Tokyo Rose: New Musical has Potential but Needs Attention, + VEGAN PIZZA!by Randi / October 21, 2021TL;DR it’s soul-crushingly ironic.
A few weekends ago, we had the complicated privilege of seeing Larry Kramer’s seminal work, The Normal Heart, now playing at The National Theatre. Kramer wrote the play, which premiered in 1985, during and about the rise of the AIDS epidemic in New York City in the early ’80s.
Whenever people talk about The Normal Heart, they use the phrase ‘searing indictment’. I mean not without good reason – it works, and it sounds good. It’s a ‘searing indictment’ of state and federal governments, of all aspects of the health system that failed to do literally anything to help the sick or help curb the spread. And, of the hindsight granted to us in viewing a community that was stuck between a rock and a hard place — not wanting to ruffle too many feathers in their attempt to get people to care, but doomed to fail unless they did so.
What this production ended up being, however, was an indictment of our present theatre-going community, and, of course, the entities tasked with ensuring our welfare. I am not comparing the situations or the people involved, but it was beyond ironic to see a play about a world-changing pandemic during a world-changing pandemic, and upsettingly so. You don’t want the lessons of Kramer and of AIDS and of incredible words like The Normal Heart to simultaneously be relevant and ignored, yet here we are.
In the play, Ned Weeks (Ben Daniels) is painted as the odd man out for being so quick to anger, so full of rage that he easily unleashes, while his peers try to remain calm and reserved and polite, as though that ever accomplishes anything. Early in the show, Ned says some whoa there things about Jews in the Holocaust and in America during the war who didn’t fight against what was happening. He rails against Jews for not fighting for what was right, as though they could have done anything. For the rest of the show, Ned lives firsthand through a refutation of this speech, as he and his community become the new embodiment of the powerless, with no one listening to them and no one willing to help except one lone doctor, Emma Brookner (Liz Carr).
There’s a lot I can say about this always moving, emotional show. I could talk about Ben Daniels’ lead performance, and how capably he carried this heavy, heavy show. I could talk about the quality of the supporting cast. I could wonder why it seemed like the famous Act II monologue of Dr Emma Brookner, always hailed as the most impressive featured role, seemed truncated even though it wasn’t. I could talk about the fine directorial choices like the gradual accumulation of physical junk on the floor, or in contrast how for some reason the play overall felt more overtly didactic than any production I’ve seen before, like it was solely a sequence of monologues.
However, none of these critical aspects of the play itself feel remotely important when considering the overall experience of this play, happening now, in this climate. I think of this experience and I am filled with incomprehensible fury. This audience at the National at a performance on a Saturday night represented the worst showing for maskwearing I’ve seen anywhere since the pandemic began. And I’ve been to America. Twice. I never knew what irony was until I was watching this play about how people weren’t taking a pandemic seriously while surrounded by people not taking a pandemic seriously. Ned yells at his friends when they refuse to entertain the idea of even suggesting to gay men to stop having promiscuous sex for now; they say this is a matter of personal freedom and identity. Guys, that’s just toooo on the nose, isn’t it? Ned says that their personal freedom is endangering HIS life. And a man across the aisle clapped and hooted while coughing openly. I wholeheartedly recognize and approve of Ned’s fury at his fellow man in failing to join him in his, because that’s how it feels being one of the few taking this pandemic seriously. Watching in real time as his righteous indignation, so beautifully and honestly written by Kramer, performed by Daniels, directed by Cooke, fell on such conspicuously deaf ears, it felt like the unavoidable condemnation was on our society now, not then.
Of course the situations are different, and the ignorance is based on different kinds of hate. Yet the emotions are the same — the frustration, the feeling of being abandoned, the feeling that your fellow man doesn’t care, the knowledge that he doesn’t. Because in case you didn’t know, we are indeed still in a pandemic that our government is refusing to take seriously. People in the healthcare community are on the news begging the government to do something, and the government responds with promises to the business communities that they won’t implement another lockdown, as though people in business can’t die of Covid. All the theatres I’ve returned to up to this point have politely and carelessly suggested that audience members wear masks, but without an actual rule that patrons must wear masks, it seems like roughly 80% do not. And for some reason, theatres state their belief that unless the government has a mask mandate, they do not have the legal authority to make or enforce one, which is a bunch of hot hot garbage.
