Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Indy FringeFest, Day Five: Prophecy, curse, and religion in 'Sleeping Beauty,' ballet off the classical-romantic track, and naughty Las Vegas pizazz

Opportunities for going contrary to expectation on the one hand, reinforcing what you're known for on the other, and surprising and mystifying an audience on the third (an impossibility suggested by the show I'm thinking of) abound at the 12th annual IndyFringe Festival.

The mainstage at Theatre on the Square is a welcoming arena for a dance show, but up to now, I've only caught Dance Kaleidscope on that stage. Monday night it was a pleasure to see the Indianapolis School of Ballet's "Beyond Ballet" there. Victoria Lyras' 10-year-old organization is going from strength to strength, shown most recently in the announcement that the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra will be playing for its "Nutcracker" production in December.

I liked the refreshing application of ballet to classic jazz in "Waitin' for Katie" by Ben Pollack (in whose band Benny Goodman got his start). The "beyond" note was immediately struck as the audience took in the surprising aptness of the ballet vocabulary to 80-year-old popular music. That piece was by William Patrick Dunne, and the program surveyed a host of modern styles, with a nod to tradition in the middle, the Petipa-Minkus "Paquita Suite." Brightly presented and sharply defined, that spiffy work opened with a pas de trois (Entrada) and moved splendidly through three variations, ending in a poised coda.

Noah Trulock, a featured guest dancer from Dance Kaleidoscope, makes his first appearance in the program in Lyras' "Machichis & /William," a pas de deux with Alexandra James with a scenario of an encounter between an American Indiana maiden and local settler William Conner. Lyras withheld her creative side from the rest of the program except for the three-part finale, "TangoX3," to music of Astor Piazzola.

It was a triumphant exhibition of how suitable the best tango music is for creative extrapolation beyond the conventional tango movement.  A sensuous pas de deux to  "Oblivion" for Trulock and Hannah Schenk was bookended by ensemble pieces "Imperial" and "Escualo" to open up the space around Lyras' inspirations, indicating the culturally shared spirit of tango. "Oblivion" was fascinating: crisply articulated, daring, steamy, and elegant.

Rachmaninoff's "Vocalise," to a lush arrangement for strings, was a lyrical ensemble piece, with effective counterpoint between the troupe's two men (Noah Klarck and Luther DeMyer) and nine women. The dramatic scenario of Roberta Wong's "We See Things As We Are" was vivid but a little hard to interpret in the excerpt presented. Finally, I have to confess an aversion to John Lennon's song "Imagine," so it's a credit to DeMyer's flair as a tap dancer that I didn't mind it at all in this brilliant performance, where I could interpret the dance as superior to its vehicle.

On the same stage earlier in the evening came the high-energy "Class, Grass & Ass," a Las Vegas-style extravaganza of often naughty song and dance starring Deb Mullins. The show's star has a long performing history in the area, and the loyal, close-to-capacity audience loudly cheered her and her colleagues on.

She had professionally astute support from saucy singer-dancers Jenee Michele, Deb Wims, and Carol Worcel as the "Debutantes." A band adept at styles ranging from novelty items from the Swing Era to pop/rock favorites from 1968 onward provides onstage accompaniment. Troye Kinnett leads the  instrumental quartet from the keyboard, and is featured with Mullins on accordion for "Squeeze Box."

With Kinnett and his guitar-bass-drums sidemen going all out, professionally snazzy to the core, there was sometimes an imbalance Monday between Mullins' vocals and the accompaniment. Some of this had to do with her face mic's cutting out (especially during "My Eye on You"). Whether she was being temporarily covered or not, she held her own with a trouper's aplomb.

The show — divided into four parts after each rhyming word of the title, with "class" first and last — was directed  and choreographed by Worcel, who also designed eye-catching costumes. Songs touting recreational drugs and sex give a "blue" tint to the production.

There is never a dull moment, yet there's enough ebb and flow in the intensity to allow for frequent, undisruptive  costume changes by the star and the Debutantes. In a final display of community zest, "Class, Grass & Ass" concludes with a stand-up-and-sing-along reprise of Al Green's "Let's Stay Together."

