October 2013

Woody’s [rating:5] 

Geoff Hoyle wields invisible cigarette in “Geezer.” Photo: Patti Meyer.

Geoff Hoyle portrayed Mr. Sniff in the Pickle Family Circus in San Francisco, Zazu in The Lion Kingon Broadway, and a bevy of other characters I’ve cherished.

Now he’s portraying Geoff Hoyle.At least a carnival-mirror version of him (and his anxieties about death lingering in the wings).

His autobiographical solo show, Geezer, is again entrenched at The Marsh, an intimate San Francisco theater. In it, he combines mime, vaudeville, English music hall comedy — and transforms into a rubber-faced, rubber-bodied, one-man sound machine.

His lithe movements and physical one-liners are masterfully choreographed.

I smiled. I chuckled. I laughed out loud.

Clad in dark slacks and a red shirt, Hoyle friskily pulls elongated invisible hairs from his ear, nostril and chest before playing “Disease: The Video Game,” which becomes an organ recital that includes varicose veins, an enlarged prostate, gingivitis, degenerating spinal discs, diminishing eyesight, osteoporosis, arthritis and dementia.

But, believe it or don’t, he morphs all that into hilarity — even when proclaiming, “Warning: Your warranty expires in 90 days.”

“Is it death we fear,” he eventually ponders, “or just decline?”

But Hoyle’s body is so agile that he belies his 67 years — except for those moments when he whips out a hanky and wipes his sweaty brow and face. His mental agility lets him turn on a dime from skillful comedy to pathos-packed explorations of serious topics such as mortality.

And the death of his English typesetter father at age 60.

Hoyle, in fact, offers a breathholding moment in which one of his hands becomes his father’s, the other his own. The resultant clasp and bonding are pure poignancy.

His more comic instant personality transplants take the form of a blonde bombshell Latin teacher, an aging Minotaur yanked from Greek mythology, a squirrel in a school play, a metaphorical sparrow, and a whimsical glimpse at unrealized characters from a London sitcom and “Masterpiece Theater.”

The showstopper for me, though, was his interpretation of his belly becoming cat-like. My laughter, my wife’s and the crowd’s shook the rafters and then some. Printed words are inadequate to do justice to the sequence; a video might, however, since you then could see and appreciate it.

Hoyle, who studied in Paris with Marcel Marceau’s teacher, Étienne Decroux, also can make an audience squirm — as when he shows his own discomfort during a visit from his adult kids.

“Sit down,” he tells them, “so I can embarrass myself in front of you.”

Also a bit too close for comfort for geezers such as me is his railing against nursing homes. He focuses on the fictitious “Elderado, the elder commune,” drawing huge laughs along the way from a couple of antique jokes.

To wit: “Last night my wife asked me to go upstairs and make love. I said I didn’t know if I could do both.”

This 90-minute show is a re-run of one that debuted at The Marsh in San Francisco in March 2011. It’s still directed by David Ford, who also helped Brian Copeland and Charlie Varon develop their performance art.

But Hoyle is unique.

He can transform a wooden chair — believably — into the prow of a torpedo-endangered ship caught in a storm, a hospital bed and a walker.

Although he was born in Britain, he’s spent most of his life in America — emboldened by two years working with Ed, “the fourth of my artistic fathers” and a short tenure at a commune in the Ozark Mountains.

All his experiences appear to be fodder for his imagination. Boxing and stroking his shadow, for example.

But he covers each post-birth stage of life, his elastic face capturing each phase flawlessly.

Hoyle, who often makes invisible cigarettes real with his expert mime work, infrequently breaks the fourth theatrical wall and interacts with the audience. On one occasion, he asked my wife to tickle him. She was flummoxed, not knowing if he really meant for her to do it. He then mugged derision, which brought yet another laugh from the audience.

His tour de force — which deserves the standing ovation it draws — is often like attending a master class in mime and minimalism.

What Hoyle evokes is so strong that several people could found doubled over at any given point, and the convulsions of a few more turned their glee into pig-like snorts.

The show should be a must for anyone who cares about the aging process, most certainly any man or woman who’s noticed that first wrinkle.

