Theater review: Witchland

You’re warned before you enter that once seated, you cannot leave the theater – and that there is no intermission. And that no food or drinks are allowed.

Ushers wearing hazmat suits require you to sign a waiver before showing you to your seat. Once you get over that, the theater seems non-threatening enough, but just wait. You’re about to see Backyard Renaissance in the world premiere of Tim Mulligan’s “Witchland,” and anything can happen. 

The set looks to be a comfortable house of some sort. You’re in Seattle, where popular high-schooler Ali (Amira Temple) lives with her two dads Van (Daren Scott) and Jared (Christopher Louie Szabo). But the trio is about to move to Richland, a pastoral area in southeastern Washington state, because Jared has found more lucrative work there.

Richland is home to the Hanford Engineering Works, part of the World War II-era Manhattan Project that created much of the plutonium used in bombs (such as those dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki), creating tons of radioactive waste that has been held in underground tanks since the end of the Cold War.

Those tanks are leaking, and it’s expected to take 50 more years to clean up the environment. Jared will help in this endeavor.

The initial conversations between Ali, Jared and Van sound normal, even amusing, especially from Scott as Van. He gets a real chance for both comedy and drama here, and makes the most of it.

But soon they find out that their nearest neighbor is a witch. Strange sounds, thumps, squeaks, screeches and the like are heard. It’s unsettling, to say the least, though Van tries to minimize the fear.

Strange things continue to happen. There is talk of rats, lots of shaking humans, indecipherable chanting and – oh, yes – some sticks end up stuck in the ground at various times and locations. These are Not To Be Touched. There’s also some shaking going on, even what sounds like talking in tongues.

Is this magic or plutonium poisoning?

I don’t know, but let’s face it, Director Andrew Oswald has made this show a gift for the tech team as well as the audience. Tony Cucuzzella’s set looks normal while allowing for the weird, while a quartet of costumers – Faith A. James, Zak Weinrich, Lilymoon Perez and Jessica John – run the gamut from “normal” to otherworldly.

Lighting by Lorrena Harvey and sound by George Yé add to the occasional otherworldliness. And here’s a new job for the theater: Jeffrey Neitzel is responsible for both the usual – fight coordination – and the weird, serving as “haunt specialist.”

It’s weird, it’s wild, it’s something you won’t see anywhere else this season. But for a most unusual time in the theater, get down to the Tenth Avenue Arts Center before “Witchland” closes on Dec. 11.

“Witchland” plays through Dec. 11 at the Tenth Avenue Arts Center, 903 10th Avenue in downtown San Diego.

Shows Thursday through Saturday at 8 p.m.; Sunday and Monday at 7 p.m.

Tickets ($32-$40) are available at backyardrenaissance.com

Running time: 90 minutes

 

Theater review: 1222 Oceanfront: A Black Family Christmas

            Milena (Sellers) Phillips, Frankie Alicea-Ford, Portia Gregory

Christmas is a time for traditions in a lot of areas: food, decorations, music, stage shows, you name it. But this year, New Village Arts Theatre gives us what will likely become a new tradition: a Christmas show about a black family. In fact, about the Black family, getting ready to do their version of the traditional thing. And this time, they’re letting us in on it.

Award-winning playwright and former San Diego arts commissioner Dea Hurston was tapped to write a new Christmas show for the Carlsbad theater. It’s a beauty, and a musical to boot.

It’s called “1222 Oceanfront: A Black Family Christmas,” and it plays through Dec. 26 at the theater, just before the whole building is destroyed to make way for a new theatrical home for the popular company.

But this is about the show. It takes place in the lovely Carlsbad home of Dorothy Black, played by Milena (Sellers) Phillips, who has done the honors for more than 20 years for her son James Jr. (Kory LaQuess Pullam), her sister Lizzie (Portia Gregory) and Lizzie’s adopted son Javier (Frankie Alicea-Ford).

