty
• Ensemble: Alan Diaz, Paul Alan Hogan, Colin Martin, Jean H. Miller, Lynley Peoples, Gray West

Production Staff

• Director: Joe Banno
• Production Manager: Ed Moser
• Stage Manager: Lindsey E. Moore
• Set Design/Projections Design: Patrick Lord
• Projections Research: Patrick Lord
• Costume Design: Rip Claassen
• Lighting Design: Marc Allan Wright
• Sound Design: Sean Allan Doyle
• Assistant Stage Manager/Board Operator: Chris Beatley
• Master Carpenter: Michael Salmi
• Scenic Painter: Stephanie Chu
• Assistant Carpenter/Scenic Painting: Alex Kellogg
• Master Electrician: Juan Ramirez-Cortes
• Wardrobe Assistant: Cathering Casino
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Photography: Johannes Markus
• Program Design: Michael Sherman
• House Manager: Joli Provost
• Outreach Coordinator: Maia Falconi-Sachs

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

In The American Century Theater (TACT) audience guide for Arthur Kopit’s 1960 Oh Dad…, Artistic Director Jack Marshall lists 23 reasons why otherwise interesting plays drop out of sight and end up being produced by TACT. Oh Dad… scores in eight of Marshall’s 23 categories (e.g., unfortunate titles, a bias against older plays, bad movie versions, difficult technical challenges). TACT’s production, capably directed by Tyler Herman, is an inspired bit of theatrical archeology, bringing strong acting and excellent production values to a show that has lost none of its weirdness in the intervening 54 years.

The weirdness inheres in the principal characters: Madame Rosepettle (Robin Reck), a domineering monster of a mother; Jonathan (Tony Strowd), her cowed and hapless son; and Rosalie (Emily Erin), a seeming ingénue turning ravenous. And yes, dad — or at least a taxidermist’s preservation of his remains — does hang in the closet, though, truth to tell, none of the characters appear to feel particularly sad about it. It’s just part of the abnormal normal of the Rosepettle world.

TACT holds opening the house until a relatively brief time before the performance. Then the five members of the chatty bellboy crew usher patrons to their seats. The bellboys work for the Hotel Libre in post-revolutionary but pre-embargo Havana. Madame Rosepettle is their guest from hell, peremptorily ordering them about as they bring her varied belongings into the suite. There are suitcases to be sure, but most travelers to Caribbean destinations do not arrive with a pair of Venus Fly Traps who play guitar and percussion (Steve Przybylski and Vaughn Irving) or a Siamese kitten-munching fish named Rosalinda (Anna Lynch).

In 1943, Phillip Wylie (a writer best known previously for co-authoring the science fiction classic “When Worlds Collide”) wrote “Generation of Vipers,” a curmudgeonly whack against almost everything American, most famously mothers and “momism.” Wylie would have loved Madame R., who dominates Kopit’s script almost as much as she dominates her son. Bossy, cynical, ready to disdain and devour anything in her path, Reck’s Madame R. can use her womanly wiles to entrap males (traveling with Venus Fly Traps is surely no accident), for whom she feels only contempt. Her feelings about sex are close to hate; her favorite hobby seems to be strolling the beach at night harassing couples making out on the sand. Madame R. has a lengthy monologue in the second half of the script in which she makes her feelings and motives extremely, scarily clear. It goes on too long, becoming somewhat tedious, which I ascribe far more to Kopit’s writing (he wrote the piece quickly as part of university playwriting competition) than Reck’s acting, which never flags in energy and specificity. It’s quite a tour de force of absurdity, which Reck pulls off by taking her character fully seriously.

Jonathan — who Madame R. insists on calling by a series of names not his own — is a mass of neuroses and dysfunctions, including obsessive attachments to his stamp and coin collections and a homemade telescope, a nearly total lack of social skills, and a timorousness bordering on the pathological. With his tense, hunched-over stance; his thin, squeezed voice he is almost afraid to hear; and the predominance through most of the play of his flight response; Strowd creates a vivid physical character. Change for Jonathan arrives not with a characteristic whimper but a destructive bang, unfortunately for vegetable, animal, and human characters in proximity to his sudden rage. Strowd makes the rapid transition thoroughly credible.

When we first see Erin’s Rosalie, she looks every bit the dewey-eyed girl next door, denying Madame R.’s accusation of seamier activities while charming the easily-spooked Jonathan. Later, however, in her younger, more sexual way, she is revealed as a female predator in her own right, a worthy potential successor to Madame R. in Jonathan’s life. What Erin’s performance makes clear is that Rosalie hasn’t changed between her earlier and later scenes; rather, Erin reveals more and more of what Rosalie has been all along. She plays Rosalie’s final attempt to seduce Jonathan as a near-rape seizure of power over him, making his resulting panic attack understandable.

While I found plenty of reasons to admire the three principal performances, I must confess that my favorite character was the fish. Named after Dad’s mistress, Lynch’s Rosalinda was apparently pre-set under a cloth-covered table, emerging only when the bellboys bring on a large aquarium in which she then pops up, her face in orange makeup and wearing an orange headpiece suggesting fins. Lynch, while maintaining an undulating underwater-like motion, is gleefully attentive and responsive to everything and everyone on stage. Rosalinda has no intelligible spoken lines, and Lynch forms her character completely physically, with only her head and neck visible during most of the show, until a final choreographed moment that appears to illustrate (or perhaps to have inspired) Marshall’s program note comment that “freer can mean dead.” If it was impossible to take one’s eyes off Rosalind, no matter what else was going on, it wasn’t just because the aquarium was center stage.

The bellboys (Jorge A. Silva, Brian David Clarke, Andrew Quilpa, Chema Pineda-Fernandez, and Manolo Santalla), in addition to their prop-moving chores, act as a sort of chorus to the demented goings-on. They move and respond delightfully as they deal with people even more unusual than the general run of touristas. Silva also stands in for Dad as Madame R. describes the course of her marriage, and Santalla doubles as Commodore Roseabove, an elderly yachtsman who Madame R. tries to snare and who somewhat improbably becomes the closest thing in the play to a sane character.

Oh Dad… was one of the more prop-intensive shows I have seen recently, and Kevin Laughon’s collection — including a dictaphone, jury-rigged telescope, a coffin, stamps, coins, suitcases, wooden boxes, and many others — added greatly to the look of the show. The set (Kaite Wertz) consists of blue panels forming the angled walls of the hotel suite, with an alcove on stage left for the musicians/Venus Fly Traps. For the final scenes, the panels swing around to become the pink walls of Madame R.’s master bedroom, decorated with miscellaneous objects from her presumed travels. A bed unit rolls out, tilted high to make the action readily visible as Rosalie tries to bed Jonathan. In a particularly creepy effect, various hands, alien-like, ripple the pink sheets under Rosalie as she works at enticing her prey.

Most of the sound track of the show is provided by the two costumed musicians, who play a variety of Latin sounds for atmosphere as well as providing some precisely timed effects. Sound designer Thomas Sowers also provides occasional ambient sound, such as buzzing flies or an overflying airplane. Costumer Jacy Barber put the bellboys in blue jackets and caps, while Rosalie is in a print dress emphasizing the surface of her character and nicely concealing the predator beneath. When Madame R. is attempting her seduction of Commodore Roseabove, she wears a low-cut black outfit, while Jonathan is in a sports shirt and tie with shorts, emphasizing his enforced childhood status (not out of short pants at 20). Aside from the aforementioned headpiece, Rosalinda is in a fetching orange and cream body suit, while the musicians inevitably don green and yellow Venus Fly Trap getups. In all these respects, TACT’s Oh Dad… is a production that never fails to look good.

What does it all mean? Madame R. asks the question at the show’s conclusion, and Marshall’s answer is that the play is “the scream of the Fifties begging to be let out of its sterile, gray, restrictive, black and white room into the psychedelic and violent Sixties to come,” even though the playwright couldn’t be aware of it at the time he wrote the script. That, I suppose, depends on one’s view and experience of those decades. From my perspective, the comment may not do justice to the 50s, a much more interesting and dynamic decade than it is often given credit for. Given its acting and technical virtues, however, the TACT production is not simply a piece of historical and cultural commentary but a lively, highly engaging theatrical experience.

Director’s Notes

A leap of faith. It’s when you know you have to get to the other side, but you can’t for the life of you figure out how you’ll get there, so you take the plunge anyway. As a senior at Harvard when writing the play, Kopit was smart, probably very frustrated, not knowing what the real world would hold. American culture was straining to break out of the ’50s and into…anything else. We now know that the ’60s yielded space exploration, the shattered romantic notions of the post-war peace, and the broken boundaries of sexual, pharmacological, and racial tolerance.

I find this play strikingly relevant. Conversations with my peers constantly swirl around finding independence and autonomy under a tired government and stringent career hierarchies. Gone are the days of playing with model airplanes and Legos, of building forts with my grandmother’s couch cushions. What will be my place in the time to come? And what tricks does my mind play to scare me away from the less comfortable possibilities?