For a much darker, even menacing sense of spectacle, you might want to visit "Sleeping Beauty," an adaptation of the famous fairy tale being presented by The 7th Artistry of Zionsville at the IndyFringe Basile Theater. Seen Monday night, the show struck me with its elaborate and arresting visual design, as well as the poise of its young cast in conveying the work's mixture of dramatic dialogue and performance-art tableaux and gestures, set to a booming soundtrack.

The familiar fairy tale of the curse upon an infant princess is blended in this version with an early American setting and the hysteria with which unchecked evil was feared and fought, particularly in late-17th-century Salem, Massachusetts, by the religiously orthodox. The split among four supernaturally powered sisters between Do No Evil and the other three — Speak, Hear, and See No Evil — is at the center of the scenario.

Sacrifice of the innocent to satisfy the demands of overwhelming power is always heart-wrenching, whether in our everyday world or in the special one of "Sleeping Beauty." Curses are emblematic of tragically unmet needs for justice, which neither world ever guarantees.The struggle for young souls is perpetual, and takes many forms. In this show, the desire to break the chain of accusation, suspicion, control, and punishment is elevated to a position of mythic weight.

The costumes are stunning, the light and sound design thoroughly at the service of the fragmented but ultimately coherent story.  If you have a taste for fairy tales, the more outlandish the better, or the dark symbolism of stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne, "Sleeping Beauty" will play upon your mind as well as your nerve ends indelibly.

Monday, August 22, 2016

"Who's Sorry Now?": With apologies to the shade of Connie Francis, here's my response to Donald Trump's difficulty with apologies

IndyFringe Fest, Day Four: Tapping into history, macabre verse, and performance art

My Sunday visit to the 2016 Indianapolis Theatre Fringe Festival let me nibble around the edges of the typical gingerbread hut of stage performance. (Invited inside, I usually resist the urge to shove the resident crone into the oven.)

I sampled classic light verse brought to life, cutting-edge testimony from the spoken-word and standup comedy scenes, and the art of tap dance historically considered.

It's been decades since the verse of Robert W. Service, James Whitcomb Riley, Hilaire Belloc and Alfred Noyes has jangled around in my head. At the Phoenix Underground, "A Darkly Humorous Evening with Stephen Vincent Giles" rang those bells all over again with a flair I was never able to manage.
Stephen Vincent Giles: Drenched in the comical macabre.

Giles, with some funky wardrobe changes and low-tech projected title and author identification to one side, brings into fresh perspective the sounds of poetry meant to be understood and enjoyed at first hearing.

This is the genre that Edward Lear perfected on the plain of nonsense, G.K. Chesterton in the arenas of war and religion,  and Rudyard Kipling at sea and the far reaches of the British Empire. The multifaceted Indianapolis performer focuses on the subgenre of verse narratives, with humorously doleful limericks by the inimitable Edward Gorey interpolated, that tend toward the macabre and ghostly.

The climax of the show is a vivid, increasingly despairing, reciting of "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. It's a poem so famous it even provided the name of the football team that just edged the Colts in a preseason game. And to think Poe never did much for the Ravens' home city (originally the Colts') except die there. That's poetic influence writ large!

Though Giles' program consisted of pieces with a strong "tum-ta-tum-ta-tum" metric stress, he was never metronomic in performing them. Letting meter and rhyme take care of themselves, thanks to his poets' adept prosody, Giles went for the expressive content of the selections, from "The Raven" to the drolly gruesome "Ballad of Blasphemous Bill" by the Anglo-Canadian versifier Service. In the latter case, the recitation was supplemented by simple projected illustrations of the frozen protagonist and the coffin the narrator made for him. In getting the former to fit the latter, some disassembly is required, which the poem amusingly frets over.

Giles' show displays a masterly command of his material's way of getting under your skin.  Every time Noyes'  Highwayman comes riding, riding, and every time Riley warns that

"the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Out" (the Hoosier Poet's lineation and spelling in "Little Orphant Annie") you may get chills running up and down your spine, even if the Underground's air conditioning is responsible for some of them.

