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Jakob Cansler

At Woolly Mammoth, a play about the war in Ukraine ⁠— and so much more

Posted on October 3, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in the DC Line here.

Eleven years ago, celebrated Ukrainian playwright Sasha Denisova won Russia’s highest theater prize. That play was one of 25 she has produced in Moscow.

Today, though, none of her plays are performed there, or anywhere in Russia for that matter. 

Denisova fled Moscow for Poland shortly after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022; since then, she has focused her work on the war, having written and staged four new plays. The world premiere of one of them, My Mama and the Full-Scale Invasion, runs through Oct. 8 at Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company in a co-production with Philadelphia’s Wilma Theater, where the show will be produced early next year.

Denisova specializes in political theater that combines documentary with fantasy, and My Mama certainly fits that bill, with the script inspired by ⁠— and, in some sections, taken verbatim from ⁠— conversations the playwright had with her mother, Olga. 

At 82, Olga decided to stay in Kyiv, where she has lived her whole life, amid Russia’s onslaught on Ukraine, including her city. That puts Olga on the frontlines of the war, both literally and in Denisova’s imagination.

At one point in the play, Olga tells her daughter that Russian soldiers are making their way to the “decision-maker.” 

“Apparently my mama regards herself as the decision-maker,” Sasha, played by Suli Holum in the show, says in response. In the increasingly fantastical scenarios that follow, Olga strategizes with Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, flies a fighter jet and converses with other world leaders. 

The play “is a combination of a document and of a fantastic world,” Yury Urnov, the show’s director, said in an interview. “So the biggest ⁠— in a good way ⁠— challenge was how to give space to both of these, ⁠⁠the real reality and fantastic reality on stage and how they can coexist.”

The two extremes also make for a play that is tonally complex, as over-the-top comedic sequences segue into moments depicting the harsh realities of war. In one section, a lighthearted moment of song and dance is cut off by a nighttime air raid.

Denisova, Urnov and the rest of the creative team had to find a way to strike the right balance among all of these different elements. The result is a production that features a rotating set piece, a soundtrack that ranges from classical music to disco, approximately 100 custom-made projections, actor Lindsay Smiling playing a dozen characters, and deepfakes of the leaders of France and Germany.

Fitting all of that into a 90-minute play, and to make it cohesive, is challenging enough, but My Mama also had to be translated from Denisova’s native Russian.

“We had like a group of five people⁠ — bilingual and American⁠, and Sasha, certainly ⁠— in presence who were pretty much going line by line through this play and and trying to make it work in English,” Urnov said. “It’s not just about the words, it’s about the contexts. It’s about the associations that resonate with English-speaking audiences.”

For the creative team, the drive to overcome these challenges wasn’t just an artistic responsibility. A play like this comes with political and social responsibilities, too, which raises the stakes. 

More than a year and a half after Russia invaded Ukraine, during which time U.S. news coverage of the war has waned, My Mama serves as an explicit reminder of the toll Russia’s invasion has taken on Ukrainians. For Urnov, who was born and raised in Russia, the responsibility also feels personal.

“We are at a place where Putin’s regime is doing everything to normalize [the war]. There is a danger in the normalization of that,” he said. “We’re opening in DC. I think that’s the place where it needs to open. I hope people who can⁠ — who are politicians and the people who affect politicians’ decisions — will come and see it.”

And yet, to say that My Mama is simply a play about the war in Ukraine would be a mischaracterization. Much of it focuses on Olga’s life and her relationship with her daughter. Their dynamic is complicated, sometimes even antagonistic — and it shifts amid the war and after Olga decides to stay in Kyiv.

“At the heart of the play, really, is a mother’s love — not only for her child, but for her country,” said actor Holly Twyford, who plays Olga. “And she says I’m not going anywhere. And don’t you dare come here. And that is very powerful. I think it’s very powerful.”

After all, what most American media covers of the war is strategic, logistical or political⁠ — offensives and counteroffensives, bombing reports, document leaks, summits, aid deals. What is lost in that kind of reporting is the story of what it’s like for the Ukrainians on the ground, which is exactly what My Mama conveys.

As Twyford describes it, the play has both a “micro human element and very macro human element,” telling the story of Ukraine and the war through one woman’s thoughts and experiences. 

“It will absolutely make you laugh, but it also won’t make you forget the reality of the situation. And I think that’s, I don’t know, that’s kind of the definition of hope, isn’t it?”