Without an actual mandate from the theatre, and without staff enforcing the wearing of masks, theatre audiences are widely unmasked. I assumed that the kind of people choosing to see The Normal Heart, people voluntarily seeing a heart breaker about this sort of systemic and personal failure to curb a pandemic and help victims, would be the kind of people still wearing masks and giving a shit. I was very wrong!
I honestly still cannot wrap my head around the extraordinary irony of listening to Ned scream at his friends and community members about how they don’t care and aren’t doing enough, while we were sitting next to people who don’t care and aren’t doing enough, and who have the gall to cheer (and then ignore) the lessons being taught onstage. It’s seriously distressing to hear these lines about how other people are pretending nothing’s wrong and they don’t care if others die so long as they can go on acting in their own self interest, when that’s exactly what’s happening. It took all my strength not to turn to all the maskless people and be like, ‘aren’t you guys hearing this?’ Dr. Brookner’s big moment has her screaming at a medical committee that decides not to fund her research into AIDS; she yells at them to just do something, anything, or they would all be dead before they could. And the audience APPLAUDED. The people around us coughing and not covering their mouths and wearing their masks around their necks APPLAUDED. No, it’s not the same, what people could be doing to help now versus what they could do then. Because what we could do now is unbelievably simple and we have the scientific community’s data and backing instead of deadly stymieing. Just wear a mask. And you’re still refusing. You’re clapping at someone in play being angry at others for not doing anything, and yet you are refusing to do the easiest fucking thing of putting a fucking piece of cloth over your nose.
I do believe that individuals in our theatre community have a lot to answer for; two years in, we have the knowledge and ability to be responsible members of society on our own volition, without being ordered to give a shit by controlling entities or governments. But, as we’ve seen, humans won’t do the right thing en masse unless ordered to. So I blame the National Theatre, having the balls to put this show on and ignore its lessons by not enforcing mask wearing or having literally any awareness of it being a pandemic. (I also continue to blame the NT for its long-standing problem of having no ushers around in case of trouble. A few times up in the circle in the past years, I’ve searched desperately for a staff member to help with issues (including one audience member who was ill), and couldn’t find anyone in the whole upper level lobby or anything. They never have anyone anywhere once the show starts. Ridic.) And above all, it is the systemic fault of the Society of London Theatres and UK Theatre membership organizations for not issuing ANY regulations for their theatres. (Obsessed with their bullshit CYAs, like how SOLT’s website has a section for ‘well-being’ to help members and stuff deal with the pandemic. You know what would help everyone’s well-being? A mask mandate.) Literally while writing this, I got an email from Telecharge reminding me how all Broadway theatres are requiring proof of vaccination and enforcing mask wearing. Londoners, you officially lose your right to make fun of Americans. If Broadway can do this, London can do this. FUCKING DO IT.
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Jerusalem with Mark Rylance: Biggest of Star Turns in Pertinent AF Play
It’s Theatre Thursday! We haven’t done one of these in ages, oops! I saw this months ago but I forgot! Today’s show is Jerusalem, playing at London’s Apollo Theatre until August 7.
Earlier this year (whatever year this is), husbo said to me ‘oh hey, you saw Jerusalem on Broadway with Mark Rylance, right? Was it good? What was it about?’ and I replied ‘uh…I know for sure it was NOT about actual Jerusalem?’ I know I saw it because I had a stage door picture with Mackenzie Crook, who I only really appreciated back then because he was a Pirate ghost, but I couldn’t remember anything else. That we’re talking about a play I saw more than 10 years ago had nothing to do with my complete lack of memory about what the show was about; I just didn’t appreciate it back then (Schmidt voice: YOUTHS.), although of course I appreciated how incredible Rylance was. Now that I’m old? wise?…no, BRITISH and living in England, I get what all the fuss is about. Jerusalem is engaging and provocative, and Rylance is only getting better with age.