"Poems for the People," also an Underground show, flies under the aegis of Greg Deboor of Indianapolis. Every performance differs in participants and, thus, content. The one I experienced had some smoothly managed transitions between types of spoken word, starting with a rapidfire monologue by a young woman with a segue to a male comic's shtick about dating today—the often unavailing, repeated attempts to make contact via social media. The poems emphasized the rattling internal rhymes and chock-a-block imagery of hip-hop rants and reflections, notably on issues of acceptance, gender identity, and body image. The prose humor depended on timing and wry flings of rueful self-revelation. Both were in generally good working order.
The show's vibrant mix of hilarity and pathos, insouciance and anger managed to husband its outsize energy well, though the abundance overshot the festival's stipulated 50-minute span.

"The Rhythm Chronicles" celebrates the variety of tap dance.

Upstairs earlier on the Russell Stage, voice-over guidance to the history of the tap-dance art form gave continuity to "The Rhythm Chronicles," a production of Circle City Tap Company.  From some display of tap's origins in African and Irish dance idioms as they got blended in this country, the exhibition by ensembles of various sizes focused on tap's heyday, largely to music of the Swing Era and early modern jazz. 
It made light sociological commentary along the way that included the gradual ascendancy of female dancers and the revival of tap that spilled over from the modern-dance scene in the late 20th century. On the traditional side, there was a chirpy girl-trio performance, with voice and dance smartly combined, of "Chattanooga Choo-Choo."  Two young men offered a slow-tempo respite from the vigorous display of intricate dance bravado with a number illustrating the elegant "class act" variation of tap on the song "Taking a Chance on Love." A finale brought the art form up past its heyday with an electronica hit featuring a full dozen participants.
"The Rhythm Chronicles" has a genuine all-ages appeal and offers, in costuming and music as well as choreography, an energetic survey of an all-American dance type that hardly anyone can avoid feeling — even if you haven't got the pedal chops to carry that feeling into your feet the way these well-schooled practitioners did Sunday.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

IndyFringe Fest, Day Three: A trio of shows, two emphasizing the personal, one drinking deep in Shakespeare

We know so little about Shakespeare's life that every doubtful bit of gossip has its allure. One of them concerns his death at 52, shortly after the playwright retired to his native Stratford. It's said he got together with a couple of fellow literary stars — Michael Drayton and Ben Jonson — for a night of drinking that took on binge proportions. It proved mortal for the most securely immortal of the illustrious trio.
"Suds fools these mortals be" — tying one on Shakespeare.

In that spirit, EclecticPond Theatre Company is offering IndyFringe Festival patrons a bibulous take on the early romantic tragedy "Romeo and Juliet." It seems like a good choice, though I hope "Drankspeare" won't become one in a series. True, it might explain a lot if King Lear came on drunk in the first scene of his play.

With much of its text intact, the earlier tragedy proceeds from street fighting that could be taken as a consequence of drinking deep on to the fatal misinterpretation of potions by the play's star-crossed lovers. And it's not far-fetched to interpret Mercutio and Tybalt as two different kinds of drunk — the long-winded jester and the roaring boy, respectively. Salut!

EclecticPond has mustered a host of its loudest zanies to turn the small stage of ComedySportz into a den of soused roisterers. They are Frankie Bolda, Chelsea Gill, Michelle Greenwell, Pat Mullen, Paige Scott, Evan Wallace and Matthew Walls. All enter and exit holding beer cans, swigging regularly from them. They punctuate Shakespeare's rhymed couplets with commands of "Drink!" — not that anybody needs the encouragement of a drinking game. The effect goes straight to their heads, bypassing the stomach; granted, I might have missed some belches.

Due to the preponderance of women in the cast, there's lots of looseness about gender. It's more travesty than tragedy. The robustly declaimed Shakespearean text — none of the actors is of the sleepy, mumbling type of inebriate — suffers many modern insults. Some of these are just there to display the perils of DWI (Dramatizing While Intoxicated); others have an apropos sparkle to them.

So it's a bright touch of anachronism when at the start of the balcony scene, the "Drankspeare" Romeo says the line "She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?" in response to Juliet's fiddling with her iPhone above, muttering, "What's the WiFi password here?"