My mother tells the story of holding my oldest brother in her arms, days after giving birth, laughing out loud and saying to him, in words he could not understand, “Why do you trust me to hold you? You have no idea that this is my first time, too.” At its heart, I see Oh Dad as the story of a mother who has no idea how to parent her child and tries to love him with the only things she knows — protection and power. We see this through the eyes of her son, who also has no idea how to live life and tries to experience it by whatever means available. The dark comedy comes out as Jonathan succeeds and fails. He reminds us of the faces we all make when we realize there’s no net to catch our fall.

We all go through big life changes with unknown outcomes. Whether it’s puberty or parenting, political revolutions or personal resolutions, breaking the norms or pushing comfort zones, everyone fears what will come. But that doesn’t stop us from taking a leap of faith. And sometimes it takes a little song in our hearts to push us that extra mile.

Photo Gallery

Bellboys: Chema Pineda-Fernandez, Brian David Clarke, Jorge A. Silva, and Andrew Quilpa	Manolo Santalla as Commodore Roseabove and Robin Reck as Madam Rosepettle
Emery Erin as Rosalie, Tony Strowd as Jonathan	Tony Strowd as Jonathan. In back Steve Przbylski (guitar) and Vaughn Irving (drums) as Musical Venus Flytraps
Emery Erin as Rosalie, Anna Lynch as Rosalinda the Fish and Tony Strowd as Jonathan	Tony Strowd as Jonathan
Tony Strowd as Jonathan, Manolo Santalla and Jorge A. Silva as bellboys and Robin Reck as Madam Rosepettle

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Madame Rosepettle: Robin Reck
• Jonathon (her son): Tony Strowd
• Rosalinda (her fish): Anna Lynch
• Rosalie: Emery Erin
• Commodore Roseabove: Manolo Santalla
• Bellboys: Jorge A. Silva, Brian David Clarke, Andrew Quilpa, Chema Pineda-Fernandez, Manolo Santalla
• Musicians/Composers/SuperFly Traps: Steve Przybylski, Vaughn Irving

Production Staff

• Director: Tyler Herman
• Production Manager: Ed Moser
• Stage Manager: Sarah Kamins
• Assistant Director: Annalisa Dias
• Assistant Stage Manager: Lindsey E Moore
• Set Design/Scenic Artist: Katie Wertz
• Costume Design: Jacy Barber
• Lighting Design: Jason Aufdem-Brinke
• Sound Design: Thomas Sowers
• Properties Design: Kevin Laughon
• Master Carpenter: Michael Salmi
• Master Electrician: Jorge A. Silva
• Seamstress: Sandy Smoker
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Photography: Johannes Markus
• Program Layout: Michael Sherman

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

The great virtue of Bang the Drum Slowly, adapted from Mark Harris’ 1956 novel by Harris and Eric Simonson, is that it presents a story of an athlete’s fatal illness in a way that does not turn into a four-hanky sports weepy, of the “Brian’s Song” variety. The story is told primarily through the relationship of its two major characters, Henry “Author” Wiggen (Evan Crump), a young pitcher for the fictional New York Mammoths, and Bruce Pearson (Richie Montgomery), a backup catcher suffering from Hodgkin Lymphoma.

Throughout his undistinguished career, Bruce has also suffered being the target of locker room hazing, disguised as jokes, focused on his being thought of as dumb. As portrayed by Montgomery, Bruce is a sweet-natured, smiling man who does not take visible offense at the “ragging” he endures and who accepts almost unquestioningly what life throws at him. Montgomery ably portrays the dual nature of Bruce’s sweetness: partly the intrinsic character of a naïve country boy (a “rube” in old-time baseball lingo) and partly the defense of a vulnerable man against daily nastiness he cannot understand. For the most part, he deals with his illness with the same equanimity with which he deals with other blows that life has dealt him. Only to Henry, his best — and for a long time, only — friend on the team does he show the sadness and fear of knowing he will soon die, and then only on occasion, quickly resuming his typical good cheer.

Henry, by contrast, is a baseball golden boy. A star pitcher who has published a book about his baseball experiences — hence his nickname “Author,” which Bruce misconstrues as “Arthur” — he enjoys talent, fame, a decent salary (for the 1950s), and a happy home life, with his wife (Mary Beth Luckenbaugh) expecting their first child. But he is not an entitled star of the A-Rod sort, who would not know empathy if he tripped over it. As portrayed by Crump, Henry — who also is the play’s first-person narrator — is articulate, insightful, and compassionate. The portrayal is not overly complex — we’re talking about a 23-year old ballplayer here — but there is clarity in the performance. Knowing that the team would cut Bruce if management learned of his illness, Henry negotiates a contract clause tying Bruce’s employment to his own. He builds up Bruce, telling him he is brighter than he thinks and giving him hints about how to play the game smarter.

And it works. Bruce picks up on an opposing pitcher’s “tell” to figure out when to steal a base, something his manager and teammates have missed. He figures out another pitcher’s pattern to guess successfully about what pitch to expect on a two-strike count. He gets more playing time and makes some key contributions to the team. One of the more poignant points of the play is that, with Henry’s encouragement, Bruce begins to figure out the game — and, by extension, life — only as he is dying.

Crusty but good-hearted Mammoths’ manager “Dutch” Snell (Craig Miller) does his best to figure out what is going on between Bruce and Henry, even to the point of hiring an incompetent private detective (Joe Feldman). Dutch is a type to be sure — likely a first cousin to Benny VanBuren, manager of the Washington Senators in Damn Yankees, written and set in the same time period as Bang the Drum Slowly — but Miller portrays him with an appealing combination of humor and exasperation.

As word of Bruce’s illness spreads among the other players, initially as the result of an unplanned revelation by Henry to “Goose” Williams (John Tweel), they too are transformed. One by one, they begin to see Bruce in a kinder and fuller light, and this has the effect of binding the team closer together and helping them win. Harris may make too much of fatal disease as a team-building device; even in the 1950s, it’s questionable whether a team — let’s say, the Yankees of the Mantle/Ford/Martin era — would have responded in quite this way. But a certain romanticism about baseball is allowable, pervading even great writing about the game (e.g., “Bull Durham,” far and away the best baseball movie ever made). What is odder is the strangely formal, almost arch style of speech the script gives to the actors, almost as though the entire roster of the Mammoths had attended a few too many performances of Guys and Dolls.

With the exception of Goose, an older player whose career is nearly over, and who fretfully faces a financial abyss as he leaves the game, the remaining team members and other minor roles are sketched very lightly in the script, and are often double-cast. Tweel, for example, also plays the team’s stingy owner, and Heather Benjamin plays his hard-nosed businesswoman wife as well as Bruce’s mother. Jorge Silva and Brandon Mitchell double as ballplayers and doctors, while Ric Andersen is triple-cast as Bruce’s father, a team functionary, and a ballplayer. Kyle Lynch, as the colorfully named Piney Woods, sings a soulful rendition of the song from which the show’s title is derived, while Arturo Tolentino and Oghene-Bruru Ajueyitsi (who wears 42 as his uniform number, by the way) play two black ballplayers who resent the southern white boy Bruce and are among the last to accept him. The highlight for the ensemble occurs during a rambling attempt by Dutch at an inspirational speech that one of the Hispanic players (Roberto Diego, played by Joe Feldman) translates into Spanish for another (George Gonzalez, played by Robbie Priego). The translation is the funniest moment in the show. A chilling contrast to the generally warm tone of the piece is provided by Katie (Lizzi Albert), a calculating hooker with a heart of pure ice seeking to profit from Bruce’s life insurance.

The highlight of Arlington Century Theater’s technical production is Ed Moser’s detailed and well-executed sound design, which times the crack of a bat or a pebble splashing in the water precisely with actions by the actors. The set design (Brandon Guillams) is simple and functional, with two rows of lockers set along the first and third base sides of an infield layout painted on the stage floor. Cast members heft rather formidable-looking chairs and other furniture on and off stage between the play’s frequent short scenes. Kudos to costume designer Marilyn Johnson for coming up with baseball uniforms that actually look credible for the 1950s. It is to be hoped that between American Century and Arlington County, a way will be found to moderate the temperature of the facility. Intermission conversation amongst audience members, normally about reactions to the first act, focused almost exclusively on the stifling heat in the house.

One of the important themes of the play is the extent to which casual cruelty hurts not only the emotions but also the performance of those against it is directed. (Richie Incognito take note.) At play’s end, Henry reflects not only on how his teammates affected Bruce’s life but also on his own forgetfulness of Bruce’s needs, concluding, in one the best last lines of any play, “From here on in, I rag nobody.” Not a bad thought to take out of the theater.

Artistic Director’s Notes

You are about to see a dual theatrical rarity. First of all, this is a stage play about baseball. There are fewer stage plays about baseball than there are stage plays about almost any other non-obscure topic. Second, it’s a good stage play about baseball. That’s even rarer.
 
