Seven Squared

Trust The Phantom, phans. He knows that seven brides and seven brothers adds up to 14 phine actors, and that seven squared is 49. The title of this insightful review refers to the cast-to-stage ratio during TTC’s Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. The Phantom believes that it may have been an all-time high. Sure, there weren’t 49 people in the cast, but there wasn’t a whole stage there, either. Never before have we seen quite so many people jammed into such a small area as in this production’s throng scenes. The Phantom has heard of a distant past when, being eager (or desperate) to sell the occasional ticket, TTC put almost anyone on stage so as to pack in the relatives and friends of, and police officers pursuing, members of the cast. However, those hard times seem to be behind us. Take note, gynormous board of The Theater Company, you no longer have to cast “actors” with large supportive families in order to fill your theater. There are actually patrons who are not related to, or who work with, a cast member who attend your shows and come back time and time again. We have chatted with them in the lobby before the show. You have officially arrived, TTC, as a “entertainment venue” in the Brazos Valley. You are now at the point where you can hand pick your “talent,” reduce the size of your voluminous board and sit back and enjoy your hard earned success. Congratulations TTC, it’s all gravy from here.

(Well, except for anonymous bloggers. They’re like damn gnats, having actual opinions.) {That’s one of the problems with civil society these days. The damn Internets are uncontrollable. Curses, Internets!} [On the other hand, there is freedom of expression to consider here.] /Don’t be ridiculous, Phantom. Uniformity! Conformity! That’s what we need!\ <What? Who said that? Show yourself!>

Uh, oh. The Phantom is having another of those multiple personality moments. Much like the male lead in this show. But what’s that you say? You eager Phantomophiles may think that this prelude portends a pissy perusal of a particular production. But has The Phantom ever been predictable? This production was another TTC success, evidently selling well. (How, by the way, does the TTC Board determine whether a show will run two or three weekends? The Wilson Success Predetermination Machine [patent pending]? The Texas A&M football schedule? The configuration of the planets in the sky? The probability of suckiness minus number of children divided by the arabesque quotient of ballerinas aged eight from Suzanne’s School of Dance? It boggles the mind and sends The Phantom into a dance with numbers and geometry and angles and formulas. Some mysteries are too deep for his simple self. )

This was another show that was a stage version of a popular MGM movie musical (see “Singin’ in the Rain”). Does the movie go into the stage performance? Does the stage performance reference the film? Can you add songs to a song-heavy book without adding to running time? There is movie magic that just can’t be translated to the stage and there is stage magic that just can’t be translated to the big screen. A tricky proposition, but TTC has not recently shied away from “tricky” or “risky” or even “what the…!!! You are NOT serious.” Ever ballsy—and always looking for new ways to pack ‘em in—TTC took this show by the horns, bet the farm and came out in the black. Nicely played. (Applaud The Phantom, y’all, for his entertaining use of the mixed metaphor.) [Mrs. Wilson, The Phantom’s eighth-grade English teacher would. She taught him to write the goodest he could.] {But The Phantom, always conscious of the needs of his readers, wonders if a second parenthetical excursion might not be stretching the patience of his Phans.} /You know, it really is all about you, Phans. That’s why The Phantom posts his reviews in such a timely fashion, allowing you to use his wise guidance to decide whether or not to see a show.\ <Seriously, count on The Phantom.>

Where were we? Oh, right. The opening scene gave us Adam right at the start. Thank goodness. This guy is a remarkable singer who nails every single song sent his way. He’s easy on the eyes, too. Females young, old and everything in between all seemed a touch weak in the knees over this McDreamy Guy of the Musical (MGM). The Phantom is actually a little annoyed. Last time we saw MGM was across the pond in Camelot. He nailed that Brit-speak, at least in the first act. Thereafter, his accent disintegrated into a mush-mouthed impression of Sean Connery. Well, now we’re in Oregon Territory in the 1850s, and we have MGM hitting the western mountain man voice, making all the ladies swoon, even with the chauvinistic “Bless Your Beautiful Hide.” Here was our first opportunity to check out the acting and accent chops of our male lead. Good job. Great job. Good voice, good delivery. We really liked this guy. Lots of fire and sexiness and bravado. Good connection with his fellow performers. Act One: Number One. He was on top. Ranking? Top marks. 10 out of 10. A perfect score.

Say what? Phaithful readers have rarely seen The Phantom be so supportive. That’s because, with his new pharmaceutical regimen finally reaching its therapeutic dose, The Phantom is trying to be nice before he delivers just a wee bit of wise criticism. Act Two: Adam falls apart. He could have, but didn’t, trust the book. He could have, but didn’t, communicate measured amounts of wounded pride that would have left him a sympathetic character the audience could understand. Nope, he started yelling and he let his apparent anger creep over into misogynistic brutality. It was jarring and unattractive. For a psych guy, he was Abby Normal, and we thought he was going to pop a vein with all the angst-ridden screaming. Then, after we have decided that Adam was a macho cockroach at the peak of the sexist-spousal-abuse bell curve, he comes crashing down to deliver a tender and lovely reunion scene with Millie and the baby. It was sweet but unconvincing because we knew that no one could make that emotional change without Thorazine, Phenobarbital, Electro-therapy and a good rap on the back of the head. There were also moments of mush-mouthedness in which MGM could not be understood. Unfortunately, we suspect they were sometimes important lines, and had we not already been familiar with the story we could have found ourselves in a quadrilateral quandary. Something about a ??? being closed for the ??? by an ??? Add it all up, and Adam was excellent in the first half and oddly overwrought in the second. We hope his dissertation committee makes him rewrite that second section and that he will continue to entertain us at TTC.

Speaking of advisers, we were left scratching our head at two choices made by the director of the show. The first was the decision to pack the entire horde, or, ah, cast, on stage for big dance numbers. No good. They were too crowded on half a stage, unpleasantly so. The second was the decision to allow Adam to go the apoplexy route and become such a disreputable abuser-in-training. Direct them, please. Rein in your flock when their choices don’t fit the show.

There was only one cringe-worthy performance in the show and it was small, practically miniscule and fractional. But it was certainly less than prime, and this wouldn’t be TWOP if The Phantom failed to mention it. (Quick, Phans, who would you nominate for this unfortunate recognition?) Sorry, the prize goes to the hapless Mrs. Bixby, who reminded us of the over-emoting Catherine O’Hara character (Sheila Albertson) in Waiting for Guffman. True, she wasn’t miked but there still was that je ne sais quoi timbre to her delivery that had us on the brink of high school musical flashbacks, and we certainly don’t ever, ever, ever want to go back there. No, no, no, not the Clayton Williams High School Fightin’ Prairie Dog Senior Class Production of “To Kill A Mockingbird: The Musical.” Oh, the humanity.

We met Millie, our intrepid, sassy and just the right size heroine. Millie is a familiar face to TTC but she’s all growed up now. We’ve heard all about her summer in Palo Duro and her time down in Brenham, and she can only be quietly applauded for determined self-promotion. That’s what it takes, darling. You go, girl. She had a nice voice; she proved that she is not a true soprano, but she was musical-theater-good with a perky stage presence, and we think she did a nice job as Millie. She played a little young but that is not such a terrible problem to have—and in all fairness the other brides were younger still, so it went well overall. And she had nice chemistry with Adam. Not as sizzlin’ as we would have liked but it wasn’t forced either. We think that with experience and maturity this young lady will do very well indeed. It was a solo-heavy production and Millie had the stamina and singing chops to last till the very end, and that in itself is praiseworthy. Clap, clap, young Millie. Her song with the newly introduced brides was lovely and it did a fair amount of exposition and foreshadowing to propel this movie musical into a stage production.

The brides were perky and pretty, with their own sizable squeal quotient. No one stood out, all numbers being equal, and it was the brothers who stole the show by a factor of five. The Phantom has correctly reported on several occasions that the TTC women were stronger than the men, but this time he was pleasantly surprised. The brothers all did a very good job. Fight scenes are tough to pull off without, ironically, anyone getting hurt, and we think and hope that no one did get hurt. It looked possible. Benjamin was great although he started off too mean (not grouchy, Benjamin, mean), but he ended the show strong with a clean solo in the wintertime song. Caleb was brawny. Daniel was athletic. Ephraim was skinny. Gideon was young. So you get my point. The brothers were a true ensemble. They had the best songs, and the physicality and bravado they employed in their dance numbers definitely gets a Phantom clap, clap. But there was one of them who deserves the largest piece of pi. Gideon was a stand-up, high numbered, call-out, it-factor star. Great job, Gideon. You shined when you should and blended when you should. You were both a support and a leader. Russ Tamblyn would have been pleased.

