Woody Weingarten

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

If you think the phrases “non-reciprocal blowjob,” “piss chart,” and “life is an oblong” are inherently funny and might be even funnier if they’re each repeated about 49 times in 90 minutes, go see Do You Feel Anger? at the Marin Theatre.

If you believe several adult characters acting like acting-out, clueless toddlers crammed into an office playpen of debt collectors might be funny in a slapschtick, farcical way, do go.

And if you consider mysterious or untethered themes, an O. Henry ending, a marvelous secondary set spotlighting three toilets, or good lighting and sound effects between scenes as items that might satisfy your cerebral or sexual needs, go.

A recent gray-haired audience liked the show’s office absurdities enough to applaud more than a little when it was over, enough to periodically chuckle quietly or even cackle or guffaw on rare occasion. On the other hand, a woman in the front row volunteered a three-word stinger: “That was painful!”

The plot? Sofia is an empathy coach newly hired to buoy the consciousness of three workers drawn by playwright Mara Nelson-Greenberg as somewhere between the classic personas of TV’s hilarious satire, The Office, and David Mamet’s biting dark satire, Glengarry Glen Ross.

The staff is overseen by a fourth cartoonish character, an office manager who doesn’t know what a woman’s period is and who joins the others in the belief that empathy is a bird.

Eva (intentionally played by linda maria giron with a grating ever-screechy voice and theater-shaking laugh) keeps getting mugged, or is delusional about it, or maybe both, and is obsessed with being a mermaid.

Howie (exquisitely portrayed by Max Forman-Mullin as a macho man-child whose anger is always on the brink and whose horniness is almost always on display) is physically and verbally over the top.

Jordan (a Phil Wong tour de farce distortion whose bug-eyes are aways in humorous motion) joins Howie as a resident misogynist.

Jon, the manager who’s interested only in having his mandated documentation signed by Sofia even if she’s unsuccessful, is skillfully delivered by lanky Joseph O’Malley with legs that jerk and slide like a ballet dancer on coke.

Jesse Caldwell, by the way, is excellent in his cameo monologue as Marcus, a geezer bomber-wannabe who’s seemingly lost the key to his dementia ward.

And Atosa Babaoff acquits herself well in dual roles, that of Janie, a woman who’s permanently ensconced in the bathroom, and Sofia’s long-suffering mom who’s featured in a parallel storyline that ultimately ties some stuff together.

It should be noted that there’s a major disconnect between the entire cast of crazies and Sam Jackson, who inhabits Sofia with a serious insatiable need to please. That gap might have been shortened.

Director Becca Wolff might also have sliced the text a bit or added an intermission; the workplace comedy feels a tad long in spite of being timed at an hour and a half.

All the acting’s worth seeing and there are, to be sure, a few wonderful lines. Such as “Everyone’s starting to say the clitoris is a hoax.”

Not incidentally, a “piss chart” is never explained in the show but one Google keystroke will instantly indicate that it’s used as an unclear metaphor based on its definition of a color map designed to illustrate hydration and urine levels. Who knew?

Do You Feel Anger? Will play at the Marin Theater, 397 Miller Ave., Mill Valley, through June 29. Tickets: $47 to $85. Information: 341-388-5200 or info@marintheatre.org.

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime voting member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle and the author of four books, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

A black man scurries onstage and is introduced to the audience as white science giant Albert Einstein, only one of multiple racial- and gender-bending flashes and same-sex moves in a 12-part, 60-minute ballet, “Pepperland.”

The squatting dancer then mimics a classic photo of Einstein by sticking out his tongue and wiggling his brows.

A brunette Marilyn Monroe prances. Shirley Temple preens. So does Sonny Liston. They’re joined by other celebrities, all extracted from the cover montage of The Beatles’ groundbreaking concept album, “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” to which the ballet pays homage.

The life-size cartoons specifically flesh out “Magna Carta,” one of five original pieces by arranger/composer Ethan Iverson squeezed between seven Fab Four tunes used in the Mark Morris creation at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley.