So what IS it about? I remembered enough to tell myself I shouldn’t be worried about Jew-hatred-fueled protests outside the theatre (my expectations for a certain other show coming in the fall is another story), since the Jerusalem of the title is more about William Blake’s fabled glory of a green and promised land, that being the old mythologized England past. We meet a man named ‘Rooster’ Johnny Byron (Rooster is his nickname but that’s the order he always gives his name in, Arifa) who is essentially a squatter living in an RV in the woods (IN A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER) and about to be evicted because well he’s not paying for those woods and they want him out so the yuppies in the new builds have a clean view. Rooster would be my absolute nightmare of a neighbor, literally the worst imaginable save for the teenagers partying with him all night, teens are worse (YOUTHS!). See they have parties in these woods, which fine you do you, but if I can hear your music at 2am I will curse your existence and wish for your name to be stricken from the book of life. I’m pretty sure I’m aligning myself with the gentrifying villains in the play but we’re all about honesty here hey.
Despite expectations, Rylance makes Rooster JB a sympathetic character, right from the start, (how much do I adore Rylance’s signature cute little whisper boy voice that he sometimes does, you know what I mean, it’s so good, let me count the ways). Here’s this middle-aged-if -we’re-being-generous man, all puffed-chest bravado and lack of showers, partying with teenagers and giving them whatever drugs they want. That last part is bad, yes, but we learn that he’s really just giving these kids a safe place to be that they aren’t finding elsewhere, not even (or in some cases, especially not even) at home. So even though it’s cringey and illegal it’s also nice and thoughtful! Is he a good witch or a bad witch? Audiences can surely interpret either way, but my view was very much ‘good witch except everything is coming across wrong’.
We see Rooster over the course of a day, St. George’s Day, where there’s a local festival. As we meet the local gang that hangs around him – we can’t really call them friends – it feels like real time, not just because it’s 3 hours long. The time flies by, like you’re at the party yourself, or if you’re me like you’re watching other people at the party you would never want to be at and that’s how you want it. It’s REALLY funny at times, especially in the first act, but as the drama builds, it gets legit harrowing too. You fear for RJB even as you make Chrissy-Tiegen-Golden-Globes-yikes-face at some of his choices.
As the story intensifies, the aura of the mythology and sense of old magic shows itself as an important part of the story. One I can’t explain or understand, really, except in that vague theatrical sense that makes you feel all you need to know, the way you know a play is achieving what it wanted. Rylance holds all the various aspects – the legends and lore, the sad sack bad father, the man trying to protect some poor kids, the insanely bad decisions – together in that compelling and heartfelt way of his. He’s a real Snape, where arguments about his true character run the gamut and people can disagree reasonably. I didn’t actually read the books.
Seeing it now that I can understand the problems with modern England and how it’s falling apart and how my electric bills are honestly criminal adds so much depth to the show. Before I thought it was a great look at class conflicts that seemed very universal, that could be picked up and set in any number of locales. And that’s still true, but the Englishness of it all makes it particularly sharp. That sense of mythology about what the country once was like is so layered, because you could just roll your eyes and say ‘it wasn’t ACTUALLY like that’ (I won’t say her name again), or you could realize the fact that no, the ‘good old days’ never really were how they’re remembered, is exactly the point. It says so much about humanity – do we ever really change, or grow, or improve our society by e.g. evicting the squatter in the woods giving drugs to kids? What if he’s the only one trying? Or something like that. Oh also ogres, real or not? What a great question for a play to leave you thinking about.
INFORMATION
Jerusalem is 3 hours, 2 acts. One regular 15-20 minute interval and then a 5 minute ‘pause’.
Best seat in the house is G1 in the stalls because it’s RIGHT on the aisle RIGHT next to the stairs leading up to the too-small women’s bathroom, yesss. Perfect for that second interval that isn’t truly an interval. (I overheard a man asking an usher, ‘hey, babes, why is this second interval just a baby baby pause, why not give us 10 minutes instead of 5 so we could all piss ourselves?’ and the usher was like ‘oh we tried having two regular intervals but it was just way too long, people were rioting’ and like, seriously, dears, 5 extra minutes is not gonna be a drop in this 3 hours bucket, and the people are rioting more about not having pissin time.
The only bad thing about sitting so close/in the stalls is that it is a verrrrrry smoky show. I had terrible contact lens headaches from my eyes breathing in all their smoke and was wrecked for a while after. I am going to renew my campaign for theatres to behave like the rest of polite society and stop allowing smoking, it makes no sense and is completely unnecessary. If you can’t show me you’re cool in another way then you aren’t cool! or whatever you’re going for.
