Archives for July 2009

A message on Facebook from Bay Area playwright Trevor Allen alerted me to some sad news last night: Local actor Luis Saguar passed away on July 8 at the age of 52 of a terminal illness.

Saguar was a founding member of the inventive, San Francisco-based theatre company Campo Santo, the resident theatre company at Intersection for the Arts. Over more than 15 years with the collective, he helped to bring to life new plays by the likes of Denis Johnson, Jessica Hagedorn and Octavio Solis. Saguar was instrumental in connecting diverse audiences with live performance by telling stories that reflected on and impacted individuals and communities. I always enjoyed watching him perform. He brought a pungent animal energy to drama and was also a lively and touching comedian.

Intersection is mounting a campaign to raise money to lend support to Saguar’s family during this harrowing time. If you would like to donate, please click here.

While some state funding of the arts is, to my mind, an important way to keep a country’s culture alive and kicking, one negative thing about state-sponsored theatre companies is that traditionally, they’ve been able to keep running productions of plays for way too long past their sell-by dates. Mothballed sets, going-through-the-motions actors and stale direction become hallmarks of shows that continue playing on the national dime. The fact is that people tend to become lazy when their bills are all being paid, or when the entity that’s paying them decides that this or that production is representative of the best of the nation’s culture and should therefore be presented in its original state, regardless of how stale and old-fashioned the work may have become.

In light of this, it’s quite refreshing to experience Israel’s National Theatre Company, Habima, performing its latest production of the great Jewish play by S. Ansky, The Dybbuk. The company (pictured above, left) opened its San Francisco run last night at the Contemporary Jewish Museum. To my mind, director Shmuel Shohat’s production represents a perfect marriage between paying homage to tradition and keeping things bold and contemporary.

The Dybbuk was first performed in Moscow in 1920 by the Yiddish-speaking Vilna Troupe. Habima’s Hebrew production, launched in 1922, immediately became a huge hit. The company kept the original staging in its repertoire for decades. (See above, right, for a 1922 production still of the actress Hannah Rovina as Leah, the daughter of a rich merchant, Sender, who becomes possessed by the spirit of her forbidden lover, the brilliant but tortured rabbinical scholar Chanan). Habima’s latest staging evokes the 1920s original through its use of stark, Expressionistic makeup and Cubo-Futurist scenery, the centerpiece of which is a deeply-raked wooden table which later transforms into a graveyard. The actors turn up on stage as they would have 90 years ago, striding on with suitcases and proceeding to dress themselves and ready the performance area for the play.

In its use of puppets, this Dybbuk feels very new, however. Apparently the large-eyed, white-ethereal mannequins representing Leah and Khanan were inspired by Tim Burton’s movie Corpse Bride. Intriguingly, Burton was in turn reportedly inspired by early productions of The Dybbuk. Other puppets used in the play for the comic characters including the rabbis and Leah’s dim, milquetoast of a fiance, are made of foam with outsize, squishy, cartoon faces and tiny insect-limbs. These puppets are more reminiscent of Sesame Street or Muppet Show marionettes. In fact, the two curmudgeonly rabbis in the play remind me strongly of the Muppet Show‘s resident windbags, Statler and Waldorf.

The interactions between the puppet and human actors are powerful. Sometimes performers Ayelet Shadmon (Leah), Yaron Sancho Goshen (Sender) and Nimrod Eisenberg (Chanan) manipulate the puppets from behind the scenery, and cannot be seen. Elsewhere, they stand on stage with the puppets, but “keep out of the way” of the puppet actors. Meanwhile, in some of the production’s most ghostly and arresting scenes, the human actors interact with the puppets, almost as if they are the human consciousness behind the characters. Every now and again, for example, the puppet Leah looks to the human actress holding her for what seems like a second opinion or verification of her actions. It’s as if Shadmon is on stage coaxing on her puppet alter ego to trust in her feelings. There are even occasions when the human actors perform without puppets. Sender never appears in puppet form. Goshen plays him in a bravura style. Paradoxically, the only non-puppet character in the play is the most grotesque.

The effect of all of this is to disorient and delight the audience. A little girl sitting in front of me giggled in all the right places (and some of the ones where the adults were very quiet.) I felt like I was engaging in a piece of theatre history as well as being sucked wholeheartedly into the present moment. It was magic.