Morris’ out-of-the-box choreography — highlighted by dancers repeatedly standing and walking at virtually impossible angles, frequent three-person lifts and dancers melting/collapsing onto the floor, groupings of two and four, and frequent insertions of visual humor — guarantees to put a grin on your face and to keep it there.

The music itself is another story.

Fusion — which combined jazz harmonies and improv with rock, funk, and rhythm and blues — hadn’t yet become “the thing” in 1967. But that’s when The Beatles released their groundbreaking concept album, a whimsical stroke of imagination that superimposed psychedelia and pop onto rock rhythms.

Musical moments later, the term fusion became stretched beyond imagination following trumpeter Miles Davis’ experimentations with electric instruments and rock beats in his jazz.

Ultimately, to virtually everyone’s confusion, public relations flacks started defining fusion as the blending of any two or more genres of music, no matter how disparate, even when the notion of playing five tempos simultaneously was a part of the melodic landscape.

Iverson might not be fond of the label either, despite his arrangements rapidly slip-sliding like a roller coaster between slow, mournful blues to almost deafening jazz that features amazing runs on clarinet, sax, and drums.

“Pepperland,” which Morris first mounted in 2017 as a 50th anniversary tribute to the Sgt. Pepper album, was revived this weekend at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley under the auspices of Cal Performances. It not only merged elements of yesteryear seamlessly, it accomplished that task with light-hearted charm, dark aviator sunglasses, and Elizabeth Kurtzman’s brightly colored Mod-style costumes that couldn’t help but bring to mind 1967’s Summer of Love.

The often quaint and/or oblique dance moves wash, rinse, and repeat, then wash, rinse, and repeat again and again, their consistency playing off the low backdrop of irregular mylar-like pieces that reflect various colors.

Those who came to see unadulterated Beatles would have been disappointed. Iverson’s score, played live by seven musicians (including him on piano), emphasizes vocals by Clinton Curtis and an electric instrument, the theremin, which requires no human touch (though Rob Schwimmer’s body parts hover over it to produce a cornucopia of sound).

Theremin riffs varied, from lovely high-pitched wailings that might potentially evoke tears to screechy chalk-on-blackboard sounds that could trouble eardrums.

Innovative were moments like Iverson’s conversion in “A Day in the Life” of individual vowels into two-note grunting patterns. Amusing, too, was a double-take-inducing move in which one dancer is hidden behind another to create a laughable form.

Morris seemed genuinely overjoyed Opening Night as he acknowledged with a smile and deep bow that a healthy chunk of the audience was giving his ballet a standing ovation.

“Pepperland” starts with company members in a tight circle smoothly dancing their way into a larger design. The ballet ends similarly, just in reverse. In between are tons of smooth transitions from one grouping to another. And yes, Morris’ flamboyant, carefree, entertaining approach to modern dance does delete much of the edginess and tension in the original Beatles musicology.

What’s left, sometimes, are mugging dancers and an over-all cutesiness with which all you can do is lean back and enjoy.

The Mark Morris Dance Group has one more show at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley, this weekend — at 3 p.m. today. Info: 510-642-9988 or https://calperformances.org. Upcoming Cal Performances include the June 21 roots music of Rhiannon Giddens and The Old-Time Revue.

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle and the author of four books, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com.

 

 

 

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

Rape.

That should be as offensive as any other four-letter word in the English language today, despite many of our society’s males consistently downplaying it.

Still, it was a tad worse 400 years ago.

At least that’s what’s displayed in It’s True, It’s True, It’s True, a dramatic polemic of sorts that runs at the Marin Theatre through May 4.

The play does focus on a positive theme — 15-year-old Baroque artist Artemisia Gentileschi using her paints and canvas to display her anger and pain and to get a taste of revenge for being sexually assaulted.

It’s a true tale.

Playwrights Ellice Stevens and Billy Barrett — and especially director Rebecca Wear — have mainly through exaggeration inserted just enough humor to keep the women in the audience in their seats instead of jumping up and screaming demands of female empowerment.