This year, James Jr. (aka Junior) brings someone new: girlfriend Aadya (Deja Fields), cute as a button and someone Junior has permanent designs on.

At the top of the show, Dorothy and Lizzie are getting the food (lots of pasta, no turkey) ready to go, singing familiar Christmas songs and new ones (by Phillips) along the way.

There’s plenty of well-sung music to enjoy, along with the usual family banter. Everybody’s got some news to share, headlined by this: Dorothy announces that this is the last time she’s doing the Christmas dinner.

The script is by turns funny and charming, with lots of twists and turns to the plot. I’ll leave you to discover those, but I do want to mention two more characters: Victor (Victor Morris), a post office employee who works with Lizzie, and Javier’s boyfriend Brian (Durwood Murray).

Director Delicia Turner Sonnenberg directs with just the right, light touch and Savannah Brittian gives us a lovely set. Chanel Mahoney and Joy Yvonne Jones provide fine costumes and Violet Ceja’s lighting is just right.

The acting and singing are uniformly excellent, and it’s especially lovely to hear Phillips’ new songs, some of which may well become favorites (“Christmas Morn” is one I especially liked).

If you’re looking for a new Christmas show, or want to support NVA, or just want to spend a fun evening in the theater, head on over to New Village Arts for “1222 Oceanfront.”

“1222 Oceanfront” plays through Dec. 26 at New Village Arts, 2787 State St. in Carlsbad.

Shows Wednesday at 2 p.m., Thursday at 7:30 p.m.; Friday at 8 p.m.; Saturday at 2 and 7:30 p.m.; Sunday at 2 p.m.

For tickets: newvillagearts.org or call the box office at (760) 433-3245

 

Film review: House of Gucci

 

                      House of Gucci

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a change from this film season overloaded with superheroes, ghosts, inhuman critters and murdering lunatics. 

Director Ridley Scott’s “House of Gucci" rescues us with a big and beautiful (if somewhat overlong) story about the world-famous Gucci fashion empire.

Sit back, relax, and watch the fashionistas fight it out for control of the company, especially fascinating since the insurrection is led by none other than a female outsider named Patrizia Reggiani, played by none other than Lady Gaga.

Based on Sara Gay Forden’s book about the downfall of the Gucci dynasty and  shot in several parts of Italy, the film looks (and sounds) Italian enough, though some of the faux accents don’t always help comprehension.

Socialite Patrizia is both beautiful and ambitious, and tries to worm her way into the family via youngest brother Maurizio (Adam Driver), who doesn’t seem to mind. He is in law school and doesn’t plan to run the business anyway – a good thing, because his dad Rodolfo (Jeremy Irons) disapproves of the match, and more especially of the fact that Patrizia’s family is in “the transportation business” (i.e., buses).

Driver’s Maurizio, who owns 50% of the Gucci empire, just wants to sell it. Patrizia wants to own it. She’ll have to outlast or outfox the three Gucci brothers to get her way. 

The cast alone is enough to sell tickets: the elder Gucci (Irons) and Driver are joined by a bald Jared Leto and Al Pacino as the other Gucci brothers. 

There’s soap opera, there’s camp, greed and just messiness as each family member has a different idea about what should be done. And at 2.5 hours, it’s a tad too long. 

The film’s story has quite a history of its own. Planned, written and cast four separate times, it’s been in pre-production since 2006. Maybe that’s why sometimes it seems like parts of it are from some other film.

But it’s shot beautifully and I’ll be damned if it isn’t fun to watch.

Theater review: to the yellow house

 

Art is a harsh mistress. So is public opinion. And a negative reaction – or being ignored – can do huge psychological damage to an artist who’s “not like all the others.”

Playwright Kimber Lee’s “to the yellow house” – La Jolla Playhouse’s latest offering – explores this problem. It was inspired by a voluminous biography of 19th-century artist Vincent van Gogh that details the (many) failures, hardships and psychological problems the artist had as an iconoclast trying to get viewers (and buyers) to appreciate his most unusual way of portraying the world on canvas.