The choreography was some of the best we have seen all year. Even the gratuitous ballet sequences were good, but The Phantom, always the sage, did have one small complaint. We realize that the show seemed to be a bit “brother-centric” but we feel that the Alvin Ailey-inspired dance routine that the brides did alongside the brothers in the “We’ve Gotta Make it Through the Winter” number was gratuitous and distracting and needless and odd. It was unnecessary, too. Oh, and misplaced. It was even gratuitous and distracting. The number would have been stronger without the women. And speaking of fairness in song distribution, what the heck happened to “June Bride” which was a wonderful song in the movie and highlighted the hot and statuesque Julie Newmar before she became the hot and statuesque CatWoman who fueled so many pubescent fantasies in that shiny vinyl form-fitting one-piece? (The Phantom will take a moment here. Oh yes. Now, shall we continue?)

The lighting was dim and disjointed but did not distract too terribly much from the show. The set was not a particular standout in this production and only seemed to get in the way of itself. This bears commenting because TTC (and frankly all the Valley set people) have done outstanding jobs this year. But when you cut the stage in half from stage-left to stage-right and then pack it full of humanity and ask them all to dance, [Everybody dance-Corky St. Clair] you are just asking for trouble. The choreographer must have used a bullhorn to be heard, putting together the throng scenes. Less is more in many cases, TTC. The Phantom knows that advice defies mathematical reason, but it makes so much emotional sense. The poor patron too often did not know where to look.

Did no one know that “avalanche” means snow, and snow means winter? The occasional jacket might have been a helpful prop.

But fret not, TTC, The Phantom was entertained. The men were great, the women were phine, and, except for the misogyny-overkill, the whole horde did a very fine job with this show. Despite the crowds. And we ain’t talking about the audience.

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

Peril on the Navasota River Bottom

-or-

Where’s the Popcorn?

The Phantom has never been a huge phan of the art (?) of melodrama. So he went with mixed feelings and some foreboding to the Navasota Theater Alliance production of Peril on the High Seas. This would be the third time The Phantom had willingly attended a melodrama. The first was a professional production aided and abetted by several pitchers of ice-cold beer and large bags of un-buttered popcorn. The second was a community show with too little beer and only a small bag of popcorn, and the production was so dreadful that The Phantom (usually a kind, generous, benevolent soul who wishes only good will toward peace and men on earth) [but you knew that, being a regular visitor to this site] {oho! You can pretend not to have that RSS feed alerting you to any new development at this humble location, but you know you never miss a word} <it’s okay; it’s innocent fun. Unless you’re in the cast> /what cast? Oh, right\ wished in this case for a heavier, sharp, more dangerous projectile. But the NTA has been fairly trustworthy in the past, so The Phantom went to the show. Warily.

Uh, oh. We couldn’t start the show until we heard from the president of NTA. These things happen, although we admit to admiring TTC’s new rapid-fire version of a recorded introduction in which our host tellsusnottostandintheaisles but does so quickly to get it over with. But what’s this? We’re not done. Now, here comes the director of the show. It’s a twofer! And not in a good way. Our speaker is a fine actress and she was a good director but boy, did she like to hear herself talk. She’s got that beaming smile and, according to the program, is a good Christian woman, but 7 minutes in we were getting fidgety. We were thinking it was the devil’s work. We were rehearsed on how to behave at a melodrama. We have a go at booing and hissing and awing and shucks-ing. She continues to beam and congratulate us at our finesse and fineness and we just can’t be annoyed. It’s melodrama and there is latitude (which is getting narrower as the minutes tick by). If one took the trouble to carefully review the program—as The Phantom certainly did after his grave error of experiencing La Turista without a thorough indoctrination—one discovered that our good lady is equally verbose with the written word. She has a lot to say. She certainly does. Can we please see the show now?

And as melodramas go, this one came with the usual cheesy story line: A sweet innocent beset by dastardly villain, the naïve hero, comic support actors, uh, people. Lots of booing (we were trained, remember?), cheering for the darling etc., etc. Melodrama never strays from this tried and true formula, only the setting is different.

Our characters were slowly introduced in the opening scene which dragged on a bit. This may have been due to the chronic under-rehearsing so common to community theater; after all, our intrepid volunteer thespians have to hold down real lives and real jobs in addition to the hours they devote to the theater. But this whole scene should have been snappier. It didn’t click. Perhaps it did in the second weekend of performances. We shall never know.

We met the three flappers: Mitzy, Ritzy and Ditzy. Cute, young and full of energy. Hedda Hooper was to become our unofficial narrator, and she had a veritable wardrobe of costume changes. Mary Pickaxe was a familiar face to local theater who managed to be a little creepy in her role. We are guessing (and hoping) that this was intentional. A slew of other characters trotted themselves out for our perusal. Our favorites were Sgt. Willy Ketchum and his lovely bride, Wanda. Sgt. Ketchum was supposed to be one of New York’s finest, but by the sounds of his accent he must have hailed from the southern end of Manhattan. Misplaced accent notwithstanding, he and his wife had the best bits, the best wiseacre name and some of the best delivered lines (in terms of comedic timing) of the entire production.

We also appreciated the performance of newcomer Aracnia Webb. (Get it?) She was a dastardly villainess with a capital D. Our main villain with his well-rounded tone (radio training perhaps) was too well-rounded and not evil enough. He kept reminding The Phantom of Captain Kangaroo, and that had the unfortunate consequence of some subsequent nights with disturbing dreams involving Mr. Green Jeans and Mr. Moose in green jeans. Or something. Our therapist is positively beside himself with subtext Freudian glee. But we digress.

Our heroine was so pretty and so innocent and quite the palest and blondest young lady we have ever seen. She did a fine job of innocence, growth and return to innocence. Clap, clap, pale young lady. Good job. Our hero was an excellent costar also fairly dripping with virginal innocence right down to his ill-fitting costume and well-worn shoes. Our semi-hero, requisite handsome guy was none other than the young power lifter who we enjoyed in Almost, Maine. This time, unfortunately, not so much. It’s melodrama and he was handsome (overheard in audience: “That guy is hot”), but his timing was slow and awkward. We found that there were quite a few moments that could have been tightened significantly. The Phantom was sensing a trend that may speak to the direction that was offered the actors. Pace, people. Timing. It’s a comedic event.

The drunken/poisoned champagne scene was a tad painful to watch. With so many of the cast having to pretend to be intoxicated, it was a scene that was doomed from the start. Almost everyone overacts outrageously in such situations, and only a firm hand from the director can save the day.

The kooky chase scene was well done. The set was spare and effective. The costuming: impressive. Even the wig use didn’t bother The Phantom. There is, after all, significant latitude awarded a melodrama. However, The Phantom was not convinced by the experience to become a phan of this form of live entertainment.

Nevertheless, the audience had a great time. They got more boisterous as the evening wore on (clap, clap, audience, you were an integral part of the show). And that’s the whole point of melodrama. We definitely got our money’s worth at this evening of campy, silly fun.

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

Hairily, We Role Along

Okay. Chastened by past theatrical experiences, The Phantom intentionally approached Merrily We Roll Along with an open mind. He remembers being simultaneously appalled and delighted by TTC’s production of Sweeney Todd. And as Merrily was written by the same guy (that Sondheim person that everyone either seems to love or hate), he was prepared. And when The Phantom says “prepared,” he means prepared in that not-just -one-cocktail-beforehand kind of way. So The Phantom settled into his cushy Theater Company seat, and wham! What’s this? Could it be? Yes, it was another of those bass-ackwards plays that starts at the end. Is there something in the water?

The play began, as these backward epics do, with a lot of confusion. There was a party, there was a drunk lady falling down while hollering embarrassing insults, there was a jealous wife throwing hissy fits, there was a hot, up-and-coming starlet/mistress, there was a tall rickety staircase that undoubtedly took out a few light bulbs in the rafters, and there were wigs. And when the Phantom says wigs, he means “wear the blonde wig tonight, honey” wigs just right for illicit role-plays. Hairily, we role along, indeed. The Phantom could not help but be intrigued.

As the scenes unfolded, each preceded the last, if you catch our drift. Or at least that’s what a fancy overhead slideshow suggested. The dates were welcome, and The Phantom’s ability to suspend his sense of time-capsule-induced-disbelief wasn’t strained beyond a level of which he may or may not have been capable (especially given the aforementioned cocktails).

(Insert note here: The Phantom is a quick learner. Derogated and disregarded in the most heartless fashion by phaithless phoes after a prior pithy play purview, The Phantom has decided to change topics at this point. Instead of telling you what he thought of the book, he’ll tell you what he thought of the performers. As no one was awful, that will actually be easier than trying to explain the backwards story. Ready? Here we go.)

[Wait. The Phantom worries that appearing to take heed of comments posted by visitors to this humble site may be taken as a sign of weakness. Let’s just say that The Phantom wants to talk about the cast now. He isn’t bowing to pressure. He’s his own man. He stands tall. He’s not scared of anybody.]

