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The Motherf**ker With The Hat – Review

20 Aug

A hefty discount and an imminent closing, motivated me to see The Motherf**er With The Hat yesterday.  I was not alone.  Every seat was filled and hopefuls filled the box office and trolled the line looking to score a ticket.  “Score” being an interesting choice of words in a play about substance abuse.

The Hat (please allow me this abbreviation) has received fabulous press and is billed as a 90 minute comedy.  The cast, as illustrated at left, is marquee worthy.  Directed by Anna D. Shapiro (August Osage County) and featuring Bobby Cannavale (Mauritius) I wasn’t filled with All My Sons (featuring Mrs. Cruise) apprehension.  The applause which greeted each famous person as they came on stage indicated what drove the audience to this production.  The (almost) manic laughter that greeted each line lent a very sitcom- set feel to the occasion.  The play is not funny.  Amusing at times, and there is one laugh-out-loud line towards the end, but overall?  Not funny.  And that’s okay.  I wasn’t there for stand-up.  The play is very straightforward.  There are no surprises, despite the gasp of the woman next to me when a paramour was revealed.  Theatre etiquette prevented me from asking her; “Really?  There are only five people in the cast.  Who did you think she was sleeping with?”

What is interesting about the play itself, is its accurate depiction of human beings, particularly their relationships with alcohol and drugs.  On paper, these characters are well developed and realistic.  Stephen Adly Guirgis has written intelligently about mental frailty.  Having endured (the first 30 minutes) of Next To Normal, I do not take this accomplishment lightly.  It is far too easy to create cartoonish characters and saddle them with enough business and cheap dialogue to indicate “troubled person here.”  Guirgis does none of that.  Instead he has written an intelligent depiction of real people.  Unfortunately however, it isn’t a very interesting play.  There is not much of a story.  It’s not boring, it’s just that there is no dramatic tension.  I have not decided how much the direction and performances exacerbated this shortcoming.

Most of the dialogue was yelled for 90 minutes.  I can not fathom how these actors do eight performances a week!  The stage is miked, but the actors are not.  This is mostly an issue for Annabella Sciorra, a lovely delicate actress saddled with a made for film voice.  Her thin head voice simply can not work in a theatre.  It is a shame for she really is a fine actress.  I’m not sure why every other performer, save Yul Vazquez was yelling.  Was Ms. Shapiro using the device in lieu of dramatic tension?  I’m not sure.  I just know I found it to be distracting.  A bit sitcom-y even. 

Speaking of sitcoms, I wonder if Ms. Shapiro has ever witnessed someone using cocaine.  Their demeanor, perhaps even speech pattern, changes a wee bit after using.  I found it odd that when the users slip (and of course, they slip) there was no discernible difference in their demeanor.  Addicts change when they use, that’s why they’re addicts.  I don’t think the script was written; “characters shall show no changes.”  I think it was a directorial decision. 

Chris Rock delivers his dialogue well.  He is best when seated as he does not know what to do with his body when standing.  He is serviceable when reciting his lines.  He did not connect with anyone, but wonderfully, neither does his character. 

Elizabeth Rodriguez plays the pivotal role of Veronica.  We are to see Bobby Cannavale’s character (Jackie) through his relationship with her.  There is no chemistry between these two people and this caused a ripple effect in plausibility.  I could not understand Jackie’s unraveling, as I could not see his lifeline to Veronica.  Perhaps if she had stopped screaming for a moment?  I don’t know.  I suspect she was just miscast, and not just because lifetime cocaine users do not have that kind of muscle definition.

The absolute gorgeous stand-out of this production is Yul Vazquez.  His character and his portrayal are fully formed.  Interesting that he is the only non-addict in the group.  He was funny and lovely and had the best mini-monologue of the entire play.  I cared deeply for him.  I am frustrated by the notion that more Mr. Vazquezes and fewer headliners might have made this a great show.

I would like to read this play and tease out on my own what the producers saw.  I suspect something merely got lost in the translation.

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Get Ready For The Summer

20 Aug

It’s that time of year again.  Summer.  A season only second to Christmas in it’s forced hyped gaiety.  Do I sound like a bikini-clad Grinch?  Before I reflexively apologize, perhaps I should explain my resentment.  Unlike Christmas, summer delivers me no easy out of the frenzy.  I can’t exactly wave the religion flag as my get-out-of-gaiety card, can I?  Or can I?  Can I blame my disconnect to patriotism (Memorial, Independence, and Labor; the trifecta of summer flag waving) on being the spawn of sixties liberal reform Jews?  Doubtful, considering I love nothing more than a hometown parade.  But wait, what about the grandparents who scraped together the scraps of their working class paychecks for a week or two in the Catskills every year?  Don’t those incredibly dismal and depressing black and white photographs (with wiggly white borders) prove a genetic inability to conform to the seasonal culture of fun.  Puhlease.