At a new Picasso-inspired exhibit, an interesting conversation that’s missing context

Posted on August 22, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in the DC Line here.

Tucked away in a small room on the third floor of the Art Museum of the Americas (AMA) is a series of works that all seem to be in dialogue with one another. Their media, style and color vary, but among them is a clue to their conversational starting point: a singular painting by Pablo Picasso.

The exhibit, titled Year of Picasso: A Dialog With the Americas, is being presented 50 years after Picasso’s death in 1973 and is one of dozens of exhibitions across Europe and North America celebrating the iconic artist. 

Unlike most of the other shows taking place this year, though, the exhibition at the AMA ⁠— a contemporary Latin American and Caribbean art museum that is part of the Organization of American States (OAS)⁠ — is focused almost exclusively on how Picasso and his work influenced artists in the Americas throughout the 20th century.

In 1973, three years before the museum opened, the OAS held a tribute exhibition to Picasso featuring works from all of the organization’s member states. Although much smaller in size and scope, A Dialog With the Americas is inspired by that exhibition.

The featured Picasso work is “L’aubade,” which he created while living in German-occupied Paris. A cubist painting designed to highlight the feeling of imprisonment — and perhaps the slightest feeling of hope — of that time, “L’aubade” is a showcase of the ways in which Picasso influenced other artists⁠ both in style and in his belief that all art is political.

In some of the works in the AMA’s exhibition, those influences are obvious. Colombian artist Alejandro Obregon’s “The Dead Student (The Vigil)” has a composition that seems inspired by “L’aubade,” and features a similar style. Obregon created the work in 1956 as a protest against the police killing of a group of students in Bogotá two years earlier under the authoritarian government of Gen. Gustavo Rojas Pinilla.

“The Last Serenade,” a painting by Argentine artist Emilio Pettoruti, seems to be directly inspired by Picasso’s “The Three Musicians,” while Mexican artist José Luis Cuevas’ “Homage to Picasso: The Real Ladies of Avignon” is a direct response to one of Picasso’s most famous works — “The Young Ladies of Avignon,” which was seminal in the development of cubism. Cuevas’ work approaches a similar tableau but with a more exaggerated, almost grotesque style.

Colombian artist Carlos Caicedo, meanwhile, explores Picasso’s work through photography in his “Imitando a Picasso” by using light to make it seem as if a real man and ox are casting Picasso-esque shadows on the ground. The effect is a marriage of the real world with the mind of Picasso.

Some of the conversations between the featured artists and Picasso do seem, admittedly, more indirect. Cuban painter Amelia Pelaez’s “The Waiting Lady” and Uruguayan artist Carlos Paez Vilaró’s “Rodoviario Saltimbanqui” both clearly draw from cubism and other styles associated with Picasso, but also pull from many other inspirations. Palaez’s painting, for instance, features bright, vivid colors inspired by art in Cuba in the early 20th century.

Perhaps the least obvious connection, despite its name, is Argentine artist Alicia Orlandi’s “Canto-Monumento a Pablo Picasso,” an optical illusion-style work that, interestingly, is placed in a space outside the room, where a visitor likely won’t see it until they leave the exhibition. In that sense, it is the final stop in Picasso’s influence.

That influence, this exhibition makes clear, was not simply in style and composition but also in how artists approach their work, and as a result, how their work reflects the world. In the oeuvre of these Latin American and Caribbean artists, the outsized impact of Picasso can be seen but perhaps not fully understood. 

What A Dialog With the Americas seems to be missing is context. This collection raises — but doesn’t address — interesting questions of how Picasso’s influence reached the Americas and what made the dialogue with his work different in that region than in the rest of the world. How did these artists and their peers view Picasso and his work? How is that reflected in the work?

Inclusion of that context could take what is a small exhibition ⁠— in terms of literal size and thematic scope ⁠— to the next step of truly reflecting on an artist with such an enormous impact, on art and culture writ large, 50 years after his death.

In poetic ‘Oreo Complex’ at Nu Sass, Lillian Brown solos on being Black

Posted on May 30, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Before any words are spoken in The Oreo Complex, the directions are clear. In bold letters, repeated a hundred times on the background of the stage, are three words: FOLLOW THE RULES.

What are the rules? There are a dozen or so of them, appearing in the intro portion of the show. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” is there, as is “Don’t call anyone racist” and “Talk about race, but not too much” and “Hand out lots of treats” and ⁠— I couldn’t remember them all, to be honest. I am, admittedly, not expected to remember them.