It would be fatuous to guess whether Shakespeare would have enjoyed this. When it's a matter of dispute whether he was Catholic or Protestant, it's beyond silly to be certain of his taste for outrageous parody. Yet there's a profusion of slapstick in the canon. Besides, the bloody-minded early tragedy "Titus Andronicus" ("R&J"'s immediate predecessor in that genre) has been credibly interpreted as parody.

Like the social-media intrusions in "Drankspeare," Shakespeare occasionally makes fun of contemporary tastes and fashions: In "Romeo and Juliet," Mercutio greets the wandering lover with "bon jour," then adds: "There's a French salutation to your French slop," alluding to Romeo's baggy breeches. Cultural chauvinism, a staple of the history plays, is the subject of jibes and indifference elsewhere among the dramas. Hamlet disdains his uncle's carousals with the comment: "Tis a custom more honored in the breach than the observance."

Accordingly, Shakespearean custom may occasionally be honored most when it is not strictly observed. Into the breach staggers "Drankspeare," sozzled and disheveled, topped by a surprise happy ending that teases final-scene alliances in the comedies. Indulge — you won't hate yourself in the morning.

Probing and interpreting one's past is a lifelong project for just about anyone unwilling to undertake the thankless labor of disowning it. Most of us are better off facing up to it, even the cringe-worthy bits. Loren Niemi and James Solomon Benn shoulder the task head-on, in vastly different ways, in their Fringe shows.

Loren Niemi was deemed a "Bad Brother."
Niemi carries impressive professional laurels and academic credentials into his storytelling craft. The title of his Phoenix Underground show, "Bad Brother: Religion and Politics in '69," provides an immediate focus. The "brother" part has nothing to do with siblings, but Niemi's membership in the Christian Brothers, a worldwide Catholic religious community, and his eventual dismissal from the order.

The clarity and suspense of his personal narrative, hitting upon some of the most vexed social and political issues of America in the Sixties, rivets the attention. Niemi is a master of the well-judged pause. He plays judiciously with different time levels and significant persons in this autobiographical account of a young man's spiritual and political involvement, its fulcrum being the trial of "the Milwaukee 14" in 1969, the result of some of the Brothers' destruction of draft-board files.

At the very end, he suggests parallels between activism in the 1960s and early '70s and a couple of today's raging issues. But he's never heavy-handed about it. Like all good storytellers, he exhibits narrative craft at a high level and leaves it to the listener to apply the lessons. Not only those who are roughly Niemi's contemporaries, as I am, will be fascinated by "Bad Brother."

In "Little Butchie Sings! A Cockamamie Colored Cabaret" in the IndyFringe Basile Theater, Benn combines song and anecdote with a bit of dancing to tell the story of his self-discovery and adjustment to life growing up in Indianapolis with three counts against him: being black, fat, and gay (in his concise description).

He heads a cast consisting of Sandy Lomax and Paul Nicely, who contribute to the vocals – the most hilarious of which is a spiritual-influenced harmonization of "All God's Chillun."  And what they all got here is issues, not shoes or wings. Benn knows he's not alone.

Backing up the singers is a keyboardist with flair, Roger W. Smith, whose musical direction contributes polish and coordination to the performance. Musicals the show's creator loves — "Eubie," "Purlie," "Chicago," "South Pacific" among them — are spotlighted in the song selection, tied in to sketches and narration.

Benn is ingratiating and thorough in making his youthful psychic wounds explicit, re-creating them in an entertaining and finally uplifting way with the help of Smith and the cast. A spoken-word preface by Cornelius "Preacher C" Shaw puts the playwright-star's struggles into a wider context and echoes forceful pulpit messages that usually proclaim values other than the ones this hero supports and lives every day.

Well-known as a professional actor around Indianapolis, Benn in this revealing cabaret show wins the audience over with boisterous humor and the underlying tenderness of his storytelling and personal testimony.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

IndyFringe Fest, Day Two: Fresh thoughts from DK dancers, a Westside arts community, and Earlham College

Something peculiar to the aura that pop divas gather around themselves engenders optimism, even when they move into torch songs and other expressions of doubt and pain. That probably accounts for the upbeat feeling pervading the nine pieces assembled for Dance Kaleidoscope's 2016 IndyFringe Festival contribution, "Divas Workshop" on the main stage at Theatre on the Square.