My seasonal shortcomings are my own.  I love cultivated nature (botanical gardens, english box hedges and the like) but am most certainly about as indoorsy as they come.  That must be part of my “problem.”  And by “problem” I don’t mean to imply that I am anti-summer.  Far from it.  I enjoy an enormous straw hat and a strappy sandal.  I find nothing quite as lovely as the sight of the ice cream man (a man dressed in immaculate white doling out snack?!)  It is instead the notion (pummeled by magazines, television and the like) that I should be ENJOYING MYSELF!  This enjoyment should take the form of preparing/eating my meals out of doors (so much nicer in theory than in practice,) relocating to places remote or exclusive and/or adopting an entirely different life/persona for three months.
I love the summer in the city.  Just love it.  There is a quiet and sanity that feels (don’t ask me why) European.  But even as I sit at a cafe nursing a cappuccino, or at the Boat Basin, working my way through a mango mai tai and mahi mahi taco (say that really really fast!) I feel I am not living up to expectation.  What is most queer about this complex, is I have no idea why!  I do not succumb to any other media expectations (of which I am aware.)  Yet every year, at the end of May, here I sit, an involuntary Scrooge (in a stunning straw hat.)

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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Lending a (manicured) Hand

20 Aug

I had a disturbing realization yesterday.  I needed an image, not for myself mind you, but a visual image for a work project.  I was searching for an iconic representation of women mentoring women.  I scoured my memory, and search engine, for films, plays, novels, or real life examples which represented women helping women.  I asked colleagues and friends for help.  The best we could deliver were “mentoring moments” within film (ex., Truvy and Annelle in Steel Magnolias, Shug and Celie in The Color Purple.)  I could easily rattle off male mentoring as movie/play themes, as could you.  But any examples of women paired with women on screen uncovers the most cringe inducing phenomenon.  American women in cinema seem to despise one another.  They are in direct competition for the limited resources and options available to them.  When not coveting their professional position, they compete over men and children (The Women, To Each His Own, Gone With The Wind) or shoes (The Wizard of Oz.)  Now I’m not foolish enough to think Hollywood is based on reality (although to be perfectly frank I feel a little disingenuous even typing that sentence, in my heart of hearts I believe the world really wants to be a place where traveling suits, tuxedos and gowns are de rigueur.)  Surely art (created by human beings) stems somewhat from the human experience?!  There is some truth in fiction, is there not?
This is what is so perplexing, and flat out depressing.  I have never (to my knowledge) engaged in any Margo or Eve behavior.  I have worked in less than stable environments and have had my share of erratic and even “diagnosable” bosses.  I actually once worked for the woman known to many in this country as “The Queen of Mean.”  I have also supervised an entirely female staff.  If anything, all the women I’ve worked with (collectively) were more secure and mature than the men.
As far as women mentors, I have had the very good fortune of having two (concurrently) in my life.  I was in my very early twenties and was in a (slightly above) entry level position in a design house.  Maggie was Flemish and beautiful.  She was twenty years older than me and was by far the most stylish woman I had ever met.  Why she took me and my Sears wardrobe under her wing is beyond me.  Our relationship went beyond the sorry state of my attire.  She taught me about men, marriage, life and strength.  Her life had not been an easy one, and by example I learned what true grace is.  My boss at the time, Rosemary, set the bar far too high for supervisors.  She taught me everything about my job and hers and showed me a larger more exciting world.  She was my first and last supervisor who truly understood what it means to lead.  She believed, rightfully, that she was a professional success if she helped me to succeed.  She was not threatened by me despite that fact that the economy and hostile takeover led to my replacing her (I was much cheaper to keep on.)
Now that women in the workplace is a fully normalized occurrence, shouldn’t popular culture keep up?  Of course watching “Real” housewives claw each other is entertaining (?) but the relationships of women are far more varied and interesting than the one dimension of pettiness.  I’m hoping that I am wrong, that I have overlooked an entire collection of film and theatre that celebrates the women supporting women dynamic (remember I still think Judy is going to cajole me to put on a show in the barn.)
 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Cultural Critique

 

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With envelopes, size matters

20 Aug

Acceptance/Rejection: How to Make Sense of it all (and not take it too personally)

It is that magical time of year (for some,) the time of college application completion, and for a select few, the arrival of Early Acceptance letters.   There has never been a time (historically) in which more people were involved in a single applicant’s road to higher education.    While there is still an absurd inequality in K-12 and higher education opportunities in this country, there are few middle class teenagers  who are left to navigate the road to baccalaureate success alone.   We will not argue the merits of this phenomenon in and of itself, but acknowledge that having an audience alters the experience somewhat.
So (with the whole world watching) how does the average 17 year-old both process what it means to be “accepted” and “rejected” but also determine what next steps are best for them?
For some, the decision is a clear cut monetary one.  Which college offers the best financial package (through tuition, grant, scholarship, three-year options, work-study, etc.)  For some, the decision has been made for them by receiving only one acceptance letter (you’d be surprised how many people only apply to one school!)  But for most, the decision is a little more complicated and one adolescents might feel ill-equipped to make.
In my estimation, this may be the one decision that 17 year-olds are actually BEST equipped to make.  Our role as (caring) adults is to guide them through the process without influencing their decision.  The following steps might be helpful in that process:

