Live Arts

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.

By Imani Nyame 

This article was originally published in DCTRENDING, here.

There are few things more thrilling than when Broadway leaves New York and lands right in your city. Touring productions provide people, from all over, the opportunity to engage with high commercial theater close to home. They also encourage accessibility which can only promote further equity and diversity in theater spaces. In a world where the majority of theatergoers are White – we need that.  But what about the people working behind the scenes? From directors to stage hands, head electricians to hair and wigs, the ratio of white vs nonwhite people working in high commercial theater is beyond disproportionate. This isn’t because we aren’t here and capable; we are and in high numbers. We simply don’t have access. 

The non-profit organization, Black Theatre Coalition, is working to change that. Through their emerging apprenticeship program, they’re creating paid opportunities for young black creatives to learn alongside industry production professionals working in their cities. The primary goal of BTC is to remove the “illusion of inclusion” from theater spaces. As liberal as theater may seem, in regards to its main purpose to mirror society and advocate for change, the reality is that most theater producers and  owners are white. Meaning, the majority of the plays being produced are not employing persons of color on, or backstage. I was fortunately provided the opportunity to participate in a program, this past April, working with the Les Misérables touring company at the John F. Kennedy Center where it made its US debut in 1986.

My initial introduction to ’Les Mis’ was through the 2012 film adaptation (though mention the film to director James Powell and he’ll likely scoff at its inferiority to the live version.) This being my first time seeing the esteemed musical live, I was excited that the apprenticeship offered backstage passes, too. Some other perks included getting to shadow resident director Richard Barth. Shadowing him, I observed how he tenderly passed out notes to the cast on things he noticed might need some work like lighting, acting choices or blocking. I worked with many other departments including automations, stage management, and hair and wigs. I observed the show with follow-spot operators (Bradley and Lauren), who have the best seats in the house at the top of the theater. I also sat in the pit with the orchestra for part of the show.

I’ve been doing theater for the majority of my life — from high school to college to regional theater. And all of these experiences have been invaluable. Working on a show of this caliber and bearing witness to the many moving parts of this well-oiled machine has enhanced my perspective on what it takes to produce this level of theater. From the intense schedules, to being estranged from the comfort of immediate friends and family.  All members of the ‘Les Mis’ company sacrifice their personal lives to keep the show going. They all have a role to play, be it the stagehand, props person, or Jean Valjean, himself. So many different positions and possibilities for employment exist in theater. It was interesting to learn that many key company members had not completed their education, but were mentored by people who believed in them and opened doors to opportunities.

As the Black Theatre Coalition continues to grow, it’s my hope that they allow me to grow alongside them. Through these types of opportunities, I hope to continue learning and developing the skills necessary to realize my own dreams as an artist and storyteller. And to promote diversity and equity in all the workspaces I inhabit. I encourage students and young theater lovers, alike, interested in developing a career in theater to look into the Black Theatre Coalition and what they have to offer.

By Whit Davis

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Sometimes the story is not the play; it’s the acting.

The performers in the City of Fairfax Theatre Company’s production of Clybourne Park prove that sometimes local community theater talent is on par with the pros. It is clear that director Chaz D. Pando spent intentional time casting the production, working on table reads, and guiding the team of skilled actors through rehearsal. The brilliant performances by the actors confirm that.

Unfortunately, despite Clybourne Park being a Tony and Pulitzer Award-winning play, I found it problematic. The play’s attempt to tackle topics like racism, gentrification, capitalism, homophobia, and sexism feels like a giant undertaking that was undermined by playwright Bruce Norris’ paper-thin stereotypical portrayal of the play’s Black characters.

Clybourne Park is meant to be a nod to the Pulitzer Prize-winning play A Raisin in the Sun by acclaimed playwright Lorraine Hansberry. The story continues where A Raisin in the Sun left off as the Youngers, a Black family, are about to move to a middle-class white neighborhood in 1959. In Clybourne Park, the vantage point is from the white family they’re purchasing their new home from and the other white neighbors trying to convince the current owners that they should not sell to a Black family. But bubbling underneath is a secret that has the present family deep in grief.

In Act II of the play, set in 2009, the house is dilapidated, undergoing a renovation by a young white yuppie family following the trend of gentrification as they receive pushback on the modifications they are trying to make to their new home on the Southside of Chicago. An argument ensues bringing the tension between them to the surface.

The actors turn this material on its head by embodying the characters so that you believe you have traveled to 1959 and 2009. You feel you’re in the house with them as the dialogue unfolds, partly due to the 1959 set design by Roger Ray and costume design by Remeja Murray. The 2009 set feels less realistic, with bright blue, red, and yellow graffiti that spells out the word cop.

In the play’s first act, Ann Brodnax plays the wife Bev, and Kevin Dykstra her husband Russ. Together they give you the homespun feeling you’d expect from a TV show set in 1959. In the second act (each actor in Clybourne Park reappears as a new character for the second act set in 2009), Brodnax returns as the quirky lawyer Kathy and Dykstra as a construction worker named Dan, providing a much-needed dose of humor to the story. Eric Kennedy takes on the part of the priest Jim with a recognizable Southern accent. In the play’s second act, he plays Tom, a lawyer wanting to appear laidback. Later, Kennedy tackles the part of Kenneth in a jarring flashback scene at the end of the play. Karl, played by Rob Gorman, is a nosy, racist neighbor who believes he is doing the right thing for his community by fighting against a Black family moving into the neighborhood. In the second act, Gorman mirrors his character, but this time as a more modern younger version, Steve, suggesting that preconceptions and bigotry pass down from generation to generation.