Hadestown at London’s National Theatre: A Riveting Epic of Love, Death…and Capitalism
It’s Theatre Thursday! And it’s Thanksgiving, so today we are talking about a show I’m thankful for, quite possibly my favorite show right now, Hadestown.
As with our recently reviewed Twelfth Night, I’ve been waiting a while to see what everyone in New York has been raving about regarding this modernish musical retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth. People said that if Hadestown had opened on Broadway last season, it would have beaten The Band’s Visit for the Tony, and I was like ‘Umm Kulthum is that possible?’ Turns out, much as I stan TBV, yes, it’s true. Hadestown is one of the greatest shows in years and years, and is destined a classic that will never cease to amaze.
It’s such a great concept. I’m a huge mythology buff, and I still remember the words to the title song from our fifth grade mythology play “It’s All Greek To Me” (forking excellent title, right?). My favorite line was “Zeus was their king and Hera was their queen/sometimes they were wonderful sometimes they were mean.” So true guys. And one of my many roles (I was a child star) in that play was Persephone’s best friend, so her myth has always been special for me. Combining the familiar mythology with an original score (and some mythological bendabouting), Hadestown seems pretty brilliant on paper, and turns out it’s extremely brilliant in real life. It’s the only musical in London producing such thrilling theatrical magic onstage that feels incredibly new and fresh, all while being not only an interesting take on a classic romance but also an allegory of capitalism vs. socialism. I KNOW.
Before we get to the show, I need to share a little glimpse into my brain. A few weeks before our performance, Husbo P asked what it was about. And I said “Oh it’s like a retelling of Orpheus and Eurydice with all original music by Anais Nin!” Husbo P, being a man of knowledge, said, “Um, that can’t be right”, and I, being a woman of nonsense brain, said in an impression of Yente from Fiddler, “Right? Of course right!” and Husbo said, “Anais Nin has been dead for decades. Is it old music? Did she even write music?” and I, being stubborn, said “Well of course she wrote music because she wrote this!” and Husbo said “Well still, I think she died in the ‘70s…” and I said “Well this was written fairly recently.”
Reader, Anais Nin, a French-Cuban-American writer, indeed died in 1977. I meant Anais Mitchell.
So, with an original, enthralling score by Anais Mitchell, Hadestown tells of how Orpheus and Eurydice, two poor dreamers trying to make their way in this world (or maybe just find food), fall in love but get swept into the orbit of Hades, the god of the Underworld. They attempt to solve the age-old struggle of tragic love stories: the strength of love against the power of death. Okay that might be a direct quote from Once on This Island but it works here, except instead of just the power of death, O&E are also testing love’s strength against the god of death. Okay that’s in Once on This Island too. (Hey, as Hermes sings in the beginning, “it’s an old song, but we’re gonna sing it again.”) Well they mainly test love against doubt in that love, which here is even more insidious and devastating than death.
Our lovers meet in a café that could have begun La Boheme (too early for Rent). The vibe of the opening music is very jazzy, like old-fashioned steampunk-as-portrayed-in-the-Bad-Place with Hermes singing how “on the road to hell, there was a railroad line”. The buzz in the room is undeniable, the excitement created by this jazz-age throwback. It sets a fun and intriguing tone for the show, which rarely has a low point or misstep in score, book, direction, anything. Todd Sickafoose’s orchestrations are wonderful too. Okay I don’t really know too much about orchestrating but I needed to mention that last name because it’s how I imagine Samuel L. Jackson yelling on a plane if there were too many fools onboard. (I’M SICK A THESE MUHFU**ING FOOS ON THIS MUHFU**ING PLANE I’M SICKAFOOSE /end scene.)
As for that direction, as helmed by Rachel Chavkin, who staged my beloved Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 on Broadway, Hadestown comes alive with great use of the space. I loved the efficient, effective use of the turntables and especially what’s in the middle of them. And at a few moments, Chavkin’s genius shines through with actually jaw-dropping brilliance, most notably during Hades’s powerful song “Why We Build a Wall”. The staging and sound mixing at this moment was the high point of the production. This is where Chavkin’s command of space, as we saw in Great Comet, shone the brightest (along with the bright lights). It’s a spellbinding performance of a riveting and relevant song. I couldn’t blink during this song, since it was the kind of theatrical magic you hope to experience a few times in your theatre-going career. The song, despite being written in 2010, feels like a direct response to the current political climate. The incredible staging of that scene was, to quote the Great Comet, “really beyond anything.”
