TWELVE ANGRY MEN
Adapted by Sherman Sergel. Based on the Emmy award-winning television movie by Reginald Rose. Produced by special arrangement with The Dramatic Publishing Company of Woodstock, Ill. 
An ACT-OUT Master Class

Review by Bob Greene

The golden age of television brought us classic dramas from anthology programs like Playhouse 90 and Studio One. The latter featured works by teleplay writer Reginald Rose. While he was somewhat prolific in this time period, today he is known almost solely for one great work: Twelve Angry Men. The jury room drama that appeared on television, film, and stage. The most recent live outing came thanks to John Stillwaggon’s Act-Out acting program. Prof. Stillwaggon used this ensemble drama as sort of a final exam for his class of adult artists, some continuing their theatrical education, other embarking on one. It was impressive to not be able to – at a glance – see who were the veteran performers and who were the novices.

The play’s plot is simple. A young man of some ethnic persuasion (most productions keep this fact ambiguous, not here as this production was modernized, the ethnicity was topical as well) is on trial for the murder of his father. While we are handed facts that are meant to lead us – and the jury – to believe that this boy is guilty beyond a doubt, one lone juror, wants to re-examine the facts. What results is an hour of taught, engrossing drama that shows none of its 57 years of age.

Twelve Angry Men worked well for Stillwaggon’s class as it is meant to be a group of a dozen strangers, so a class of varied types fit right in: Raja RG was solid as the foreman and held the narrative well in a no-nonsense manner, while Joyce Adams provided levity by being consistently confused. Ms. Adams light interpretation made her truly likable. William Doyle was excellent as the famed belligerent juror with an ax to grind. Here we found a totally fleshed out character straight down to his spot-on costume choice. We believed his ardor came from ignorance so we never truly hate him. Olga Privman gave us a professional woman character that was most refreshing. It put the play squarely in the present and her powerful presence moved the action well. The same can be said for Andy Guzman’s ethnic juror who will not forget where he came from. Guzman and fellow juror Andrew Marcillo contributed a genuine toughness that could easily have been lost among some of the more outspoken characters but both men delivered strong sensitive portrayals that enhanced the action. Robert Aloi and Mohammad Saad were true standouts as the blow hard, ignorant juror and the new American, proud to be as such. Aloi’s clumsy swagger and over-the-top delivery was the stuff of great drama and when it was combined with Saad’s focused piercing delivery, peppered with an accent that made lines about being American that much more poignant, the play was at its peak. Kristen O’Blessin handed us a smarmy advertising middle exec, whose journey from the “obvious” to the real was both humorous and touching. Robert Saunders and John Harrison played two ends of the same coin – one, a sad man hoping to make a difference and the other, a sad man too blind to see the detriment he was making. Saunders’ slow gait and warm voice made us care, while Harrison’s monologue in the latter half of the play about “those people” brought gasps from the audience. The choice to show us who was on trial by mentioning the unmentionable event of 2001 could have destroyed the play but in the hands of Mr. Harrison, it was a wake-up call.

Finally, Christopher Sirota’s performance as the famed “Juror #8,” the lone juror with the almost impossible task of swaying his colleagues, was inspired. Playing him as a meek unimportant, unnoticed little man was very clever. Never loosing this quality, we truly saw – not only his battle with his fellow sequestered colleagues – but the inner battle with himself to stand up for what’s right. Sirota walked the fine line between performability and reality by giving us great command of the stage in a subtle portrayal. Thinking of this piece by today’s standards, he struck a strong chord for the “everyman” everywhere.

Giving his students a bigger obstacle, Stillwaggon staged the piece in the round. He is to be commended for offering his students a bevy of challenges not normally found in an acting program. One might say he is a juror #8 by having abundant faith in his students.

While it must be said that there were lost moments due to volume or diction, sight line issues with the in-the-round setting juxtaposed with audience placement, and questions regarding choice of costume and color, the overall product was a great night in the theater.

One might also ask: did his get 12 students and then pick the play or was he lucky enough to get 12 students for the play?

Act-Out should be praised for providing such a service in a neighborhood setting and Genesis Repertory should receive its own praise for sponsoring such an event.

Bob Greene is a former playwright and retired history professor. Today, he writes for several online services.

BRIDGEBOY
Through March 6

www.theactivetheater.com

Review by Robert Liebowitz

Solid cast–for the most part, a refreshing yes. Stage-worthy play–again, for the most part, yes, provided by a playwright of strong talent. Technical design and execution–not the best, but capable, practical, and well suited for the production at hand. Dramaturg–errr, who? Dramaturg. Hmmmm…what’s that? Well, a general description would be a person skilled in knowing what will and what will not work on stage.The lack of Dramaturgy makes this play well-meaning but mixed.

“The play is the thing, etc…”, and here this tenet of the theater applies. Mr. Keuter has many profound, insightful things he wishes to say, and he knows basically how he wants to say it. The problem is that, at last count, there were three plays performing within one, and one suspects a fourth play broke out after the lights went black and the audience was filing out of the theater. There was simply too many competing, distracting ideas constantly butting into each other, which prevented the play from being a solitary, singular vision of work.

Fortunately for the playwright, the play he set out to write–some silly, inane contrivance concerning two very silly and unlikable 20-somethings–passed and faded from view after about 20 minutes. Thankfully, Mr. Keuter had much more up his sleeve.