The key to happiness is the disposition to be pleased, the 18th-century man of letters Samuel Johnson says somewhere. This disposition triumphed in this program by DK dancers, and the result shows that being so disposed doesn't mean that happiness is easily achieved or held onto. (Artistic director David Hochoy will use Fringe audience response plus his own programming knack to decide which of the short works will be further rehearsed for DK's February concert.)

The comic approach to Dr. Johnson's truth came through in Timothy June's "Enlightenment," with its busy, distracted street scene breaking apart and coalescing around the positivity expressed by dancer Stuart Coleman. Set to an assertive vocal by Shirley Bassey ("I Am What I Am"), the buoyant piece showed that accepting oneself as more than the sum of others' expectations is infectious and life-enhancing.

With the right nudges, people can turn aside from ruts of routine and duty they tend to settle unhappily into. The scenario sounds sentimental, but June's choreography handled it imaginatively, with a smoothly working blend of everyday movement and idiomatic dance that communicated the discovery of joy.

Other pieces struck that note as well, with the comedy  muted. A strong feminist statement — celebratory, not bitter — was offered in Missy Trulock's setting of Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen" for five women, with its advice to "float like goddesses" emphasized by sparkly, gauzy black shawls in the costuming and their eventual draping on the lead dancer, Jillian Godwin. Broadway pizazz on the theme of self-realization came with Stuart Coleman's solo for Aleksa Lukasiewicz to Barbra Streisand's "Don't Rain on My Parade." Lukasiewsicz's crisp articulation of Coleman's busy choreography (a busyness well suited to the way Streisand sings) was radiant and authoritative from first note to last.

Paige Robinson in "Fragmented Dreams"
Challenges to the disposition to be pleased were handled in a couple of pieces. Noah Trulock used Kelly Clarkson's "The Trouble With Love Is" to probe the difficulties of the dating scene, as he told us in introducing "A
Dance About Love." The piece wove on the recording's loom episodes of trust and betrayal, attraction and repulsion. The upshot, unless I'm reading too much into it, seems to be that it's all worth the effort to seek satisfying connections, though Clarkson's belting style keeps doubt alive.

Passion makes it possible, and passion gets in the way of judgment, too. In Mariel Greenlee's "Surrender," the difficulty of yielding to romantic impulses, responding to their pushes and pulls while attempting to stay in control, was memorably set to Nina Simone's dark, steady, oddly reassuring advisory in "Wild Is the Wind." The choreography was exceptional in its attention to emotion expressed by seven dancers in nicely calibrated, reflective movement.

I must pass quickly over the remaining four pieces with brief mentions, and not because I didn't like them. Zach Young uses Annie Lennox's "Missionary Man" to get the ball rolling with bounce and swagger. In "Fragmented Dreams," Marte Osiris Madera spins floating lyricism, with salutes to romantic ballet, setting Celine Dion's version of "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." Using Adele's "I Miss You," Jillian Godwin in "First Touch" rings the changes on how things get started between couples,  setting the sparks that become four-alarm fires (to paraphrase "I'm Beginning to See the Light"). And Brandon Comer's "Over the Rainbow" constitutes a majestic company salute to much-admired DK veteran Liberty Harris, centerpiece of his rhapsody on Patti LaBelle's impassioned version.

The image of a little girl among fairies told some people what they wanted to believe.
Among other Friday evening shows I saw was Earlham College's all-female "Elsie and Frances and the Fairies," an extrapolation of oddball history of the kind that Tom Horan does so well, on the Phoenix Theater's Russell Stage.

 Girls playing in grandma's attic evoke a long-ago, proto-photoshop hoax involving an encounter with fairies in the woods. Catherine Blencowe and Emma Socey played cousins Elsie and Frances, respectively, concocters of the adventure intended to cast an ectoplasmic glow over Frances' three days' solitary absence in provincial woods, which, she reports at home, were spent among fairies.

The leads were charmingly handled, and received generally shipshape support from Sage Halewolfe, Mallory War, and Cianna Rothwell as various characters from present and past time levels. Among the portrayals, bordering on caricature, was one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who after his fame as creator of the master detective Sherlock Holmes, astonishingly was taken in by the girls' "evidence" of fairyland.