{But he’s sensible. You’ve got give him that.}

/Where were we? Oh, right.\

There was Frank. He was the main character, a struggling composer around whom the play revolved. And when The Phantom says “struggling,” he means Frank was a huge success, finally, at the beginning. Got it? Anyway, throughout the play, there were ladies phussing and phighting over him. The Phantom was reminded of the Jerry Springer episodes in which some putz is sitting between two women who are shouting obscenities at each other because they’re fighting over custody of said putz. However, Frank wasn’t a putz, he was a perplexed people-pleaser who ticked off lots of people because he was trying too hard not to. Frank was played by a fellow we’ve seen onstage before, and his awesome sincerity-oozing was phenomenal. The kid could sing, the kid could act, the kid could wax passive-aggressive.

Then there was Frank’s buddy and musical collaborator, Charley. This is another guy we’ve seen often on the TTC stage, and, as always, he delivered (although, regrettably, not by swinging onto stage in a white shiny tuxedo). Talk about platinum pipes. He sang several beautiful ballads, but his most memorable scene was one in which he cleverly fast-talked/sang a song reminiscent of “ya got trouble, right here in River City.” The Phantom was amazed at Charley’s dexterity of tongue. (The Phantom has chosen here not to digress. Spending any time at all on juvenile innuendo regarding the ability to talk/sing this fast without tripping over one’s glossal self would be inappropriate in a family forum used, The Phantom is told, in several forward-thinking kindergarten classes to introduce the Valley’s youngsters to the wonders of art. So, in an uncommon example of self-control, The Phantom shall refrain.) {But it was remarkable. We bet Charley is one of those marvels of nature who can tie a cherry stem in his mouth with no hands. We bet Charley doesn’t need a white, shiny tuxedo to… Oh. Sorry.}

The TV host lady attempting, but not succeeding in, running interference was funny.

The anchor lady was, as usual, cute and adorable.

The third character in the main circle ‘o friends gone bad was Frank and Charley’s old friend, Mary, who they first meet on a rooftop during the final scene of the play. Turns out she is the same lady who ended up, in the opening scene, as the falling-down drunk. Confused yet? Put your phaith in The Phantom. He’ll see you home safely. About mid-play, we learn that Mary has long carried a torch for our anti-hero Frank. Poor Mary. In the end (beginning), so full of hope. In the beginning (end), so full of booze. There is probably a meaningful moral in this story line. But, being a literal type of fellow, The Phantom deduces that Mister S. was trying to suggest that, if you’re a real woman, don’t go after the guy who would rather chase the bimbos. Otherwise, you will end up all bitters. (Get it?)

Mary was played by a woman we’ve also enjoyed before. Clap, clap for some more masterful casting. Mary could sing, act, dance, and wax desperate. She could play sad, fun, old, young, drunk, sober, professional, the buddy girl, everything but the romantic girl, and not necessarily in that order. Poor Mary. Go get therapy, along with all the rest of the Sondheim characters who consistently, desperately, need it. Oh yes, even Mary wore wigs. Wigs to indicate her various stages of youth. Longer hair means younger, shorter hair means older, the Phantom surmises. Who knew?

Speaking of hair, let’s talk about Gussie, the hussie. The Phantom gets it. Very clever, Steven, Steve, Steve-O, you old dog, you. Gussie wasn’t really a hussie as much as she was a plain old beyotch. She was played by another familiar actress, and this was one of her best roles to date. Sorry about that, actress. Anyway, Gussie was the secretary/temptress/adulteress who lured Frank away from his Stepford-style wife. Later, or earlier—try to keep up—the up-and-coming actress lures Frank away from Gussie. See the pattern? The upgrade-to-a-younger-hotter-lover cycle continues. Frank is a playah. One of those low-key kinds. The kind you never see coming, like a Stealth bomber.

Anyway, Gussie had the best wigs. Long blonde, short blonde, brunette blonde; we even saw her in curlers later trying to be someone else, but you can’t fool The Phantom. He’s always perceptive. Gussie channeled Marilyn Monroe by recreating that diamonds scene with the long gloves and pink dress. Gussie channeled Kim Basinger by writhing across a piano to seduce Frank. Gussie walked sexy. The Phantom couldn’t walk away when the lights came up for a good 5 minutes. (Kids, the teacher will explain that to you. Just ask.)

Gussie sang some good songs that made you rather like her. You know, a beyotch with a heart of golddiggery. Why did she set her sights on Frank, back before she knew he had anything going on? Frank seemed a sort of everyday kind of guy to The Phantom. Sondy obviously saw Frank as extremely captivating. Perhaps Gussie had good success radar. Perhaps Mister Sondheim was channeling himself, the young composer, in Frank. Perhaps Mister Sondheim gets lots of chicks. The Phantom is starting to think too much. Wishfully, and wistfully. Oh, Gussie.

Gussie was hot.

Gussie’s cuckolded husband was played by a guy who made you like and feel sorry for him. Poor Gussie’s husband. We liked you, we really, really liked you. The Phantom sends you a post-production hug. The Phantom was also impressed by the many unsung members of this cast who swirled around this dysfunctional gang of friends/lovers/concubines/people who “made it but oh, at what a cost.” They sang, danced, and pushed around large, seemingly immobile set pieces. Bravo and clap, clap, other people.

The set was spare, stark, well-lit. The Phantom could see everybody just fine.

Speaking of wigs, let’s talk about Frank’s first woman, Sweet Beth. And by first, The Phantom means last. Whatever. Sweet Beth’s wigs looked like those cheap kind you order out of catalogs that could slide off at any minute (the wigs, not the catalogs). But she sang a sad song that brought a tear to our eye. Something about missing Frank because he had ditched her for Gussie and was dragging her (Beth, not Gussie) through a nasty divorce, complete with dreadlock-wig-wearing paparazzi and that funny reporter lady. The actress playing Sweet Beth was really good. Bravo, actress playing Beth. You seem like a really nice person and a great mom, hopefully to children not unlike the super cute yet narcoleptic little boy in the show. Stop with the Robitussin already and wake that kid up, or he’ll be up in the middle of the night!

The songs were all beautiful, and, yes, hummable. If you couldn’t hum these songs, dear phans, you must be musically challenged. So much for impenetrability. The Phantom is starting to like this Sondheim character. Where can he find more of him?

The songs were made inviting not only by the great singing but also by a very good orchestra. There was a confident saxophone player and an even more assertive trumpet player who sometimes drowned out the singers. But the Phantom, always on edge after his experience as a TTC patron, detected no sour notes. We are grateful for the symphony conductor, face all aglow, one arm swinging a baton and the other arm engaged in robust page-turning.

During intermission, The Phantom sympathized with the person he overheard saying “I don’t git it” while walking out the door with no intention of returning. But he doesn’t blame the theater this time as much as he did after the last crowd-confuser. This show was challenging, but not arrogant and snooty. Yes, it was about how stuff happens, or something. Mister Sondheim was trying to tell us, “follow your dreams, but don’t lead with your pants,” or something. “Money can buy you deluxe penthouses for hosting fashionable parties with good booze, but only with people who hate you,” or something. “Watch out for that,” or something. The Phantom is still scratching his head. But in an, ahh, that feels good, a-little-harder-and-over-to-the-left kinda way. The Phantom departed the theater feeling sophisticated, worldly, cultured, and more smarter. He is grateful to TTC for providing him access to an interesting play to which he otherwise might never have been exposed.

Now, where is that shrink’s phone number?

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

¡Dios Mio! ¡El autor del La Turista debe haver tenido la diarrea de la mente!

—or—

It’s only Amateur Theater until it offends someone… then it’s ART!

Note to self: Read the director’s notes in the program, no matter how lengthy, or how late you are getting to your seat because you just had to have that last bite of the sumptuous stuffed avocado from your favorite local Latin eatery one block over. We are not sure if this would have helped with this strange play, but we would have been alerted to its dated political overtones (complete with overblown English-major assertions of the rich, symbolic symbolism of its many symbols) and it would have clarified the backwards-in-time thing Sam Shepherd did, with the first half of the play taking place after the second half. (“Sheesh,” The Phantom mutters to himself. Okay, that ploy worked with “Momento,” but lesser mortals than The Phantom had to see it twice to figure it out. “Really,” The Phantom grouses, “who would be so dim as to write a play that runs backward in time? Isn’t that just silly?”) This play was weird enough, but the playwright had to throw in the time switch. Honestly, by the time we got to the second half, jaws agape and wondering if our absence would be noticed (yes, yes, it would have), we gave up trying to collect coherent meaning from the hallucinogenic stream of consciousness being painstakingly performed before our tired eyes.

