Performing Arts

By Haley Huchler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

No one likes to think about their own death. Certainly no one likes to think about the death of the entire human race. To do so is frightening, depressing, and just plain uncomfortable. Rorschach Theatre’s Human Museum throws comfort to the wind by confronting the demise of the human race head-on, with heart, humor, and Twinkies.

Welcome to the not-so-distant future, in which humans have gone extinct due to a series of natural disasters brought on by their own environmental destruction. Playwright Miyoko Conley’s eccentric story takes place at the titular Human Museum, an institute dedicated to remembering humans. The team of robots who run the museum are preparing to unveil a new exhibit about the final days of the human species, detailing how humans failed to save the planet and themselves.

Human Museum is a uniquely immersive play. The production is housed in a converted retail space, the entirety of which is staged as the setting of the play — the Human Museum. Before the performance, audience members are encouraged to walk around and view the different exhibits on human life. Some of these exhibits feature real “artifacts” of the human world, such as a display of a melted clock (“While humans generally perceived time through memory, they frequently used devices such as this to divide their days and plan their many activities”), while others are imaginings of a future where humans succumbed to a dying planet, such as an arrangement of plants labeled “Eco Experiments, failed” (“These are samples of humans’ many failed attempts to regrow the destroyed environment”). One tongue-in-cheek exhibit recalls the human love of snack foods, especially Twinkies, which come to be a mascot food of the apocalypse in this fictional world.

The production itself plays out in a corridor between two parallel rows of seating, more like the setup for a basketball game than a play. This intimate setting allows audience members to be wholly immersed in the story; however, some of the seats have lower visibility, making viewing every piece of the action slightly difficult.

Screens on either end of the playing area are used to display video. The integration of video, including home movies and museum commercials, adds an entertaining multimedia element to the production. The story is told through artifacts and video as much as it is told through the characters’ words and actions, providing a fascinating theatergoing experience.

In Human Museum, the plot occurs across space, time, and data streams. The play is told through a seamlessly woven tapestry of moments from the present and past. While the robots prepare the latest exhibit of the Human Museum, the museum director, played by Ixchel, finds herself thrown back into memories of the human scientist who created her. A spunky and sweet museum curator named 237, played by Rebecca Husk, relishes in the ability to remember human life, while her coworker 65, played by Aron Spellane, struggles with the burden of holding onto all the knowledge of a dead species. A shocking discovery made by 237 adds another twisted layer to the story, forcing each robot to reexamine their mission.

The performances from the cast are all warm, tender, and, well, human. Rebecca Husk radiates authenticity and warmth as 237, a robot with a heightened sense of sensitivity, while Aron Spellane contrasts her perfectly as 65, a grumpy and sarcastic robot who is more interested in data and logic. Jennifer Knight is wonderfully vivacious as the kind scientist fighting to save her dying species, and Ixchel is powerful as the museum director who holds the legacy of humankind on her shoulders. Ayanna Fowler gives a marvelous performance as a goofy delivery bot, providing comic relief that balances out the somewhat dark story. Bri Houtman’s astonishingly genuine performance as Avery, a human whose story becomes important to the museum team, is the emotional core of this work, with her powerful delivery of monologues that are intense, moving, and unforgettable.

The premise of Human Museum is incredibly original, fascinating, and prescient. At times, the script veers toward sentimentality, but generally, it remains grounded in the gripping reality of an all-too-possible “What if?” scenario. Despite the morbid premise, Human Museum manages to infuse fun and delight into this imagined future, with the heart of the story being a loveable crew of robots who are more human than they think.

By Isaac Welch

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Rooftop Productions’ opening night of Doubt: A Parable by John Patrick Shanley showed a humble effort carried through by the heart of the Manassas community, through opening night jitters and competing acoustic accompaniment. As the run of eight shows began at the historic ARTfactory, Shanley’s frequently staged play found life again under the direction of Deb Hansen.

