Even You, Oh Princess, in Your Cold Room

BY MARY SHEERAN

Once, while I lay dying, the man standing over me and holding my hand began to tickle me. He was, of course, a Tenor. I was Mimi, taking my last breath in Puccini’s opera La Boheme, and trying to sing my final pathetic notes. That Tenor was always trying something of this ilk during performances, and I must say that when singing “Addio, senza rancor” from Act 3 to the Tenor, it constituted great acting on my part. So do pay attention. I’m going to say something nice about a tenor here.

There. I’ve told you about my conflicts. Being a writer, a sometime critic, and a singer, I looked forward to the play Critical Mass at the Lion Theater, it being the first winning play of the Heiress Production Playwriting Competition, written by Joanne Sydney Lessner. The play is chock full of situations, features two married opera critics trying to conceive a child, a tenor seeking revenge for a destructive review, the tenor’s wife, a few other assorted characters including the tenor’s mother coming and going, the editor of the opera magazine, and a lot of good music (coming from the critics’ CD player and during intermission). All this, with the play being marketed as a discussion about criticism and its effect on performers, and yes, there was plenty of that.

Reader, do you see the problem yet? At the suggestion of one of the characters, I will say that Critical Mass is not a very good play, but it’s not a very bad play, either.

Here’s the premise: Two opera critics (she does opera performances, he does CDs) are married. The wife, Carrie (played by Leigh Williams), is of course the mean critic, with an ego with which she believes herself to be the premiere opera critic of the universe. She works for an Opera News type magazine and everyone wants to know what she says (so there, New York Times). Her tone seems to be that of the coldly nasty theater critic John Simon (remember him?). In her relentless drive for perfection, as she calls it, Carrie rewrites her wimpy husband Norman’s (Zac Hoogendyk) reviews to sound like her own (hard, hard, hard), and they go somewhat merrily along, describing voices with the narrowest measure of technical vocal quality. Carrie seems to not see the whole of a production when she goes to the opera – she seems to care nothing about the history, the interpretation, the music, the acting, anything other than vocal technique. In other words, she’s the Tin Man and although she says she’s not looking for a heart, she is looking to have a kid. What they have is a nice apartment, well designed by Chris Minard, whose set allowed for all the comings and goings as well as the play’s action.

Enter into the apartment The Tenor, Stefano (Aaron Davis), whose life Carrie ruined with one (one!) review. He plants himself in their apartment with promises of Mafia revenge against Norman if they don’t take him in, thus starting a cascade of events sprinkled with a discussion of the critic’s responsibilities that perhaps was too specific for the audience I was in. Lessner is obviously comfortable with the operatic world but who could not translate that into getting the audience excited about it or even interested. The tone mostly sounded like the snippets of conversation you hear when in line to get standing room tickets at the Met. It’s opera reduced to snotty twitter. And if that’s the case, what’s the point? Also, the general audience is not clear on what constitutes bad vocal technique or whether an aria is being mangled. When opera trivia was tossed out, like Cecilia Bartoli’s name used as a punch line, I found myself laughing alone.

Critical Mass is, in several places, a funny and a thoughtful play, but it can’t be both, and it tries so hard to be. The characters behind the married couple point precisely to what the problem is. Carrie hits hard with the repartee, while Norman is more thoughtful, and you wonder how that marriage lasted, rolling as it does from one side of the stylistic bed to the other. The play veers from farce, which, judging from its pace, the director Donald Brennar, intended it to be, but then it steers across the road and pauses over the human situations created by the farce. This naturally then makes the farce unbelievable and the emotions consequently ring untrue.

The pivotal character of Carrie suffers most from this rapid switching of lanes. She’s been loaded up with so much baggage that you wonder if the veering car has rolled over the feminist movement and everything is her fault, her responsibility. She moves from snappy one liners that destroy tenors and her husband’s ego, from “I hate you” to “let’s go to bed” faster than a soap opera. Her husband disappears for months without there being any attempt to find him, while the vehemently scorned/revenge seeking tenor lives with her, writing the husband’s reviews, cooking five-course meals, and fathering the child she wanted because her hormones were surging the moment her husband left. (A little girl, near me leaped up at intermission, crying, “I’m surging!”) What this means for the character of Carrie is that no matter how good she is (and the actress is quite good), her character remains undefined and unreal and, in the end, unfunny and unbelievable.