Rock music loud enough to obscure virtually all lyrics pops up at various times, played and sung at top decibels by the all-female Actors Equity cast of four. That, along with costumes by Pamela Rodriguez Montero that merge 1612 courtroom attire and 2025 black leather-and-glitz punk band garb, makes some moments jagged because the two timeframes don’t fit together seamlessly.

About a third of the script — a reenactment of a real-life he-said, she-said courtroom drama — stems from verbatim records, translated into modern English that might be spewed by street people in Berkeley, that had been preserved (though the final pages were lost).

Emily Anderson plays Artemisia Gentileschi, the victim, one moment her face flashing rage at being raped, the next flaunting a satirical exuberance from a male perspective. Clearly, she can be demure or filled with piss and vinegar.

Anderson is exceptionally potent when she becomes part of living tableaus depicting two of the Baroque artist’s paintings (“Judith Slaying Holofernes” and “Susanna and the Elders”). In those moments, she’s aided significantly by the astonishing lighting of Mikiko Uesugi and resounding sound effects by Matt Stines.

Anderson is superb, too, in a scene where she, totally frustrated, poignantly repeats the phrase “It’s true,” dozens of times.

Maggie Mason, in the gender-bending role of Renaissance Italian painter Agostino Tassi, is appropriately lecherous, cocky, and snarky — and is as apt to slyly insert into his testimony his credentials as staff artist for the Pope as he is to deny any culpability as a rapist.

As the black-robed judge, another male part, Alicia M.P. Nelson is pointedly personality-less, a sharp contrast to when she shows her acting range in several minor roles and her energy as the band’s lead singer.

The hour and a quarter show dissolves the century gap to reveal a plotline reflecting how gender equality is absent, how biased judges can allow victims to become de facto defendants, and how repeated lies can erase truth. Do those concepts replicate today’s headlines? Yes.

The performance also reveals not only how enemies are enemies but how so-called friends may not be trustworthy either. Keko Shimosato Carreiro portrays Donna Tuzia, supposed confidante to Artemisia, who wavers on the stand trying to gain favor with both sides. She flails her arms a lot.

It’s True, It’s True, It’s True is a flawed but fascinating experimental effort filled with content that some folks may dislike: the applying of thumb screws to Artemisia;; the grisly display of beheading and sex scenes (oral, anal, and self); the close-up look at naked breasts.

But those eager for something different, those willing to check out this story about the first woman to enter the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno in Florence in spite of having been slut-shamed and having had to battle gender inequality again and again, will appreciate having their brain massaged.

Even if the actors occasionally drop lines, and the set is practically non-existent.

Think rape. Think the #MeToo movement. Think a world of alternative facts. Think of yourself or your sister or your daughter. Think. Then shudder.

It’s True, It’s True, It’s True runs in the 99-seat Lieberman Theater in the Marin Theater, 397 Miller Ave., Mill Valley, through May 4. Tickets: $10 to $81 (plus $6 handling fee per total order). Info: https://www.marintheatre.org or 415-388-5208.

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle and the author of four books, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com.

 

 

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

Spirituality, grace, energy.

Those elements have since 1958 been trademarks of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre but never more so than now.

The company’s entire three-part Program C, which Cal Performances staged last week at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley, leaned more heavily on spirituality than usual — but in no way to the detriment of the other two components.

The program ended with “Revelations,’ the glorious signature piece that closes so many Ailey shows and is, of course, based on a series of Negro spirituals. But “Sacred Songs” (the emotional, sometimes frenzied opener) and “Many Angels” (danced lusciously with traditional dance movements to the solemn music of Gustav Mahler) both also provided a sense of connection to something greater than ordinary men and women.

In the first and third parts particularly, the dancers were so limber, so fluid, that it appeared they might be minus some bones.

And never did theatergoers need be sure their interpretation of the wonderment on stage (including verbal injections of Jesus, the Lord, and Elijah) were correct; it was sufficient to appreciate the seemingly flawless skill of the performers,

The audience was so enthusiastic it frequently interjected bursts of loud applause topped off with spasmodic cheering.