The play takes place in some seedy bar near a bridge–(Red Hook, Brooklyn, perhaps? An obvious choice, something the directors left purposely vague, for reasons known only to them). Within minutes we are presented with what appears to be The Cliched Parade of Idiots–Drunk Bartender, Convict Brother, Convict Brother’s left-behind wife, The Girl Left Behind, and The Love Story, with The Gym Rat and The BagLady Greek Chorus thrown into the mix. Yet the play never delved into this tired territory, or into that place called I’ve Seen This Play Before. Well done.

Suddenly and without warning, the children thankfully went to ‘theater sleepland’, and the adults took over. Their stories–filled with harbored passions, monstrous jealousies, cowardice, and of course one Big Lie after another–was compelling listening and viewing throughout the 1 hour 40 minute running time. Marinated over this were wonderful insights into the human condition, with much to laugh at and some to ponder. All of it in natural, everyday conversational tones, with that heightened theatrical reality. A tip of the hat to you, Mr. Keuter.

The cast lived up to their end of the bargain, led by the superb Catherine Curtin as the wistful barfly Candy, and her comrade-in-arm Mary Jo Mecca as the long suffering neglected Lynn. The men were generally as strong, led by James Judy as the loutish but broken hearted and love sick Sal.

To The Active Theater–you have the writing, the acting, the technical…next time, though, one play, one story, told through the eyes of one director. These simple precepts, these basic blocks of theater building, would’ve easily have made ‘Bridgeboy’ a memorable production instead of a capable competent one.

Opera is no doubt a powerful, highly expressive art, but most productions of operas usually disappoint. Why? Simple–every other production element that goes into making a theatrical event is simply ignored; all that is concentrated on is the actual singing. Acting, directing, set design, costumes, make up, lights…these get treated like step-children and, unbeknown to the director, their production suffers as a result. Add the Met’s recent production of Tosca to this list of passable but mediocre endeavors.

Happily, however,  this notion has made a U Turn of sorts, at least for the short while. The Bronx Opera’s production of Donizetti’s Don Pasquale has not only exceeded expectations, but has done the near impossible–taken a minor, insignificant work, and converted it into a captivating, entertaining, successful evening. Sometimes taking a small step, sometimes a great leap, this version surprises at every turn.

Donzinetti composed this near the end of his life, taking all of two weeks; sometimes it feels as if he were double parked while writing. The music is unmemorable and as dull as dishwater; the plot is a tiresome, grade-school cliched collage of trickery that dozens of composers have done better. The hidden gem, however, is the libretto, sung in English, and still sparkling 160 years after its inception. A tip of the hat goes to Director Royston Coppenger for simply having the good insight or fortune of casting correctly, which in turn brought this gem into a vital, glistening light.

It is highlighted by the brilliant, wise-cracking, scheming-but-with-a-good-heart Ms. Nicole Lee Aiossa. She portrays the sexy, wistful Norina with uncommon wit and charm, and is worth the price of admission by herself. She is helped by the able Jack Anderson White, who portrays the title role quite effectively.

The company is also to be commended for its non-traditional casting of Robert Arthur Hughes in the role of Ernesto, Don Pasquale’s nephew. Mr. Hughes need a bit more seasoning as far as his acting goes, yet his voice– in his arias but in particular in his duets with his love interest Norina–provides a haunting contrast, and made for several memorable stretches of true dramatic story telling.

As mentioned, some of the other elements of dramatic story telling fall by the wayside in a sea of neglect. If an actor is waiting for a cue for their entrance, they must not be seen in the wings actually waiting. If one receives a letter from a servant, it must be in an envelope; if it is not, it changes the plot of the play. If one is packing clothing in a pair of suitcases, it must appear that there is at least something in these cases besides air. If a significant part of the Act II plot hinges on an actual slap, from husband to wife, then an actual slap–fingers to cheek–must occur. When you are successful, the willing suspension of disbelief enjoyed by the audience will go a long way…but then is momentarily destroyed when these inexcusable missteps occur. The costumes are from the Edwardian England Era, which would be quite an accomplishment, since the opera takes place in Italy, and the Era was nearly 70 years away, safely ensconced in the following century. A program note of time and place is required.

No matter. The Bronx Opera on the beautiful Lehman Campus hosted an enjoyable night at the opera!

Every season, The Bronx Opera dares to be different and present a rare or unique opera to start its year. This time, they present one that is rare AND unique. Die Drei Pintos, a piece created by Carl Weber, was incomplete at time of his passing. It was parceled from composer to composer until – 65 years later – it was brought to fruition by Gustav Mahler. What is finally there is an engaging, joyous work brought to appreciative audiences in The Bronx and Manhattan. The plot focuses on privileged student Don Gaston deciding to have a little fun with immensely MORE privileged squire Don Pinto by stealing his papers and attempting to woo his rich fiancée, Clarissa – call it 17^th century identity theft. He drags girlfriend Inez and long-suffering servant Ambrosio along for the ride. He thought it would be easy as Clarissa’s father, Don Pantaleone, never met the man to become his daughter’s husband, until he encounters a stumbling block in her secret boyfriend Don Gomez – who Pantaleone also never met. Get the picture?