Lillian Brown, the writer, director, and sole performer of Oreo Complex, is expected to remember them. She is expected to follow them, too ⁠— all of them, at all times. Doing so is like a never-ending balancing act. In Oreo Complex, now performing at Nu Sass Productions through June 2, Brown expertly reveals the toll that such a balancing act has on her. 

Oreo Complex explores the experience of being Black, both generally and specifically within white institutions, and is inspired by W.E.B. DuBois’ concept of double consciousness. The show is split, essentially, into three parts, with monologues serving as bookends and a dance sequence and rendition of “Lift Every Voice and Sing” in the middle.

Brown begins, after the rules are laid out, with the definition of “oreo,” a derogatory term meant to describe a Black person perceived by others as “acting white.” From there, Brown launches into a stream-of-consciousness monologue that explores various aspects of identity and race in a short amount of time, both by directly speaking about her own experiences and understanding of Blackness and by revealing through her emotions the way that those identities affect her.

“Monologue” may actually not be quite the right word to use here. Sure, the lines flow conversationally, but there is something poetic about the way Brown speaks. The lines come fast and sometimes frantically, but there is a rhythm to the sentences, a mellifluousness that is captivating from the minute Brown defines “oreo.”

To be sure, “oreo” is not a self-description, for Brown or anyone. It is an identity placed on Brown by others. In fact, most of the various identities Brown explores in the first section of Oreo Complex are externally designated. Brown talks frankly about not feeling Black enough for the Black community while simultaneously not being considered Black by white people while simultaneously being defined by her Blackness by white people. It is telling that for much of the first section of Oreo Complex, Brown often uses the royal “you,” like even her own experiences exist outside of her. 

Much like following “the rules,” there is a balancing act to oscillating between all these identities. The frantic, stream-of-consciousness nature of this monologue derives from all the thoughts and emotions that pour out amid trying to reckon all of these identities. Her words are honest, sometimes even blunt, but they are also purposefully scattered, sometimes even contradictory.

When the dance and music come in the middle of Oreo Complex, then, they serve as an interlude of sorts. For the audience, it is a chance to digest. For Brown, it is a chance to collect ⁠— collect her thoughts, her emotions, her wording, her identity.

As a result, the second monologue in Oreo Complex is not the outpouring that the first one is. It is less stream-of-consciousness and more statement-of-purpose. There is still plenty of emotion in Brown’s words and performance, of course, but it is not the emotion that bleeds through the cracks of externally designated identities. This emotion is knowingly deployed from within.

It is also notable that for this second monologue, unlike the first, Brown sits on the floor the entire time. If the first monologue is an expression of the balancing act of being Black within a white institution, it is one that is both transfixing and hard to watch. After all, the captivation of a tightrope walk comes from the fear that at any second, the walker may fall. For Brown and for us, there is fear she may lose everything if she breaks one of the rules.In the end of Oreo Complex, though, Brown does not fall. She does not reach the end of the tightrope. She does not break any of the rules. She simply decides the balancing act is over.

In ‘Open’ at Nu Sass, a magician’s imaginary tricks reveal reality

Posted on May 14, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Theater has long been obsessed with magicians. For an industry in the business of creating compelling work, there is an understandable fascination, perhaps even jealousy, with the power a good magician can hold over an audience, with their ability to create a spectacle that denies ⁠— and allows the audience to escape ⁠— reality.

It is ironic, then, that Open, a one-woman show about a magician, has quite the opposite effect. Now performing at Nu Sass Productions, Open is a heartrending magic show light on escapism and heavy on reality.

The Magician at the center of this show is nameless, and notably not a magician. She is instead a woman desperate to deny reality. To do so, she imagines herself in a magic show, and uses tricks, albeit imaginary ones, to trace her relationship with her girlfriend, Jenny, and to understand how she ended up in the harrowing moment she is in now. Despite her best attempts, her memories flood back, in the form of voiceovers. Her reality, it seems, is impossible to deny, even as her imagination runs wild.

To be clear, that the entire show takes place in the Magician’s head is not a spoiler. She tells us as much within the first few minutes. She also informs us that we, the audience, are imaginary as well, that we exist in her head to make the magic show seem real. She demands applause when she turns an imaginary egg into an imaginary parrot, when she juggles imaginary balls, when she walks an imaginary tightrope. We, the imaginary audience, cheer her on.