Unfortunately, just outside the ARTfactory that night was a band of lively street performers, whose wattage at times overpowered the play’s own audio system. Despite this interference, the cast maintained its composure as required by their characters, and an equal amount of respect and focus from the audience helped insulate the stage from distraction

In the play’s opening scene, Nathan Mikami introduces the character Father Brendan Flynn to the audience with a sermon; the priest at the center of this work’s point of contention brings into focus the thematic undercurrent that the audience will find themselves adrift in. Mikami’s early performance of Father Flynn sustains the pivotal role and grows into new dimensions as more is told of his activities at the St. Nicholas Church School and his relationship with its students. The play explores all facets of this character as a teacher, a coach, and a figure of high regard, but there are times when Mikami’s performance falters in accentuating the mannerisms and tendencies that convincingly illustrate a priest. Without the familiar pacing and vocal emphasis of sermon delivery, and lacking the embodiment of “holy spirit,” there is room in Mikami’s performance for more reverence to manifest.

Mikami’s confidence shows as the play progresses, allowing his Father Flynn to shine through in moments of defense and confrontation. Throughout the play, Mikami lends his strengths to the character in his dealings away from the congregation as allegations of coercive activity involving Donald Muller, the school’s first Black student, trace back to his name. Fist clenching and face reddening in moments of frustration, and voice dampening in his admissions and appeals, Mikami’s performance leaves the audience to learn about Father Flynn through his humanity more so than his holiness. Forgoing these dynamics in other compartments of his role, the juxtaposition between an impassioned priest, dedicated in his faith and fervent in his practice, and a mortal man burdened by the carnal temptations and sins of his past, becomes less stark.

The play’s second scene introduces Sister Aloysius Beauvier, played by Carolyn Corsano Wong, and Sister James, played by Raeanna Nicole Larson. Together, despite a strained dynamic, the pair strategize and confront Father Flynn for alleged misconduct and predatory behavior. Their argument stands upon unsettled observation and consequence amid uncertainty. Father Flynn parries the assertions as an attack on his character and recalls the structures they should aim at to honor in their institution. Without impartial knowledge of the events that occurred, the audience is left to remain unsure of the truth of the matter.

Larson and Wong’s performative relationship is influenced by the dynamics between teacher and principal, compassionate and conservative, elder and youth. Wong brings a poise and experience to her representation of Sister Aloysius that elevates this community production to a higher professional standard, unrelenting in her accusation against Father Flynn and unafraid of the disdain her methods may provoke. Larson tees up a wide-eyed eagerness in her acting of Sister James that is struck upon during a conversation between her and Sister Aloysius when Wong utters, “Look at you, you’d do anything for a warm look.” Both these actresses bring courage to their performances by allowing the less desirable traits of their characters to rise to the surface for full exploration.

Next to Wong, Tanya Johnson-Herron offers her contribution to the play with a most natural presence in her performance as Mrs. Muller. Though given only a short scene, Johnson-Herron makes effective use of her time on stage, adding crucial perspective as Donald Muller’s mother. With insight into his home life and personhood, dimensions are added to the young student’s situation that both widen the plane of uncertainty in the plot and tell further truths of the time and climate the play is set in. With class and rhythm, Johnson-Herron brings the production a performance that reveals, emotionally and upfront, the tests endured by the Black family amid the cultural restructurings of the 1960s. From here, the play sweeps into its climax as stakes increase and implications worsen. Both Father Flynn and Sister Aloysius threaten grave measures against one another, and conclusions await.

Nearing a stage of bared teeth, the cast seizes the opportunity to explore withheld emotions. Some of the best performances occur when characters abandon parish decorum.

The play is given an impressive set design consisting of a single backdrop of mural artwork depicting the St. Nicholas Church School. Stagehands transform the space between courtyards and offices, with just enough props to communicate each new setting. Nothing is overly decorated, as emphasis is placed not upon each room, but upon the exchanges and conversations that occur within them. With seating on three sides of the stage, the cast navigates multiple dimensions, knowing that their eyes may be met as they stare off out a suggested window or enter the stage through an aisle that also serves as a corridor.