Karen McKevitt started an interesting debate recently on Theatre Bay Area’s Chatterbox blog about whether trade publications should publish “negative” articles about artists and and their work. Here’s the gist of Karen’s commentary:

“The July/August issue of American Theatre hit my mailbox today, and I found an intriguing juxtaposition in its Letters section. I skimmed the page and saw Tony Taccone’s name as one of the letter-writers, and I knew right away he was going to take exception to the feature [San Jose Mercury News critic] Karen D’Souza wrote about [Amy Freed’s play produced at Berkeley Rep] You, Nero, where she basically rehashed negative criticism of the South Coast Rep performance in a feature that in theory was supposed to be about the second production at Berkeley Rep.”

At the invitation of TBA marketing manager Clay Lord, I offered a few initial thoughts on the topic on the comments section of Chatterbox.

The first was this: “I think it’s possible to write for American Theatre without being a cheerleader. I often do it. At the end of the day though, a feature story for any publication — whether it’s an “industry” publication or a general interest newspaper or magazine — is not a review. I think focusing too strongly on the words of other critics (or more directly offering one’s own opinion) in what’s supposed to be a balanced piece about the evolution of a play is not necessarily the fairest or most journalistically interesting way to go.”

I returned to the comments section of Karen McKevitt’s blogpost later and wrote this: “I’d like to add something to what I wrote earlier. In Karen D’Souza’s’s defense: her piece was for the Critics Notebook section of the magazine, which isn’t necessarily supposed to be a section for straight reporting. Although the articles written for this section are often feature-like in style, the magazine wants critical insight into the work/artists in question, so I think there is a bit of leeway for editorializing. That being said, there’s still something odd going on in the case of the You Nero article: Karen didn’t so much give her critical opinion of the SoCal production as give many other critics’ (negative) opinions of the work. Which is maybe the root of the issue here. Criticism is disguised as reporting in the article, which may come across as being disingenuous.”

This morning, I’ve been mulling more deeply over the complex issues at stake and here’s a new thought: Just as actors and directors get cross with critics for making ill-informed assumptions about the production process based on the final product, so TBA and various other members of the theatre community may be guilty of the same thing: Only Karen D’Souza and the editors at American Theatre Magazine know the nature of the assignment. So to label it as a “feature” is to make assumptions about the kind of piece that Karen was commissioned to write that may not be correct. When Karen McKevitt writes “[D’Souza] basically rehashed negative criticism of the South Coast Rep performance in a feature that in theory was supposed to be about the second production at Berkeley Rep,” she’s making all kinds of assumptions about the nature of the assignment. Her take may be wrong. I’ve never personally written a Critics Notebook piece for the magazine, but I’m guessing that the critics who are commissioned to do these pieces are asked to assert their opinions in some way.

This leads to more questions such as a) should American Theatre publish opinion pieces at all? and b) if yes, should the writers be more up-front with their feelings (both negative and positive) rather than disguising them as “impartial” reporting by purloining the (negative) words of other critics?

In answer to part a), I say YES. American Theatre Magazine and other media like it should publish opinion pieces. It is possible to both support an industry and be its gadfly, though that line might be tricky to walk sometimes. Sycophantic writing about the arts in any context is boring and pointless. One of the things I most relish about writing for American Theatre Magazine is that I’m able to paint honest pictures of my interview subjects. I don’t feel like I have to be a cheerleader. So, at least to a degree, the editors are open to broad-minded reporting.

In answer to part b), I say YES too. If the magazine is going to publish a Critics Notebook — which, right or wrong, implies the solicitation of an opinion in its title — the editors should encourage the writers to be honest and take ownership of their criticism rather than try to pass it off as straight reporting. Again, I am not party to the process that went on between Karen D’Souza and the editors at the magazine. So it’s difficult to tell why the article was spun this way. But if the writer had personal doubts about the success of the Berkeley production of Freed’s play, she should have voiced them (or been allowed to voice them) herself rather than couched her disapproval through a bunch of other peoples’ quotes.

At the end of the day, this debate will hopefully cause the magazine to think more carefully about the role it plays within the industry and help theatre makers to reassess their relationship with the magazine. These outcomes can only be good in the long run. Down with cheerleading! Up with in-depth, sparkling, engaged prose!