Eapen Leubner as Gaston has a marvelous voice and excellent stage presence. He played the adventurous young man like a matinee idol complete with self-absorption and ultra-brite smile. He was a great foil to Kirk Dougherty’s Gomez who – macho in voice and presence – found all the fun in the role. Jeremy Moore achieves perfection as the droll servant Ambrosio with a top notch voice peppered with great falsetto and well-timed double-takes. Moore was a standout. Hannah Rosenbaum was lovely as Inez, playing the innkeepers daughter with a wink towards Carmen. Catherine Meyers and Patrice Eaton were simply superb as the befuddled bride-to-be and her savvy servant. Both were in great voice and both handled Ben Spierman’s witty topical translation to perfection. Kudos to Brace Negron, who played the pompous Pantaleone with great command, and special nods to Jonathan Harris as the snarky innkeeper and Michael Sarnoff-Wood as the sycophantic servant to the lord of the manor.

And then there was the titular Pinto. An orchestra unto himself, Michael O’Hearn’s interpretation of the foppish Pinto in question was truly uproarious. Clothed straight out of Moliere, O’Hearn’s deep tones and larger than life presence was a guilty pleasure from beginning to hilarious end. His delivery of such simple lines as “I shall marry … a woman” brought peals of laughter from the house. A touch of a snore was enough to make an hilarious drunken bit end perfectly. One can imagine O’Hearn as a Falstaff with ease.

Ben Spierman’s deft pairing of classical style staging with a witty and even slightly sarcastic translation make a visit to The Bronx Opera enjoyable for all tastes. Meganne George’s sunny day in Spain set was gorgeous and made for a fine canvas to Joshua Rose’s expert lighting plan. Meg Zeder’s costume design – like Spierman’s juxtaposition of past and present – gave a hint of time period and a helping of social status for each character with Gaston looking like a (non-Tramp) Charlie Chaplin, Ambrosio straight out of Dickens and Pinto – as a parable to him being behind the times – in full classical wig and cloak.

The orchestra sounded lovely under the baton of Michael Spierman (Eric Kramer – who penned the bright and breezy overture of the opera – conducted the opening). And a top-notch chorus was wrangled well by Michael Hagler.

If you were to Google current productions of Boheme or Traviata, you would undoubtedly get scores of hits – pardon the pun. Goggling rare works like this will supply a lot less – and that shows the real bravery and dedication of The Bronx Opera. They are on to the more intimate and recognizable Don Pasquale in May in its native Bronx and out to Long Island. With quality an expectation from this sincere company, I am sure it will be worth the trip to The Bronx – and beyond.

Reviewed by Christian Graysen

Unless you’ve been living in outer space for the last few years, you know that every industry that had a “boom” is now going “bust.” For further evidence, there’s Genesis Repertory’s production of The Check Is In The Mail for the 13th Annual Fringe Festival. This high-speed one-act gives us an eye-in-keyhole view of the travails of a once flourishing business, now suffering due to one stupid move.

Playwright Robert Liebowitz once again hands us a well-written play spoken by the people for the people. Two Fringes ago, he put family matters in The Twilight Zone with the ghost story, The Wisdom That Men Seek. In this case, Check is the story of two partners in a prosperous printing firm (Allen Lewis Rickman and Jay Michaels) who made their first million in the days when business was run on cocktail lunches, a working knowledge of Yiddish and ribald humor, and a healthy dose of misogyny. The aforementioned stupid move was from founder, Leon Lipkin (Rickman), shortchanging star salesperson Janet Kupper (Cynthia Granville). Kupper instantly quits and sends the company into a tailspin with no way out … except one.

The cast is a group of seasoned pros and fresh faces: Allen Lewis Rickman and Jay Michaels as partners Leon Lipkin and Jerry Case, respectively, are enthralling. At once Bialystock & Bloom, then Felix & Oscar, Laurel & Hardy, Jekyll & Hyde, then Hyde & Hyde, the two banter almost non-stop for 70 minutes with humorous kibitzing giving way to dark accusations and devastating plot twists with Michaels excellently carrying the lion’s share of maneuvering the plot through all its sharp turns. Cynthia Granville deftly plays salesperson Janet with a world-weary air while maintaining a vulnerability needed to carry the subplot involving her relationship to Leon. Completing the quorum is Francis Callahan as Tommy, the lawyer for the unlawful. Callahan imbues Tommy with a savage persona then covers it with a lilting tenor tone. A perfect wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Populating the office was a bevy of supporting players whose countenance served as commentary for the action. Theresa Chow as Jerry’s officious assistant played the admin-afraid-of-losing-her-job with grace; Domenick Petito, stone-faced and imposing, as Cavanaugh’s right arm; and Kristin O’Blessin, the light comedy of this dark comedy as Helen, the befuddled office manager. O’Blessin’s presence turned her scenes with the two partners into a vaudeville routine prompting high-pitched screams from Rickman and old-fashioned double-takes from Michaels. O’Blessin then joined the dance trio for top-notch routines. That is not a typo, there are dance routines.

The play by itself is lively and engrossing but in the hands of director Mary Elizabeth MiCari (that’s right a female director for a play about chauvinistic white men) it is turned into an inspired piece of theatre. Injecting modern music, eerie lighting, and surreal dance breaks that seemed to both sum up and foretell, MiCari turned a naturalistic play into an ancient parable of hubris. Three dancers (O’Blessin, veteran dancer/choreographer Joyce A. Adams, and the fleet-footed Stefanie Smith, memorable as Leon’s less-than-perfect date) tapped, swayed, clogged, and marched to the beat of tunes played under foreboding newscasts of world affairs spoken by actual announcers from WPLJ. The company prides itself on finding ancient markings within all art and MiCari (the company’s new artistic director) outdid herself. The dancers were pagan priestesses, Greek chorines, or Macbethian witches, take your choice.