Really, the whole show feels like a response to daily politics, and it’s continually surprising that it wasn’t written in the past week. Hadestown uses the well-known Orpheus tale and all the stories that swirl around Hades to weave a political allegory representing the evils of capitalism and the potential of socialism. It’s a remarkable thing to discern the layers in this musical, and realize it’s so much more than a retelling of a familiar love story. While it’s standard for theatre to respond to the politics of its age, it’s rare for a show to do so actually well, and while maintaining pure brilliance and beauty.
The material would stand with anyone, but this cast is truly off the charts flawless. As Orpheus, Reeve Carney (best known for not dying in Broadway’s Spider-Man) is ideal as the skinny white emo boy who thinks everything could be solved with one great love song (*cough* Roger from Rent *cough* (except unlike Roger’s “Your Eyes”, Orpheus’s love songs are actually good (good, they are insanely great))). Some people might say his voice is the weakest, but it’s like a reed, it’s thin but deceptively strong. He’s so well cast, and he deserves credit for carrying the show. No one has even close to his amount of stage time. As Eurydice, Eva Noblezada (who blew us away a few years ago as the newest Miss Saigon) is adorable and winning, although I wish her impressive voice got a song that actually showed it off to its full extent more that just the last bit of Wait for Me II (although, admittedly, holy crap, it’s my favorite 20 seconds in modern musical history). Patrick Page (also didn’t die in Spider-Man yayyy), with his truly otherworldly voice, seemingly coming from depths not of this earth, is the perfect Hades. Especially during “Hey Little Songbird”, his incredibly deep bass makes the predatory tinge of this song even more disturbing and upsetting. You can feel the lowest notes of his range in your soul, shattering any sense of calm you might have.
My favorite performances come from Amber Gray as Persephone and Andre de Shields as Hermes. Gray, with that unique raspy voice that somehow becomes clear and strong whenever she needs it to be, is a surprising Persephone, strong and opinionated after a long life spent between two worlds. We meet her at a point in her story much later than anyone has seen before. She brings down the house with her Act II opener “Our Lady of the Underground”, which will make you wish this show was running in rep with a one-woman show about Persephone.
But the coolest cat on that stage is legendary Andre de Shields (also known as the original Wiz) as Hermes, gallivanting between the mortal and divine realms as only Hermes can. And as only Andre can, he commands the stage with his joyful movement, his soulful singing, and his ability to command your attention even when he’s in the background.
The cast also includes a spectacular ensemble. Chavkin’s Great Comet cast raised the bar for diversity on stage, and here she is again doing what she does best: challenging the rest of the theatre world to do better. And it’s not just an issue of diversity in ethnicities – her shows are also the only ones to have diversity in body types, something that truly should be commended yet is rarely talked about.
This is the first show in a while that I can’t wait to see again. It’s emotionally exhausting to watch (I can’t imagine how it is to perform) but in a great way. You know I hate not having anything to complain about but this show is extraordinary. It is by far one of the most compelling and gorgeous scores in modern musical history. A heartbreaking work of staggering genius, really.
INFORMATION
Hadestown is playing at the National Theatre’s Olivier Theatre until January 26, after which I hope it will be transferring to Broadway, where it is sorely needed.
Seating: The Olivier theatre is a big ol’ barn but there aren’t really any bad seats. It’s a huge semi-circle around the stage, so it feels like there are three sides of the stage to sit on. I chose the extreme stage right aisle in the stalls and it was a perfect view, but there are really bright lights that shine directly into your eyeline in the first 10 or so rows, so that sucked. Go farther up or more into the middle (which blows if you like aisles).
Stage door: All the leads came out and signed and took pictures except for Amber Gray (sob), who I believe does not ever stage door. Andre de Shields was the coolest, nicest person to ever talk to and it was honestly an honor.
Oh I do have a complaint: The show art pictured at the top is GORGE, yet the programmes (which you pay for here) are super boring black and white, just with the title printed and nothing else. I demand a sad-rose programme.