Here’s a little history: van Gogh never achieved fame during his lifetime, surviving mostly with the help of his brother Theo. He worked briefly as an art dealer. He took up religion and spent time as a Protestant missionary in Belgium before moving to Paris in 1886. Here he tried painting and took art classes, in which the teachers told him how and what to paint: “Draw only what you see.” During this time he befriended avant-garde artists like Paul Gauguin, who were reacting against the popular Impressionist movement in art.

During this time he and brother Theo exchanged many letters, and this is the source of information we have about the artist. But all this time his psyche suffered. In 1888 he moved south to Arles, where he began to broaden his subjects to the olive trees, wheat fields and sunflowers we all know today. He also drank too much and fell in love with the wrong woman, triggering more depression. He eventually moved back to the Paris area (Auvers-sur-Oise) to be closer to the stability offered by Theo. This is where he would die by his own hand.

The play gives a unsettling portrait of an unstable personality who stubbornly painted what and how he wanted to, and would never know the fame he eventually would achieve. It’s almost as difficult to watch this story as it must have been to live it, because no matter what Vincent does, it doesn’t work out.

The set design (by Takeshi Kata) gives viewers the idea of Van Gogh’s unstable life by use of black-and-white projections that change and float back and forth behind the action.

Neel Keller directs a diverse and uniformly excellent cast. Six of the actors are students in UCSD’s MFA program. 

Paco Tolson, of Manhattan Theatre Club’s “Vietgone” production, must be exhausted each night after playing Vincent, but he is definitely convincing.

Frankie J. Alvarez’s Theo is an excellent if frustrated Theo, trying to help his brother and have a life of his own.

Vincent spends a lot of time in a local café. Brooke Ishibashi (as waitress and wannabe baker Sophie) and Deidrie Henry (as cafe owner Agostina add much-needed humor (and occasional exasperation) as the folks Vincent seems to see most often.

Alton Alburo, as Henri, Marco Barricelli in three roles, and DeLeon Dallas as Bernard are all very fine as well.

And let’s hear it for the design team: David Israel Reynoso’s costumes, Alberto “Albee” Alvarado’s wigs, Masha Tsimring’s lighting, Palmer Hefferan’s sound design, Nicholas Hussong’s stunning projections and Justin Ellington’s music.

I would like to see the play shortened by at least 30 minutes (it clocks in at two hours, 45 minutes), if only because seeing the same thing happen over and over (failure) gets monotonous. 

But “to the yellow house” (the house in Arles where Vincent rented four rooms) is certainly a play like no other.

‘to the yellow house’ plays through Dec. 12 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Weiss Theatre.

Shows Tuesday at 7:30 p.m.; Wednesday at 2 and 7:30 p.m.; Thursday and Friday at 8 p.m. and Saturday at 2 and 8 p.m; Sunday at 2 and 7 p.m.

Tickets: lajollaplayhouse.org

Proof of vaccination and masks mandatory.

Photos: lajollaplayhouse.org/show/yellow-house

Theater review: She the People

 

It starts off with the six ladies of Chicago’s “She the People” warning that “photography and misogyny are strictly prohibited.”

That’s your clue that feminism rules, at least here at San Diego Repertory Theatre for the next couple of hours, while the well-known troupe from Second City takes apart man-centric society bit by bit. The gloves are off, so be forewarned. Your mom would be scandalized if she knew you were spending 90 minutes listening to so much, shall we say, colorful language. 

There are scripted elements, such as the teacher of How Not To Be Racist 101, in which one “student” responds “I booked my wedding reception at an old plantation.”

Or a longish section in which each woman elaborates on the introductory “I’m a woman in a commercial,” and takes apart what women are asked to sell on the air. You know, shampoo, food….

One of my favorite bits takes place at a kid’s birthday party. He’s a year old, and the ladies postulate that “It may be that your baby is gay” and “You might have a little homo in your home today.”