The play opened in what seemed to be a motel room. Being remarkably quick, The Phantom noted that there was a sign on a door stage left that said “Do Not Disturb” in Spanish. Aha, we’re not in Kansas anymore. A door stage right has another sign: “Cuarto del Baño.” The Phantom took enough high school Spanish with Ms. Hill to know that is the door to the bathroom. Oh, clever Phantom. Oh, odd staging. Since when do hotel rooms hang signs on the bathroom door? We deduce—The Phantom has seen his share of “Monk” and “CSI,” thank you very much—that the signage is for the audience’s benefit alone. And that proves to be the only help the audience is going to get. And off we go…

Our leads were familiar to local theatergoers, but we had never been this familiar with them, with each sitting up in a twin bed, wearing only their underwear and bad sunburns. There was talk of sunburns, there was talk of diarrhea, there was mention of this being a vacation and there was long banter and long complex monologues/duologues that defied description. Kent was animated. Kent was in character. Kent did a good job, and The Phantom says this despite not knowing the job description. Salem, our female lead, was fine. She was a tad rote but she had a lot to say and was also in character. . . we think. But then we didn’t quite understand what was going on or not going on, or what would happen or not, or why we were there burping avocado, when the door burst open to reveal a young man (played by a young woman) who seemed to be a shoe shine person and who so frightened our male lead by launching a high flying loogie into his face that he (the male lead) [we think] fled into the Quarto del Baño, cowardly leaving his partner/wife/sister/whatever in her bed with only her underwear and the sunburn. (It was a third-degree sunburn.) [See? We were paying attention.] Okay, so now it gets weird. Go ahead, laugh. You weren’t there, were you?

While hiding in the bathroom, Kent makes the discovery that his malaise is indeed due to a bad case of Montezuma’s Revenge. He sounds pretty proud of himself. And aren’t we all? However, Salem, hiding under her sheet, is struggling with what to do with the unexpected shoe shine person, who will not go away. Salem starts rifling through her luggage in search of dinero to offer our young entrepreneur. Speaking of entrepreneurs, the “boy” has perched him/herself on the edge of the stage in front of some patrons who are undoubtedly now questioning their choice of seats [C’mon Hillary, let’s sit up front. I can’t see around this pole. No, I don’t want to move, Bill, the front row makes me feel conspicuous. Aww, Hill, that’s just silly. This is theater. All eyes will be on stage.] From this vantage point, Shoe Shine Boy proceeds to go into a repertoire of faces, gestures and eyebrow lifts that taken separately would be quite impressive. The shouting continues in the background.

Then it gets Weird.

Our hero comes out of Quarto del Baño and collapses on the floor, stage center. We discover that Shoe Shine Boy speaks English, a witch doctor is summoned (complete with busy sidekick), random monologues are performed, including one involving the audience (who, to a person, is now horrified that this may turn into a full-blown audience participation piece of performance art [except for that one guy in the third row, left center, who was pulling miscellaneous props out of a mysterious black bag that he had previously shoved under his seat. This guy came prepared!]). We think we remember that Salem did a very nice job on her “Boy for Sale” monologue, but we are no longer sure of anything. We remember thinking there was a lot of business going on. We’re pretty sure we remember some sacrificial papier-maché poultry. We remember being astounded at the sheer volume of words being spoken with evident purpose and we think we felt rather uncultured (as astonishing as that may seem) [See? The Phantom was rattled.] {Yes, he does feel better now. Thanks for asking} at having very little idea of what the heck it all meant. (We do remember getting over that feeling pretty quickly.) While our minds were a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives, with apparently—no, evidently—yea, manifestly—no end in sight, the lights came up. Mercifully, it’s intermission.

It took a full 13.6 minutes to clean up the stage.

Second Act. This got really weird, and The Phantom now thoroughly regrets not reading the director’s notes. Back in time, our intrepid couple is in another motel room, this time in the U. S. of A. How can we tell? The same signs are now written in English. But what’s this? Our hero, Kent, seems to be suffering from some sort of arcane illness. A medico is summoned (and it’s the same guy who played the witch doctor—but this time he is thankfully clothed head-to-toe in what is clearly meant to be Full-Texana Regalia). His assistant is played by none other than our elastic-faced shoe shine boy, now dressed as a young gringo. (Far out, man!) There are more monologues about illness, and a large photograph of our hero in a Speedo is produced and hung upstage left (clap, clap to Kent for bravery in this regard). Then, speechifying by the doctor, speechifying by the assistant, speechifying by Salem. (Do we have a clue? Nope. Not one.) Kent is healed enough to go on the most impressive rant of the evening, accompanied by some 60s electric guitar that some of the older patrons had hoped to leave sealed away in their collective repressed memory vaults. (Right on!) And then it was over. Jaws agape, the ever-polite audience (good for you Brazos Valley) clapped politely (except for that one guy, who was weeping tears of joy born of complete comprehension and epiphany).

Yes, it was weirder than Weird. And if this is the path StageCenter wishes to go, then we applaud StageCenter’s pluck, we pledge to read the director’s notes and, ah, we’ll occasionally stay home. One could argue that the hidebound Brazos Valley needs (no, cries out!) for “alternative” art, and that it is the duty of our artistic organizations to expand the public’s horizons. Others will respond that the oldest community theater in the Brazos Valley does not deserve to die a painful, lonely death pursuing lost causes. Bring back some of the old standard plays, they will say, and reintroduce good drama to a hungry new audience. The Phantom, being magnanimous and tolerant, does not wish to take sides in this debate. Perhaps sides need not be drawn. Nonetheless, the StageCenter Board may wish to include some old classics in its line-up so that the theater doesn’t wither from the bland disinterest—or the righteous indignation—alternative theater is sure to receive from the Valley’s conservative citizenry.

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

Real Housewives of Camelot County

Three hours is a long time. Thankfully, The Theater Company filled three hours with the impeccable music and lyrics of Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe in their production of Camelot. Also thankfully, TTC’s lead characters were darn good singers who didn’t butcher any of the impeccable music and lyrics. Further thankfully, TTC is apparently not content to rest on its laurels and maintain the status quo; they seem to be working to outperform the last production and the one before that. Clap, clap, TTC, for striving for excellence. And finally thankfully, The Phantom has always been a big phan of this show, and he enjoyed this production very much. But thankfully (Oops. The Phantom appears to have been mistaken regarding the penultimate “thankfully.” Devoted readers of this insightful site will undoubtedly be startled to encounter any hint of imprecision. They know The Phantom to be a careful, conscientious and clever fellow. But do not be concerned, dear Phans, it was a rare lapse. Yes, The Phantom makes the occasional misstep. He made an error last year, and now here’s one in ’08. They do happen, you know. We’re only human. The Phantom hopes that you will forgive him and perhaps forget that this ever happened. He has. Where were we? Oh yes.) for you, dear Phans, the Phantom was not humming along with his eyes closed. Stay tuned. He has a quibble or two about the show.

Everyone was good. Yes, everyone. Some were gooder than others, but the overall grade for the show (actors, orchestra, sets, tech, quality of intermission snacks) was an impressive B++. (Come see the teacher after school and let’s see if we can’t get that up to an A minus. Bring cash and cookies.)

In scene one (settle in and stay with us here; there are 17 scenes, and yes, it’s a lot, it’s Cam-a-lot!) [Insert “badda-boom” drum shot sound here.], we are introduced to the cast of thousands, spilling out into the audience as is the modus operandi of the TTC director; it’s a fine way to add dimension to a play but unfortunate for those seated on an aisle when their only view is the backside of Chorus Member Number 37. Then, out of what is quite possibly the most splendid tree to grace any community/regional (oh, don’t get that old chestnut started again) [Badda-boom.] {“Tree” and “chesnut.” Get it? The Phantom is on a pun-a-licious role tonight. Y’all try to keep up.} theater, comes Arthur/Wart. We’ve never seen this handsome dude in the Brazos Valley before, but we are eagerly looking forward to seeing him again. Why, he could sing! And sing well. He could act. And act really well. His accent at the start of the show was pip-pip spot on. And if my female companion is to be believed, he was quite attractive in a chiseled, brooding, sexy, dark sort of way. The Phantom admits that he is annoyed by this, not because his own rugged masculine appeal is in doubt, but because The Phantom’s date for the day was his own sweet, aged-yet-still-feisty mother. Goodness, Mom, rein it in. Contain your man-made and doctor-prescribed hormones! Yes, Arthur was terrific. At least he was until scene 9, when he started to channel Sean Connery, an affliction that pursued him until the end of the show. (You can’t channel Sean. He may be retired, but he’s not dead yet!) Sadly, Arthur’s mush-mouthed Scottish accent became hard to follow, especially toward the end when he sought to be impassioned. What happened to the quiet simplicity of the original accent? Oh, Mom, quit whining. You know I’ve asked you not to read this over my shoulder. Okay, okay, I won’t put you back in the basement! Okay, you’re right, Arthur was great.