The play, Friday's audience was told, is still a work in progress. The production handles the interlocking levels of fantasy and reality pretty well. Horan's whimsy was in evidence throughout. In carrying it out, there are refinements one hopes the student cast will be able to apply.

Here are a few quibbles: I hope the adult skeptics will be made a little less ridiculous, because the dramatic tension would be more engaging if the mockery these fussy ladies make of the girls' fairy stories seemed to threaten their credibility.
* A knighted Englishman would not be referred to as "Sir Doyle"; in this case, it's "Sir Arthur" unless the full name is used.
* Does even a little girl not know that the plural of "mouse" is "mice"? To hear "we were as quiet as church mouses" is slightly rattling, especially since it's also a lame variation on "as poor as church mice."
* The word "weirdo" is only about 60 years old, and doesn't fit here.

Outstanding puppetry helps lift "Silken Veils" to a rare plane.
Finally, the intense, and borderline too long, "Silken Veils" tells through puppetry, music, and well-designed projections the story of an Iranian-American woman's hysterical balking at marriage to a man she clearly loves. The imploring groom spends most of the play on the other side of a locked door declaring his love and obviously anxious about the interrupted nuptials. The show is also on the Phoenix's Russell Stage; it's a collaboration between Indy Convergence and Leila and Pantea Productions.

Darya, the bride-to-be, wrestles at length with her conflicted past, giving voice and stature to painful memories. Her parents are on opposite sides of her homeland's 1979 revolution, which takes a deadly toll not only on the family's cohesiveness but also its very existence. They are recalled in both puppet form and as dialoguing silhouettes behind a backlit white curtain. The design and the manipulation of the marionettes are outstanding.

Playwright Leila Ghazravi plays Darya to the hilt, every pained expression and searing outburst well-earned and registering unassuageable anguish. Robert Negron portrays both her intended, Ahmad, and (entering from the other side of the stage)  her lost brother Xerxes. Behind the screen are Carol Anne Raffa and Bob Stineman as Darya's parents, suffering from and with each other.

Difficulty hearing their dialogue, especially the mother's part, can be attributed not only to the partition somewhat muting the sound but also to the distancing effect of not being able to see the parents' faces (until near the end). What works theatrically to probe Darya's state of mind doesn't always succeed from a purely practical point of view.

"Silken Veils" is always enthralling to look at and unsettling to contemplate, bringing a welcome perspective to what is surely Americans' one-sided view of the birth of Iran's Islamic Republic. This show looks well beyond "America Held Hostage" to plunge us into a faraway historic cataclysm that called into question the continuity in family life that Americans can usually take for granted. "Darya Held Hostage" could be its subtitle.

[Paige Robinson photo by Chris Crawl]

Friday, August 19, 2016

IndyFringe Fest, Day One: Identity, Loyalty, and Illusion

Immersion in another IndyFringe Festival requires the kind of sorting that American shoppers have long been accustomed to at the supermarket. Matters of conscience, taste, and enjoyment jostle for priority in our diets and in our entertainment.

So many choices! Should you spend more time — going with impulse or deliberation — eyeing fresh produce or snack foods, at the meat counter or among the wine shelves? (Fill in your own arts-and-entertainment counterparts to these store stops.)
Program art for Timothy A. Taylor's Fringe play

The difference with the Fringe festival is that shopping for price is not a factor. Night after night through Aug. 28, admission to each show is the same: $15 for adults, $12 for students and seniors, $8 for children under 12. The price conscious can by five tickets for the price of four shows with a Fiver Pass ($50). So much for consumer advice. On to the shows.

As with many family shoppers trying at home to justify purchases as they empty their bags, some things can't be adequately explained. Even a blogger's account doesn't have to go there, and there is no emoji for a shrug. So here's my opening night, described and evaluated, sans explanations.