The play’s unwillingness to find a consistent tone also tires out the audience. We’re not sure if we’re to laugh at the Mafia jokes (speaking of tired) or be concerned for someone’s safety. So the play ends up feeling Wagnerian in length (not quality) even if it is only two hours long, and even if everyone is talking fast and the doorbell keeps ringing up new comings and goings.

The actors held up their end of the bargain, with Zac Hoogenayk as Norman being the most credible (alas, off stage for a good third) with an easygoing casual air that managed to make you like and understand an essentially unbelievable character. Leigh Williams tries hard to reconcile the too pronounced cattiness of Carrie with the warmth the writer tries to sneak in at the end. Shorey Walker and Mark Geller garner as much as they can from thankless parts. (Geller was advertised as a Bette-Davis impersonating editor; he was not, and if he was supposed to be, he wisely toned that down), and Laura Faith’s small role was sweetly delivered, if also caught in the play’s riding a bicycle built for two – or three – or two.

Aaron Davis as Stefano handled the farce aspect well by creating a stereotypical tenor that didn't go too overboard (an impossible balance, really), but then he struggled with the human side. He never sang until the end (except for a parting, “Addio, senza rancor” at one exit, and the audience again seemed clueless at this Boheme reference, while I thought, like any stereotypical soprano, “That’s my line”!).

I would argue that it was cruel to have Mr. Davis talk for two hours and then end the play singing the most gorgeous phrase in the aria, “Nessun Dorma” from Puccini’s Turandot. Yet, that was the play’s most successful moment. Everyone had left the stage, it was the first real quiet moment in two hours, and there, in that quiet, Davis brought us (finally!) opera. His voice was sweet and graceful, even if a little weak, and you could sense the audience feeling honest and strong emotion from Davis, even if they did not grasp the words per se. Critical Mass had finally found its voice at the very end – until then failing to even broach the passionate beauty of the art everyone was yakking about so intensely.

I can’t leave this review without pointing out that Heiress Productions, co-founded by the above-mentioned Laura Faith along with Mary Willis White, is a not-for-profit theatre production company that raises awareness and funds for cancer organizations. According to information in the program, Faith and White “wanted to use their acting skill and passion for theatre to make an impact in the battle against cancer.” Incorporated as a 501(c)3 organization in June, 2006, Heiress Productions provides free advertising space in their playbills to charitable cancer organizations, partners with one cancer organization for each production, and donates a portion of the proceeds to their charitable cause. For the program I attended, the company had partnered with the Lustgarten Foundation, which seeks the cure and prevention of pancreatic cancer. A relative of one of the board members, who had fallen victim to the disease, was memorialized on the playbill’s inside front cover, the back cover was an advertisement for Lustgarten, and the program also contained a listing of other non-profit cancer organizations. Bravo.

Critical Mass, a comedy by Joanne Sydney Lessner. With Aaron Davis, Laura Faith, Marc Geller, ZacHoogendyk, Shorey Walker, and Leigh Williams. Directed by Donald Brenner. Scenic design by Chris Minard, costume design by Ashley Rose Horton, lighting design by Melissa Mizell. Stage Manager: Taylor Crampton. Performances continue at the Lion @ Theatre Row (410 West 42nd Street) through Sunday, November 7th. Proceeds from Critical Mass will benefit The Lustgarten Foundation, dedicated to funding pancreatic cancer research.

Writer/singer Mary Sheeran’s new novel, Quest of the Sleeping Princess, which unfolds during a gala performance of the New York City Ballet, will be published later this year. She has sung through several operas, cabarets, and song recitals in New York, including several performances of Songs From the Balanchine Repertory. Her novel, Who Have the Power, an exploration of cultural conflict, feminism, and Native American history set on the American frontier, was published in 2006 (www.whohavethepower.com).

Caption: Leigh Williams and Aaron Davis of Critical Mass.