The Phantom preferred to rest his eyes on our leading lady. A magnificent Arthur deserves a magnificent Guenevere, and magnificent she was. She could sing (beautifully) and she could act. We hope we get to see her in a variety of other shows.

Yep, Guenevere was lovely and talented. We’ll gladly buy a ticket to see her again.

There were just one or two small things we noted. In this role, with this Arthur, we’re afraid she came off like one of those Real Housewives of Orange County, the ones with the collagen lips, the Botoxed foreheads, the concrete hair spray and the overdone faces. She was overly Fabulous. Worse, she was haughty, not innocent, of dubious age, uncharming and petulant, not precocious. The Phantom is certain that Guenevere should be a fiery young girl filled with a false bravado that only adds to her evident charm and intelligence. Not an in-your-face, neck-snapping bee-yotch. But man, oh, man, she could work those songs. So, in the spirit of the Lenten season, we forgive her. Guenevere, you were rocking the hair that never moved, and if we had been seated in the balcony of a considerably larger theater we would have never come to the tacky conclusion that you were an experienced Cougar stalking your younger Arthur. Maybe it was the lighting.

Merlin also made his appearance early in the first act, played by an old favorite of the valley, complete with messy white wig and long beard. He did a very nice job, and, blissfully, we did not notice any of the facial distortion that is this actor’s Achilles Heel (and the audience’s Hell). [Ba-Bum!] We like you, Merlin, we really do. You are so likable and notable that we were slightly disconcerted when you returned from the clutches of Nimue as a very visible and different character knight. True, it’s hard to lose you in a crowd, but was it really necessary for you to play two roles? Maybe, maybe not. We are not sure this time.

Nimue made a brief appearance with a lovely song, faithfully executed by another regular to the TTC stage. We think, in a Monday-morning-quarterback sort of way, that this young lady could have also done a fine job as Guenevere if the casting had gone differently. She’s growing up and has never failed to entertain us.

Speaking of regulars: Ta-DAH! Here comes Lancelot, played by none other than [fill in the blank here as you wish. For editorial clarity, we will quietly mention that we are referring, of course, to Sweet Cheeks. Let’s just keep that between us, though, because The Phantom has been scolded, on his own pages, no less, for his use of this nickname, apparently taken by The Phantom’s critics {WHAT?? There are some? Why?} to be a derisive sobriquet. However, truth be told, we are fond of this actor, who is always earnest and well-intentioned, and we straightforwardly assert that it is not his fault that he has too often been cast in roles that begged for an older, more seasoned veteran of romantic relationships. So, perhaps it is time to retire the nickname. The Phantom promises never to use it again. Is that alright with you, Sweet Cheeks?]. The Phantom was delighted and heartily amused when Mr. Cheeks performed “C’est Moi” to perfection. Clap, clap and clap again, Lancelot. Well done, indeed.

Alas and alack, this turns out to be a tricky role that requires Lancelot to make a paradigm shift from an over-the-top, self-righteous virgin to an introspective and guilt-ridden lover. And that shift proved, The Phantom regrets to announce, to be too much for this favorite son of TTC. Again, as on every other occasion in which he has been asked to portray a character who was consumed by a love that was full of passion, he gave us a wooden and stiff (and not in a good way) performance when it came to the delicate scenes between Lance and Guenevere. It’s a tough gig, Sweetness. It’s hard to be intimate with someone when you’re a bit young and you have 400 eyes staring at you. We have faith that you will learn to ignore the audience and wrap yourself in the tender moments between two lovers.

Pellinore. Where have you been? You were terrific! We thought your performance was right on the mark in spite of being slightly upstaged by Horrid, who possessed the quiet sensibility of all great actors. When he noticed the nuances contained in Horrid’s tremulous tail wag, The Phantom could hardly keep from jumping to his feet and yelling, Bravo! Bravo, Horrid, bravo!

As we have a taken a moment to mention a dog, we’ll also acknowledge an unsung hero of this production, the program. This trend of programs being cleverly written began with StageCenter, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and we were tickled when the Camelot program gave a listing to the dog and a couch. Very clever.

Back to the matter at hand: The first act of Camelot went on until Scene 10, and those of us who had a cocktail (or three) before the show were blinking away tears of bathroom desperation. But we didn’t want to leave early. The songs of Camelot are so wonderful one is reluctant to miss a word.

Act Two is darker and shorter, especially if you dump a scene, but the quality of the singing held fast. We understood rewarding snatches of Arthur’s dialogue. We met Mordred, the obnoxious bastard child of Arthur. He was as advertised, and we can only hope he was acting. (We have sometimes been surprised to find that the stellar “acting” job we saw on stage was just someone being themselves.) During Mordred’s scene with Morgan Le Fey, he did a random leap that left us startled. True, it was a good leap, but leaping for leaping’s sake is just odd. Later, we learned that our intrepid Mordred is a trained dancer. Ahh, it all comes together in a random and thoroughly unnecessary manner. Never mind. The Phantom is left scratching his big ol’ melon head.

Morgan Le Fey was the brunette cousin to Glenda the Good Witch, which is not the way the part is written. Too pretty, too high-pitched and we didn’t buy her gluttony. This actress is a hottie. Stick to hottie parts.

The orchestra did a fine job, accompanying rather than competing with the cast. The love songs and the fun songs were all sung beautifully. A professional troupe could not have done better.

The set was not a distraction, with the possible exception of our actors being stuck up in the stratosphere for a couple of scenes on that back wall. The lighting was weak and disjointed, however, and too often, actors were left in the dark. However, the burning and rescue scene was surreal and wonderfully dramatic as it should be. We were, in fact, entertained. Thank you, TTC, for an enjoyable show.

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

Almost Perfect

If you weren’t fortunate enough to catch Navasota Theater Alliance’s production of Almost, Maine, you really missed a treat. This play was so cleverly written and delightfully performed that it was reminiscent of NTA’s wonderful production of I Love You-You’re Perfect-Now Change. Oh, wait, maybe they were the same play.  50% of the cast was in both productions, and both offered wry glimpses into different relationships.   No singing in this one, though.

In a change for NTA, which usually produces splendidly crafted sets, this show had a minimalist stage.  (The Phantom is, as is his nature, kind here. There wasn’t a set.  A chair or two, and the occasional bench, does not a set make. Were The Phantom not among the most generous and gentle of observers, he might be motivated to find a wee bit of fault with this aspect of the production. The Phantom’s creative faculties are so finely tuned and his intellect so vast that it actually hurts when he is forced to use his imagination. However, his remarkable compassion and charity are also legendary, and—as astonishing as it may seem to some—perhaps even greater than his renowned wit. So, he will refrain from actually criticizing whatever it was that set him off. Regrettably, this parenthetical observation has now gone on so long that The Phantom would need to revisit the beginning of the paragraph to get back on track, but that seems long ago and far away. Perhaps it would be best to just move on. The Phantom contents himself with the knowledge that only the occasional reader is likely to notice.)

Where were we? Oh, yes: The writing was quirky but sweet, clever and glib but poignant as well. The play was comprised of a series of vignettes all set at precisely the same time in the little town of Almost, Maine. There were only 4 actors and many characters, so it took a small amount of concentration in order to keep things straight. Each of our actors portrayed several characters, and they did not provide the clear delineation of different people that one finds, say, in Tuna, Texas.  Nevertheless, as we have already established, The Phantom’s kindness is unsurpassed, so he won’t grouse about any performer in a community production who fails to distinguish 5 different roles on the same night.

Indeed, our cast consisted of three of the Valley’s most seasoned actors, and they made the show look easy. What The Phantom means here is that the cast was comfortable in character. They had an ease with their words that made their interactions seem more like improv and less like a scripted play. Their repartee was effortless, light and quick. The timing was just right for comedy. Along with the cleverness of the play itself, this is why you missed a treat if you missed this show. The cast made it look easy—but we all know that acting of that sort is anything but easy.

Ginette, Sandrine, Marvalyn, Marci and Rhonda all were played by a familiar face to the BCS stage and we were happy to see her again. Standing upright too! This adorable young lady has the unfortunate habit of slouching and doing crazy, introverted bits of disturbia, but we were pleased with her range in this play. There was evident talent at work. Keep it up, GSMM&R. We look forward to your next performance.

Our other female performer had Glory, the Waitress, Gayle and Hope on her list of characters. GWGH got to wear the most hysterical of costuming choices: The Moose Paddy tee. Salty waitress, indeed. But then she touched our hardened heart with the story of Hope. Clap, clap GWGH. Keep coming back. You are a Phantom Phavorite.