That we are informed early on that we are imaginary creates an immediate connection between the audience and performer, since we are essentially in the show with her. With the level of intimacy at Nu Sass ⁠— the company performs in a small, converted art gallery ⁠— that connection is even more intense.

Intimacy also works well for a show like Open, which can be, at times, heavy-handed in its subject matter. In a small space, where it often feels like the Magician is talking directly to you and isn’t afraid to make eye contact, her sincerity is impactful. In a larger space, with less direct connection between the audience and performer, such frank discussion of these themes might not carry the same weight that it carries here.

Allison McAlister’s performance as the Magician is certainly beneficial to that end. She strikes an impressive authenticity when conveying more distressing memories and emotions.

It is actually in the lighter moments of the show that McAllister could stand to be more intense. After all, Open takes place in the imagination and in a moment of desperation, and the frantic energy that often comes along with those qualities is missing here. When the Magician is candid, the desperation is there, but when she is in denial, she often seems too grounded. At times, it feels less like her imagination is running wild and more like her imagination has been carefully plotted.

Creating more variation in energy would also, presumably, speed the show’s pacing. As directed by Dom Ocampo, Open isn’t too long by any means ⁠— the runtime comes in at around only 80 minutes ⁠— but rather it relies too heavily on slow speeds to convey emotional pain. Variation would convey the wide range of emotions associated with a moment like the one the Magician is in, and in turn create a more compelling emotional arc.

Still, at the end of the day, the payoff that comes with following the Magician’s internal conflict through to the end comes through, and when it does, it hits hard. This is the kind of show where there is a gap between the final blackout and the applause because no one wants to be the one to break the tension.

In fact, there’s some irony in that blackout as well. Often, at a magic show, the loudest applause comes when the magician fools the audience, forcing them to, at least for a moment, pretend that the magic is real. In Open, the loudest applause comes when the Magician admits that it is not.

Silver Spring Stage brings ‘Pride and Prejudice’ to authentic life

Posted on May 6, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts, here.

To note that Pride and Prejudice is well-known is perhaps a truism, so obviously accurate that it need not be said. Jane Austen’s 1813 novel is a classic for a reason ⁠— its deceptively simple story has aged well, or maybe even not aged at all. Today, it is so oft-referenced that non-readers will recognize at least the main characters.

Still, obvious as it may be, the fame of Pride and Prejudice is important to remember for a theater company staging an adaptation of it. After all, it means that theater-goers will have an idea of what this show is, an expectation for their theater-going experience.

That can be both a gift and a curse. Expectations create a million different options for bringing a story to life, ranging from staying true to the original source material to straying far away from it. No option is wrong, but all come with their own challenges.

In the case of Silver Spring Stage’s production of Pride and Prejudice, now in performances through May 14, the former option has been chosen. In a production faithful to its source, the community theater company has brought Austen’s classic to life and, for the most part, overcomes the challenges associated with doing so.

It should be noted, too, that this production also overcame several challenges unrelated to the source material. Just two weeks into rehearsal, a global pandemic delayed the show. Three years later, with much of the same cast and crew finally ready to complete the process, unexpected construction at Silver Spring Stage’s home theater forced the company to stage the production at The Writer’s Center in Bethesda, a city that is notably not Silver Spring.

Now, as directed by Madeleine Smith, Austen’s story has finally made it to the stage. At the center of that story is Elizabeth Bennet (Katherine Leiden), the second-eldest of five daughters in the Bennet family. Mrs. Bennet (Andrea Spitz) is desperate, for inheritance purposes, to marry off at least one of her daughters to a wealthy man.

The main prospect for the eldest, Jane (Stephanie Dorius), is Mr. Bingley (Judah Hoobler), a bachelor who has just moved to town with his best friend, Mr. Darcy (Nicholas Temple). Jane and Mr. Bingley immediately like each other. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy immediately hate each other. Everyone around them is immediately intrigued.

This specific adaptation, by Christina Calvit, stays true to all the essential plot points of the original novel and pulls much of the dialogue from Austen’s work. Where Calvit does stray is in how the plot is conveyed. Most importantly, Elizabeth serves as a narrator, speaking directly to the audience to reveal important information and confide her feelings. Townspeople, as well, gossip about the relationships forming and unforming.

Smith, for her part, has made the specific decision to keep this production true to the cultural context of the era ⁠— that is, the Regency era in the early 19th century ⁠— in which the story takes place.