The fact that Bang the Drum Slowly has so little company on the script shelf under “baseball” at first seems shocking. Not only is the sport an enduring American symbol and constantly recycled metaphor for life, conflict, victory, defeat, and everything in between, it also possesses, of all the sports, the greatest similarity to the structure of drama. The game unfolds over time, taking unexpected and sometimes unprecedented turns. There are heroes (who may fail), villains (who may prevail), as well as critical and endlessly varied supporting characters. There is success, defeat, crisis, suspense, retribution, violence, surprise, happenstance, despair, and exhilaration. There is a rich tapestry of history, tradition, and legend to incorporate and explore.
 
These qualities have made the sport the favorite of all sports among novelists, essayists, and short-story writers. There have been over 130 novels about baseball alone and far more short stories and essays. Why so few plays?
 
That answer becomes obvious after just a little thought, too. Most of the drama in baseball takes place on the field, and it is a big field. You can’t simulate a game in a theater; you can’t even throw a fastball or hit one without risking disaster and a lawsuit. Miming the game in various ways is fun — You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown has a musical number that does that nicely — but you can’t do it much, and it still isn’t baseball. Then there is the fact that few actors are as large, fit, or coordinated as professional athletes, as well as the fact that playing baseball involves more people that a small theater can afford to pay actors.
 
The most famous and successful baseball stage show is Damn Yankees, the long-running Broadway musical from 1955 (with a book by George Abbot and Douglass Wallop, and music and lyrics by Richard Adler and Jerry Ross), and even that classic suffers from this problem. The climax of the show takes pace during a baseball game, and we can’t even see it: the book stoops to the desperate device of having the audience listen to the radio play-by-play. Thus the action of the few produced baseball plays there are (fewer than twenty, counting Damn Yankees and Bang the Drum Slowly, and that’s being generous — counting August Wilson’s Fences, for example) takes place off the field and sometimes far off the field, like in the bleachers (Bleacher Bums, a 1978 play about die-hard Chicago Cubs fans).
 
The time frame and format of the theater also doesn’t fit well with baseball. The game itself has been often compared to an epic novel, in the manner that every team’s season unfolds over time. Epic novels are difficult to translate to the stage or, if they make the transition, the result is often a very long show, like Nicholas Nickleby or The Grapes of Wrath.
 
Mark Harris and Eric Simonson’s Bang the Drum Slowly succeeds where most of the rest fail because it was adapted from a Harris novel that uniquely lends itself to dramatization. The novel is narrated in the first person, providing a traditional and useful theatrical device. Through the story covers traditional baseball fiction territory in some respects — most baseball dramas involve something that turns a losing baseball team into surprise winners, be it a new player, the assistance of angels, a mad scientist, a magic bat, or the Devil — it does so in a realistic and believable way. In Bang the Drum Slowly, the presence of human tragedy in their midst turns a squabbling group of players into a close and supportive team.
 
The story is also about character — not a game or a season, but how the human beings who play baseball adapt to the experience and live with each other over time. Bang the Drum Slowly is about the game, and it extracts wisdom, drama, and comedy from observing how ordinary people like those who play it are, when they are not hitting, running, and throwing.
 
Jack Marshall, Artistic Director

Photo Gallery

Jorge Silva as Sid, Joe Feldman as Roberto, Robby Priego as George	Richie Montgomery as Bruce, Craig Miller as Dutch
Evan Crump as Author, Richie Montgomery as Bruce	Richie Montgomery as Bruce
Mary Beth Luckenbaugh as Holly	John Tweel as Goose, Brandon Mitchell as Ugly, Richie Montgomery as Bruce, Evan Crump as Author, Arturo Tolentino as Jonah, Bru Ajueyitsi as Perry
Evan Crump as Author, Lizzi Albert as Katy	Richie Montgomery as Bruce, Ric Andersen as Bradley, Heather Benjamin as Patricia

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Henry “Author” Wiggen: Evan Crump
• Holly Wiggen, Lawyer: Mary Beth Luckenbaugh
• Bruce Pearson: Richie Montgomery
• Jonah Brooks: Arturo Tolentino
• George Gonzalez, Alf: Robby Priego
• Piney Woods, Aleck Olson: Kyle Lynch
• Roberto Diego, Detective Rogers: Joe Feldman
• Sid Goldman, Hotel Doctor: Jorge Silva
• Robert “Ugly” Jones, Doctor Clark: Brandon Mitchell
• Lester T. Moors, Harold “Goose” Williams: John Tweel
• Patricia Moors, Mrs. Pearson: Heather Benjamin
• Bradley R. Lord, Paul “Horse” Byrd, Mr. Pearson: Ric Andersen
• Herman “Dutch” Snell: Craig Miller
• Perry Simpson: Oghene-Bruru “Bru” Ajueyitsi
• Katie: Lizzi Albert

Production Staff

• Director: Ellen Dempsey
• Production Manager: Ed Moser
• Stage Manager: Lindsey E. Moore
• Set Design/ Master Carpenter: Brandon Guilliams
• Scenic Painting: Katie Wertz
• Lighting Design: Peter Caress
• Sound Design: Ed Moser
• Costume Design: Marilyn Johnson
• Properties Design: Kevin Laughon
• Board Operator: Chris Beatley
• Wardrobe Assistant: Rosemary Westbrook
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Production Photography and Cover Photo: Johannes Markus
• Program Design: Michael Sherman
• House Manager/Volunteer Coordinator: Joli Provost

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided a complimentary media ticket to ShowBizRadio for this review.

There are sound historical reasons to mount a production of Come Blow Your Horn. Opening on Broadway in 1961, it was the first play in the lengthy, prolific, and extraordinarily successful career of Neil Simon. It contains seeds of Simon’s approach to comedy that sprouted more fully as his career developed: semi-autobiographical elements, family conflicts, recognizable but foible-ridden characters with whom audiences are invited to empathize, witty dialogue, and well-crafted set-piece sketches within the play. And it fits squarely within the chosen, and very valuable, niche of The American Century Theater (TACT), the presentation of 20th Century American plays that are now infrequently produced.

The harder question is whether, historical interest aside, there is a strong theatrical case to be made for Come Blow Your Horn. Based on the current TACT production, the verdict is mixed. Comic energy abounds. The funny set-pieces are there, notably the futile search by the Mrs. Baker (Allison Turkel) for a pencil as one phone call after another comes in for her older son, Alan (Elliot Kashner); and the mini-template for The Odd Couple between Alan and his younger brother Buddy (Alex Alferov) in Act 3. So are the witty lines, like the brothers’ wax fruit manufacturer father (Mick Tinder) responding to Buddy’s interest in being a TV writer by declaring “Television you turn off. Wax fruit lays in a bowl till you’re a hundred.”

The difficulty arrives with the writing and portrayal of the main characters. Through the first two acts, Alan is charming, handsome, and as shallow a commitment-phobic cad as one can imagine. (Alan might be thought of as a spiritual cousin to the more interesting and complex Bobby in Company, which opened nine years after Come Blow Your Horn. Simon and Sondheim may have been observing some of the same cultural phenomena.) This character type feels dated: the ability to lie cleverly and manipulate foolish girls just isn’t as cute and amusing now as it might have seemed in the 60s. Then, with little in the way of preparatory character development, Alan emerges in Act 3 as a responsible, sober, hard-working, partial replica of his father, disapproving in Buddy the same traits Alan himself earlier displayed. While Kashner, a polished actor, skillfully plays the cards that Simon has dealt him, the abruptness of the transition is jarring, undermining the credibility of the characterization.

Alferov’s Buddy, jumping up and down and stamping his feet, often projects an emotional age nearer three than 21. Taking a character Simon already wrote as callow, insecure, and nervous, Alferov’s and director Rip Classen’s choices push the characterization farther over the top than necessary, resulting in a Buddy who is distractingly frenetic. Even when, in Act 3, Buddy begins to assume some of his brother’s playboy persona, he is an extremely hyper playboy wannabe. Given that Buddy is the semi-autobiographical Simon character in the play, with whom audiences would likely want to empathize, this excess becomes a problem for the production.

Mrs. Baker is written as a stereotypical Jewish Mother, complete with guilt-tripping, a cleanliness fetish, and a periodic loss of emotional control. Turkel hits her marks securely and with feeling, highlighted by her pencil scene meltdown. Reviews of several other productions of the show have described their Mr. Bakers as overly loud and hectoring. Tinder neatly avoids this pitfall, successfully underplaying the character in many scenes, substituting a sardonic sense of humor for bombast, and creating an understandable character in the process. Mr. and Mrs. Baker are given thick New York accents, a trait evidently not inherited by their sons.

The play was, of course, written and set in the early 60s, and its attitude toward women distinguishes between good girls (the sort one respects and ultimately marries) and sexy party girls (the sort one sleeps with and discards). As party girl Peggy, Lizzi Albert is not only sexy but delightfully dim, ditzy, and geographically challenged. Peggy is a stock role to be sure, but Albert is able to make her a great deal of fun every time she appears. By contrast, Connie (Heather Benjamin) is warm, intelligent, emotionally nuanced, and aware of and in charge of her own feelings, a three-dimensional, believable woman who Simon rather improbably inserts into this nest of sitcom-like types. “Good girl” characters can sometimes be bland; Benjamin goes far to make Connie genuinely interesting as well as the most sympathetic character in the play. The only question one might ask Connie is what, beyond charm and good looks, she sees in Alan.