And another Phantom Phav would have to be the East, Steve, Lendall, Chad and a Man. We loved him in I Love You, we thought he was adorable as Horton, his Linus was unforgettable and we hear that he was great in Sideshow too. This actor is the guy you want to be your drinking buddy or your favorite funny uncle. Yeah, he’s that guy. And he was that guy on the NTA stage for this show too. Thank you, ESLCMan. See you at the next family reunion.

Our newbie was Pete, Jimmy, Randy, Phil and Dave. This lad was eighteen? Holy smokes! The Phantom is impressed. This young man was really good for someone his age. He can only improve and we sincerely hope he will use the Valley as his practice stage. Can you sing, PJRPD? Shake up the TTC. Trek on over to StageCenter. They would love to have you. But keep it up, dude. The Phantom gives you a thumbs up and a heartfelt “attaboy.”

Uh, oh. This favorable review is sounding pretty Butleresque. The Phantom does not wish to risk his credibility and he certainly does not want to disappoint his Phans. So before it’s too late, he’ll simply mention that:

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

Deck the Halls with Every Kid in Town

We hope you had a holly, jolly Christmas, for it’s the best time of the year. Just when you thought the holidays were over, here’s a virtual figgy pudding, phaithful Phans. Local theaters gave us the Dickens this Christmas, with The Theater Company serving up yet another version of that perennial classic “A Christmas Carol.” Correct The Phantom if he is wrong—and do please note The Phantom’s humble generosity in acknowledging the possibility, albeit vanishingly remote, of a trivial inaccuracy occasionally finding its way into his reviews; such remarkable oddities in no way invalidate the penetrating and entirely unvarnished sweet wisdom of his observations, but they do endear him to his Phans, who are thereby able to feel that yes, although he is a phervent Servant of the Truth, he too is a fallible man who is just less phallible than most people. And where were we? Oh, right—we know you will, but this is the fifth time TTC has staged the tale of Scrooge and Tiny Tim. The Phantom, being wise and far-thinking (and needing to arrange his busy calendar around his work writing scripts for I Love New York 3) had his ticket well in advance—a good thing, as this show sold out before it even opened. We love Scrooge as much as the next guy. He’s one of our favorite Christmas characters, along with the abdominal snowman from the animated Rudolph. But sold out before it even opened??!! As we went down Santa Claus Lane, the lane of cars, to get to the theater, we had to wonder why. Aha! It turned out that TTC cast every kid within a 10-mile radius in this play. And there in the audience were the obligatory aunts, uncles, moms, dads, sisters, neighbors, co-workers, parole officers, butchers, bakers and candlestick makers of someone on stage. It was like a huge nightly family reunion. (And of course, far be it for The Phantom to frown on phamily. He is rumored to have one of his very own, replete with pater and mater and a crazy aunt in the attic. [She’s an old bat in the belfry]. But goodness, there were throngs of people onstage. Was Grandma able to find little Abigail among the masses?)

This new staging of the story was said to be something special, but the songs were forgettable—with the exception of the angel song sung by small children, which succeeded in bringing a tear to the eye and a lump to the throat. There is something sweet about the plaintive tone of a small child (as long as it goes home with someone else at night), and with a bunch of little girls dressed as angels singing that same tune, well, Randy—you clever old dog, you—someone would have to be a real Scrooge to pan that scene. And The Phantom is no Scrooge.

Segue to the actor who did play Scrooge. He must be the man of the year because he’s everywhere!!! He’s on stage when you are sleeping, he’s on stage when you’re awake. He’s on stage when he is bad or good, albeit mostly good, for goodness sake. He’s still doing The Face—scrunching up his nose, lifting his chin, showing his teeth, and looking down his nose—but The Phantom is becoming numb to it. He will endeavor not to allow this aberration to trouble him. He will put it out of his mind. He will not speak of it further. He will not think of it at all. He will perseverate no more. He will find inner peace. He will seek his center. Serenity now. Serenity NOW!! Out of mind. Out of mind. If only it were out of sight.

In fact, Scrooge played his part nicely, with plenty of energy. We did find Scrooge’s requisite transformation to be completely unconvincing because he seemed to repent rather, shall we say, instantly. We hoped, however, that that was a problem with the book and not with the actor’s interpretation of the part. Perhaps the director didn’t want to dwell on the grouchy nature of the story too long. Or perhaps Scrooge was as charmed by the giggly Ghost of Christmas Past as Hef is charmed by Kendra.

Indeed, the Ghost of Christmas Past had us scratching our head. It was sort of Dickens meets The Girls Next Door. Have dumb blonde jokes found their way even into literary classics? The Phantom is unsettled.

The rest of the cast of thousands was just fine. The children were nestled all snug in their… wait, sorry, they were adorable, God Bless them all, every one. Tiny Tim was played by the adorablest of adorable kids and he was still adorable as Tiny Tim. We can’t help but wonder if he will still be adorable when he’s 35 in that child-star-grown-up-disturbing way of Danny Bonneduce or Gary Coleman. We hope not. The Phantom would be unsettled.

The sets were magnificent, painted to perfection. They made one think of a Dickensian Main Street USA from Disney World. The backdrop was perfect. What a gift that set was. Clap, clap and hats off to you set builders. Hard to believe, but you get better with every show. (The only thing missing was a control tower for a traffic manager to direct the flow of the mobs in the crowd scenes. We had moments when the London street was completely empty and then boom, it was filled with several different mobs, including the usual gang of, sadly, unavoidably screaming children: Enter stage left. Run screaming to down stage center. Pause for three seconds of precious face time for Aunt Esther if you’re lucky enough to be near the front. Exit, screaming, to upstage right. Oy. Those audience members unrelated to members of the herd could only strive to stay calm during each ordeal.)

Costuming was great, as usual, and the sheer volume made it all the more impressive. How do you do it, ladies? (We admit that we couldn’t actually see the clothing on the actors standing more than four rows back in the crowd scenes, but we assume that their costumes were pretty good too. Phans, did any of you occasionally catch a glimpse of those people? How did they look?)

So the stage was crowded, embarrassingly so, but the show was family-centric and, alright, The Phantom admits it, delightful. Perfect in length, so the very old and the very young in the audience didn’t have time to get tired and cranky. Every child got a chance to scream on stage. It was a community gift and The Phantom says Thank You TTC, and have a Happy New Year!

A rather different version of holiday cheer unfolded across town at StageCenter in Mrs. Bob Cratchit’s Wild Christmas Binge. This was a darker, comedic opposite of the sugar-coated family hour over at TTC. And of course The Phantom hasn’t become so laboTTComized that he scoffs at alternative theater. He applauds the alternative, the right, the left and the catty-cornered. Look up “open-minded” on Wikipedia, and you’ll find a link to this site. Nevertheless…

There we were, confronting the sparkly Converse hi-tops of the apparent new queen of StageCenter. Again. Uh, oh, she was the lead, the director, the producer and the chief cook and bottle washer of this little production. The Phantom certainly admires her initiative and resourcefulness. Her capacity for lots of work is noted. Unfortunately, “noted” does not always make for “noteworthy.” She was front and center, but the Ghost’s performance was merely okay. The Phantom thought it overdone and pushed, but dripping with a misplaced sense of self-importance. We worried that the actor was too pleased with herself and wanted the audience to acknowledge just how darn good she was. However, The Phantom asserts—as ironic as it may seem, given his own shining excellence—that a certain amount of inner humility is key to a good performance.

Scrooge was as grouchy and hateful and scroogey as any good Scrooge can be, and our actor did a job that rivaled many a fine portrayal, including those of Albert Finney, Steve Larson, Patrick Stewart, Scrooge McDuck, Michael Caine, Bill Murray and perhaps the most well-known, Mr. Magoo. Then again, our Scrooge is an actor who is almost always great. He’s a pleasure to watch on stage, no matter the supporting cast or shortcomings of the book.

Speaking of the supporting cast, Bob Cratchit was a likeable nondescript sort of guy, perfectly appropriate for the character. There was also a potpourri of characters who were portrayed by young high school students, and it showed. We believe they had a much better time with their performances than the audience did. The Phantom encourages all actors to take pleasure in their time on stage. But when there are jokes among the actors that are not shared with the audience, it is no longer theater; it becomes the hallway in front of Mrs. Saunders’s English Class between 3rd and 4th period.

Props go out to our Clarence the Angel, who was so physically phunny, we couldn’t help but smile. A caution is in order about the slit in the nightgown, though, Clarence. It came dangerously close to showing a little more of the Christmas nuts and berries than anyone but Mrs. Clarence would want to see.

This review would also be gravely remiss without a mention of the increasingly infamous actress (a term which, regrettably, is used loosely in the present context) who played Hedvig and Nice Mrs. Cratchit. We thought about being honest and observing that she was dreadfully wooden, awkward and halting in both parts, but she seems to be such a pleasant person offstage that The Phantom will say nothing of the kind. It’s the Christmas season, after all. So we’ll simply wish Nice Mrs. Cratchit a happy, prosperous and joyous New Year.