“Sacred Songs,” a Bay Area premiere whose diverse elements were a cornucopia of energy, fluttering wrists and fingers, and a reaching up to the heavens, featured several scenes so riveting they appeared to last only seconds before a blackout.

Its music — by DuBois AKeen — ranged from extreme softness in “Be Still” to frenzied jazz; garments were rapidly switched from jeans and mesh tops for men to pristine, loose-fitting white for both sexes, but their muted impact was immediately overshadowed by the wild energy, unadulterated smoothness, and synchronicity of the dancers’ movements.

Its choreography by Mathew Rushing ensured the whole stage was used superlatively — so well, in fact, it was impossible for human eyes to take it all in at once. Quickly changing focus from one dancer to another became a necessity, as if one were watching a three-ring circus filled with ballet pros.

One segment of the piece opened with a dancer’s hands moving as if she were playing bongo drums — so realistically you could almost see the instrument that wasn’t there.

“Many Angels,” also a Bay Area premiere, began with dancers on the floor in front of a noteworthy backdrop of clouds with light streaming through them. Both music and dance were a sharp contrast in tone to the rest of the performance. Choreography by Lars Lubovich, who also was responsible for the scenic design, flowed as smoothly as angels’ wings might flap in a celestial breeze.

This segment drew polite clapping and commentary about its soft, pale beauty as opposed to the unbridled tribute-yelling earned by “Revelations,” which brought applause from repeat viewers before the curtain rose.

“Revelations,” a 1960 creation choreographed by Ailey himself and colorfully costumed by Ves Harper, was so spirited that what felt like a third of the audience applauded rhythmically in unison to several of its 10 parts, A multitude of ballet-lovers leapt to their feet to sway and clap during the last one, “Rocka My Soul in the Bosom of Abraham,” which showcased the entire company.

Raucous applause and shouts of joy reverberated earlier when Xavier Mack finished his solo, “I Wanna Be Ready.”

And ultimately the crowd gave an expected standing ovation as the concert concluded, hints of joyous music still resounding in the acoustically superb auditorium.

Dance will be featured in two upcoming shows at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley, through Cal Performances: from a Brazilian troupe, Grupo Corpo, which blends classical ballet with folk and popular dance, April 25 and 26, and the Mark Morris Dance Group’s tribute to the Beatles’ “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” May 9-11. Info: 510-642-9988 or https://calperformances.org.

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle and the author of four books, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com.

 

Lawrence Redecker, as crazed Carrier X in “The Boiling: A tale of American nihilism,” stands before a striking projection. Photo by Jay Yamada.

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

If you relish theatrical productions that can merge disparate elements into a unique gel, the Magic Theatre’s The Boiling: A tale of American nihilism might satisfy your appetite.

It’s a complicated, offbeat, wannabe thriller that challenges the mental acuity of its audience, which may be left answerless to a carload of questions.

Major themes include roots and the question of if you can go home again, whether human relationships and identity do change, how personal and community histories can be integrated with today’s beings and events, how to deal with major violence in our lives, and whether science and book-learning can protect us from danger.

Plus, where serene birding fits into all of it.

The world premiere that’s presented by the Magic in conjunction with Campo Santo combines acting that ranges from muted subtlety to emotional outbursts, perfectly inserted music that skips from raucous rock to melancholy softness, and striking video, sound and lighting effects that can startle and delight.

Sunhui Chang’s drama, which jumps back and forth in time and from the Carolinas to Colorado, certainly isn’t linear. But there is a storyline:

Brian, a Korean American virologist from the Midwest, and Vee, a Southern-bred Black detective linked to the Pacific Northwest, team up as agents of a new government agency to hunt down David, a rampaging nomadic Caucasian carrier of a killer virus labeled “the boiling.”