Technically, the show proved that less is more. Two desks made different by a soup of character driven props were all that was provided. While you might have wanted Leon to have an old woody desk and Jerry some modern piece of glass; the old monitor and chatkies on Leon’s desk told his tale while Jerry’s laptop, prescription pill buffet and stone statue summarized him. Likewise were the costumes. Jerry’s pinstripes battled the rumpled brown of Leon, with Janet in basic black and Tommy, a Clarence Darrow knockoff. Genesis’s crew – Shauna K. Smart from Hunter and Andrew Liebowitz from Brooklyn College (from the company internship program) – led by stage manager Robyn Gabrielle Lee, handled the lighting set-up, precision light and sound cues with ease.

Genesis Repertory is a parable of these changing times in and of itself. Once owners of the Jan Hus Playhouse, the company survived its lean years coupling with colleges and arts programs. Now a decade old, it can take its place as a fixture of the New York independent theatre scene, always presenting worthy works. This fall it begins work in its new 350 theatre in Brooklyn.

The Fringe – ironically – also is a parable. After 13 years, the Fringe is no longer the innovators but the competitor, with Fringes and Fringe-style Fests cropping up from Brooklyn to the Berkshires. But with clients like Genesis remaining loyal to the company store, New York will always have Fringe benefits.

The Check Is In the Mail has one more weekend – August 29 & 30. Go to www.fringenyc.org for details.

The expression “history is written by the winners” can be interpreted for theater productions as “works that are affordable are remembered.” Encores got a hold on countless musicals teetering on the brink of obscurity and gave them life, now the Readers’ Ensemble Company does the same for straight comedies and dramas. This new group dedicates itself to finding and presenting, in de-constructed format, works that are either not done or can’t afford to be done anymore. The latter case fits their second entry in a four-play series – The Madwoman of Chaillot. We’ve all heard of this play, we may have seen it in a university setting, but when was the last time you saw a 24-character play performed on, or directly off, Broadway?

Director J. Michaels gave himself every obstacle in this Jean Giraudoux surreal comedy written as a response to World War II. A staged reading is tricky – daunting when done by two-dozen actors. He added performance elements (a dancing deaf mute, masque work – albeit very simple, and touches of modernization like a Spanish-speaking flower seller and a yuppie stock broker). His gamble paid off as the evening yielded a fine show.

The play opens in cartoon fashion with a President, Baron, Broker, and Prospector (Nick Fondulis, M. Alan Haley, John Stillwaggon, and Michaels himself, respectfully) gleefully chatting about their wealth, how to get more, and the middle and lower classes whom they disdain. Fondulis supplies us with an excellent mixture of mustache twirling villainy while keeping things real enough to make us think of every bank president across the country today, he is complimented by Haley’s confused aesthete of a baron, willing to sell his name to make money. The electricity was turned-up tenfold by Stillwaggon’s high-speed banter and game show host smile as the broker. J. Michaels added to the humor as a humorless old hermit prospector, deadpanning around the three corporate stooges.

They are greeted by the titular character, Countess Aurelia, the Madwoman of Chaillot. The casting choice was spot-on with Sheila Mart. Ms. Mart’s majestic presence in a tiny frame epitomized the character. Her staccato delivery fooled the audience by alternating between doddering and ingenuous. This allowed us to follow her down her rabbit hole (literally) to the play’s surreal conclusion.

There are also lovers (of course). The innocent, not-from-these-parts, Irma (played by Brianna Carlson-Goodman) and the repentant juvenile Pierre (Jim deProphetis). Carlson-Goodman and deProphetis played off of each other well, sharing innocence and pain, love and loss. Carlson-Goodman’s Act I monologue was a refreshing moment of clarity, while deProphetis’ scenes with Aurelia were charming and engrossing.

The financial wizards are forced to do battle with a cacophony of tradesmen and vagrants including a sassy waitress (played with great vigor by Sara Minisquero), a Latina flower seller (played in Spanish by Jessica Real-Mohr, whose gestures allowed even the most dense to understand her dialog), a lunatic foot doctor (Tracy Lipson doing her best impression of a 3 a.m. infomercial), two wacky policemen (Josh Silverman, hilarious as a new cop on the beat, and John Payne, truly funny and commanding as an old-fashioned beat cop complete with brogue) all led by an urban Ragpicker, played by Lorenzo Valoy. Valoy’s high energy and inventive delivery as the bearer of bad news in Act I and fire and brimstone channeling of all the evil of the world in Act II were high-points of the evening.

Act II brings a group of new characters. A sewer man (played with surreal joy by Robert Saunders) who thinks he’s a stand-up comic; three other madwomen: Constance (Dana A. Iannuzzi), whose choice of puppet dog over invisible dog – how it is normally played – was inspired; Gabrielle (Carla Kelly), an innocent chanteuse with an overactive libido, whose facial expressions and strange noises were a source of great humor, and the commanding Josephine (queenly played by Theresa Chow). Chow manages to make some of the play’s most absurd dialog sound totally logical.

Wide-eyed, tattered, and diminutive, teenager Adele Wendt – a trained ballerina – danced her lines (another inspired touch) as the deaf mute, adding a new dimension to this reading. Her frenetic “conversations” with Irma were a witty diversion and her Act I “ballet” (choreographed by Joyce A. Adams) became the play’s parable – the smallest flower can have the deepest soul.