Geoff Hoyle’s “Geezer” plays at The Marsh, 1062 Valencia St. (at 22nd), San Francisco, through Oct. 26. Performances: 8 p.m. Wednesdays and Thursdays, 5 p.m. Saturdays. Tickets: $25 to $50, (415) 282-3055 or (415) 826-5750 or www.themarsh.org.

Woody Weingarten

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Woody’s [rating:5] 

Mark Junek does reverse striptease in the role of Spike as (from left) Anthony Fusco (Vanya), Caroline Kaplan (Nina), and Lorri Holt (Masha) watch in “Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike.” Photo courtesy kevinberne.com.

A lot more than once.

No, I didn’t wet myself. But it was a close call during the Berkeley Rep production of the comedy that won this year’s Tony Award as best play.

The Big Apple run starred Sigourney Weaver and David Hyde Pierce. I can visualize their performances as two of the three title siblings named after Chekhov characters.

But director Richard E.T. White conducts his ensemble of actors as if it were a jazz sextet, staging one solo riff after another to extract loud laughter from the audience as easily as a teenager might Google just about anything.Witness, for instance, the brilliance of Mark Junek’s physical antics when his character, the twentysomething boy-toy Spike, does a reverse strip tease.

Or Sharon Lockwood’s breakout as Sonia, imitating Maggie Smith emoting in a screechy British voice on the way to the Oscars (while prancing in a tiara and blue gown on which no more sequins would fit).

Or Heather Alicia Simms’ star turn as Cassandra, a voodoo pi

n-pricking prognosticator, or Anthony Fusco’s Old World passivity as the bearded Vanya.Nor should the other performers be ignored. Both are top drawer, Lorri Holt as narcissistic B-movie star Masha (“I just feel old and vulnerable”) and Caroline Kaplan as wannabe actress Nina, who’s attracted to Spike (“He is so attractive — except for his personality, of course”).

Playwright Christopher Durang’s wit and cleverness can be as swift-paced as a Louis C.K. standup routine, and as omnipresent as his allusions to Shakespeare, the Beatles and Disney’s seven dwarfs.

Durang even spoofs his own reverence for his favorite 19th Century playwright.“If everyone took anti-depressants, Chekhov would have had nothing to write about,” intones one character. “I hope you’re not going to make Chekhov references all day,” pleads another.But the seriousness that lies underneath is countered by the buffoonery that’s pervasive.

Indeed, “Vanya” is an homage, with frequent references to “Three Sisters,” “The Cherry Orchard” and “Uncle Vanya” but if you’ve never seen or read anything by Chekhov you’ll still enjoy the banter, set pieces and character development — not to mention the marvelous costuming by Debra Beaver Bauer (look particularly for the dwarfs), note-perfect sound design by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen, and the lone set by Kent Dorsey that replicates an upscale country home in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where Durang actually lives.

Durang’s characters are skillfully drawn. Sonia and Vanya feel their lives have passed them by, having spent 15 years caring for their Alzheimer’s-plagued parents.

She’s never reconciled her being adopted, and is usually sad and angry, a throwaway spinster who “can’t do anything right.” He laments his life, too, and relishes raving about the glories of yesteryear and the dreadfulness of today’s culture.

Like much of Chekhov’s work, “Vanya” emphasizes people and relationships rather than plot — with everyone working in unison to make sure the audience feels the play is much shorter than its two hours plus.

And when the characters become stagehands and move furniture between scenes, their actions appear to be seamless part of the play.Durang, who is gay, has had a history of dealing with homosexuality, Roman Catholic dogma and child abuse in his previous work (which included “Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All for You” and “Beyond Therapy”).This one skips the dogma and abuse.

Samuel Beckett, creator of “Waiting for Godot,” is known as the father of the Theater of the Absurd. In a sense, Durang might be considered his stepchild, romping in the same playground although his humor and personages are less abstract, more grounded, more rooted in reality.

Despite all the mugging and over-the-topness.

“Who’d you recommend this show to?” my wife asked me as we left the theater, continuing a verbal game we’ve played for years.

“Everyone,” I replied — “without hesitation.”

“Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike” plays at the Berkeley Repertory’s Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison St., Berkeley, through Oct. 25. Night performances, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, 8 p.m.; Wednesdays and Sundays, 7 p.m.; matinees, Saturdays and Sundays, 2 p.m. Tickets: $17.50 to $89, subject to change, (510) 647-2949 or www.berkeleyrep.org.