The two Black characters in the play fall into recognizable tropes: the Black woman with an attitude and an aggressive Black man. A white playwright, Norris appears to have little insight into the inner lives of Black people. He writes from a place of assumption and stereotypes. Khanner Hancock plays the quick-witted characters of Francine and Lena. Tokunbo Adedeinde portrays the characters Albert and Kevin, Black men who go along to get along until they become angry. It’s disappointing to see Black characters written without any character development. Despite the play’s shortcomings, these actors make the most of their roles by giving the audience memorable performances.

Clybourne Park was praised as a nod to A Raisin in the Sun when it won the Pulitzer Prize in 2011. But in 2023, its flat portrayal of Black characters makes it feel like an attempt by the playwright to attach himself to a notable play and use it as a vehicle to garner interest in his work.

In the end, you should see this play because of the performances by a stellar cast. They are a great reminder of the value of local theater. The acting can be the whole story, and the performances in the City of Fairfax Theatre Company’s production are truly the best part of Clybourne Park.

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.

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.

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.

By Jakob Cansler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

It was only ten or so minutes into On the Far End when I heard the first “wow” from an audience member. It was whispered, sounding almost of disbelief. Just before, we had heard the story of a man who had walked the Trail of Tears as a child, one of only 50 to survive in a group that originally totaled around 500.

His story made it to the stage at Round House Theatre indirectly. In that moment of the play, Mary Kathryn Nagle, writer and performer of the one-woman show, is embodying her mother-in-law, Jean Hill Chaudhuri, who is in turn re-enacting her grandfather telling the story.

The direct and indirect embodiment of memories is an important aspect of On the Far End, now playing as part of Round House’s National Capital New Play Festival through May 7. Equal parts heart-rending and inspiring, Nagle’s play is powerful, even if its straightforward structure holds the play back from reaching its full potential impact.

On the Far End is, essentially, the life of Jean Hill Chaudhuri, a Muscogee leader. Nagle performs as Jean, walking us through her mother-in-law’s history in the first person. Jean recounts growing up on a reservation in Oklahoma, being forcibly taken to a Native boarding school, running away from that school, encountering constant racism and discrimination, and becoming an activist and advocate for Indigenous rights.

The title, it should be noted, comes from a Supreme Court ⁠— “your Supreme Court,” as Jean says ⁠— decision. “On the far end of the Trail of Tears was a promise,” reads the opening line of the majority opinion of McGirt v. Oklahoma (2020). The Court rarely kept its promises to Indigenous people, Jean reminds us, but this case reversed that trend, with the Court ruling that the Muscogee Nation had jurisdiction over its own reservation and that the state of Oklahoma did not.

If the promise on the far end of the Trail of Tears wasn’t truly fulfilled until 2020, then Jean’s story is of someone who fought her whole life to inch closer to fulfilling that promise. Indeed, she refers back to that theme as she moves, chronologically, from story to story throughout her life.

To be frank, though, Nagle could actually stand to hammer in those themes even more. On the Far End’s straightforward, chronological nature means that what is missing in the play is connective tissue⁠, something to tie the play’s individual moments together and connect Jean’s stories to broader issues. We certainly get a strong sense of who Jean was and what made her so extraordinary, but less of a sense of the insight these stories could bring.

Still, despite the structural issues, On the Far End is compelling from start to finish, mostly thanks to Nagle’s writing and performance. She tells Jean’s story with a unique blend of embodiment, storytelling, and oration. Nagle never fully becomes Jean, but that choice feels purposeful, like a constant reminder that this is a story being passed down as much as it is a performance. 

As directed by Margot Bordelon, Nagle also exhibits a particular knack for cadence, which keeps the play engaging, and evocative delivery, which makes Jean’s story come to life in the audience’s head. I could visualize Jean as she ran away from school, and that image was even more powerful than a recreation would have been.

The design elements assist in those particular tricks. Emma Deane’s lighting design utilizes subtle, barely noticeable shifts to enhance the tone of each story, while sound design by Emily Duncan Wilson is deployed in specific times to add to the most evocative moments. Paige Hathaway’s scenic design, meanwhile, gives Nagle plenty of variable space to move but can fade into the background when the story’s weight is enough in its own right.

The weight of the play, it is worth noting, is never lost on anyone. At one point, Jean tells the story of her own turn as a playwright. She worked with other Indigenous artists to create a performance in Oklahoma about the Trail of Tears, in hopes that confronting the experience through art would help the community to put it behind them. 

In many ways, On the Far End has, understandably, the opposite goal.  Here, Jean’s story is told with the goal of remembering her experiences, not to put the past behind, but to use it to drive forward. This is a story that demands to be heard and passed on.

Indeed, that demand permeated the audience on opening night ⁠— an audience that included many members of Muscogee Nation, including Principal Chief David Hill, and Justice Neil Gorsuch, who wrote the majority opinion in McGirt v. Oklahoma (2020).McGirt, after all, inspired Nagle to write On the Far End, and although that opinion was in many ways a promise fulfilled, this play serves as a reminder that the story of how Muscogee Nation got there isn’t done being told.