Director Classen keeps the pace fast, the timing precise, and the physical comedy rollicking, while maintaining good ensemble playing among his cast. He also keeps the decibel level of the actors’ line delivery exceedingly high at times, especially in the Act 3 sequence in which all four Bakers shout constantly at one another, almost obscuring a key emotional moment between Alan and Connie. Louder does not necessarily equal funnier.

Trena Weiss-Null’s set design is a large, open 60s apartment, furnished nicely but not crowded, providing ample playing space and including a window with a view of the Queensboro Bridge; not bad, even in the 60s, for someone working part-time in the wax fruit business. The sound design (Ed Moser) is strong on a multitude of doorbells and phone rings, all well-timed. The pre-show and intermission music emphasizes light jazz and standards. Notwithstanding Bill Haley and Elvis, rock had evidently not penetrated the Bakers’ world by 1961.

Patricia Tinder’s costumes fit the period and aid the characterization. Peggy and Alan enter at the top of the show in a sweater girl outfit and a ski sweater, respectively, that are perfect for people returning from a non-skiing ski holiday. Peggy gets a fetching, and figure-flattering, yellow dress later on. Connie’s outfits, appropriately for her character, are more subdued though equally attractive. As Buddy makes his rake’s progress, he starts in a charcoal suit, swaps his suit coat for a satiny multi-colored smoking jacket, and winds up in an open-neck ruffled orange shirt that might have been snatched from Austin Powers’ closet. Alan begins suave/casual, but for his Act 3 incarnation wears a sensible professional suit that would probably pass muster at IBM. Mr. Baker is rumpled as can be in a suit that apparently has not seen the inside of a dry cleaner’s shop for some time. My only qualm concerns Mrs. Baker’s dowdy black and white polka dot outfit, which seems more vaudevillian than necessary.

The director’s and artistic director’s notes, as well as the artistic director’s longer article in the “Audience Guide” provided in the press kit, strongly advocate the proposition that Simon is not only a popular and successful playwright but a great playwright. It is good to contend against the facile assumption that an artist cannot be both popular and good (Andrew Wyeth is another notable 20th century sufferer from this assumption). But great playwrights do not need briefs for the defense; their work speaks for itself. If Simon is properly regarded as a great playwright based on his lifetime output, that greatness is potential in the somewhat uneven Come Blow Your Horn rather than fully manifest. Even at this early stage of his career, however, Simon could write material that greatly pleased viewers, and the TACT production elicited strong, favorable reactions from the Saturday night audience.

Director’s Note

Why Neil Simon? I use Neil Simon in my comedy classes, and there is a reason: He is master of the form. But when you make an art form look effortless and easy, you risk being called a hack by some and a panderer to popular tastes by others. Comedy, the toughest of all performing art forms, especially cultivates this reaction, bordering on contempt. To work, it has to seem natural, and if it looks too natural, everyone thinks it’s cheap.

I think Simon’s problem may be that he writes too well. His slick dialogue, honed through years of toiling for TV comedy geniuses like Sid Caesar, tempts directors and performers to let the scripts carry his plays, when there lies, beneath the surface, both enduring dramatic truths and the opportunity for classic stage comedy routines…and they are there by the playwright’s design.

The family dynamic, swinging wildly between love and dysfunction; the sexual revolution; divorce (as in the Odd Couple); stalking (Star Spangled Girl); aging (The Sunshine Boys)…Simon provides wisdom, perception, and laughs, often simultaneously, on these and other serious dilemmas of modern American life. The best Neil Simon plays, and Come Blow Your Horn is one of them, are like classic sports cars: Not only are they pretty on the outside, there is great stuff under the hood, and the ride is fantastic.

That’s why Neil Simon.

Rip Claassen

Photo Gallery

Allison Turkel as Mrs. Baker	Lizzie Albert as Peggy, Alex Alferov as Buddy
Mick Tinder as Mr. Baker, Alex Alferov as Buddy	Elliott Kashner as Alan, Mick Tinder as Mr. Baker
The Baker Brothers: Elliott Kashner as Alan, Alex Alferov as Buddy	Elliott Kashner as Alan, Heather Benjamin as Connie
Alex Alferov as Buddy, Lizzie Albert as Peggy, Mick Tinder as Mr. Baker	Mick Tinder as Mr. Baker

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Alan Baker: Elliot Kashner
• Peggy Evans: Lizzi Albert
• Buddy Baker: Alex Alferov
• Mr. Baker: Mick Tinder
• Connie: Heather Benjamin
• Mrs. Baker: Allison Turkel
• Visitor: Special Guest

Production Staff

• Director: Rip Classen
• Production Manager: Ed Moser
• Stage Manager: Charles Lasky
• Scenic Design/Master Carpenter: Trena Weiss-Null
• Lighting Design: Marianne Meadows
• Sound Design: Ed Moser
• Costume Design: Patricia Tinder
• Properties Design: Kevin Laughon
• Assistant Stage Manager: Lindsey E. Moore
• Board Operator/Wardrobe Assistant Garrett Wood
• Carpenter: Alexander Kellogg
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Photography: Johannes Markus
• Program Design: Michale Sherman
• House Manager: Joli Provost

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

It’s not as if the 1932 comedy sensation Biography didn’t have some hot buttons just waiting to be pushed in 2014. You’ve got embezzlement, bribery, intimidation by threat of lawsuit, sexual hypocrisy, political chicanery and mental maladies ranging from narcissism and anal obsession to infatuation addiction and paranoid schizophrenia. The paranoid schizophrenic is perhaps the hottest button, he’s what could be called a “walking time bomb just waiting to go off.”

All these opportunities for dramatic energy are pretty much glossed over by director Steven Scott Mazzola’s current American Century Theater production of Biography. What could be a comedy drama rife with shocking revelations and fraught reactions comes across as a protracted exhibition of mildly interesting characters. The play’s author, S.N. Behrman (1893-1973) was not a shock therapist on a par with Henrik Ibsen. But, in its day, Biography was hugely popular because of Behrman’s particular knack for upsetting seemingly sedate situations. 

Behrman specialized in what used to be called “drawing room comedies” — the forebears of TV sitcoms. People would gather in a parlor and say funny things. The 19th Century literary and theatrical phenomenon Oscar Wilde was the absolute master of the genre (consider, for example, the perfections of The Importance of Being Earnest.) Behrman is much more wordy and much less witty that Wilde. But he knew how to engineer the mechanics of the drawing room genre: shuffle and deal and then reshuffle and redeal the funny maid, the young man of questionable breeding, the fascinating female lead, assorted secondary protagonists and funny older persons.

American Century Theater’s mandate is to rediscover major plays of the 20th Century. Biography was certainly major in its day — despite its 1932 Broadway première, it made lots of money — a burgeoning depression not withstanding.

The ACT revival of Biography is certainly of interest in terms of theater history. And its theme of freedom of the press vs. political expediency is undeniably timely.

The story’s particulars have to ring familiar bells for contemporary audiences. Readers of “People” and “Us” and supermarket tabloids know all about celebrity and scandal and sad but showy attempts to overcome adversity. In Biography, an editor sees that he could make a lot of money by publishing the life story of Marion Froude, a well-known female portrait artist. She consorts with (and sleeps with) an international array of the rich and famous. She has done portraits of dukes, presidents and dictators. The editor eventually overcomes Froude’s unwillingness to become a tell-all author. Once she gets started, however, Froude enjoys detailing her memories. 

The Froude character may have been patterned on Isadora Duncan, an early 20th Century American modern dance pioneer who had affairs with all sorts of foreign notables. Before mass women’s liberation, women in the arts were the main suppliers of successful exemplars of unfettered female self-realization and self-expression.

As a young woman in Tennessee, Marion had enjoyed a sexual/romantic relationship with a man she had grown up with. The man, Leander (AKA Bunny), went on to become a rich lawyer. Then he decided to become a US senator. Then he discovered that his ex-lover Marion was about to publish her memoirs. Leander tries to persuade Marion to abandon her literary project. Not only is his political future involved but also in peril is his imminent marriage to Slade Kennicott — daughter of the immensely rich and politically powerful Orrin Kennicott.

Complications multiply. The tangle is never sorted out neatly. But we are left with a detailed picture (or biography) of the free-loving and free-living Marion Froude.

In that role, Jennifer J. Hopkins is flighty and eccentric. She easily fits into the stereotype of the early 20th Century arty Bohemian woman. She flaps her hands a lot. She rarely pauses to acknowledge and exploit the dramatic incidents that mine her role. Her speedy, excited, breathy diction is sometimes unintelligible. When the moments are ripe for subtle bits of acting that would give emotional oomph to Marion’s supposedly deep love for both Leander and the ambitious editor, Hopkins portrayal is sketchy. Her character comes across as essentially superficial despite a few moments urgent sincerity. Grave threats and serious misfortunes hardly seem to faze her.