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
- Anais Nin

Now You May Think That This Is the End (Well, it Is! – of New York City Ballet’s First Fall Season)

By Mary Sheeran

I used to dream up ballets I’d like to see. One of the ballets I imagined reflected the rhythm of the city streets I walked, the offices I worked in, the people who crowded around me always hurrying and yet some who kept lyrical thoughts and dreams of other kinds of walks. Then one day, I went to the New York City Ballet and saw Jerome Robbins’ new ballet (at the time) Glass Pieces, and I realized he’d created the ballet I’d wanted to see.

This later work of Robbins’ (1983) is a masterpiece set to Philip Glass’ music. It’s one of those pieces you understand as soon as the curtain goes up because for one thing, the scene – dancers against a grid – is emotionally recognizable immediately and also because of our relationship with Robbins’ works. You know without being told what he’s doing. And he knows you know.

In the first movement, walkers in colorful rehearsal clothes and unitards charge across the stage with fierce energy. A few of them stomp here and there, changing directions abruptly, and a few of them soar, as if they found in the pulsing music a beauty to grasp.

The second movement is the prize. Women in the shadows move almost as automatons in the background, alternating a few positions as if they form some kind of balletic assembly line.  As they move off the stage, they circle round the back and return on the other side, like a conveyer belt, or perhaps that office or factory we were all running off to. No one says a word, this being ballet, but you know there’s some threat, however subtle. These women are related to Robbins’ Antique Epigraphs, a small 1984 work easily forgotten except that it points its way back to this movement. These women may also be a faint reference to the Wilis in Giselle, women finding themselves with a job to do – and perhaps not liking it but not having much choice.  (Robbins referred most horrifyingly to the Wilis in The Cage [1951], where the women tear apart their male prey.) Well, they are not that dangerous in Glass Pieces. But they are formidable, always there, beautiful and deadly, something like the women who open Balanchine’s Symphony in Three Movements (1972).

As the women move from position to position, following to the pulse of the strings, Rebecca Krohn and Craig Hall soar in a lyrical pas de deux to the horns. And when the couple broaches that other world of automaton women behind them, the implied threat simply disappears. Finding love and beauty has altered the power of the ballet assembly line and made it less threatening. So simple.

By the third movement, the grid is gone, and a dancer runs around the stage in total freedom. I recall Jock Soto taking the stage by storm years ago. (Don’t you just hate to hear people go on about how they saw it done better years ago?) This was just a nice run by a dancer who didn’t have the pronounced energy. This movement has some of the West Side Story energy, without the tragedy and violence, and for the most part it works, though I always giggle when the women enter daintily to the flutes. Back in 1983, I thought “sexist.” But soon, the corps is following the music, fusing the nervousness of conformity to something more lyrical and welcoming. I did have a nagging thought that the energy was turning into something way too easily lyrical, feet placed gently, an emphasis on a beautiful line rather than emphatic surging force. (This is my feeling about the company’s West Side Story Suite, too.) Even so, Glass Pieces is one stunning ballet. Robbins as the master.

 And speaking of energy, what a treat to see Tarentella again. The sassy attitudes of these two gypsies, Tiler Peck and Daniel Ulbricht, carried the day as they danced with remarkable clarity to Gottschalk’s delightful score (reworked by the underestimated Hershy Kay), even in this dizzy dance. And they played the tambourines well, too! Originally created by Balanchine in 1964 for Edward Villella and Patricia McBride, Tarantella’s roles are demanding, spirited, and good fun.

 Alas, Benjamin Millipied’s new piece, Plainspoken, set to music by David Lang, followed. It’s a shapeless, senseless work that seemed to rip off Glass Pieces and Balanchine's Episodes in places (and not in a good way), but was just a “new combination” of steps. (Some think that’s all ballet is, thanks to a modest understatement by Balanchine that some have taken way too literally.) The dancers, some of NYCB’s best (Tyler Angle, Amar Ramasar, Jennie Somogyi, Janie Taylor, Sebastien Marcovici, Jared Angle), danced just fine. Enough said.