Producers Dana A. Iannuzzi and Justin Flagg are to be commended for making possible a series that includes a rare George Bernard Shaw one-act (last week’s Press Cuttings), a Russian work made famous by Lon Chaney (next week’s He Who Gets Slapped) and rising star Lynn Nottage’s African-American drama, Intimate Apparel, which closes the festival. The small, warm theater chosen for the presentations might be an indication of an austere budget – a fitting parable as to why certain plays are allowed to vanish.

The festival is at University of the Streets on East 7th Street.

For more details log on to readersensemblecompany.org

Rocco L. Buonpane and his Brooklyn Association for the Performing Arts invited us to return to those thrilling days of yesteryear with an old-fashioned musical extravaganza celebrating the works of the composer who – arguably – returned musical extravaganza to Broadway … Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Like the grand musical revues of almost a century ago, we have a more-than two hour night featuring more-than three dozen singers, dancers, and musicians serenading the large audience with ditties from the composer’s popular (Phantom, Cats, Superstar, Evita, JoeATD), cult favorites (Sunset Blvd, Starlight Express, Aspects of Love) and the rare and not-always-well-received (By Jeeves, Song & Dance, Whistle Down The Wind, The Beautiful Game, Woman in White). Like the revues of the days of vaudeville, you had star-turns, great moments, and missteps.

The star-turns were definitely that. Dustin Cross (the production’s choreographer) was the finest voice on the stage. Whether it was a sharp, comedic tilted-brow number like “Let’s Have Lunch” from Sunset Blvd, full-voiced powerhouses like the title song in Starlight Express, or heart-wrenching ballads like “Close Every Door” from Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Cross displayed ease on stage and vocal strength virtually unmatched. As a dancer, he displayed the same vigor; as a choreographer, he created witty moves for a large group on a small stage. Of equal footing is Buonpane himself, who – with the hand-in-pockets ease of an old thespian – captivated his crowd with showstoppers from Woman in White and Evita. Christopher Lee Short, William Doyle, Rob Bradbury, and George Tsalikis also supplied great range, humor & charisma, and a sense of power. Tsalikis – a theatre/rock crossover artist with a new CD out (see related article in OuterStage) – could have had more to do in this show, as he is a recognizable face and voice. Finally, Celine Rosenthal’s rendition of “Tell Me On Sunday” from the original version of Song & Dance was wonderfully sung, deep and emotional, and totally believable. It was a highpoint of the night. And speaking of dance and highpoints, Elizabeth Brocsious – lead dancer in most numbers – was absolutely brilliant. Her face reflected each song’s mood, her acumen as a dancer was obvious in her looks-easy-but-we-know-how-hard-it-is moves, and the joy that radiated from her was infectious.

The night was filled with memorable moments including solos by Carly Howard, Erica Vasaturo, and Nadine Djoury who stepped out of the ensemble to deliver some fine renditions of rare tunes; Jayme Stevens, whose opening piece framed by the entire chorus was delightful, Nadine Jacques especially potent as Evita in “Buenos Aires,” Dawn Barry’s unique rendition of “Memory” – playing the strength not the emotion – and Charlie Eichler hitting the high notes of Whistle Down the Wind and the closing tune of Joseph…

Missteps were few but definitely there as the inevitable couple of performers chose to spend their stage time running for the center mic, over-singing and upstaging, and pulling out shticks and tricks to prove their charm when simply singing what was given to them would have done the trick.

Down in the pit, musical director Jake Lloyd – the third partner in the triumvirate of arbiters of this production led a tight and expert orchestra (including violinist Daisuke Suzuki, whose contribution created true magic), and made dozens of singers sound like a perfect unit in ensemble pieces and each soloists sound angelic. He also wrote the unique orchestrations for this production. Rumor has it Mr. Lloyd is a composer in his own right. If his mastery with the orchestrations is any indication of his own musical prowess, then one could expect this [Jake] Lloyd to prove competition to that Lloyd [Webber].

The technical aspect of the show needed work. There was a hint of curtains and patterns on an interesting amalgam of stairs and platforms – too much. The stairs themselves were fascinating but the curtains kept obscuring singers when they were under them. The lighting was a series of cross fades and spots – too much. With a ton of people and interchanging moments, a simply wash of light would have been sufficient and saved the problem of actors stepping out of a too-small spot. The costumes were OK … then too much. Everyone was dressed in black and looked like they were attending an artistic party or gathering – pretty cool. However, there were moments when suddenly there would an isolated ensemble member with too much jewelry or a bright color or an interesting accessory that would draw the audience’s attention unfairly. One gent was heard to say “nice dress” to his escort in the audience. Considering the soloist was a man at that point proved that the attention was not correct. The mics were a big issue. Body mics were shared oddly, the volume on the three standing mics was uneven, hand-helds were there, sometimes not. Maybe – next time – just the stairs, a wash of light, the orchestra to the side, and no mics might be the way.

There was indeed one negative to speak of – the lack of plot. As mentioned, a thread-bare plot would be employed for shows like this back in the day. A silly “hey, let’s do a show” or declamatory “and our next number…” motif… anything. Even doing the shows in sections might have helped. Going from song to song might not be a problem if this was Cole Porter, where every song was its own entity or Rodgers & Hammerstein, in which 90% of their material is well-known (OK, maybe not Pipe Dream, State Fair, or Me & Juliet) but when you have a composer with productions that did not run long, ran only in England, or were rewritten by the time it arrived on our shores, you run the risk of confusing your crowd. Again, The audience seemed to forgive the lack of story and settled in for a pleasing concert.