For those who enjoy stage puzzles that dip into mental masturbation, the play covers several aspects of nihilism, including the concept that the attitude can be a source of despair as well as a catalyst for individual freedom. If you have the patience to look deep enough, you may discover that The Boiling also touches on fundamental nihilistic notions such as life is basically meaningless, without purpose or value; objective moral codes and beliefs don’t exist; and the possibility of knowledge or unbiased truth is nil.

That sounds awfully negative on paper, yet in the skilled hands of the cast of seven, it’s not overpowering but integrated with whatever else is happening onstage — and off, because characters join the chain of events from deep in the seats (and even surprisingly plop down in the front row).

The device of characters reading — in the third person — a book entry that describe themselves and what they’re doing can be seductive. Also alluring is the projection of plot locations in big letters on the stage floor between scenes, perhaps an outgrowth of the author originally conceiving of the slow 95-minute creation as a screenplay.

Off-putting, unlike a movie or video where the volume can be adjusted by a techie, is the choice by director Ellen Sebastian Chang of having two actors turn their backs to the audience in one long scene, muffling their words despite being mic’d.

From a more positive viewpoint, Lawrence Reducer excels as Carrier X, as do Jeannine Anderson as Miss Lolli (a narrator), and John Brougher as Brian.

All three — part of a metaphoric road trip — help bring the puzzle and story home.   

The Boiling: A Tale of American Nihilism runs at the Magic Theatre, 2 Marina Blvd., Landmark Building C, Suite 260, Fort Mason, in San Francisco, through April 20. Tickets: $35 to $75. Info: 415-441-8822 or https://magictheatre.org

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle and the author of four books, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com.

Evvy Calstrom-March (center, as Sally Bowles) and Stephen Kanaski (also center, as the Emcee) star in Cabaret. (All photos by Katie Wickes)

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

There’s no perfect show, no perfect production. But the Marin Musical Theatre Company’s interpretation of Cabaret comes within a hair’s breadth of reaching those pinnacles.

The best Bay Area theatrical work of the year, perhaps the season, it stars Evvy Calstrom-March as chanteuse Sally Bowles, the main draw in Berlin’s shabby Kit Kat Club, circa the Roaring Twenties and the rise of Hitler.

Calstrom-March is a joy to watch every second she’s on stage at the Novato Theatre Company (which presented Cabaret). She’s a quadruple threat: vocals that might make many a Broadway starlet jealous; dancing that puts a capital “L” in limber; dramatic acting chops that make you feel with her; and a rubberized face that can deliver comic expressions with ease.

Also completely watchable is Stephen Kanaski, the Emcee, who changes costumes as often as kids check out their smart phones, and who leers and sneers with the best of them — even though actor/singer Joel Grey originally “owned” the role.

Choreography by Katie Wickes — who also seamlessly co-directed the show with Jenny Boynton — derivatively reminds theatergoers of Bob Fosse at his peak with an underlay of classic Jerome Robbins (and that’s not a bad thing). She staged and rehearsed each of the four nightclub dancers so well they seemed to fill the spotlights as if there were two or three times that many hoofers.

Superlative costumes by Krista Lee and Andria Nyland ranged from a military uniform to glitzy, skimpy burlesque outfits to “ordinary clothing” that blended so well it became invisible so they didn’t distract from the plotline.

A trio of instrumentalists, led by music director Daniel Savio just off the stage, doesn’t miss a proverbial beat and couldn’t have supported the cast better with its bouncy jazz rhythms suitable to the era.

Others worth lauding include Daniela Innocenti Beem, who smoothly injects landlady Fraulein Schneider (who feels pressured by the political upheaval to not marry the Jewish fruit peddler she loves) with humor and pathos and a voice that won’t quit, and Michael Lister, who portrays Ernst, a Nazi smuggler, with appropriate sleaze.

Cabaret, as most theatergoers know, is a rough-edged tragic double-love story engraved on a backdrop of Nazism. Today, the 1966 musical again acts as a red-flag metaphor suggesting that extreme nationalism, racism, Antisemitism, anti-LGBTQ+ism, and blindness to burgeoning authoritarianism can imperil our frail democracy.