Woody Weingarten

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Woody’s [rating:4.5] 

Hannah peeks through maze from the top. Photo: Woody Weingarten

My granddaughter owns a short attention span — except when she’s fascinated.

And then the 6-year-old, like most kids her age (or younger), insists on repeating whatever’s grabbed her, again and again and again. Her recent visit to the new Exploratorium is an unequaled for-instance.

She had nearly as much fun as horsing around with her new rescue puppy.

Hannah had been to the old science museum building in the Palace of Fine Arts multiple times, and loved it. But this time her squeals of delight were louder, her giggles more effervescent.

Repeatedly.

Once upon a time she raced from one exhibit to another, testing each for about half a second. But she was only 5 then. Or 4. Or 3 the first time we took her.

Now, she’s exponentially more mature.

Can the word “sophisticated” fit a first-grader? Yes, of course (though I grant a substantial bias in Hannah’s case).

Anyway, this time she lingered at exhibits. And tested each gain, again and again.

“Self-Centered Mirror” shows Hannah and her grandpa. Photo: Woody WeingartenAnyway, this time she lingered at exhibits. And tested each again, again and again.

She didn’t tire until the beginning of our fourth hour.

Like a white-haired roadie, I trailed her as if she were a rock star whose latest single had just gone viral. And I managed to experience much of her hands-on, trial-and-error experimentation from an analogous child’s-eye-view.

I left believing that had I looked close enough, I could have seen her mind expand.

The new Exploratorium, like the old, is an interactive, two-story science museum. But this one’s indoors-outdoors, a 330,000-square-foot facility with three times the space.It has 40 new exhibits and 560 carryovers, gratifying each of the senses except taste (and that craving might be satisfied at the posh 200-seat buffet-style Seaglass Restaurant or a tiny takeout café, “the seismic joint”).

Because the facility’s bigger, it doesn’t feel cramped or crowded. And it seems a bit less noisy (as well as somewhat less exciting).

But Hannah didn’t think about any of that.

She was too busy running back and forth between two displays — “Self-Excluding Mirror,” which reproduced images but somehow made the person in the center disappear, and “Self-Centered Mirror,” which replicated the viewer over and over.

Before that, near the entrance, she’d became entranced with “A Drop to Drink,” featuring a miniature hand she could manipulate robotically to fill a miniature cup with a lone drop of water, and “Black Sand,” an exhibit that showcased countless metallic pieces that stuck together magnetically. A few times during our visit she returned to both stations.

Hannah enjoyed exhibits carried over from the old building.

One favorite — where images and colors changed when we waved our arms, kicked out our legs and wiggled our torsos. Another was a screen crammed with pins that made different hand shapes and designs as she moved her fingers underneath.

Another echo came as Scott Weaver guided ping-pong balls through his panoramic view of San Francisco and vicinity made from “105,387 and a half toothpicks.” We’d seen it before, at the Marin County Fair, but loved it still.His art-piece only took 37 years to finish.

Hannah was also taken with “Tidal Memory,” its 24 columns of water representing 24 hours of tide data.

I, meanwhile, enjoyed playing “The Visible Pinball Machine,” which showed the machine’s innards. And all of us marveled at “Gyroid,” an outdoor climbing maze Hannah crawled through and atop while we watched.

Leaving, Hannah gleefully said she liked running into and out of an “orange and white spinning circus-tent thing,” spinning a plastic ball on a column of air, and changing the course of a simulated tornado.It’s truly impossible to even mention all we experienced, much less what we didn’t do (like check out the second floor and its observation center).

But we did recognize the Exploratorium features displays for virtually every age, ranging from some aimed at preschoolers to some so technical a doctorate in an esoteric scientific endeavor might help.

I think that translates, in effect, into something for everyone.All that’s required is sufficient time.

Oh, well, there’s always next time. Or the time after that. Or the one after that. Or…

The Exploratorium, Pier 15, San Francisco, is Tuesdays through Sundays, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.; Wednesdays, 10 a.m. to 10 p.m.; Thursday night After Dark cash-bar event for those 18 and older, 6 to 10 p.m. Tickets: $10-$25. Information: (415) 528-4444 or www.exploratorium.edu.

Woody Weingarten

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