As the editor, Daniel Corey faces the show’s hardest acting chores. A 1930s audience would be familiar with a stereotypical leftist/anarchist/marxist true believer. Corey can’t fall back on that long gone popular conception. His ranting cantankerousness just seems… well… odd. He might give audiences an account of a full-blown and sensational paranoid schizophrenic, but that never happens. Playwright Behrman throws in a few unhappy details from the editor’s childhood to add a bit of depth to the character. But Corey’s brief memory monologue about murderous anti-union strife comes as a playwright’s slapdash effort to plug up a hole in his story’s plausibility.

The one performer who seems at home in his role, with no desperate grasping for effects, is Craig Miller as a Viennese musician — an old friend of Marion’s from her days of European adventuring. Miller’s account of an incident of embezzlement could use some vigorous grasping for effects, however — desperate or otherwise. Illegal misappropriation of an inheritance is not best served up as a bland comment. 

Cam Magee as Marion’s maid, Jon Townson as Leander, Frank Britton as a Hollywood heart throb, Joe Cronin as the manipulative millionaire Orrin Kennicott and Caitlyn Conley as Kennicott’s sassy daughter all make do with punchy one-dimensional representations. 

As entertainment, the ACT presentation of Biography is a little on the snoozy side. 

I’ll admit however that I did get a few laughs from the show. Some of the lines are snappy, as when Marion asks Leander, “Do you want to be a senator or is it just that you can’t help yourself?” And Joe Cronin, as Orrin Kennicott, offers a droll satire of the 19th Century dietary fanatics Charles Post and Harvey Kellogg. Like that pair of Battle Creek health prophets, Kennicott preaches that the cure for licentiousness is “roughage” (fiber). For irony, Kennicott uses this precept as an element in a seduction strategy. 

There’s a question that Biography raises but never answers straight out: Why is this play called Biography? It’s all about whether or not a woman will write her autobiography.

Eventually, as the hours slowly go by, we realize that playwright S.N. Behrman has written a biography of an allegedly fascinating woman who has had erotic affairs with all kinds of celebrities. The woman dithers over whether or not she will accept much-needed money to write her memoirs for publication. Whatever she decides — to write or not to write, that is the question — Behrman creates a detailed dramatic portrait. In other words, leave the autobiography or no autobiography to the ditsy and distraught protagonist. As for Behrman, he painstakingly proceeds with his fictional biography of the fictional Marion Froude. 

Photo Gallery

Jon Townson as Leander Nolan, Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude	Cam Magee as Minnie, Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude
Frank Britton as Warwick Wilson, Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude, Cam Magee as Minnie	Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude, Caitlyn Conley as Slade Kinnicott, Joe Cronin as Orrin Kinnicott, Daniel Corey as Richard Kurt, Jon Townson as Leander Nolan
Joe Cronin as Orrin Kinnicott, Caitlyn Conley as Slade Kinnicott, Jon Townson as Leander Nolan	Craig Miller as Melchior Feydak, Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude
Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude, Joe Cronin as Orrin Kinnicott	Jennifer J. Hopkins as Marion Froude, Jon Townson as Leander Nolan

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Richard Kurt: Daniel Corey
• Minnie: Cam Magee
• Melchoir Feydak: Craig Miller
• Marion Froude: Jennifer J. Hopkins
• Leander “Bunny” Nolan: Jon Towson
• Warwick Wilson: Frank Britton
• Orrin Kinnicott: Joe Cronin
• Slade Kinnicott: Caitlyn Conley

Production Staff

• Director: Steven Scott Mazzola
• Scenic Design: Robert Gato Echanique
• Costume Design: Alison Samantha Johnson
• Lighting Design: Jason Aufdem-Brinke
• Sound Design: Ed Moser
• Properties Design: Lindsey E. Moore
• Stage Manager: Tre Wheeler
• Assistant Stage Manager: Charles Lasky
• Master Carpenter: Jonathan Hudspeth
• Scenic Artist: Annalisa Dias-Mandoly
• Set Construction: Ashley Crouch, Thomas Linn, Colin Manning
• Additional Scenic Painting: Ashley Crouch, Lindsey E. Moore, Colin Manning, Ed Moser
• Dialect Coach: Karin Rosnizeck
• Master Electrician: Jonathan Weinberg
• Sound Board Operator: Ashley Crouch
• Wardrobe Assistant: Ashley Crouch
• Photography: Johannes Markus
• Publicist: Emily Morrison

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

Voodoo Macbeth was a unique American dramatic achievement. The production was the sensation of the 1936 New York theater season, devised and staged by the ever-sensational theatrical wunderkind Orson Welles. It had a cast of 104 actors — all African-American. It was set in early 19th Century Haiti. That country’s revolutionary caudillo Henri Christophe conflates with Macbeth, William Shakespeare’s 11th Century warrior baron who evolves from hero to tyrant.

The current American Century Theater production is billed as Voodoo Macbeth. In a strict sense, director Kathleen Akerley’s show is no such thing.

Most conspicuously, it has a cast of 13 — nearly all white guys. Yes, guys. The fascinating Lady Macbeth, played by a male actor, is renamed “Gruoch.” Perhaps as a result of some gene-damaging environmental pollution calamity (the year is 2033) gender, among other things, has gotten scrambled. Matt Dewberry, a stocky actor with a stubbly beard, belts out the famous lines “Unsex me here… Come to my woman’s breasts and take my milk for gall.” This Gruoch character later avers to the wavering Macbeth, “I have given suck, and know how tender it is to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums and dashed his brains out, had I sworn as you have done.”

(As you may remember, Macbeth, prompted by malicious witches and by his wife, decides — and then undecides — and then redecides — to kill the king of Scotland and usurp the throne. Havoc ensues.)

Instead of Medieval Scotland or Haiti 200 years ago, director Akerley opts for a 21st Century post apocalyptic dystopia. The witches are some sort of Druid special forces ninjas. They undermine a crumbling Christian military autocracy that combines decadent macho violence addiction with degenerate faux Christian magical thinking. Religious ceremonies combine Latin Mass chanting with a fondness for the gospel hymn “Amazing Grace.” Also, there’s a self-stabbing compulsion, with accompanying blood-letting, that would impress even pre-Columbian Mexican priests. 

So… no… this is certainly not an authentic Voodoo Macbeth. It might more accurately be called a Mishmash Macbeth. The mix even includes vague intimations of zombie resurrection rituals that are a blurry reflection of the Haitian culture exploited by the Voodoo Macbeth of 77 years ago.

Which is not to say that Akerley’s production lacks theatrical oomph. Her well-rehearsed male ensemble surrenders enthusiastically to a mystique of violence and superstition. They whip up frenzies that might look familiar to pre-Christian Middle-European berserker warriors.

William Hayes as the ninja witch honcho is consistently sinister and menacing, with occasional crescendos of berserk fury. He and his minions eventually intoxicate Macbeth — played by Joseph Carlson — with their thrilling rage.

Carlson has a steady grip on his character, a paragon of nihilistic poetry fused with murderous and self-destructive violence. Sometimes in his shaping of Macbeth’s psychotic moodiness Carlson descends into a madman mumble, which is frustrating if you delight in every word of Macbeth’s amazing soliloquies — like the one that begins with “My life has fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf….” But at least Carlson never falls into the unmodulated rant that can sink inexperienced Shakespearean actors. Some of Akerley’s actors do indeed succumb to pull of unmodulated rant.

Creating an emblem of gory mayhem is Frank Britton, who plays Macbeth’s betrayed ally Banquo. Britton comes off as candid OK guy who morphs into a blood-smeared zombie bent on revenge. Britton is the most spectacular of “makeup/gore effects” artist Casey Kaleba. Kaleba is also in charge of the fight choreography that regularly punctuates the action. Conflict tools include guns, knives, swords and good old hand-to-hand combat. 

Kathleen Akerley is an all-round theater person. In addition to directing, she designed costumes (combat fatigues mostly) and a minimalist setting (sparsely furnished open areas.) In her attempt to create a sense of irrational frenzy, Akerley often has her actors crouching and thrashing on the floor. Since her theater has no actual raised stage, only audience members in the front row have a clear view of these intense moments.

However, it is the pervasive sense of irrational frenzy that is the most impressive element of this Macbeth. The pathological fervor is in no way glamorized as it would be in typical action/adventure movies and TV shows. One needn’t imagine a bizarre dangerous-to-self-and-others 2033 cult of violence to see the pertinacity of Akerley’s show. Alas, the fanatical distortion of patriotism, religion, masculinity and guns is only too familiar to us right here and right now. 

Director’s Notes

Dai. Uy.

That’s a Vietamese term for Captain. It’s also a term that American soldiers took to calling their own superiors during the Vietnam War, one of the many terms from the local language that migrated into the daily conversation of English speakers. And it’s the word that occurred to me when I was trying to solve the problem of why people who are not Scottish would call a man “the Thane.”