Visiting the Asian Art Museum‘s Lords of the Samurai exhibition the other day in San Francisco turned out to be marked by an unlikely interest in the finer things of life such as high fashion.

Running till September 20, the exhibition focuses on daimyo — the provincial lords of the warrior class in feudal Japan. The exhibition features more than 160 works from the Hosokawa family collection (the Hosokawa clan was a powerful family of military nobles with a 600-year-old lineage) from the Eisei-Bunko Museum in Tokyo, and from Kumamoto Castle and the Kumamoto Municipal Museum in Kyushu. Objects on view include suits of armor, armaments (including swords and guns), formal attire, calligraphy, paintings, tea wares, lacquerware, masks, and musical instruments.

The most eye-catching items on display are undoubtedly the beautifully preserved and detailed examples of warrior armor. There are also lots of incredibly lethal-looking weapons and important-looking scrolls.

What was more surprising, were the parts of the exhibition dealing with samurai culture. It’s hard to imagine these fierce warriors in their imposing helmets stopping on the warpath to eat picnics out of a set of gorgeous lacquered bento boxes or engaging in perfume-concocting and smelling parties with the aid of delicate little scent jars. But apparently these warriors had exceedingly refined tastes.

This impression extended even to the atmosphere of our visit. When the friend I was with, Alain, walked in to the coat check to leave his bag, the staffer on duty commented on his T-shirt (which had a buddha logo on it.) Then, when we entered one of the galleries, a museum docent told Alain that his hairdo reminded him of how the more modern samurai would wear their hair — Al had some of his long, curly locks trussed up in a ponytail. The early samurai, the docent told us, would have shave their foreheads alongside wearing ponytails.

The Asian Art Museum’s website includes a fascinating page all about little known samurai facts. John Galliano and Vivienne Westwood could clearly learn a thing or two from the Hosokawa clan.

On July 4, as I was standing in a friend’s back garden in San Francisco stuffing my face with hotdogs and burgers and watching trails of sparkly lights fizzle their way across the sky, I heard about an unusual experiment in fake firework art.

A group of creative Welsh sheep farmers who call themselves the “Baaa-Studs”, practice a form of “extreme sheepherding”. Earlier this year, the shepherds took to the hills armed with several flocks of unsuspecting sheep, a truck-load of LEDs and a camera and proceeded to create a gobsmacking light display using all the resources at their command.

A short and hilarious video on YouTube demonstrates how the farmers attached LEDs to the sheeps’ backs. After nightfall, they sent their dogs in to herd the sheep into amazing formations and videotaped their efforts. Against the black hills, the sheep’s movements create the effect of a fireworks display. There are rockets and Catherine Wheels. The sheep even come together at the end to spell “FIN”.

This knocks the usual July 4 fare out of the baaa-park.

Edward Albee’s At Home At the Zoo consists of two one-act plays. The first, “Homelife”, was written in 2004 when Albee was 76 years old. The second, “Zoo Story”, was composed when the author was just 30. Though the two plays complement each other in some ways, I’m not sure they should be produced together. More to the point, I’m not sure if “Homelife” should be produced at all.

San Francisco’s American Conservatory Theater does as fine a job with staging both plays as is conceivable. (In fact, the two Albee plays I’ve experienced at ACT have been among the best work that I’ve seen the company produce in recent years. 2005’s The Goat, Or Who Is Sylvia? was terrific.) Director Rebecca Bayla Taichman creates boldly contrasting moods between the two halves of the show. While almost everything about “Homelife” is careful, measured and internalized — like Robert Brill’s blandly stylish off-white living room set — “Zoo Story”, staged against a toxic green backdrop, bristles with animal energy, heart-on-sleeve passion and danger.

But while “Zoo Story” had me completely engrossed, “Home Life” almost made me go to sleep. I don’t think that the problem lies with Taichman’s production or the quality of Rene Augesen and Anthony Fusco’s acting. The play feels completely staid and stale and I’m not sure if there’s enough in it of interest to resonate in any particularly revealing way with the action in “Zoo Story.”