Fräulein Schneider (Daniela Innocenti Beem), a landlady, cozies up to Jewish fruit peddler, Herr Shultz (Jere Torkelsen).

The Marin Musical Theatre Company (MMTC) show isn’t for everyone, certainly — despite the production’s overall superb quality and the show’s Tony award-winning history. MAGA devotees probably won’t like it just because. And anyone who can’t handle its cornucopia of heavy sexuality, debauchery, homophobia, immorality, hedonism, prostitution, and drugs most likely will stay home.

Sally Bowles (Evvy Calstrom-March, center) and Kit Kat Club girls come on strong.

Regardless, classic Broadway music by John Kander and lyrics by Fred Ebb, a team that also spawned another Great White Way blockbuster, Chicago, remain a perfect fit. Several of the tunes, in fact, can be sung or hummed or whistled as you leave the theater, an endeavor that’s almost as dead as the proverbial dodo if you think about more modern musicals.

Joel Grey, not incidentally, gets cited online by Wickes and Boynton, in lieu of a production prologue, by reprinting an op-ed he wrote for the New York Times last November.

In it, he sounds an alarm about “the dangers of apathy” and distraction — as he simultaneously warns us about being seduced by a sense that we are facing dark times but “they won’t really affect our own day-to-day lives.”

That sense, he notes, echoes “the tragically shortsighted assessment of so many European Jews in the 1920s and ‘30s.”

The MMTC/Novato Theatre Company co-production of Cabaret will play at the Novato Theatre Company, 5420 Nave Drive, Novato, through April 13. Tickets: $35 to $50. Info: 415-883-4498 or info@marinmusicals.org.

 

Actor Richard Dreyfuss (Dylan James Pereira, front) gestures while the other main performers in the film Jaws, Roy Scheider (Nathan Luft-Runner, left) and Robert Shaw (Matt Cadigan), look on in a dramedy at the Left Edge Theatre, The Shark Is Broken. (Photo by Dana Hunt)

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

The Shark Is Broken may be billed as a comedy but might better be viewed as a drama peppered with laughs.

The 95-minute play details the real-life, repugnant interactions of actors Richard Dreyfuss (Dylan James Pereira), Robert Shaw (Matt Cadigan), and Roy Scheider (Nathan Luft-Runner) off and on the set of Steven Spielberg’s 1975 cinematic blockbuster, Jaws.

Tensions spring from shooting delays caused by pre-CGI and AI mechanical devices — intended to power the threatening shark — conking out. Add to that a feud between a young Dreyfuss and an aging Shaw (known as much for his Shakespearean roles and his writing as for his Hollywood work) that sets a troublesome tone throughout.

Scheider, a more stoic, professorial type, can’t elude Shaw’s negativity either. When he bemoans the two-month ocean shoot in Martha’s Vineyard as “a long time to be stuck together,” Shaw one-ups him: “It’s an eternity.”

Many scenes in the Dana Hunt-directed play replicate precisely what happened. At least that’s what Ian Shaw, the actor’s son, would have us believe. It was he who co-wrote the play with Joseph Nixon (never shrinking from repeatedly depicting his dad as a stumbling drunk).

The Shaw character, who alludes to his own father killing himself when the actor was 12, is fully cognizant of his shortcomings and how they affect others. He refers to priding himself for being able to act at all after “a tidal wave of booze” and notes that he can find himself “with a drink in my hand as a reward for not drinking.”

Trying to cozy up to the British actor, and hopefully eliminating an avalanche of putdowns, Dreyfuss brings his elder joy by looking for and finding two hidden bottles of booze. But he also dumps the contents of yet another bottle, an action that transforms a war of words into more physical combat.

Much of the play’s humor is pitch black, with sarcasm being the main coin of the theatrical realm. Early on, the panic attack-prone Dreyfuss fears for his career because the film they’re in could end up being like Planet of the Apes“without the monkeys.”

In brazen contrast while alone in the show’s funniest moments later, he presents a mocking imitation of Shaw.