"The Juniper Tree" grew on me, no pun intended. Susan Bennett plays women of three generations  in Timothy A. Taylor's play. It starts slowly. In 1968, the soft-spoken Anna, who escaped czarist Russia with her husband, Avi, invites a visitor to join her for tea, a lifelong afternoon social ritual and link to her past. The memory of the 1905 Odessa pogrom is vivid to her, and Bennett conveys through nervous hand gestures just how deeply anti-Semitic atrocities in her hometown imprinted themselves on her. She laments a family rift the audience soon learns more about.

Her estranged daughter, Cece, recounts difficulties with her mother, which have resulted in her daughter Rachael's growing up cut off from contact with her Bubbe, whom she remembers fondly, if vaguely. Bennett moves among three playing areas in the Phoenix Theatre's Basile Theatre, advancing the story. In a climactic scene, the actress switches quickly between Anna and Cece (who has changed her name from the Hebrew Haya, meaning "life," that she was given at birth).

Otherwise, the playwright has put the monologues into the format of a therapy session (for Cece) and a cassette recording that Rachael prepares to send to her grandmother seeking more insight and a reunion. Taylor has given different ways of speaking to each of the three women, and Bennett amplifies these skillfully. I felt that Rachael's uniqueness could have been pointed up more, though we hear enough about it to make her yearning for family connection come through movingly, and the segue to Anna's comment after hearing the last part of the audiotape puts a seal on the pathos of a family whose history poses identity challenges for each generation.

NoMads Art Collective duumvirate Ben Claus and Scott Jackoway
My evening's other serious stage work was NoMads Art Collective's "So Proudly We Hailed." Nobody can fail to recognize the title's origin in a line from the national anthem. And flag idolatry is crucial to this series of sketches on American patriotism and gun culture. That's evident as you walk into Theatre on the Square's Stage 2, with a large Old Glory forming the backdrop. It's both decor almost a third actor, in addition to Drew Beyer and Ki-Jana C. Moore.  It drapes itself figuratively over what is clearly a collaborative effort, judging from the credits and thank-yous in the printed program.

Thus, "So Proudly We Hailed" is a theatrical stew, with all ingredients stirred by the show's cast to suit the vexed theme of gun violence at its intersection with patriotism — sometimes in synchronization with individual fulfillment, sometimes at odds with it.

Long ago, George F. Will gave an early collection of columns the happy title, "The Pursuit of Happiness and Other Sobering Thoughts." The thoughts of Jackoway and his colleagues on that fabled pursuit and everything it entails are overwhelmingly sober. Indeed, some of the sketches burst into angry flame inexplicably. Delineation of character was vaguer than it had to be, even given the sketch format. Humor around the theme was fleeting in comparison: The goofiness of a young man wanting to buy a gun so he could smoke marijuana out of the barrel received an uninflectedly vehement response. At other times, the dialogue was frivolous, but rarely in a way you might characterize as light, or with a keen satirical thrust.

Three sketches were efficient enough to strike home: A wordless struggle between the two men over an empty chair, a dialogue about marksmanship at a shooting range, and an officious orientation session about dealing with an "active shooter situation."  But the sequencing and substance of the show as a whole did not have me saluting.

Simon Coronel is a sleight-of-hand maestro.
In the middle of my Thursday evening came the zest, precision, and wit of "An Alien of Extraordinary Ability." Magicians who comment on their craft as part of their banter are not uncommon, but Simon Coronel is unusually detailed and resourceful in playing with an audience's investment in the illusionist's art.

Not only did the Australian handle audience participation enticingly and with an astonishing wealth of trickery, he toyed with our notions of magic and our willingness to be controlled at the same time we are trying to puzzle everything out. He doesn't prey upon our gullibility, but upon our good sense. Coronel rightly pointed out that it's neither rational nor creepy for an audience to think actual magic is happening onstage. It's rather that "you know it's not real, and that's what's creepy."

His hands and fingers exhibited the loose-jointed independence and control of a concert pianist's. The card tricks mounted in complexity as he invited the audience to know exactly what he was up to. But of course we nvever did. What he got out of an empty Pringle's can, even one that had been for several minutes in the hand of an audience volunteer, was nothing short of amazing.