But the best bits are the improvisations, such as one on the audience-supplied word “pillow.” One cast member’s response: “Sex with me is like a pillow. Down.”

Audience involvement is big, in fact, especially in a game show section in which an audience member is brought onstage as contestant.

This is an evening of movement, with the women constantly coming, going and combining in different ways. They get wonderful musical help from music director/sound designer Elise Wattman, playing keyboard from one side of the stage. 

It’s a night of one-liners, audience participation and, let’s face it, male-bashing, or at least male superiority bashing. And that can’t be a bad thing.

But slow down, ladies. It sounds like you only have 15 seconds to finish and catch the bus.

Theater review: For Whom the Southern Belle Tolls

There’s not much amusement in the news or politics these days. But The Roustabouts Theatre Company brings some welcome relief in “For Whom The Southern Belle Tolls,” Christopher Durang’s screamingly funny parody of Tennessee Williams’ classic play “The Glass Menagerie.” It’s playing through Dec. 4 at Moxie Theatre.

Two slightly worn banners on either side of the stage feature pictures of odd critters and recognizable people like Putin, Jeff Bezos (or was it Mark Zuckerberg?) and Janet Leigh gazing down.

Four of the city’s finest actors – Wendy Maples, Walter Murray, Omri Schein and Wendy Waddell – make hilarious hash of this well-known (but not funny) play.

In his opening remarks, Director Phil Johnson notes that “the topics of ‘Southern Belle’ are gremlins and handling irritation.” You’ll sense plenty of irritation here, with language to match. Be forewarned.

This black comedy opens with Waddell and Murray, happily married for 13 years, being visited by Murray’s former high school flame Maples. This is a woman with ample endowments and no sense of decency, who says “I’m not fat. I just have a food problem, and some of it shows.” Mentioning that in school “I was very promiscuous” interests Murray, and she wastes no time demonstrating, much to his wife’s annoyance. This gets worse, and funnier, until we get to the next scene.

Omri Schein, one of the city’s best comic actors, gets to do some fun stuff. He plays a waiter (something he’s done more than once) annoyed with his customers, who leaves and returns with a gun and takes a hostage. He plays a desperado for a bit, then takes front stage to say that he wanted to be an actor, “but this story isn’t really about me.”

But in his best bit, Schein plays the hypochondriacal Laura (called Lawrence), who plays with his prized collections of glass cocktail stirrers, which he describes at length. He insists he’s a cripple, so refuses to go out. This drives mom Amanda (Waddell) crazy (or crazier).

Despairing of ever foisting Lawrence off on a suitor because he won’t leave the house, Amanda invites a female caller named Ginny (Maples), who is hard of hearing and overly friendly. Ginny screams during the whole scene – and, wonder of wonders, still has a voice at the end.

There is a section about writing for film, in which the two men come up with a new plot: a rabbi meets a priest and they fall in love. I’ll leave you to find out how this develops.

Acting is uniformly excellent and extremely funny. Wendy Waddell seems to get the most time to play annoyed, and she is convincing. Wendy Maples plays annoying, Walter Murray plays along and Omri Schein is the group’s professional clown. But mostly they’re all just hilarious.

The costumes by Renetta Lloyd and Roz Lehman are outstanding – colorful and, of course, funny. Kudos also to Alyssa Kane’s set design, simple and very amenable to changing set pieces. Chloe Oliana M. Clark’s lighting is excellent as well.

In his opening introduction, Director Phil Johnson describes this as “a welcome one-two punch to the Quarantine Blues.” You will agree.

“For Whom The Southern Belle Tolls” plays November 20, 21, 23, 27, 28 and Dec. 2-4 at Moxie Theatre, 6663 El Cajon Blvd. 

Talkbacks will be held after the Nov. 21 and 28 matinees.

For tickets: https://www.theroustabouts.org/

Proof of COVID-19 vaccination and masks required.

Theatre Review: Hairspray

                         You Can't Stop the Beat

Broadway San Diego returns triumphantly to live shows with an oldie but very, very goodie: “Hairspray,” the 2002 teenybopper musical based on the 1988 John Waters film.