Aesthetically, detailed attention has been given to the scenic design (by Brigid Kelly Burge), hair and makeup designs (Maureen Roult), and costumes ⁠— for which the team of Nathaniel Cavin, Nora Galil, and James Carey created over 50 individual garments. So too do the mannerisms, accents, music, and dancing (choreography by Stefan Sittig) fit the Regency era.

The choice for historical authenticity makes Silver Spring Stage’s Pride and Prejudice as close to a true period piece as is possible for a community theater company. Of course, period pieces come with obstacles ⁠— most notably the linguistic and cultural disconnect that can make a work less engaging for modern audiences.

Those obstacles can be overcome, though, and there are many instances in this production in which they are. Some sections of the script purposefully move the story along quickly, and Smith’s staging emphasizes snappy transitions, sometimes even overlapping scenes. During those sections, the pace keeps the show engaging. Some of the actors ⁠— in particular Leiden as Elizabeth and Spitz as Mrs. Bennet ⁠— are also skilled in delivering old-fashioned dialogue with enough variation to keep it accessible.

There are, however, other parts of this production in which the obstacles of a period piece are not overcome, particularly in the second act. Sections that can’t utilize quick pacing struggle to stay compelling, in particular longer scenes in which the emotional tension gets bogged down in the language. In those cases, more dynamic staging and line delivery could give the tension the boost it needs.

Overall, though, theater-goers expecting a three-dimensionalized version of Austen’s classic novel will not be disappointed by Silver Spring Stage’s production. This is Pride and Prejudice, as it was written in 1813, brought to life.

‘Cassette Shop’ relays voices of asylum seekers at Theatre Prometheus

Posted on May 6, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

There is perhaps nothing with a more transportive effect than music. It has the power to conjure memories long forgotten, to blend the past with the present, to transcend reality. For those seeking asylum ⁠— people who have been forced to leave their old lives, but whose new lives have not officially begun ⁠— that effect can be particularly powerful. It is not only transportive but humanizing.

That effect is central to Theatre Prometheus’ production of The Cassette Shop, a new play devised by Asif Majid and the Storytellers, a group of local asylum seekers. Now in performances at Anacostia Arts Center through May 20, The Cassette Shop is better in concept than in execution, but nevertheless reveals the humanity of people who are so often dehumanized.

The Cassette Shop centers on two asylum seekers, Alé (Shan Khan) and Luciar (Kartika Hanani). Set entirely in Alé’s vintage Cassette Shop in Montana, the two quickly form a connection over their shared experience and love for music. The play follows their present friendship along with their past lives, which are revealed through monologues between scenes, in which they are transported through music into their memories.

Those monologues are taken verbatim from interviews with real people seeking asylum in the DC area. For this production, Theatre Prometheus partnered with AsylumWorks, a nonprofit that helps asylum seekers in the area rebuild their lives here. Majid and dramaturg Sarah Priddy interviewed asylum seekers, after which Majid used the transcripts from those interviews as the basis for this play. As a result, The Cassette Shop serves as both a form of community-building and as a megaphone for people whose stories are often not heard.

Most important, many of the stories featured in The Cassette Shop are not about the process of seeking asylum but instead focus on memories from home countries, defining people by the lives they have lived and are living, rather than by the legal status they are seeking. Majid’s script does an effective job of blending those interviews with the story of Alé and Luciar, communicating the experience of feeling stuck between lives via embodied memories.

As a concept and as words on paper, the potential for The Cassette Shop to be a unique storytelling experience is high. As a performance, Theatre Prometheus’ production, directed by Lauren Patton Villegas, unfortunately never reaches that potential.

Specifically, sluggish pacing holds The Cassette Shop back from communicating the emotional tension and personal conflict that builds throughout the play. One particularly climactic moment toward the end of the play never feels quite like a peak, leaving what could be the most heartrending moment of the play unrealized.

Shan Khan as Alé and Kartika Hanani as Luciar in ‘The Cassette Shop.’ Photo by Barbara Fluegeman.

Conservative staging choices, as well, mean that the performers spend virtually the entire play standing still. That could be an effective choice with highly skilled actors. In this case, though, more dynamic movement ⁠— or even abandonment of realistic movement entirely, during some sections ⁠— could give the performances the boost they need to be compelling.

The Cassette Shop does get a boost from some design choices. Specifically, Nitsan Scharf’s stunning projection design translates the transportive effect of music into a visual format, creating an all-encompassing world for the performers to share memories with the audience. Hailey LaRoe’s evocative lighting design, too, helps to differentiate the realism of the main story from the emotive world of memory.