It’s a problem that, by all accounts, Orson Welles either didn’t solve or didn’t view as a problem. He famously moved the action of he play to Haiti but without changing the national references (there is short video evidence that he, at least on some lines, let the actors whiff on the geography: obviously that’s easier to do with “Hail King of Scotland” than “Stands Scotland where it did?”) He kept the Scottish titles. I grant, this is no longer isolated to Welles: By now everyone of Shakespeare’s plays has been forced into the sometimes-constraining clothing of a cultural-temporal conceit (Nazis! Pirates! Pirate Nazis from Space! Who happen to call each other “Thane!”) But my job with this project was to find a way to make Welles’ play “work”, the same way it’s my job to solve any other play I’m lucky enough to get hired to direct (and if you’re looking for a frame-by-frame re-creation of the Federal Theatre Project as the best and most humble way I might have achieved that: a. No and b. I point you to 1. his 104-person cast of largely untrained actors who represented a 2. subset of the population that far too many people considered to be less than fully human enacting 3. a form of magic meant to genuinely shock an audience inured to the sing-song impotence presumably much more menacing to King James than to Franklin Roosevelt and that would scare us now only if I actually put snakes on the stage.) And solving this text meant working with fairly aggressive text changes Welles made, while working to make the Welles/Shakespeare structure a sturdy one, navigable by actors who understand their right to demand coherent given circumstances and playable beat changes.

#1 is easy: Hire fewer of them. #2 is trickier: Many -isms plague us still, but I believed it was necessary to capture Welles’ choice by finding the group that is systematically viewed by having less than full humanity, whatever group dismissed before they even open their collective mouths: not a group that still has to defend itself against racists and sexists but the group that no one but it’s own members would defend. And I still believe that group to be Conservative Christians, famously called out for “clinging” to their guns and religion. Since it’s a play that starts and ends with war, I put my group in the American military, and #3 solves itself. A generation that decided to produce one, not two, but seven Saw movies obviously is working something out about self-mutilation, which dovetails neatly with flesh mortification rituals both of faith and military hardihood.

It remained only to integrate my army in Scotland. After all this explication, I won’t lay out the storyline I created for the actors about the collapsing European economies and the American response to both Russia’s opportunism and its energy independence: I leave you to have your own fun with it. It’s 2033 and we’ve been in Scotland since 2022. The Army is no longer in touch with home. They’ve had to make Scotland home, some uneasily, some wholeheartedly, some having even started families. They’re carrying on the war on both flanks. They’re bolstering up holes in their faith with indigenous spiritual practices. And instead of Dai Uy, they call their commander “King.”

-Kathleen Akerley, Director, Voodoo Macbeth

Photo Gallery

Will Hayes as Hecate, Theodore M. Snead as Duncan	Nick Hagy as Mondor, Keegan Cassady as Lennox
Keegan Cassady as Lennox, Joe Carlson as Macbeth, James Finley as Fleance	Matt Dewberry as Gruoch, Joe Carlson as Macbeth
Ryan Sellers as Malcolm, James Miller as Ross	Frank Britton as Banquo, James Finley as Fleance, Joe Carlson as Macbeth, Will Hayes as Hecate, Matt Dewberry as Gruoch
Joe Carlson as Macbeth	Will Hayes as Hecate, Joe Carlson as Macbeth

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Banquo: Frank Britton
• Macbeth: Joseph Carlson
• Lennox: Keegan Cassady
• Siward: Evan Crump
• Grouch: Matt Dewberry
• Porter: Cyle Durkee
• Maduff: Christopher Dwyer
• Fleance: James Finley
• Mondor: Nick Hagy
• Hecate: William Hayes
• Ross: James Miller
• Malcolm: Ryan Sellers
• Duncan: Theodore M. Snead

Production Staff

• Director: Kathleen Akerley
• Assistant Directors: Tyler Herman and Annalisa Dias-Mandoly
• Stage Manager: Lindsey E. Moore
• Set and Costume Design: Kathleen Akerley
• Lighting Design: Jason Aufdem-Brinke
• Sound Design: Frank DiSalvo, Jr.
• Assistant Set Designer: Dean Leong
• Costumer: Laura Aspen
• Grouch’s Ritual Cloak Design: Laura Aspen and Annalisa Dias-Mandoly
• Technical Consultant: Michael P. deBlois
• Master Carpenter: Nick Hagy
• Assistant Manager: Mollie Welborn
• Sound Board Operator: Jorge A. Silva
• Fight Choreography, Makeup/Gore Effects: Case Kaleba
• Wardrobe Assistant: Mollie Welborn
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Production Photography: Johannes Markus
• Program Design: Michael Sherman

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

J.B. is a play by Archibald MacLeish. This play won the Tony Award and the Pulitzer Prize in the late 1950’s. It was written in a time when the theatre goers were more tolerant of the verse presentation of this production. (You can read about the play and the director’s vision of the play in the notes below.) The Director, Rip Claassen, manages to effectively have his cast deliver this show with a more realistic touch. Even with the circus atmosphere and costumes, this production delivers MacLeish’s message.

The story of Job is one which we all need to reflect on in our own lives. Especially during hard times we all begin to question our beliefs. This is when they are most strongly tested. American Century Theater has put on a very a successful production.

What makes this show a success rests on the direction of Rip Claassen, the powerful acting of Bruce Alan Rauscher (Nickles) who has a full grasp of the nuance of his character and his character’s message and its delivery. Steve Lebens (Mr. Zuss) is strong and founded in his portrayal of the character. John Tweel in the title role (J.B.) pushes his character’s emotional requirements to the edge without allowing himself to go overboard. No easy task, indeed, but he carries it off professionally. These three actors carry the message with a complete professional delivery.

Along with these actors, American Century Theater has employed the artistic talents of Lorraine Slattery. As the Costume Designer Ms. Slatttery has filled the black box theatre joyously into a colorful and vibrant circus as well as charred costumes of the tested J.B. & Sarah. Many costumes are required and she has met each with her own touch. This show is a great display of what costuming can do to add to MacLeish’s play or any other play, the director’s vision as well as her own.

The set design is by Trena Weiss-Null. This simple yet complicated set is quite effective. The choreography of the set changes are a wonderful addition to the flow of the story. Lighting design by Zachary A. Dalton is also a strong piece to the puzzle of this production. Very effective use of your lighting design. Properties design make this production fun and effective. This was playfully carried out by the work of Michelle Hitchcock. Sound Design by Ed Moser is quite effective.

Other notable performances are the talents of Julie Roundtree (Sarah). Although she looks a tad young for the role, she portrays her character with physical faculty and ability of a seasoned pro. Also, Joshua Dick and Joshua Aaron Rosenblum are playing the roles of (First & Second Roustabout/Soldier/Reporter/Police Officer/Firefighter) and play each of their characters well. Mr. Rosenblum carried off his soldier with a wonderful portrayal of what he was attempting to convey. Mr. Dick’s intensity can be a tad loud but overall his performance was exemplary.

Special mention goes to ensemble cast of this show. Often forgotten in productions, this ensemble not only helps carry the story along, but also had each actor’s moments quite effectively. The circus characters were fun. In the various roles this ensemble was called upon to perform, a job well done. There were times, however, when the projection was low. This made some of the lines very hard to hear. I’m sure this can be corrected easily enough.

artistic Director’s Notes

J.B. (1958) by Archibald MacLeish

How is J.B. like a passenger pigeon?

Like one of the large, gray, tasty game birds that once were so abundant in this country that flocks of them literally could blot out the sun, Archibald MacLeish’s masterpiece is a member of an extinct species, or nearly so. The species is verse drama, an ancient form that once was dominant in stage art and is now scorned and forgotten, except when impressive theatrical fossils and beautiful preserved specimens are on display.

J.B. was like a lone survivor even when it premiered in 1958. The verse drama had been slowly dying since the seventeenth century, and its fatal disease was realism. Once William Shakespeare started writing some of his plays’ comic scenes in prose, the deadly virus was loose: the Bard recognized that prose was the tool of the realist, while verse was the method of the romantic, the dream-weaver, the troubadour, and, for a few more centuries at least, the tragedian.

But by the 1820s, the writing was on the wall as well as the stage. The French writer Stendhal insisted that prose was the only possible medium for an effective tragedy. Henrik Ibsen abandoned verse as a medium after Peer Gynt in 1867, believing that poetry made drama dealing with contemporary issues less immediate and involving. He wrote:

Verse has been most injurious to the art of drama . . . . It is improbable that verse will be employed to any extent worth mentioning in the drama of the immediate future since the aims of the dramatists of the future are almost certain to be incompatible with it.

The writer of A Doll’s House was largely correct, but this dying species proved hardier than most. Even in America, where everything is always modern, talented playwrights periodically employed the power of verse long after Martha, the last passenger pigeon, died alone in 1914. There was MacLeish, of course, who was a poet who wrote plays rather than a playwright who used poetry, and Maxwell Anderson, who had consistent Broadway success with his plays in the Thirties and Forties written in blank verse: The Wingless Victory, High Tor, Winterset, Mary of Scotland, Elizabeth the Queen, Key Largo, and Anne of the Thousand Days. (Meanwhile, poet T.S. Eliot was holding down the verse drama fort in England, with plays like The Cocktail Party.) MacLeish’s J.B., appearing in 1958, was a late and vigorous example of the rare breed, as was William Alfred’s Hogan’s Goat, an Off-Broadway historical drama that was named the Best Play of the 1965–1966 Season.