The real Mrs. Cratchit was a clinically depressed alcoholic who neglected her children. Hey, kids, nothing says “Merry Christmas” like an abusive abuser. The Phantom was ambivalent here. At turns, her performance seemed over the top, but considering the direction and the book, perhaps it wasn’t. And she was so wry and sarcastic that The Phantom was genuinely amused on several occasions. Truth be told (and it always is), the whole performance left us with an expression not unlike The Face of that omnipresent actor, the Big Man of ’07, who played Tevye/Lipton/von Trapp/Scrooge over at NTA and TTC. You know, it looks like he’s smiling, but he’s squinting into the sun, so you can’t be sure? Is it a happy face? Or is it a hammy face? No one knows for sure.

So The Phantom wasn’t crazy about this play. It was often cute, but it was also half-baked. And the contrast between the smaller audiences at StageCenter’s frugal, but more daring, production and the crowds at TTC’s opulent mainstream show were worrisome. C’mon, Phans, go see all the theater in the Valley. And join casts at more than one venue. StageCenter needs, wants, and deserves your support and help.

Other than that, we wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. And we won’t go til we get some.

The Phantom

Everybody Loves OCD

The Phantom is nothing if not a worldly sage. He’ll never forget that exotic night in Algiers. But not till now did he realize that kindly old bag ladies really were hiding gobs of cash in the lining of old fur coats. This insight causes him to want to take scissors to Aunt Phillipina’s closet to see if there might be some petty cash to be had. Who knew that tea bags had so much staying power and that Yankees had such lousy East Coast accents? We found NTA’s latest offering, Everybody Loves Opal, to be full of useful information.

This delightful little play was a perfect holiday offering in a dark, dysfunctional, there’s-a-serial-killer-upstairs-with-a-large-axe family comedy way. We were introduced to Opal, a sweet almost-homeless gal—aren’t they all charming?—who fixes everything with a cup of tea made from the same teabag used over and over. Nice touch, set people, we loved the tea bags on the clothesline. That bit never got old. As usual, NTA did a fabulous job with the set. This time they seemed to empty out their props department to recreate Opal’s home. It was cluttered but not distracting.

The Phantom was filled with holiday cheer thanks to our lead and her endless supply of faith in humankind. Very nice job, Opal. There was also a cat aiding and abetting our lonely old lady. (Aunt Phanny comes to mind here. She has 11 cats, all named Boris, and her house reeks of cat litter and hairballs. But we love Aunt Phanny. She’s completely nuts, but she brings potent and delicious rum balls to Christmas dinner every year. At least we think it’s rum. And we’re pretty sure they’re balls.)

The Phantom digresses. Enter our foils, three intriguing characters with larceny on their minds. Gloria was an actress we have seen before. In our dreams. But her spouse has noticed our prior pondering (or pandering?) of her comeliness, so we dast not expound upon it here yet again. Admittedly, she was comely. However, if the program is to be believed, she and her hubby are expecting their first offspring soon and, despite his worldy travels, The Phantom chooses not to think lascivious thoughts about a mommy. Even if she is luscious. So he won’t. Jacob, you lucky dog, you. Woof.

The Phantom digresses again. Gloria was a greedy ditz who sold counterfeit perfume door-to-door. Her colleague in crime was Dr. Brad, a chemist gone bad who manufactured this contraband when he wasn’t abusing the power of a strong vocabulary. The Phantom was quite taken with this character and cannot begin to understand why someone with a superior intellect could be the target of a negative characterization. It’s hard to imagine. Brad was portrayed by none other than TTC’s Danny Zuko from Grease! Quelle suprise! [Trust The Phantom, kids. That’s not mispelled.] What a pleasure to find familiar folks on new stages. He did a fine job as a tortured ex-academician skirting the law to make a fast buck. That’s a kind of character we see far too often around these parts, but he managed to keep it relatively fresh. Brad had our favorite partial line of the play: “Six degrees and one lung…”

Our third member of this unholy alliance was Sol. Smarmy and slightly bumbling, Sol neither charmed nor disgusted. The Phantom couldn’t really figure out where or why Sol fitted in with this triad but there he was. He eventually was a love interest for Opal . . . or was he? We are not sure. It didn’t really matter. Nevertheless, this actor did a fine job.

There was a delightful scene with Opal being examined by the one remaining medico who still does house calls. Doc was a clinically depressed physician (or a physician with a depressed clinic) examining Opal in order to qualify her for a life insurance policy that Gloria, Brad and Sol planned to collect after her untimely and premature demise. “Doc” was wry and dry and had the experienced sense of comedic timing that we have come to expect, and always enjoyed, from this actor.

The final supporting actor was also a familiar and popular face at NTA. Officer Janke (pronounced Yhan-kee. Get it?) has been seen before, most memorably in Lend Me A Tenor. The Phantom liked that performance very much. We were, however, confused and confounded by his odd accent in this show. Near the end of the play it dawned like a new spring morn: Officer Janke was doing his best Bahstin (pronounced “Boston”) dialect. We finally got it, but boy, oh, boy, we took a long time to get there.

Our lead was a new face and she did a good job as the optimistic and contagiously likable Opal. We were sad when Mr. Tanner was killed, and then we were happy that everything was going to be alright, but we were discombobulated by the end of this otherwise cleverly written play. The end was a throwaway that was reminiscent of the schlock ending of Cabin Fever. It was too convenient, and it lacked any Wow or Aha! factor. But that is a problem of the book. The director, the cast, and the supporting tech produced a fine evening of live entertainment, and to that The Phantom says, “Thank you, Sunny Furman Theater. Hats off and clap, clap.”

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

Phunny Girl

It’s an oldies-but-goodies season at The Theater Company, and The Phantom is thinking that there may be danger in staging shows that we’ve all seen several times before. That may be especially true when, like Grease, the Broadway show has become a well-known movie with a famous cast. A community—oops, The Phantom regrets a rare lapse—regional theater may suffer by comparison with Yul Brynner in The King and I, Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain, and—uh oh, we’re getting to the point—Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl. One must either be brave or deluded to tackle such a job—and oh yes, we saw examples of both last year—so our hats are off to our own local Fanny Brice in TTC’s Funny Girl. Fanny was great. Despite being in almost every scene, she remained watchable throughout.

We also enjoyed poor old Eddie Ryan, the lifelong friend with the unrequited love for Fanny. Actors who play these fifth-wheel characters who hang off to the side, pining for the lead actors, had better be likeable or their frustrated desire comes off as creepy. (Indeed, this is a hard lesson that The Phantom has learned all too well. All of the cheerleaders at his old high school still have restraining orders out against him.) Thus, it’s fortunate that our Eddie was charming, good looking—but not too good looking, so us regular guys could relate to him—and not too tall but not too short; in short, an average Joe. The sort of guy The Phantom would be if he lost 100 pounds and 75% of his vocabulery. Eddie had enough innate talent to be a fine foil for Fanny’s hyperactivity.

Enter Nicky Arnstein, Nicky Arnstein. This kid was possibly a little too pretty, and maybe a tad too young to pull this off. A SCAB*, perhaps? Let’s see. Could he act? Why yes, he could. Did he have chemistry with Fanny? That is, could we believe that he really was an adult heterosexual male who had noticed that he was interacting with a babe? Well, how about that, yes we could. Finally (c’mon, this was a musical), could he sing? Oh. Ah, well, two out of three ain’t bad in community, uh, regional theater.

Special kudos to almost everybody involved in the scene in which Fanny makes her debut with the Zeigfeld Follies. Hats off (ha! Sometimes, The Phantom cracks himself up) to our wardrobe crew for emulating the fancy costumes for which Zeigfeld was known. The tenor was appropriately cheesy, Fanny was fractious (ha! The Phantom continues to amuse himself), and Flo Zeigfeld did his whole scene looking at a small stack of note cards. Oh, wait, that wasn’t so great. One presumes those were supposed to be telegrams, but it’s also possible that Flo had his lines written down so he could get through the scene. The ambiguity was distracting. We also need to note that, despite his avuncular charm, Flo seemed to have only one way of communicating emotion, and that was to get loud. The Phantom has expounded on this before, and he shall not belabor the point again. Still, people, the next time we’re on stage, can we all try, please, to express emotion without simply shouting?

The singing was strong in this production. As usual, the women were better than the men, and as usual, they seemed to be more numerous. There appear to be more girls/women who are involved in theater. Why is that, Phans?

In particular, the famous song, “People,” was quite nicely done. This was one of those moments when we worried that our local talent wouldn’t be up to the task, but we were pleasantly surprised. Good job, Fanny. Along those lines, we were initially disappointed to find, at the end of the first Act, that our Fanny wasn’t standing on the bow of a towboat sailing across Hudson Bay as she belted out “Don’t Rain on My Parade”—but then we came to our senses. (There again, that scene may be too familiar for the theater patrons’ own good.).