Albee wrote “Homelife” to “do justice” to the character of Peter. The only character who appears in both plays, Peter is a dead-from-the-neck-down, middle-aged man who sits on a park bench minding his own business until his life is suddenly thrown off-kilter by a talkative and strange young man by the name of Jerry (compellingly played in ACT’s production by a shifty yet lovable Manoel Felciano). Jerry does most of the talking in “Zoo Story” and Peter remains a shadowy, passive character. Albee attempts to readdress the balance between the two characters by helping us to understand Peter’s behavior in “Zoo Story” through showing us the character at home with his wife Ann in “Homelife, which takes place in real-time about an hour before he heads to the park for his fateful meeting with Jerry.

While meeting Peter before he meets Jerry helps us to understand and empathize with the character to a degree, “Homelife”, to my mind, has two enormous flaws. For one thing, unlike the apocalyptic “Zoo Story”, “Homelife” could never work as a standalone play. It’s just too plodding and cliche-ridden. For another, one of the wonderful things about “Zoo Story” is its strangeness. I like the mystery that enshrouds both Peter and Jerry. Why do we need to have Peter’s life explained away?

At Home at the Zoo plays at ACT until July 5.

Until a few days ago, I was one of those people who turned their nose up at the social networking site, Facebook. With three blogs and a website to maintain myself, I was very much against the idea of being tied to my computer even more by upping my “online presence”. And why would anyone in their right mind want periodic updates on my life along the lines of “Chloe is staring at a blank page on her laptop. Only 2,000 words to write before teatime” or “Chloe had soup for lunch”?

I broke down last week however, when I heard that a large number of participants of the Chanticleer Summer School — an amazing (and frankly life changing) choral workshop run by the San Francisco a cappella men’s chorus Chanticleer which I attended last week at Sonoma State University — had their own Facebook page. Suddenly I saw a good reason to succumb to the lure of the beast. Upon the prodding of two of Chanticleer’s singers (Eric Alatorre and Brian Hinman, I will hold you both accountable forever!) I signed up for an account on Friday afternoon and prepared to be unimpressed.

The site is of course a big time-waster. But in terms of being able to stay connected with singers from all over the country, I think Facebook might become invaluable.

For one thing, I’ve been enjoying reliving the workshop experience by checking out photos people took during the week and hearing about their various singing endeavors upon return from Sonoma. Here’s an example by fellow workshopper and music teacher Paulo Faustini who lives on the East Coast: “Vocalized the sopranos to a high F at 8:30 AM and then worked with the small group singing Hassler’s Dixit Maria, and is now taking a break before a masterclass at 1 PM, and then more lessons later in the afternoon and an evening rehearsal. Wine may be needed at the end of the day!”

For another, Facebook might actually end up being a great business communications tool for me as I develop my vocal music radio show, VoiceBox, and various other journalistic and musical endeavors. For instance, the day after I returned from the workshop, I wrote a blog post about Chanticleer music director Joe Jennings’ farewell concert. I was able to paste the link to the post on my Facebook page, which made it much more accessible to the people who were either at the concert and/or care most about it, but don’t necessarily follow my blog on ArtsJournal. Readers, in turn, were easily able to comment on the blog post. A few wrote to say they’d signed up for the RSS feed to receive my blog regularly through ArtsJournal.

And when VoiceBox starts up again in the fall, I’ll be able to alert a hopefully captive audience of singing buffs about the series and engage them as listeners.

The simple moral of the story: Sometimes it’s good to get suckered into something. I’ve been slow on the uptake. But Facebook (or F$*!book as I’ve affectionately come to call the site) really does seem to hold promise as a cultural resource.

Marty Ronish, the co-creator of the excellent classical music radio blog, Scanning the Dial, asked me to contribute some thoughts about what it’s like to be a rookie radio host. I recently launched my first radio series, VoiceBox, through NPR-affiliate KALW 91.7 FM San Francisco.

Reading over my responses to the questions Marty asked makes me feel like a Muppet. Did I really equate hosting a classical music radio show with good sex? The mind boggles.

In any case, click on this link to read my thoughts.

And on a completely unrelated subject, check out San Francisco Chronicle Theatre Critic Robert Hurwitt’s very informative piece about the history of the San Francisco Mime Troupe which turns 50 this year.