"An Alien of Extraordinary Ability," which the magician said was the exact phrase that has enabled him to work in America, is thus a show title that carries a U.S. government endorsement. So, taking a leaf from the "So Proudly We Hailed" book, I'll say you owe it to your country to catch Coronel's act.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Silk Road Ensemble raises the Hilbert Circle Theatre roof

Silk Road Ensemble, with featured players Wu Man and Kayhan Kalhor seated to Yo-Yo Ma's left.
The Hilbert Circle Theatre took on an unwonted intimacy Monday night as the full Silk Road Ensemble — 17 musicians under the artistic direction of Yo-Yo Ma — welcomed a full house to its world, and to a significant part of the world.

The theme was "home" and how it is defined in emotional, physical, permanent, and temporary terms. Music as a vehicle cruises easily over the verbal meanings of home, taking in cultures geographically remote from one another in ways that display their universal appeal. The annual summer tour of the group is focusing on the concept of home in connection with its new CD, "Sing Me Home." The recent showing here of the documentary "The Music of Strangers" also drove interest in the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra's presentation.

A much-reduced representation played the Palladium in February. That gave Central Indiana a foretaste of the grander display of SRE's gifts on Monday, with the added bonus of the founder himself, master cellist Ma. The repertoire, necessarily consisting of many arrangements and new compositions, does not purport to present the world's instruments and musical styles in a manner that would excite professional folklorists.

Instead, the Silk Road Ensemble presents to audiences instruments in combinations that make musical sense while acknowledging appropriate ethnic influences on phrasing, melody, and rhythm that shape the musical expression. A case point in is Colin Jacobsen's "Atashgah," a piece for Western string quintet plus hand drum and the Persian spiked fiddle known as the kamancheh. The composer, a guiding force in two outstanding classical groups, the chamber orchestra the Knights and the string quartet Brooklyn Rider, drew his inspiration from time spent in Iran. The piece opened with a quiet pizzicato pattern that eventually flowered into a setting over which Kayhan Kalhor, the kamancheh virtuoso, could improvise. The tone of this ornamentally played, bowed instrument lent a wistful cast to the performance, reaching a part of the emotional spectrum that Western string instruments can only suggest.

Silk Road Ensemble pianist, bagpiper Cristina Pato.
The concert opened with something in a droll vein: a duet for gaita (Galician bagpipes) and suona (a Chinese double-reed instrument) given particular flair amid its intense interweavings by Cristina Pato and Wu Tong, respectively. With gestures of attraction and repulsion, both gestural and musical, the "Fanfare for Gaita and Suona" made for a zesty appetizer.  From that point on, the audience was swept into larger-scale pieces — initially three works played without pause: Mali, Ireland, and (I'm guessing) China were the sources. The finale was an original piece by Wu Man called "Green (Vincent's Tune)" that moved through a mammoth crescendo toward a vigorous climax.

Wu Tong, who was also featured on a reed instrument of several pipes called the sheng, had the concert's vocal showcase. It was a kind of centerpiece for the "Sing Me Home" theme as it combined the English words applied to the slow movement of Dvorak's "New World" Symphony with a Mandarin version of "Going Home."  The arrangement was quite sensitive to the original setting, and the singer's performance held the large audience spellbound. Also riveting concertgoers' attention  was the graceful cadenza opening an evocation of Roma (gypsy) culture for the player of the lute-like Chinese pipa, Wu Man.

A program of such variety is difficult to summarize, or even to identify highlights in. I think it worthwhile to note the extensive blend of improvised and composed music, and the variety of ensemble texture, in the program finale by Kinan Azmeh, SRE's clarinetist, titled "Wedding" after village celebrations of such events in his native Syria.

The raucousness of some moments was balanced by the tender lyricism of others. Azmeh hinted in his spoken introduction (one of several by ensemble members in the course of the program) that there might be an encore. The audience's response to "Wedding" was unambiguously enthusiastic, so the entire group came back onstage for an unconventional run through "Take the 'A' Train," a theme song for many years of the Duke Ellington Orchestra.

Tabla player Sandeep Das provided the gradually accelerating pattern depicting a train leaving the station (closer to a steam locomotive than the subway train the title refers to, but that's OK). His fellow percussionists took that up, joined by everybody in a display of coordinated power and joy — typical qualities whenever SRE members play their instruments together.