The world is starting to see the light – through the grit – but still seeing it. In fits and starts as well as planned change we are now looking to heel our bodies.

Bodies, here, can be euphemistic many times over.

We have polluted the main body – the earth; we have polluted our government with a war and crippling inflation; we have polluted out minds with Internet imagery; and there is no doubt we have polluted our own bodies. Whether it is through the inertia of slothful inactivity or ingesting harmful chemicals or tortured animals (I’ll have my antibiotic-filled hamburgers super-sized, please), we are hurting ourselves and want to stop.

Enter The Magic Apothecary. Creating a line of hand made products that – through herbal properties and aromatherapy – will help you heel.

Heel can be euphemistic many times over.

The Magic Apothecary is a line of soaps, bath products, oils, incense, candles, and meditations designed to empower you to better living. Named after ancient deities long associated with various strengths and powers, these simple handcrafted items, mixed with your own desire for better health and happiness, assist in your body’s natural desires for everything from courage to calm.

Each bar of soap, each candle, each bag of incense is handmade with real ingredients. Real herbs from bay leaves to chickweed and genuine essential oils including the likes of Rose of Damascus (a rare and expensive item in and of itself) are found in each. Each shower or bath opens your senses to the properties in these herbs; each mediation over a candle or incense fills your soul with the temperament of that particular god or goddess.

Make no mistake, The Apothecary’s weight-loss soap bar or her scented love candle will not magically make you thin and popular; the money soap and High-John the Conqueror candle will not get you the job at HBO, but the herbs in them will help strengthen your natural resolve to pull the god or goddess out of you. Sometimes all we need is that special aroma or texture to make us say, “I deserve it.”

Skeptics abound, even within the very community that supports such ideologies, so I asked a few of her clients (without telling them why). I got these comments:
Bob of Brooklyn said he’d been alone for far-too long. He bought a love kit and now he and his girlfriend are very happy (she just met mother); Mitch from The Bronx remarked on how he was living from paycheck to paycheck. He showered with the money soap until he could see the penny in the center of the bar. A loan came through enabling him to move to a better apartment; and even deeper, is Pat from PA – recently diagnosed with cancer and undergoing chemotherapy – was allergic to most lotions and perfumes, so the burn of her treatment seemed unstoppable. She was able to sooth her chemo-seared skin with The Magic Apothecary’s Moon bar … safely, naturally.

The Magic Apothecary does not have a product that washes away skepticism but at costs below similar chemically made, factory-produced, store-bought items… what’s the harm? And she even supplies certificates of authenticity with her merchandise.

Reprinted by permission of site and author. Originally published July, 2008,

Case in point: The Magic Flute.

The Magic Flute

Friday Cast

By Erica Vasaturo and Fran Bacine

The well-remembered comment made by the Emperor in Amadeus is that Mozart’s work has “too many notes.” If so then it takes masters to make each of these abundant notes flow seamlessly into the other. Such masters can be found at The Bronx Opera, at 41 years and counting – the oldest opera company of its kind in New York. The Mozart in question is one of his most familiar – The Magic Flute.

The plot weaves around Prince Tamino who, through a series of trials, must win the hand of Pamina, the daughter of the Queen of the Night, from Sarastro and the Temple Elders. He is given mystical weaponry including a magic flute bestowed upon him by three of the Queen’s mystical minions. He is also given a comedic sidekick – of course – the bird catcher, Papageno, who joins the adventure in the hopes of getting more food and drink but gets much more than he bargained for … good and bad. The Quixotic pair, both stricken with silence at points, both battle darkness and supernatural forces at other points.

Ben Spierman directed this English language production with a subtle hand. He imbued last years’ Pagliacci & Impresario with a stark “ripped from the headlines” flavor but this production received subtle shades of then and now. His wink-and-nod form of updating with one hand and maintaining tradition with another is done here beautifully. Starting with Tamino, dressed like a 1930s movie serial adventurer in the scope of Indiana Jones or Flash Gordon, somehow lands in this secluded mountain range filled with dragons, mysterious robed worshippers, and a sorceress. Not to mention. Lions and tigers and bears… literally. By keeping all but Tamino in traditional garb, the sense of transporting him to a mystical realm was emphasized. His bits of shtick entwined with traditional staging were also refreshing. Musically, Michael Spierman was the true sorcerer, commanding a huge cast and orchestra (literally spilling out over the sides of the orchestra pit) through a sea of stunning orchestral accompaniment.

An excellent principle cast was led by Neal Harrelson as Prince Tamino. His sweet sound, towering presence, and mane of blonde hair made him the ideal adventurer – and of perfect contract to Jason Plourde’s channeling of the late Dom Deluise with a litany of facial expressions, double takes, and food sight gags as the lonely yet luxuriate bird catcher, Papageno. His own terrific tones made for a great pairing.

He was not the only humor injected into the opera. Helen Lyons, Leslie Swanson and Shirin Eskandani play the Queen’s mysterious envoys in perfect harmony and as three lusty maidens wanting Prince Tamino for their own. Noteworthy also is Laura Shofner as Papagena, the comic relief’s comic lover.