Being a paragon of sophistication and taste, The Phantom was pleased that Fanny was able to lose the massive hair extension from hell and sport a more comfortable short bob in the second act. We also were treated to more costume changes, yet another testimony to the hard-working TTC volunteers behind the scenes.

As the discerning Phan can discern, we liked this show. The TTC has been consistently improving its costumes, the complexity and craftiness of its sets and lighting, and its overall entertainment value. The cast was solid. We liked the old ladies. And now please remember, Phans, that The Phantom gave these props, ‘cuz the sweetness and light ain’t gonna last.

It’s time for some hard truths. Ready? Are you sure? You’re not going to a) be mean to The Phantom, b) lose the courage to audition for a future show, or c) be dissuaded from attending a future show if you read the next three paragraphs, are you? Oh, hold on. Really? You are? Surely, you exaggerate. You must be kidding. What follows is but one man’s humble opinion, easily ignored and readily dismissed. Hardly even worth reading. Stop here. Turn away. (Ha! The Phantom is such a tease.)

Y’all were kidding us with the Rat-a-tat-tat number, right? Rat-a-tat-Flat was more like it. The recycled A&M Corps uniforms didn’t fool anybody, and the choreography forcefully reminded us that this show was comprised of amateur performers. This drill was dull and disjointed. Okay, deep breaths here. The Phantom does not lack appreciation for the hours of selfless dedication and hard work the cast put into this show. But this scene was like a bubble bursting. It stood out uncomfortably from the rest of the show. Every now and then, TTC shows would profit from shortening, or skipping, a dance number. It’s tough to admit, but it’s true. We could have lived without the disorderly, disorganized drill team. With those rifles spinning in all directions apparently at random, we’re just glad no one was hurt.

And, oww, the orchestra. What happened here? The Phantom has been pleased by the quality of the music in recent shows, but he was shaken by some of the squeaks and squeals emanating from the orchestra’s Pit of Doom.

Finally, did we get a new toy? Do we like our new scrim? There are possibilities ahead for this tool, of course, but one wondered why it was there half of the time in this show. And, for heaven’s sake, if it is to be used for scene changes, The Phantom insists that its pulley mechanism be improved. He could think of, and watch, nothing else each time as the return rope drooped and the scrim made its slow, halting, episodic, jerky journeys back and forth across the stage.

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom

(*Sweet-Cheeks-Alternative Boy)

Cabin Feeble

Ahh, community theater. One always gets a blend of flavors, a potpourri, a conglomeration, a gallimaufry, hodgepodge, olio, or even, dare we say (and of course we do. The Phantom always dares), salmagundi of talent trodding the boards. StageCenter did not disappoint in this regard with their production of Cabin Fever.

Set in the Hill Country, this play had that Texas charm that always delights a hometown crowd. We had the drunken character, the crazy character, the chick with the eating disorder, and the spouse abuser. Oh, and lots of gunplay. Just like Thanksgiving at The Phantom’s lair. It felt warmly familiar.

Unfortunately, the set was not created with StageCenter’s usual aplomb. We didn’t feel like we were in a cabin, we didn’t feel like this was a family gathering place, and we shudder to think someone would actually paint their walls that putrid yellow. We haven’t seen a color like that since the last time we got out of rehab. The set was blocked appropriately, allowing most of the audience a fine view of the action on stage, unless you were unfortunate enough to be seated behind a column or you were in the penguin section where the AC blasts you with a constant stream of frigid air. From that vantage point, one can’t see anything but the icicle haze forming on one’s eyelids.

This was the story of the Beckle’s Memorial Day weekend reunion at the family cabin out in the Hill Country. Our evening opened with Aunt Tammy—mercifully for us—locked in the bathroom. This was a kindness, because it meant that we heard from Tammy only now and then, and that was a very, very good thing. Every line from that character sounded as if it was being read directly from the script, and—mysteriously—read cold, for the first time. We can’t quite figure out how this could be possible, as one assumes that this actor showed up for several actual rehearsals. But wait, and aha! We find that Aunt Tammy was probably at all the rehearsals because she was also the director of the show. And in fact, the direction in this play was nicely done. But Tammy’s acting? Not so much. You know how all those Hollywood types are always saying “Eventually, I just want to direct”? Well, Aunt Tammy, stick to directing. Your directing is great. Acting? Uh, we’d have to use the term loosely for it to apply here.

Georgina, one of the daughters, was also there at the start, and she did a fine job. A little jittery. We couldn’t understand the jittery unless she was trying to interpret the part by channeling a meth addict on a sugar high. Yeah, that must have been it. But she did a fine job and we applaud the ability to stoically tolerate being soaking wet performance after performance. That’s dedication to your craft.

And rounding out our trio of characters in the first scene was an old workhorse, a familiar face this time playing the dad, Aubrey Beckle. This performer is consistently great. We loved him in Best Little Ho house, and we loved his new crusty character in this play. He did a terrific job of getting progressively smashed and a fine job portraying a parent. We imagine that Aubrey is a great dad offstage as well. The Phantom may not be a parent, but he has parents (oh, don’t look so surprised. We know you were probably assuming that, in being so supremely wise and discerning, The Phantom must have emerged from the heavenly, interdisciplinary pairing of Saraswati and Fukurokuju, but in fact The Phantom was born of human parents just like you.) [Well, maybe not just like you, given the genetic engineering, asbestos abatement, and steroids involved, but you get the idea. The Phantom is flesh-and-blood, just like you, and he’s trying to be good. All he needs is a little love.] {Where were we? Oh, yeah:} and this part required Aubrey to do “parenting.” It was a job well done.

Karen Beckle Hoffman was the anal-retentive, mother-hen older sister who enabled her baby sister’s eating disorder by supplying the family reunion with all matter of candies and cookies. By default, she was the organizer, chief cook and bottle washer of the family. She was the head worrier and caretaker and, in her own mind, the most put upon. Anyone with siblings should be able to identify a Karen. If you think you don’t have a Karen, you probably are Karen. Yes, she was predictably written but delightful in that familiarity. Unfortunately, the actress who portrayed our Karen was stiff, rote, and disembodied. We were perplexed because we have seen her before in other roles, and she was just fine. What happened here? We shall not lose heart, dear Phans. Like a phoenix from the ashes, this actress will likely rise again.

And speaking of familiar faces, the last time we saw Cesca Beckle Cody, she was sporting the kind of costume that was so tight it left little to the imagination—but that, happily, did much to fuel The Phantom’s dreams for many a subsequent night. Pardon us for a moment while we wax philosophic about the marriage of a curvaceous, ample body with some forgiving, lycra-enhanced fabric. Oh, yes. But the Phantom digresses. Enough celebration of the past. This character was modestly clad, distressingly so. She also did the jittery business. Did the cast down shots of Red Bull ™ before the curtain went up? It’s a mystery. Anyway, Cesca was the abused wife and she did a nice job in a difficult part. She was easy on the eyes and did an agreeable amount of genuine acting.

And that segues nicely into the part of the abusive husband who was portrayed with all-too-common one-note yelling by a relative newcomer to local theater. Michael Cody screamed and yelled his way at the same level across the boards. (Get it?) Was he supposed to be the fearsome antagonist? Was he supposed to be a fearful victim? There was no clue to be had in the sound of his screaming. Of course, we had our fingers in our ears much of the time.

Okay, then, back to an introductory lesson. Pay attention here, kids. Try to imagine that a non-English-speaking blind person is watching, or, um, listening, to your acting. Would he be able to tell your emotional state from just the tone of your voice, your timbre and pitch? When you’re at an Italian opera, can you figure out what’s going on without being able to speak Italian? You can if the performer is any good. And good actors communicate meaning and feeling—yes, including anger and menace—without yelling all the time. It ain’t just volume. Start by doing the emotion quietly. Find it, own it, inhabit it, and only then—and only now and then—get a little louder.

The play was rambling along and we were treated to some quasi-hilarity from the appearance of Pidge Beckle, family nut-case. Our dad got drunker—showing every lucky patron how to play a good drunk. Hey, kids, if you think that you may ever pretend to be intoxicated on stage, ask Aubrey how it’s done—and Pidge was good. Very good. She gave a lovely little speech at the end of Act II that almost moved us, and given The Phantom’s ample girth, we don’t move easy. Good for you, Pidge, this is perhaps the best we’ve seen from you. Nicely done.

But the author ran out of juice here and the play ended awkwardly with a cop-out, nonexistent third act that literally admitted to being a cop-out. Just because you come right out and say you didn’t know how to end the story is not really a good excuse for not ending it. A feeble end, and we hated it.

Other than that, it was great.

The Phantom