  • “I’ve been rejected!”  No, actually it is your application that has been rejected, not you.  Being accepted or rejected from a college is not personal.  How could it be?  These people don’t know you!  Have you ever made a collage?  You know, those hodge-podge displays of imagery?  Well, all the photos do not make the cut.  That isn’t because they’re not great photos, but because in creating a collage you need to create (your) perfect artistic balance.  Well, college admissions officers do the same thing.  They are not pitting one student against another, they are creating their vision of a perfect collage of an incoming class.  The fact that you did or didn’t make the cut is not personal.
  • “I didn’t get into my first choice!”  You’re allowed to brood for a bit.  But not too long.  This whole thing is a process, you must remember that.  There is no one perfect choice.  There are millions of choices along the way that lead to wondrous possibilities.  So it’s now time to review your acceptance letters and pick your new first choice.
  • The Prestige Pressure.  There’s no escaping it, is there?  You know where your friends (and enemies) are going.  The college/university brands are being bandied about like designer labels.  Does the most famous school mean it is the best choice for you?  Maybe.  Maybe not.
  • “There are too many factors!”  You’re right, there are.  Get used to it.  No one’s life was ever made worse for too many options.  Choice is a privilege. Not helpful?  Okay, let’s eliminate the things that don’t matter:
    • My boy/girlfriend is going to school X.  (Go ask your parent’s friends and see if anyone who chose a school based on dating is now pleased with that decision)
    • The school has an awesome climbing wall.  (Unless you plan to study physical education, you may be making the wrong choice)
    • The school is close/far from home.  (The only time this should matter is if someone needs support.  If there are family members or you who need the support of home, by all means make this choice to stay close, all others are just being silly)
    • The school has an awesome ‘fill in the blank’ team. (Unless you are an athlete being scouted for said team, don’t be ridiculous)
  • Things that do matter:
    • What is the R.O.I. (return on investment) of the school.  This can be determined by calculating the following:
      • How strong is the department/major of my choice?
      • What are the research opportunities for undergraduates?
      • What is the alumni network like?
      • What is the career placement services?
      • Is there enough diversity (whatever that means to you) for me to expand my experience?
    • Is this a party school.  (Wasn’t expecting that, huh?)
      • Are there the right non-academic options for me (religious, artistic, athletic, Greek system, etc.)
    • How do I feel on campus
      • If you haven’t already, you must go and visit.  There is simply no substitute, virtual or otherwise.
    • Is it the right size for me
      • If you are considering a university, is the college of your choice the right size?  Are there internal transfer options?
      • If you are considering a college, does it feel just slightly too large (which is good?)

In the end, there is no one better equipped to make this choice.  It is important to remember that it is just that, a choice.  You can always change your mind (that’s why transfers were invented.)Wih

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Education

 

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A Free Man of Color – Review

20 Aug

A Free Man of Color at Lincoln Center is closing very soon and it seems a shame.  Yet, the play itself seems somewhat a shame as well.  Written by John Guare and directed by George C. Wolfe, this production lingers and is lovely and in the end, falls flat.  It is breathtakingly stage with an enormous cast of seasoned solid actors, but it is simply a flawed play.

Set in the very early 1800s, A Free Man of Color is in essence the story of the Louisiana Purchase.  Interestingly enough, this narrative is not as dry as you would imagine.  In fact, it is probably the most solid aspect of the work.  Where the play falls flat is in the lack of dramatic tension and emotional connection.  While the play is saturated in texture and tale, it left me emotionally cold.  I was never pulled onto that stage, I was merely a spectator.  Perhaps there were smaller issues at hand; the periodic (incongruous) rhyming, the smattering of sophomoric humor, and the genital storyline did feel self conscious to me.  However, I doubt I would have noticed as much had I been rooting or caring for someone on that stage.

The empty emotional space is certainly not the fault of the actors.  They are fabulous and include Jeffrey Wright and Mos Def (I know!) as the leads.  I can’t even believe I am stating that Mr. Def was the most poignant portrayal of the evening.  I briefly considered putting my arm around him and giving him a “there there.”  His interpretation of his character (the slave) was tight, small and dead-on.

The use of the stage was awe inspiring.  I’ve no doubt the Lincoln Center board blanched at the set design (David Rockwell) but it was money well spent.  The appearance of a simple white screen in Act II evoked a gasp.  The use of (very subtle) puppetry to depict slaves was stirring.  Musicians on the stage worked splendidly and reminded a bit of Ruined.  Quite simply, there was so much to love in this production.  The play had been cut (and is now a formidable 2 1/2 hours) and workshopped, but not enough in my estimation.   It is frustrating to sit in a theatre and watch intelligence and care unfold, and know that it really should close.  Adding to my sadness is that I have no doubt that the hundreds of empty seats would have been filled if the cast was comprised of movie or talent show stars.

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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