 

 

Starring in The Shark Is Broken are (from left) Dylan James Pereira, Nathan Luft-Runner, and Matt Cadigan. (Photo by Dana Hunt)

Together, the three characters touch on a gamut of subjects: father-son relationships, philosophical and scientific journeys of the mind and mouth, and pointed references to Nixon (“tricky Dickie”), the Silent Majority, and Nobel Prize-winning dramatist Harold Pinter,

To pass the time, they gamble on cards and a British coin-flip game — and almost constantly refer to their previous hits, as well as films that crashed and burned, and other actors.

They also debate their billing and who is the film’s star, their egos never letting them think for an instant that it’s the animatronic shark.

Just before their final scene, in both reel and real life, Shaw indicate he doesn’t think much of Jaws and goes on to trash Spielberg’s next unnamed project that will become E.T. — the Extra-Terrestrial with one pejorative word, aliens, and then predicts that the film industry in the future will be limited to churning out “sequels and rewrites and sequels.”

Snarkily, he also says, “Do you really think anybody is going to be talking about this in 50 years?”

The Shark Is Broken will play at the Left Edge Theatre of the California Theatre, 528 7th St., Santa Rosa, through April 11. Tickets: $22 to $33. Info: 707-664-play or https://leftedgetheatre.com.

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle and the author of four books, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com.

Clyde (Shanay Howell) weaponizes a kitchen knife in comedy at the 6th St. Playhouse. (All photos by Eric Chazankin.)

By Woody Weingarten

Clyde’s, at the 6th St. Playhouse in Santa Rosa through March 23, is a sneaky little devil of a play.

Sandwiched between frequent effervescent sight and verbal gags and a generous helping of street slang mixed with overt sexuality, you can discover layers of caustic but insightful opinions.

The Pennsylvania greasy spoon of the title is a work haven for ex-cons, most of whom regret the reason for their incarceration and yearn for a second chance to become more fully realized human beings.

How do the felons aim to achieve that? Believe it or not, by creating the perfect gourmet sandwich — onstage — despite the truckdriver clientele preferring simple turkey on rye.

Love, anger. Teasing, testiness. Thoughtfulness, spite. All are menu ingredients.

Added in are pinches of racial inequities and pain.

And sporadic munching by the six-member cast.

Light throwaway lines like “Now you’re disrespecting the lettuce” and “Don’t say that — she can hear through walls” are precursors to serious tidbits such as “I can’t walk down the street without feeling like everyone’s hating on me” and “Just ‘cause you left prison, don’t think you’re outta prison.”

Shanay Howell instills in sandwich shop-owner Clyde more piss and vinegar than you might imagine, all the while popping her eyes, pouting her mouth, and exaggeratedly strutting flirtatiously so viewers can’t help but laugh.

Nate Musser portrays Jason, a homeless dude dotted with white supremacy face and arm tattoos whose vitriol knows no limits but who can also draw humor from slapstick postures and soften like room-temperature butter when a scene calls for that attitude.

Jason (Nate Musser) rests his head on chest of Montrellous, who gives him a healing hug.

And Tajai Jaxon Britten re-creates Montrellous, resident philosopher with a sonorous voice and a Zen attitude, as someone to emulate.

Meanwhile, director Marty Pistone resembles a conductor timing multiple instruments to end on the same micro-dot — in this parallel case, when characters excitedly talk over each other and then stop abruptly.

Intermittent music, mainly staccato drumbeats orchestrated by sound designer Laurynn Malilay during the blackouts between frequent brief scenes, acts as a perfect accompaniment.

The set designed by Bruce Lackovic also deserves praise for seamlessly blending real and simulated kitchen equipment.

Cast of Clyde’s are tickled by blurb in a local newspaper.

Have you ever stumbled on a hole-in-the-wall that can dish out melt-in-your-mouth food? Or a place that could satisfy your food-for-thought cravings? Whether or not your answer is “yes,” you might want to taste-test Clyde’s.