Ushering back to the Hollywood “witch” of the 1930s was Astrid Marshall as the Queen of the Night. Draped in black with towering headgear, Ms. Marshall was Agnes Moorehead with dashes of Margaret Hamilton. Her famed aria of the second act was well worth the wait. And to counter this dark force is her daughter, Princess Pamina, angelically sung by Alfonsina Molinari.

Two standouts within the production came from the supporting cast: Jorge Ocasio as Sarastro, High Priest of the Temple has easily one of the most powerful presences on that stage and his deep rich bass-baritone voice only secured that image. The Temple Priests had a very difficult job – here is where too many notes come in. There are long orchestral sections upon their entrances and filling the stage was the first order. Ocasio was able to do this with ease. Each stride or turn was energizing. The second is Leslie Tay as the manic Monostatos. Filled with nervous energy, Tay brought a sense of urgency to his role making him that much more captivating. Even standing behind the action looking on, he was a story unto himself.

Maintaining a classical venire is a double-edged sword. While the declamatory style one might expect to see in classical staging allows the artists to sing above the orchestra and project better into the house (purists that they are, The Bronx Opera does not employ microphones) not to mention creating some absolutely stunning stage pictures, it also drains some of the urgency from this mature fairy tale plot. The exuberant audience certainly didn’t seem to mind though.

The lighting by Jim Elliot was lovely. Subtle changes in color and area created a panoramic sense with an oil painting finish. Meganne George’s set design – simplistic use of moving fabrics and window panels depicting everything from the mountains to the dungeons – was well used in conjunction with Mr. Elliot’s lights. While Meg Zeder is to be commended for inspired color schemes and establishing a sense of time period, each temple elder seemed to be in a different pair of shoes and stockings. Sadly, the maidens’ chorus suffered from the same footwear issue but their costumes seemed to cover it better. The men’s chorus again suffered the double edge sword of performing in period. While they look compelling in the flowing robes, a certain posture must be displayed or the costume wears the actor.

The Spierman family and The Bronx Opera fight the good fight. Like Prince Tamino they must battle dragons and darkness with nothing more than beautiful music. The Bronx Opera’s dragons are a wretched economy and its darkness is the stereotype for which the Bronx has weathered for far too long. Yet through it all, they present top-notch work at magically low prices.

Here’s hoping nothing silences their voice.

The Magic Flute

Saturday Cast

By Robert Greene

At first glance, this opera seems very much the fairy tale. Dragons, bird-catchers, and secret societies battling sorceresses… but looking deeper you have an ancient tale harkening from ancient societal rituals. One might look upon this as an Iron John-style manhood trial amid pagan practices and beliefs.

We begin with Prince Tamino (Eapen Leubner), trapped in a mysterious mountain range occupied by ancients of all kinds – a Queen of the Night (Heather Hill) battling a secret fraternal order (and by now we all know which one Mozart was alluding to). The dashing Lindbergh lookalike, Tamino, is joined by a towering troubadour named Papageno (Jeremy Moore) whose love of wine, women, and song places him at Tamino’s side and in the face of danger. Needless to say, there is a damsel in distress (Katherine Wessinger), a great wizard-like leader of the fraternal order (Michael O’Hearn), three supernatural handmaids (Elizabeth Perryman, Paula Jean Rocheleau, Paula Roediger) the lusty henchman (Kennan Vasudevan) and a gaggle of spirits (The Bronx Highbridge Voices chorus).

Eapen Leubner and Katherine Wessinger as the Tamino and Princess Pamina were simply lovely together and powerful individually, displaying great stage presence and vocal strength; Heather Hill made the Queen of the Night a formidable figure with a genuine sense of realism within her otherworldly role. Adeptly avoiding stereotype or overdoing it as the role can suggest, she brought urgency and reality to her delivery. Progressive thinking in opera for sure. Michael O’Hearn was truly magnificent as Sarastro, leader of the order. His expansive frame was only dwarfed by a presence worthy of grand venues. And his deep basso tones were perfectly placed. But the real fun was Jeremy Moore as Papageno. Combining leading man looks with genuine comic timing and a superior voice made him worth the ride alone. His early exchanges with his lady love, Papagena (played with flair by Andrea Leyton-Mange) were like old English musical hall humor. And for the cuteness factor, the gifted children of Highbridge Voices appearing as sprites along with a herd of dancing animals did not disappoint.

It is the wise company that knows when simplicity and implication are the ways of design and The Bronx Opera is a wise company. Meganne George series of drapes and stained glass panels allowed us to believe we were on mountains or in temples or beneath castles. There was just enough to hold the hand of our imagination. Gentle hues amid romantic shadows, gothic midnight, lighting flashes, and even mystical auras were all brought to us by Jim Elliot. Meg Zeder’s beautiful color scheme and use of ancient versus present made for opulent costumes. This long piece moved briskly thanks to director Benjamin Spierman and assistant Nicole Lee Aiossa. Michael Spierman, the company’s founder and guiding force conducted the production including a larger than expected orchestra and full chorus to great success.

Many remain unaware of the great work of The Bronx Opera due to its off-the-path location(s). I was dragged to my first production last year by their ardent press rep. Now I am a fan. Not just because of what I see as consistency of professional standard but to revel in seeing promising young artists take an ancient form of art and carry it into this new century.

Today, we laud the large ensembles when they update and translate.