It is in that emotive world, the moments in which the characters are transported back to their old lives through music, that this production gets the closest to the poignancy it seeks. Those moments also serve as a reminder of what this show could potentially be, and given its political and social weight, I look forward to seeing The Cassette Shop reach that potential in the future.

Classic ‘Anything Goes’ captivates at Catholic University

Posted on April 30, 2023

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

It has been said that Anything Goes lives and dies by its Reno Sweeney.

She is not technically the musical’s main character, nor is her romance the central plotline, but she is its star, the center around which everything else orbits. There is a reason that, over the course of the show’s nearly 90-year history, virtually every review of major productions leads with Reno ⁠— if the actress in that role is worth seeing, the show likely is as well.

Catholic University, then, is lucky to have Emma Mangiacotti in the role for its production of Cole Porter’s 1934 classic, now performing at the Hartke Theater until April 23. At its best, Catholic University’s Anything Goes is captivating, largely because it plays to its strengths, including, yes, its Reno.

Set on the London-bound SS America, Anything Goes is built around a number of romantic, comedic, and romantic-comedic plotlines. At the center of the conflict is Billy Crocker (Ethan Turbyfill), a young Wall Street broker who is supposed to be selling stocks for his boss but instead sneaks onto the ship to follow Hope Harcourt (Brooke Daigle), with whom he fell in love after spending one night together, much to the chagrin of Reno, who loves Billy herself.

Also onboard is Hope’s wealthy English fiancé Lord Evelyn Oakleigh (Patrick Payne), Hope’s mother (Alexis Griess), Public Enemy #13 Moonface Martin (Jimmy Bartlebaugh), and a whole slew of other kookie characters. Chaos, of course, ensues.

If the script seems messy, that’s because it is. No fewer than six people are credited with writing the book ⁠— for the original script: P.G. Woodhouse, Guy Bolton, Howard Lindsay, and Russel Crouse; for the revised script: Timothy Crouse and John Weidman. It wouldn’t be unfair to say that, as funny as it may be, the plot of Anything Goes is largely a vessel for a plethora of Cole Porter classics.

The glue holding it all together, of course, is Reno. On a ship full of zany characters, she is seemingly the only one that is normal ⁠— a calm, cool, and confident presence. In order for Anything Goes to work on an artistic level, Reno needs to have an almost inhuman level of effortless charm and swagger, captivating the audience’s attention anytime she is onstage.

That assignment, it appears, has been understood by Mangiacotti. As Reno, she embodies a level of coolness that is magnetic, helped along by a set of chic period pieces (costume design by Ashlynne Ludwig) that make the other character’s garb seem drab.

Mangiacotti also has the singing and dancing chops to carry many of the musical’s best songs, which is good news, considering that of the six or so famous numbers in Anything Goes, Reno leads five.

The show-stopping title track is indeed show-stopping ⁠— especially in front of J.D. Madsen’s simplistic yet striking set ⁠— as is the crowd-pleasing “Blow, Gabriel, Blow,” both featuring impressive, if indebted heavily to the show’s 2011 Broadway revival, choreography by Kimberly Schafer. For both, an orchestra that somehow features only seven musicians brings a pack of energy.

“Friendship,” a number much more comedic than enthralling, also stood out, largely because of Bartlebaugh’s performance as Moonface. Both in that number and throughout the rest of the show, he displayed a particular knack for comedic timing and physical comedy. His partner in crime, Carolyn Tachoir as Erma, has the same skill, even as that character doesn’t get nearly the same spotlight.

Still, Bartlebaugh and Tachoir’s ability to toe the line between caricature and character also stood out because some other actors struggled to do the same. Some went overboard with comedy, making the jokes too obvious, while others didn’t quite go far enough, leaving potentially hilarious lines untapped of their energy. (It certainly didn’t help that microphone issues meant that the sound of breathing distracted from the dialogue in many scenes.)

Luckily, though, Director Jay D. Brock seems to know how to play the cards he’s dealt, and in the case of this production brings the cast’s strengths to the forefront. In this case, that would be the musical performances, especially by Mangiacotti and Turbyfill’s Billy, and the aforementioned comedy duo of Bartlebaugh and Tachoir.

That’s a smart move on Brock’s part and is particularly fitting for a musical like this one, which is, at its best, spellbinding enough for its weaknesses to become forgettable. As a result, even with those weaknesses, Catholic University’s Anything Goes makes for a commendable night of entertainment.