Not every performance of the fast-paced 90-minute play by two-time Pulitzer Prize winner Lynn Nottage, is sold out. That, truly, is a shame.

Clyde’s will play on the Monroe Stage of the 6th St. Playhouse, 52 W. 6th St., Santa Rosa, through March 23. Tickets: $29 to $47.95. Info: 707-523-4185 or https://6thstreetplayhouse.com.

Amy O’Connell (Liz Sklar) and Henry Trebell (Lance Gardner) contemplate an affair in Marin Theatre’s Waste. Photo by Chris Hardy.

 

By WOODY WEINGARTEN

It’s practically impossible to get away with cramming an excess of philosophical discussions into one drama.

Like abortion, adultery, misogyny, reproductive rights, scandal, suicide, public education, corruption and back-stabbing politics, and church and state morality.

But Carey Perloff, who for years was artistic director at the American Conservatory Theatre, has used a shoehorn to slide all of them into a 119-year-old British play almost seamlessly. She makes sure the accents hold; facial expressions, body language, and timing remain on target; lines sprinkled here and there to elicit laughter do so; and wave-like high and low vocal pitches preclude audience members nodding off.

The director/adaptor apparently could do little, however, about taking playwright Harley Granville-Barker’s 2½ talky hours (plus intermission) to slothfully reach the presumptive climax, which is predictable and therefore anti-climactic.

Waste is both the one-word title and descriptive reference point in the text to a multiplicity of subjects (including the brittleness of human lives).

Lance Gardner, Marin Theatre’s artistic director, paints a flawless onstage portrait of the heavily flawed main character, Henry Trebell, a politician who faces a series of emotional and real hurdles while hoping to eviscerate (“disestablish”) the Church of England.

Gardner, a Shakespearean-quality actor, hasn’t acted in years but must have ridden a theatrical bicycle — his ability to memorize roughly 4,672 lines in conjunction with the audience’s standing-ovation seem to demand he continue his sterling dual roles offstage and on.

Lord Horsham (Daniel Cantor) listens to Justin O’Connell (Joseph O’Malley) as Henry Trebell(Lance Gardner) enters the room and Charles Cantelupe (Anthony Fusco) looks on in Waste. Photo by Chris Hardy.

He is supported by a nine-member cast that’s professional in every way: stiffly 
Edwardian when appropriate; chewing up the scenery when it’s called for; using 
extreme mugging or body language to convey attitude.

Kudos particularly belong to Liz Sklar (who plays Amy O’Connell, a fragile, conflicted woman on the prowl who repeatedly talks about her “right to choose”); Joseph O’Malley (sharply doubling as Walter Kent, Henry’s scaredy cat secretary, and Justin, Amy’s cuckolded husband); Anthony Fusco (Charles Cantelupe, a blustering church leader); Jomar Tagatac (Dr. Wedgecroft, confidant and friend to Henry, whom the medicine man calls a “visionary”); and Daniel Cantor (Lord Horsham, the cigar-puffing, incoming prime minister).

Noteworthy, too, is the singular angled set, Arnel Sancianco’s large cube with elongated horizontal openings on two sides, perhaps a visual reference to the many dualities in the text.

Waste was banned immediately after its 1906 debut because it deals with adultery and abortion. It was not produced again until three decades later — in a watered-down version. Its themes, however, are parallel to many of today’s dilemmas, and surely Perloff was happy to direct the original narrative for that very reason.

If your buttocks can handle the slow pacing and the fact that any hint of action takes place offstage, and if your mind has the capacity to permanently switch to on, go. If not, there are many mindless Family Feud, Law and Order, and Blue Bloods reruns waiting on your flat screen at home.

Waste plays at Marin Theatre, 397 Miller Ave., Mill Valley, through March 2. Tickets: $30 to $85. Info: 415-388-5208 or MarinTheatre.org.

Sherwood “Woody” Weingarten, a longtime member of the San Francisco Bay Area Theater Critics Circle, can be contacted by email at voodee@sbcglobal.net or on his websites, https://woodyweingarten.com and https://vitalitypress.com