Since then, the species has been the victim of deadly predators. TV has embedded realism in the public’s consciousness so firmly that so-called reality shows seem more like drama than High Tor, and the use of poetry on stage has retreated almost solely to musicals, which aren’t exactly thriving either (the movie variety has pretty much vanished).

Nonetheless, the best of verse drama, when a theater company has the courage to produce it, is still capable of showing how beautiful and high-flying this exotic species could be in its prime.

Somewhere, Martha is cooing.

–Jack Marshall, Artistic Director

Director’s Notes

More than half a century after this play was written, society finds itself coping with the same problems, but on an even larger scale. MacLeish’s comforters–representing Religion, History, and Science–are still with us, and still as useless as he depicted them. Like many in our society, they listen only to themselves and refuse to reach out for common ground. In truth, the three must be understood in harmony for real understanding to come.

As long as our leaders refuse to listen to others’ facts and theories, we are doomed to not understand the world around us. “A scientist, a clergyman, and a historian walk into a . . . .” Unfortunately, the joke is on us. Only when viewed in combination can science, faith, and history inform one another and lead humanity to possible answers. When people are convinced the End Times are coming, or conversely that there are no mysteries that science cannot answer, then we have a problem.

MacLeish saw the horrors of the two world wars and wrote in response to them. I chose to undertake this play because I have seen 9/11, the Oklahoma bombing, the Family Research Council, Reverend Phelps, and other horrors committed in the names of the Comforters, and I realize Mr. MacLeish’s lesson has not been learned.

–Rip Claassen, Director

Photo Gallery

Allison Turkel and Kecia Campbell	George Tamerlani and Allison Turkel
Steve Lebens and Bruce Alan Rauscher	Steve Lebens and Bruce Alan Rauscher
Julie Roundtree and John Tweel	John Tweel, Loren Bray and Kathryn Browning

Photos by Dennis Deloria

Cast

• J.B: John Tweel
• Sarah: Julie Roundtree
• Mr. Zuss: Steve Lebens
• Nickles: Bruce Allen Rauscher
• Mrs. Adams: Allison Turkel
• Mrs. Botticelli: Kecia A. Campbell
• Mrs. Lesurs: Kathryn Browning
• Mrs. Murphy: Jennifer Brown
• Jolly/Girl: Loren Bray
• Miss Mabel/Mary: Chanukah Jane Lilburne
• David: Zak Gordon, Jakob Sudberry
• Jonathan/Boy: Sam Landa
• Rebecca: Caroline Frias
• Ruth: Kaiya Gordon
• First Roustabout/Soldier/Reporter/Police Officer/Firefighter: Joshua Dick
• Second Roustabout/Soldier/Reporter/Police Officer/Firefighter: Josua Aaron Rosenblum
• Bildad: Robert Heinly
• Eliphaz: Evan crump
• Zophar: George Timberlani
• Distant Voice: John Dooley

Production Staff

• Director: Rip Claassen
• Stage Manager: Kathryn Dooley
• Assistant Stage Manager: Joanna Schoenborn
• Scenic Design: Trena Weiss-Null
• Lighting Design: Zachary A. Dalton
• Master Electrician: Jeffrey D. Porter
• Sound Design: Ed Moser
• Costume Design: Lorraine Slattery
• Properties Design: Michelle Hitchcock
• Wardrobe Handler/Child Monitor/Animal Wrangler: Lindsey E. Moore
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Photography: Dennis Deloria, Johannes Markus
• Program Design: Michael Sherman
• House Manager: Joli Provost

Disclaimer: American Century Theatre provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

• J.B., September – October 2012 Schedule
• The Show-off, January – February 2013 Schedule
• Voodoo MacBeth, March – April 2013 Schedule
• Biography, June 2013 Schedule
• Summer 2013 Musical, July – August 2013 Schedule

Schedule is subject to change due to performance rights conflicts or other issues.

• J.B. by Archibald MacLeish (1958). Directed by Rip Claassen.

  Performed in a circus ring, this theatrical updating of the biblical story of Job begins when two vendors in a circus take on the roles of Satan and God to examine the meaning of life by observing the travails of J.B., a banker whose life falls apart in chunks. The play is one of the few that won both a Pulitzer Prize for Drama and the Tony for Best Play, and was initially conceived on Broadway by Elia Kazan, the director who shaped so many of Tennessee Williams’ best works.

• The Show-Off by George Kelly (1924). Directed by Stephen Jarrett.

  A classic by the American playwright some credit with inventing “the well-made play,” The Show-Off has defied time and conventional wisdom by being that rarity, a comedy that is as funny now as it was when it was first performed, almost a century ago. An ambitious and audacious young faker–also an apparent fool–somehow manages to transform the lives of those around him, at the same time proving that even the most obnoxious of us have our virtues.

• Voodoo Macbeth adapted by Orson Welles (1936). Directed by Kathleen Akerley.

  Arguably the best-remembered and most sensational of the Federal Theater Project’s theatrical productions, the so-called “Voodoo Macbeth” was a reimagining of the play using the imagery and traditions of Voodoo. The only records of what took place on stage are contemporary descriptions and Welles’ notated script of the Shakespeare play. Director Kathleen Akerley will take Welles’ structure to craft a “Voodoo Macbeth” for Theater Two.

• Biography by S.N. Behrman (1932). Directed by Steven Scott Mazzola.

  S.N. Behrman was the American Noel Coward, a master of witty drawing-room comedy, and Biography was his masterpiece. The plot revolves around a single career woman’s acceptance of a hefty fee to write her tell-all memoirs and the problems her threatened candor creates. Director Steven Mazzola made TACT’s previous Behrman comedy, The Second Man, one of the company’s high points, and Biography promises to be better still.

• TACT Summer 2013 Musical. Directed by TACT Artistic Director Jack Marshall. Musical Direction by Thomas Fuller.

  A lively musical event from the same artistic team that produced such previous TACT triumphs as Danny and Sylvia and Marathon ’33.

Marathon ’33 works OK in two ways. It makes for a novel American studies cultural history seminar, rich in audio-visual enhancements. And it can function as a mild evening of sadism and masochism. The audience can be detachedly sadistic. The actors do a psychodrama of masochism. And all with no messy bodily fluids or even lacerations or contusions.

As theater — as a drama — the show sputters for lack of fuel. The characters are sketchy and unpleasant. The story is melodramatic and slack.

In its favor, American Century Theater’s revival of Marathon ’33 is blessed with a good band, good singers and a few minutes of snappy tap dancing. 

Marathon ’33 is an on-stage memoir devised by June Havoc. Silent films and vaudeville — Havoc’s first sources of fame and riches — had died. She was, as entertainers sometimes delicately put it, “between engagements.” As you may remember from seeing the musical Gypsy, Havoc was Gypsy Rose Lee’s younger sister and the daughter of the archetypal backstage-mother-as-ogress Mama Rose. Her flight from the ogress and her desperate need for work led to a stint in the dreadful dance marathon industry of the 1930s. In exchange for food and shelter, couples would dance, or at least trudge, before crowds of fans, getting a bit of rest once every hour. As the hours, days, weeks, even months wore by, exhausted participants would drop out — literally: if your partner couldn’t prop you up and you fell to the floor, you were disqualified.

Havoc had a certain success in this grueling (and often rigged and mob-tainted) ordeal before she went on to renewed riches and fame in legitimate theater, movies and TV. She details the marathon phenomenon in her two autobiographies “Early Havoc” and “More Havoc.”

Her stage memoir Marathon ’33 opened and quickly closed during the 1963-64 Broadway season. It was an Actors Studio production with a huge cast overseen by “Method Acting” guru and Actors Studio impresario Lee Strasberg. 

Arlington’s American Century Theater, as a company devoted to presenting theatrical Americana of the 20th Century, is the D.C. area’s mostly likely venue for a Marathon revival.

As American cultural anthropology, Marathon ’33 is, of course, but a chapter in a vast anthology of gruesome entertainment that goes back to tarring and feathering, lynching, bare-fist boxing, roller derby, entertainment wrestling, demolition derbies, cock fights, dog fights, extreme combat, and, of course, TV shows including “Survivor,” “Fear Factor,” “The Apprentice” and “The Biggest Loser.”

The American Century production boasts a cast of 30 (just a few shy of the Actors Studio 37). The setting (by Michael deBlois) vividly suggests a 30s dance hall. An excellent musical combo is adept at jazzy/bluesy 1920s and 30s tunes. American Century director Jack Marshall does Marathon justice. The actors are game as they portray energetic enthusiasm that fades into physical torment, emotional agony, thrashing violence and general exhaustion, degradation and defeat. The dozens of roles are essentially caricatures and vague types. The performances come alive, however, when various cast members belt out, or croon, antique hits. Some of the notable singers are Joshua Rosenblum, Ann De Michele, Steve Lebens, Carolyn Myers, Jared Mason Murray, Aviva Pressman, Karin Rosnizeck, Jamie Ogden and — in the role of June Havoc — Jennifer Richter. Highly professional backup comes from musical director and band leader Tom Fuller.