 Speaking of saying things, I finally got the chance to experience that new idea at New York City Ballet, that of dancers who come out in front of the curtain before a performance and talk to the audience. I’ve heard not many kind things about this experiment, which doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea, necessarily. Even if the point eludes me. On the last evening of the new fall season, Charles Askegard did the talking. He was relaxed, spoke briefly about each ballet on the program, described the program as American themed (which we could tell from reading the program), mentioned that he wanted to do the Villella role in Tarantella, and that was that. The man next to me muttered, “And what did all that tell me I didn’t already know?” Askegard danced El Capitan in Stars and Stripes at the end of the program. He spun and leaped with flourish, and he was wonderful to watch. If he hadn’t talked, I would have still loved him. Talking about ballet in the theater is – just talk.

Stars and Stripes, again, after Gottschalk (and again orchestrated by Hershy Kay – it was his night!), is again the whimsical side of Balanchine (1958) who infused  Sousa’s music with bravura dancing, high strutting, all with tongue firmly in cheek, especially in El Capitan. Without a word being spoken, I picked up the clues for the words “droll” and “exhuberant,” although, at the end, with Stars and Stripes Forever blaring and a flag with stars and stripes coming up, I couldn’t help thinking the words, “Be kind to your web-footed friends, for a duck may be somebody’s mother…” – words I thought I had forgotten by now, though I half wished the audience would start singing. They do it during Who Cares? – and I heard a little humming nearby. Seriously, this piece is Kitsch at its Highest, and salutes were merited for Askegard’s partner Ashley Bouder, Adam Hendrickson in Thunder and Gladiator, Gwyneth Muller of the Rifle Regiment, and Eric Pereira of the Corcoran Cadets. Just writing out the section names is fun.

Someone had asked Balanchine, Stravinsky’s pal, why he choreographed to Sousa. He said, “Because I like his music.” Okay, so it was a dumb question. But Balanchine said, “The French walk fast, and so do Americans. Why? Because of Sousa!”

Oh, those fast walking, fast dancing Americans! And we’re still doing it!

Glass Pieces: Music by Philip Glass; Choreography by Jerome Robbins; Premiere: March 12, 1983. Tarantella: Music by Louis Moreau Gottschalk; Reconstructed and orchestrated by Hershy Kay; choreography by George Balanchine; Premiere: Jan. 7, 1964. Plainspoken: Music by David Lang (commissioned for New York City Ballet); Choreography by Benjamin Millepied; Premiere: Aug. 6, 2010. Stars and Stripes: Music adapted and orchestrated by Hershy Kay after music by John Philip Sousa; Choreography by George Balanchine; Premiere: Jan. 17, 1958.

Performances of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker at the New York City Ballet begin Nov. 26 and run through Jan. 2, at the Davis H. Koch Theater at Lincoln Center, followed by a full repertory season from Jan. 18 through Feb. 27. For tickets and information, go to www.nycballet.com.

Writer/singer Mary Sheeran’s new novel, Quest of the Sleeping Princess, which unfolds during a gala performance of the New York City Ballet, will be published later this year. She has sung through several operas, cabarets, and song recitals in New York, including several performances of Songs From the Balanchine Repertory. Her novel, Who Have the Power, an exploration of cultural conflict, feminism, and Native American history set on the American frontier, was published in 2006 (www.whohavethepower.com).

Huck

I am so blessed to have a friend like Angela Treiber who reads practically a book a day and then every couple of weeks leaves a shopping bag full of them with her doorman for me. I start most and if they don’t click I donate them right away to my beloved Webster branch of the library. I might go through a half dozen before I find a gem, but then I always have that wonderful feeling of reading a book I love and can’t wait to get back to.

When I looked at the cover of Huck in the latest batch I almost put in on the pile for the library without even starting it. I saw that absolutely adorable dog and read the subtitle, “The Remarkable True Story of How One Lost Puppy Taught a Family -- and a Whole Town -- About Hope and Happy Endings” and thought, “too hokey.” Let me say I have an extremely high tolerance for hokeyness, but I thought this one would be over the top. Luckily I started it -- and was hooked from page one. The library won’t be getting this one. It’s a keeper.