In a play that concludes in ambiguity, the cast did well in their delivery to emphasize caveats and certain points of contention within the script that may sway audience members to believe one narrative over the other. Requiring constant attention and sustained energy, this play progresses at a pace that allows the storyline to accrue tension until its climax. The play’s congruence with the cast’s persistence results in a performance that both honors Shanley’s critically acclaimed work and welcomes the community to partake in its experience.

By Haley Huchler

This article was originally published in DC Theater Arts here.

Spring Awakening begins in darkness. Wendla Bergmann, played by Robin Kane, stands alone on stage, lamenting a lack of guidance from her mother. She is a young girl on the cusp of womanhood but is still unenlightened to the mysteries of life. For Wendla, all these answers will come too late, as she is failed by the oppressive adults and puritanical culture of her 19th-century German village.

The original text of Spring Awakening comes from a play written in 1891 by Frank Wedekind about 19th-century German teenagers living in a sexually repressive culture discovering their burgeoning desires. Due to its controversial subject matter, the play was not performed for the first time until 1906. One hundred years later, Spring Awakening debuted on Broadway as many of us know it today: a rock music spectacular. The memorable setting of a small German village teeming with lustful and randy adolescents is brought to life once more in American University’s production of the passionate musical, directed by Nadia Guevara.

The set of Spring Awakening at the Greenberg Theatre, designed by Sarah Beth Hall, is charming and quaint. The orchestra sits on a platform above the stage, accessed by a spiral staircase that is incorporated into many scenes. The background of the set glows pink and blue, with sketch drawings of a giant eye, a field of flowers, and a fetus in a womb. The theater is adorned with string lights hanging from the ceiling, softly glowing and making the production warm and inviting, much like the characters we are introduced to.

Wendla and her friends gush over the boys they have crushes on, but they know nothing about the adult world of love and relationships. Wendla is an aunt for the second time and complains that she still has no idea how her sister bore two children. The boys are simultaneously enthralled and tormented by new feelings and confusing dreams: all except Melchoir, the sole owner of knowledge among his classmates, who reassures his friends that their budding sexualities are natural. In the musical number “The Bitch of Living,” the boys hilariously lament their stifled desires in one of the funniest scenes in the show. Geogr, played by Finn Fairfield, gives a hysterical performance of a young boy lusting after his older piano teacher.

The play shifts from frisky and humorous to dark and twisted quite quickly, with the first signs of trouble coming from the confession of Martha, played by Grace Connallon, that she is physically and sexually abused by her father. The naive teenagers start to realize that their parents’ and teachers’ rigid authority may be more dangerous than they initially believed. Wendla is particularly distressed by Martha’s revelation, leading her to seek answers and comfort in the arms of Melchoir.

This production is filled with stellar performances all around, from Robin Kane’s sweet, innocent Wendla to Jason Zuckerman’s daring, confident Melchoir. Jane Palladino and Daniel Zavilowitz play all of the adults in this production, swiftly moving between portrayals of different parents and teachers with dextrous ease. Palladino’s performance as Melchoir’s sympathetic but ultimately negligent mother is moving, while her portrayal of the strict piano teacher is endlessly amusing.

Humor certainly plays a role in this musical, filled with provocative dance numbers and sexy rendezvous, but there come times when darkness engulfs the narrative, leading to the tragic heart of this story. At the mercy of their parents’ withholding of knowledge or infliction of punishment, some of the young boys and girls are led to grim endings. The bright songs and cleverly choreographed dance numbers are entertaining but ultimately just a sweet appetizer to the meaty meal of this show. The sorrow of the second act soon swallows up the playful first act, crescendoing with an intense final song, “The Song of Purple Summer,” where the teenagers find hope that the world can someday become more open-minded, accepting, and free.

The messages at the core of Spring Awakening are fascinating to digest. It’s particularly interesting that a 19th-century story can still have such a grasp on audiences today. It may seem as though we have come a long way from those dark days, but there are pockets of the country where the plot of Spring Awakening may not seem like such a distant happening. The performance of this musical feels more powerful than ever, and the cast and crew at American University gave due diligence to the rich material, bringing the evergreen stories of these girls and boys into the light once again.