As Havoc, Richter has what Broadway habitués call “the eleven o’clock song,” the number that starts quiet and sad and builds to gutsy and triumphant. 

As far as triumph and defeat go, however, Marathon is lamentably unbalanced. A Chorus Line creates suspense with a half-and-half combination — combining the tension with fantastic dancing. The Marathon dancing is mostly nightmarish. And the emotional ratio is about one percent triumph and 99 per cent defeat.

Photo Gallery

Noah Mitchel and Mary Beth Luckenbaugh	Bruce Rauscher, Dan Corey, Alex Perez
Carolyn Myers, Ann De Michele, Jamie Ogden, Chanukah Jane Lilburne	Steve Lebens, Frank Britton, Dan Corey, Ann De Michele, Chanukah Jane Lilburne
Alex Witherow, Ann De Michele, Frank Britton	Steve Lebens and Jennifer Richter
Jennifer Richter as June; Bruce Rauscher as Patsy

Photos by Dennis Deloria

Cast

• Beezer Calloway, roustabout: John Klenk
• Pete Petrillo, roustabout: Paul Alan Hogan
• Fletch Winston, band Leader: Tom Fuller
• Ruddy Blaine, MC: Bill Karukas
• Radio Technician: Viktor Tchevyenko
• Clyde Dankle: Craig Miller
• Eve Adamansky: Jane E. Petkofsky
• Rita Marimba: Mary Beth Luckenbaugh
• Pinky/Nurse Judy Nance: Carrie Daniel
• Mr. Myron Thorne: Colin Davies
• “Sugar Hips” Johnson: Carolyn Myers
• Lusty “One Punch” Hutchinson: Joshua Rosenblum
• Health Inspector/Dick Billingsley/Hinky Blaine: Noah Mitchel
• Scotty Schwartz: Steve Lebens
• Pearl Schwartz: Emily Thompson
• Robin Kaye/Clarice: Aviva Pressman
• Bozo Bazoo: Daniel Corey
• Abe O’Brien: Alex Perez EMC
• Michelle “The Mick” Swensen: Jamie Ogden
• Helen Bazoo: Chanukah Jane Lilburne
• Ida Gulliver/Angel: Rachel M. Loose
• Red Gulliver/Rod: Jared Mason Murray
• Joe Burnett: Robby Priego
• Patsy McCarthy Wellington van Westonfarb: Bruce Alan Rauscher
• June/Jean Reed (June Havoc): Jennifer Richter
• Flo Madison: Elizabeth Hallacy EMC
• Al Madison: Terrence J. Bennett
• Rae Wilson: Ann DeMichele
• Schnozz Wilson: Frank Britton
• Mr. James: Alex Witherow
• Mrs Beckett-Jones: Deborah Rinn Critzer
• Magdalena Sanger: Karin Rosnizeck
• Additional Dancers and Audience Members: Michael deBois, Jean Fallow, Sharon Golden, Jimmy Haritos, Chris Linn, Kakuti Lin, Anna Shpak

Musicians

• Piano: Tom Fuller
• Reeds: Dana Gardner
• Trumpet: Terry Bradley, Scott Firestone
• Trombone: Chris Bradley, Scott Fridy, Bill Wright
• Ukulele: Paul Alan Hogan
• Bass: jared Cazel, Nicci Buzan
• Drums: Alice Fuller

Production Staff

• Director: Jack Marshall
• Musical Director: Tom Fuller
• Musical Arrangements: Loren Platzman
• Assistant Director: Kathy Fuller
• Production Manager: Rebecca Christy
• Assistant Production Manager: Rhonda Hill
• Stage Manager: Lindsey E. Moore
• Set Design and Construction: Michael deBois
• Set Construction Crew: Gene Christy, Peter Finkel, William Kolodrubetz, Bill Wisniewski
• Costume Design: Rip Claussen
• Lighting Design: David Walden
• Sound Design: Ed Moser
• Properties Design: Eleanor Gomberg
• Choreographer: Sherry Chriss
• Tap-Off Choreography: Sherry Chriss, Elizabeth Hallacy, Mary Beth luckenbaugh, Jamie Ogden, Carrie Daniel, Ann De Michele, Chanukah Jane Lilburne, Rachel Loose
• Sound Board Operator: Garrett Wood
• Stagehand: Grant Marshall
• Costumer Assistant: Pamela Osbourne
• Managing Director: Paige Gold
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Program and Graphic Design: Michael Sherman
• Photography Dennis Deloria, Johannes Markus
• House Manager: Joli Provost

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.

American Century Theatre’s presentation of Christopher Durang’s Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You is a blackly satirical examination of Catholic dogma and its effects. The play is a crash-course in Catholicism: Sister Mary Ignatius is literally instructing us on the ins and outs. Sister Mary comes from a difficult period in Catholic history, as she grew up before Vatican II, yet is now grappling with its aftershocks. Four students show up to confront their former schoolteacher about the lasting damage her lessons have had on them under the guise of performing a Christmas pageant.

Sister Mary Ignatius, played by Cam Magee, is a hard woman. She never breaks from her air of oppressive pleasantness, even when discussing a largely unpleasant upbringing. From her description, it is assumed that she (and some of her siblings) took refuge in the cloth. She is assisted in her doctrinal lecture by Thomas (the adorable and darkly obedient Colin Trinity), a current student of hers. Sister Mary’s former students come to visit her. All have been emotionally scarred from the guilt of sin due to their years in Catholic school under the sister’s tutelage. On the whole, the ensemble is solid, though all carry a feeling of being “in” on the jokes, which I found somewhat took away from the impact of great punch lines.

Director Joe Banno’s clever staging seats many audience members in the “classroom,” while the remainder of the crowd flanks the classroom floor on risers. The “stage” is the front of the classroom. There are glimpses here of Banno’s documentary-style take, but much of it is overpowered by the pervasive element of anti-Catholicism. While it is certainly the point of Durang’s satire to poke fun at the inconsistencies or hypocrisies within the church, this take on Mary Ignatius seems to begin at the understanding that the audience is already, obviously, “against” the Catholic Church.

The set (Steven Royal) is very impressive. When I first walked into the theatre, I was taken aback; I really thought I had walked into a classroom. The desks were authentic: Standard Public School Issue. At the front of the “classroom” is a long blackboard flanked by two full bookcases. Cheryl Patton Wu’s costumes are fun and functional, save for a minor wimple mishap at the performance I attended. The lighting (Trena Weiss-Null and Nathan Wunderlich) is ultra-practical, down to the glaring fluorescent fixtures that appear to have been swiped from some institution or other.

American Century Theater’s Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You is an awkwardly funny hour of theatre. Durang’s satirical bite combines with an outstanding scenic design and staging, which makes for an interesting experience. It is probably not intended for the faint-of-heart Catholic, but many a recovering Catholic may enjoy wholeheartedly.

Director’s Note

Having been a (frequently reluctant) product of Roman Catholic education, from first grade through college, I had my share of “Sister Marys” along the way. The worst was Sister Mary Laurentia, who terrorized us first-graders with threats of putting us through the “grinding machine” (actually the school’s boiler room) if we misbehaved and who punished students caught talking in class by Scotch-taping their mouths shut and sitting them in front of the classroom like so many pint-sized Hannibal Lecters. To me, Durang’s play feels more like a documentary expose than a satire. (Honestly, it’s like some kid wore a wire during one of those classes I endured, and this play was the transcript.) But, of course, it’s also savagely funn — Durang’s ear for the sort of sociopathic, hypocritically “Catholic” screed coming out of nuns like Sister Mary is uncannily on-the-money and comes across as absurd as something Ionesco might have concocted.

Photo Gallery

Cam Magee as Sister Mary Ignatius, Colin Trinity as Thomas	Cam Magee as Sister Mary Ignatius
Tiffany Garfinkle as Diane; Grant Cloyd as Gary	Grant Cloyd as Gary
Anne Nottage as Philomena, Cam Magee as Sister Mary Ignatius	Arturo Tolentino as Aloysius
Cam Magee as Sister Mary Ignatius, Arturo Tolentino as Aloysius

Photos by Johannes Markus

Cast

• Sister Mary Ignatius: Cam Magee
• Thomas: Colin Trinity
• Gary Sullavan: D. Grant Cloyd
• Diane Symonds: Tiffany Garfinkle
• Philomena Rostovich: Anne Nottage
• Aloysius Bussicio: Arturo Tolentino

Artistic Team

• Director: Joe Banno
• Stage Manager: Baron Pugh
• Scenic Design: Steven Royal
• Master Carpenter: Arthur Brill
• Lighting Design: Trina Weiss-Null and Nathan Wunderlich
• Sound Design: Ed Moser
• Costume Design: Cheryl Patton-Wu
• Properties Design: Kevin Laughon
• Fight Coach: Casey Kaleba
• Wardrobe Mistress: Pamela Osborne
• Publicist: Emily Morrison
• Production Photography: Johannes Markus
• Program Design and Cover Art: Michael Sherman
• House Manager: Joli Provost

Disclaimer: American Century Theater provided two complimentary media tickets to ShowBizRadio for this review.