Author Janet Elder, a senior editor at The New York Times, is too skilled a writer to let Huck become hokey. And she’s such a gifted storyteller that I hated to put the book down, even though I knew from the subtitle what the outcome would be.

Huck, a reddish-brown toy poodle, came into the lives of Elder, her husband, Richard Pinsky, and their son, Michael, following an arduous year the family had spent dealing with Elder’s breast cancer. She had had a sick parent and knew how hard it is on a child to watch a parent suffer through grave illness. Michael had been asking for a dog since he was a tiny child but because they lived in an apartment on the Upper East Side, Janet and Rich had always maintained that a dog would be too much trouble.

Once she was diagnosed with cancer, though, Elder realized that promising Michael a puppy at the end of her treatments would offer just the beacon of hope he needed at such a scary time. She had no way of knowing just what a talisman of hope Huck would become for all of them.

Several months after Huck’s arrival, the family decided to celebrate the end of Elder’s yearlong cancer battle by taking a trip to Florida to see the Yankees at spring training. Huck would stay with Elder’s sister, Barbara, and her family in Ramsey, NJ. They had barely begun their vacation, however, when they received a call from Barbara that Huck had escaped from the yard and was missing. Without hesitation, Rich, Janet and Michael headed home on the first flight they could book. Huck meant too much to all of them by then. He represented the joy and new life that can follow suffering and fear.

Rather than commute back and forth from Manhattan, they settled into a hotel in New Jersey and set out to do what would have sounded like the impossible to most people -- to find a tiny puppy lost in an unfamiliar town, surrounded by dense woods filled with wild animals and birds of prey and streets with fast moving cars.

Working from before sunrise until after dark, even in the rain, they papered Ramsey and nearby Mahwah, Allendale and Wyckoff with posters featuring Huck and offering a $1,000 reward. They knocked on doors, stopped people on the street and drove and walked around for hours calling out Huck’s name. Even after nights of subfreezing temperatures when Janet and Rich secretly wondered if Huck could survive, they kept looking.

And they weren’t alone. They were helped by scores of townspeople who set aside their plans to look for the strangers’ dog, to distribute their posters, to make copies, to offer prayers. Then, early on Sunday morning, several days after Huck had disappeared, thanks to one of these caring townspeople, their miracle came true and Michael once again held Huck in his arms.

“We ate our bagels and watched Huck play on the floor, as though the harrowing adventure of the last few days had not even happened,” Elder writes. “But it did happen. And it had a happy ending. We learned a lot about the heart of a small town and the extraordinary level of concern one stranger can show another. We learned a lot about ourselves, too, about tenacity and grit and our devotion to one another.”

I’m not going to put this book on a shelf with my others. I’m going to prop it up in a prominent place where I will see it many times a day. Not just because I love looking at Huck’s dear face, but because I want the reminder to believe in the possible and to fight for it without giving up hope. And the reminder to ask for help because it can be surrounding me all along without my even knowing it.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A TEABAGGER OR REPUBLICAN

The Teabagger gets up at 6:00am to prepare his morning coffee. He fills his pot full of good clean drinking water because some liberal fought for minimum water quality standards.

He takes his daily medication with his first swallow of coffee. His medications are safe to take because some liberal fought to insure their safety and work as advertised. All but $10.00 of his medications are paid for by his employers medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance, now The Teabagger gets it too.

He prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs this day. The Teabagger's bacon is safe to eat because some liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry. The Teabagger takes his morning shower reaching for his shampoo; His bottle is properly labeled with every ingredient and the amount of its contents because some liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.

The Teabagger dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some tree- hugging liberal fought for laws to stop industries from polluting our air.

The Teabagger begins his work day; he has a good job with excellent pay, medicals benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some liberal union members fought and died for these working standards The Teabagger's employer pays these standards because The Teabagger's employer doesn't want his employees to call the union. If The Teabagger is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed he'll get a worker compensation or unemployment check because some liberal didn't think he should lose his home because of his temporary misfortune.