It’s a rollicking piece about a chubby but fearless ’60s Baltimore high schooler named Tracy Turnblad (Niki Metcalf), who wants to dance on the local “Corny Collins Show.” She’s got the moves and personality, and isn’t about to be stopped when mom Edna (Andrew Levitt) starts reciting the depressing facts of life for overweight TV performers. Dad Wilbur (Christopher Swan) knows his daughter, and is quietly on her side when she announces that she’s going to audition.

But she’ll have even worse trouble in the form of the show’s meanie producer, Velma Van Tussle (Addison Garner), who wants to keep her off the show so that her own daughter Amber (Kaelee Albritton) can lock up that spot.

At the station, Tracy meets dreamboat (and excellent Elvis soundalike) Link Larkin (Will Savarese), which gives her another reason to want to be on the show, and her song “I Can Hear the Bells” is a charming paean to young love.

But Tracy the renegade ends up in detention at school, where she meets Seaweed J. Stubbs (Brandon G. Stalling) and several other African American students, who, it is assumed, are routinely in detention. Here’s another chance for Tracy to make a difference: they’re terrific dancers, and she’ll try to get them on Corny’s show as well (remember, this is 1962) – if she can get them (and herself) out of detention.

There’s another fascinating character here, as well: amply-endowed Motormouth Maybelle (Toneisha Harris), owner of the local record shop, a great character and fine singing actor, whose motto is “The bigger your girth, the more you’re worth.”

Ambition, young love, not-so-young love (wait till you see Tracy’s parents do “You’re Timeless To Me”), and fun and frenetic choreography will keep you amused and maybe even humming along as the story unfolds.

Acting and dancing are fine all around. Metcalf’s Tracy is a delight, and Andrew Levitt is a real gas as mom Edna. Toneisha Harris’ Motormouth Maybelle also deserves mention. Likewise Brandon G. Stalling’s delightful Seaweed J. Stubbs.

David Rockwell’s set design offers several effective scenes with silhouetted actors behind the onstage group. William Ivey Long’s costumes are colorful and often amusing as well. And oh, my gosh, what can I say about those wigs by Paul Huntley and Richard Mawbey? Just enjoy them.

Originally directed on Broadway by Jack O’Brien, then artistic director of The Old Globe, this toe-tapping winner picked up eight Tonys in 2003 and ran for more than six years. If the enthusiasm of tonight’s audience is any indication, it still reels ‘em in.

With a cast of 30-some and a fine orchestra of nine led by Patrick Hoagland, what are you waiting for? Get on down to the Civic Theatre for a fun time because, you know, you can’t stop the beat. But hurry, it’s only here through Sunday.

“Hairspray” runs through November 21. For tickets, see broadwaysd.com.

Proof of COVID-19 vaccination or a recent test is required, as is a face mask.

 

Film Review: Ghostbusters: Afterlife

 

                      

The 1984 trio of university researchers who became director Ivan Reitman’s original “Ghostbusters” were a little slapdash in the ethics department. 

Now, 37 years later, Reitman’s son Jason co-wrote and helms “Ghostbusters: Afterlife,” featuring not just the aged scientists but a much younger trio of kids equally amused by ghosts and other weirdness.

Does it stand up to its illustrious ancestor? Oh, yes. This time we’ve got Phoebe (McKenna Grace), a smart, scientifically savvy 13-year-old as shocked as mom Callie (Carrie Coon) and brother Trevor (Finn Wolfhard) to see the godawful mess of a house left to Callie by her recently deceased scientist dad. But they’ve been tossed out of their place for nonpayment of rent and have little choice. The house has a “Psycho” feel to it but it’s in much worse shape.

Phoebe is fascinated by the place. She finds herself playing chess with an invisible spirit that moves the pieces. She also makes friends with a local boy named Podcast (Logan Kim), equally interested in science, who talks about “ghost traps” and the like. He finds and blows on an Aztec death whistle, and opines about the Sumerians, who he says believed in a land of the dead. This will be important when he and Phoebe end up down a cavernous hole.