Well, uptown, The Bronx Opera’s been doing it for 40 years.

Nestled in tree-lined suburban façade of Brooklyn’s Bay Ridge area lives a beautiful summer-stock style theatre in Christ Church. Within the picturesque wooden sloped ceiling and Tudor style frame, The Brooklyn Association of the Performing Arts and The Brooklyn Theatre Arts Project, Inc. presented a truly top-notch production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Jesus Christ Superstar.

Lloyd-Webber has become known for style-above-substance-works, but this is from a time when he was daring. Putting hope before hype, he created a quartet of masterpieces (Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Evita, and Chess make the other three). Here he juxtaposed politics and the pulpit to create a truly enthralling work.

VERY simply, this rock musical – written in a time of upheaval in our own country – tunes in (pardon the pun) on a charismatic enlightened soul whose great good deed of bringing about change and spiritual growth create socio-political upheaval. Presenting this parable in its purest, the charismatic soul is Christ and the play is his last days.

Director Anthony Augello took an inspired path and depicted Jesus and Mary [Magdalene] as sort-of John Lennon and Yoko Ono figures, creating immense spiritual growth while enraging the “system” with their beliefs on world affairs. This is taken even further with an unapproving Judas dressed in a Sgt. Pepper-style jacket.

In the title role, rock performer and local celebrity George Tsalikis was commanding and vocally stunning. His obvious understanding of rock music made his work on the stage that much more authentic and enjoyable. His soft stature yet booming musical control perfectly communicated the depth of whom he was portraying. As his love interest – yes, love interest; Momo Kajiwara was gentle and grounded, presenting a confidence not often associated with the role. Kajiwara’s voice was lovely and hypnotic. Together they created “a power couple.” Director Augello placed them into a physical relationship complete with on-stage kisses and off-stage inferences. This infuriated Judas and undoubtedly many others – on stage and in the audience.

Dimitri Minucci as Judas was electrifying. It took him a scene or so to get his energy going but once there he was brilliant. In a wild beard and shaven head, looking like the lead singer in a wild rock concert, Minucci’s high-powered star-turn was the perfect foil to Tsalikis’ clean-shaven, boyish Christ.

The supporting players found the truth in their roles: the Temple Priests were all privileged men of means whose posture and power were evident. Leading the pack of politicians was Joseph Autuoro as Caiaphas. His strong demeanor and great stage presence depicted to us perfectly who these decision-makers were and why. The apostles were all sound actors presenting these holy men as simple guys innocent of all around them. This allowed their unwitting betrayals to be that much more heartbreaking. Two standouts were Dustin Cross as Thomas, whose angelic voice was a highpoint of the dark second act and Miguel Sierra adding just a little extra thought to his characterizations. Musical director Jake Lloyd and his full band (yup, full band) should be praised for shepherding the well-sung chorus through difficult harmonies. And Sherri Norige’s high stepping choreography was a delight.

The true standout of the supporting players was Rocco Buonpane as Pilate. A good production of Superstar understands that it is Pilate that sets world affairs in motion so a strong Pilate is a necessity. Rocco’s powerful voice cut through the hot summer air and his truly phenomenal stage presence gave Pilate the necessary thunder. It would be easy to smirk at Buonpane for his Wellesian hubris in taking a plum role as well as serving as executive producer, but after watching his work on stage and noticing the sold out crowd – some coming from Manhattan – it was obvious his head fits both hats.

The production sported a terrific set complete with lighted cross and stairs built into walls creating an Escher/Dali effect. The lighting was extremely well used giving color and isolation to all the right moments. Both were guided by director Augello, showing solid vision technically.

The production suffered only two sins. The production scheme of 60/70s turbulence could have gone even farther. When it was there it was excellent and truly inspired: the Hugh Heffner robe on Pilate; the faceless tribunal straight out of The Prisoner TV series; and the Ziggy Stardust hell for Judas were all quite brilliant but the same should have been done for Simon – played with gusto and a killer voice by Noah Brendemuehl – and maybe something different for the Pharisees. In black hats and prayer-style shawls (staying in those costumes and performing the final execution), this could be interpreted as a nod to Mel Gibson’s religious ideologies more than world changing 60/70s. The use of medallions on each cast member to explain character – again – was compelling and interesting – but some of the symbols may have created more confusion than description. Their use in the finale was really extraordinary and had the audience known what each symbol meant its impact would have been definitive.

The other problem was the intolerable heat in the theatre. The old structure – while gorgeous – did not allow for air conditioning, so the building was immeasurably hot for the audience and undoubtedly unbearable for the actors who needed to layer their lovely costumes, painstakingly built by Angela Campione, for quick changes. Sometimes emotional transitions were unclear or too fast most likely due to the distracting heat. Somebody please buy this great theatre an air-conditioner!!

Summer weather aside, the evening’s event was enthralling and enjoyable. Theatergoers laud regional settings like Shakespeare & Company or The Paper Mill Playhouse, but if you wish to have a truly enjoyable theatre experience in a regional theatre setting, just board the R train to Brooklyn and walk a brief three blocks toward the water. Look for the full parking lot and long ticket lines.

J. Michaels – known for his work as a stage director – runs the New York outlet of Wright Group Marketing & Communications; is director of public relations for The Bronx Opera, and is an experienced speech writer and marketing executive for several international philanthropies. He is a former professor of speech, media, and theatre and began his writing career in 1990 as a caption writer for The Daily News.