It's noontime, The Teabagger needs to make a Bank Deposit so he can pay some bills. The Teabagger's deposit is federally insured by the FSLIC because some liberal wanted to protect The Teabagger's money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the depression. The Teabagger has to pay his Fannie Mae underwritten Mortgage and his below market federal student loan because some stupid liberal decided that The Teabagger and the government would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his lifetime.

The Teabagger is home from work, he plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive to dads; his car is among the safest in the world because some liberal fought for car safety standards.

He arrives at his boyhood home. He was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers Home Administration because bankers didn't want to make rural loans. The house didn't have electric until some big government liberal stuck his nose where it didn't belong and demanded rural electrification. (Those rural Republicans would still be sitting in the dark)

He is happy to see his dad who is now retired. His dad lives on Social Security and his union pension because some liberal made sure he could take care of himself so The Teabagger wouldn't have to.

After his visit with dad he gets back in his car for the ride home. He turns on a radio talk show, the host keeps saying that liberals are bad and conservatives are good (He doesn't tell The Teabagger that his beloved Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit The Teabagger enjoys throughout his day). The Teabagger agrees, "We don't need those big government liberals ruining our lives.

Phil Hall to write new song for Broadway Blessing's 15th anniversary celebration

I’m so pleased to announce that my dear friend and gifted composer Phil Hall will write a new song for the 15th anniversary celebration of Broadway Blessing next September. Making a good thing even better, it will be sung by the dynamic women in his group The Philhallmonic Society.

It has been a long and often difficult road for me as founder and producer to get Broadway Blessing this far. It never could have happened without all the people like Phil (who has donated his time and talent to two previous Blessings) who have performed throughout the years.

Phil’s song will the the third original song written for BB. For our 10th anniversary celebration, acclaimed composer Elizabeth Swados, who I am also blessed to call friend, created “Double Blessing,” using references to the Old and New Testaments in recognition of BB’s interfaith approach, and bringing with her a choir of young singers. And for our fifth anniversary, friend Bob Ost, founder of Theater Resources Unlimited, wrote “The Broadway Blessing” and rounded up about two dozen Broadway and cabaret performers to sing, including Marc Kudisch, Bryan Batt, Christine Pedi, David Sabella and Ken Prymus (who has sung at three BBs).

Between now and next September I’ll be lining up other talented folks to take part. We’ll also be blessed again with Project Dance and our very own Broadway Blessing Choir. So mark you calendars, 7 p.m. Sept. 12 at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. It will be here before you know it.

La Bête

At the end of David Hirson's La Bête you might find yourself wondering, Is Mark Rylance human? He rarely stops talking -- in verse -- for the entire hour and 45 minutes. It’s exhausting just listening to him as the babbling, spitting, farting buffoon Valere in this revival of the 1991 satire that is supposed to represent a collision of 17th century arts and populism.

Rylance’s performance is really the only reason to see this show, at the Music Box Theatre through Feb. 13. He is sure to receive a Tony nomination and may likely win again; he won in 2008 for Boeing Boeing, another revival with some funny moments surrounded by tedious silliness. David Hyde Pierce (right in photo) also is funny as Elomire, the straight man foil to Valere’s manic persona, but his part is dwarfed by Rylance’s.

The “plot” begins to unfold more than half way into the play -- up until then we have listening to the narcissistic Valere, a street clown, ramble on and on through his opinions on everything and nothing. The conflict of values happens after The Princess (Joanna Lumley, in photo) grows tired of Elomire's royal theatre troupe and proposes the two square off to determine who wins the favor of the court. If you have any doubt as to who will be the victor in a battle of culture against tasteless entertainment you have only to consider the winner in today’s world. As H.L. Mencken once said: No one ever lost money underestimating the taste of the American public. Standards apparently weren’t any higher in 17th century France.

Mark Thompson’s set is as strange as the play -- floor to ceiling books on three sides, representing Elomire’s study in 1654 France. (Thompson also did the costumes, which are appropriate period pieces.)

I was chatting with several fellow Back Stage alums after the show and we all agreed La Bête, directed by Matthew Warchus with a script revised from the 1991 original, is a really weird play. If it was supposed to prompt a discussion of high versus low culture it missed the mark with all of us. After such an ear load, we were a bit numbed and all just agreed we need a bit of both.