While the kids are enjoying themselves, Callie meets Mr. Grooberson, a teacher played by Paul Rudd (apropos of nothing, Rudd was just named People Magazine’s sexiest man alive), who takes a liking to her.

All kinds of goofy things happen, including the expected appearance of ghosts (looking like something out of a kid’s cartoon) and funny noises and all kinds of odd stuff. Grooberson meets a monster at Walmart. Callie becomes a monster.

The cast is excellent. The three kids are especially delightful, and Rudd’s Grooberson will delight kids who have had, shall we say, unusual teachers.

Even the holdovers from the last film, Dr. Peter Venkman (Bill Murray), Dr. Raymond Stantz (Dan Aykroyd) and Dr. Winston Zeddmore (Ernie Hudson) show up. 

It’s a reunion of sorts, just as goofy as all the other craziness that goes on in this silly, delightful escape from the current disaster we call real life. Don’t miss it.

Opens November 19 only in theaters.

Theater Review: Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas!

John Treacy Egan, Andrew Polec and Tommy Martinez

Watch out! It’s November and you know what that means: it’s time for the annual reappearance of the Grinch, Dr. Seuss’ famous meanie who lives in a cave up on that cold Mr. Crumpit and takes delight in trying to stop Christmas from coming to Whoville, down below.

He’s been doing this at The Old Globe for some 24 years now, and horrifying/delighting hordes of playgoers. This year continues that tradition brilliantly.

The world has seen a lot of grinchy behavior in the past 18 months or so, but this Grinch (Andrew Polec) is wearing four pounds of greenness and a face full of strange makeup in addition to the terrible attitude. No wonder he’s in such bad humor. But he is fun to watch, there’s no doubt about that.

You’ll also enjoy this year’s program, which offers two pages of fascinating statistics, like how many wigs and how many sleighs you’ll see.

You remember the plot: Old Max, the Grinch’s old dog (John Treacy Egan) is retiring and moving away, and he’s come back to say goodbye to his successor Young Max (Tommy Martinez) and the Whos down in Whoville before he moves on. But the old boss is still complaining about the obvious joy the Whos take in their community, and most especially in preparing for the Christmas festivities. The Grinch is desperate to stop the fun, and devises a really awful plan to steal all the presents so they will have (he thinks) no reason to celebrate.

So he ties antlers to his poor dog, hitches him to the sleigh and down to Whoville they go. But no matter how mean he is, the Whos still offer kindness, friendship and Christmas dinner. How can any self-respecting meanie deal with that?

You know the answer, but you’ll love seeing it onstage for the first or the 24th time. I’ve seen every production of it, and I get misty every time.

The cast is great, as always. I think Polec is my all-time favorite Grinch because of the way he tosses in enough humor to make you go along with him. The kids are double-cast; we saw the red team and all were adorable and fun to watch, especially Leila Manuel’s Cindy-Lou Who, the one who manages to melt the old grouch’s heart.

Tommy Martinez is great, returning as Young Max, as is Egan as his reminiscing elderly counterpart. Larry Raben, Bets Malone, Christopher M. Ramirez and Ariella Kavashny round out the speaking adults, and there’s a bevy of other Who adults and kids who all look great and sing and dance with gusto.

This particular production adds some different, peppy choreography by Bob Richard to add to the original by John DeLuca. 

James Vásquez directs with just the right touch, and Elan McMahan leads the capable orchestra. It all adds up to a show that may just have you singing or at least humming along with the songs. 

“Dr. Seuss’ How The Grinch Stole Christmas” runs through Dec. 31 at The Old Globe’s Shiley Theatre. Performance times vary; check www.TheOldGlobe.org or call the box office at (619) 234-5623. 

Proof of COVID-19 vaccination or a negative test within 72 hours of entering the theater will be required.