London Has a New Restaurant Called 'Bubala' and Obvs I Love Itby Randi / February 17, 2020The riveting new work Everywoman finally offers a worthy counterpart to the classic 15th century morality play Everyman. Well, not ‘counterpart’ so much as ‘play that actually reflects the human condition and not just male whining’ (see e.g. Philip Roth). This short, powerful one-woman show runs the gamut of emotions, possibilities, and traumas around procreating, from abortion to miscarriage to loss to whether to bear and/or raise children at all. As Everyman’s author is ‘anonymous’, so too has the real writer behind this new work remained anonymous, so that it can be considered everyone’s story. And although it’s woman-driven storytelling, and radically so, I can’t think of one kind of person who wouldn’t feel seen by this. Sure the only full-fledged production of Everyman I’ve seen was the weird modernized take that took place mainly in a night club and infuriated me, but this Everywoman is the one that deserves the ‘universal’ status, despite the failure of the powers that be to ever attribute that to women’s work.
Obviously, there are content warnings to this show like never before. Take Dear Evan Hansen’s suicide content warning but for everything related to pregnancy and children and multiply that level by a solid thousand. The show follows the child-facing decisions of its sole performer, a captivating Jade Williams, at various points in her life when she has been pregnant, or wanted to be pregnant, or didn’t want to be, and how she felt during all of it. It also has a great deal of what I consider Next to Normal backstory about potential child loss, which was very well done and stressful and harrowing. I don’t know if anyone who has faced this sort of unspeakable loss would be able to make it through this section. The tiny room, the sole performer right there, baring her soul, it all creates such an intimacy that was breathtaking and so powerful that it was often distressing.
Despite repeatedly saying “I am Jade Williams and…” (a few too many times, perhaps, at least in the last section), this isn’t actually our fine performer’s story, and what of it actually happened to the actual writer is unclear too – but what’s the ‘truth’ is not relevant. It’s all truth, it’s all experiences that have happened to so many people and that’s what matters, not determining which parts were autobiographical on the anonymous writer’s part. Kind of missing the point chief!
The first section, with its frequent blackouts separating short, often funny statements, is cleverly done, setting a sarcastic and humorous tone but announcing how dark and real things would get. The second section, or chapter, as we learn more about this ‘Jade’ and her relationship and experiences, is a sharp contrast but equally brilliant in its ruthless openness. With sensitive and elegant direction by Amelia Sears, the tiny show accomplishes so much with effective minimal staging – a bathtub, buckets of water (that seemed to stay hot?? how!), candles (my god the candles). The final section, as Jade explains that it’s not exactly her actual life she’s been recounting, feels unnecessary since this is all about being universal tales, and so lost the tiniest bit of the magic. But overall, something this real and candid and, yes, universal is a triumph of honest storytelling.
INFORMATION
Hey yo Ev (what husbo p and I call Everyman because of that godawful Chiwetel production so I guess it’s what we’ll call Everywoman too) plays at the Bunker Theatre until Saturday Feb 22. The show is just under an hour (at press night was about 57 minutes). After a ten minute break, there is an approximately 20-minute confession by a different writer/performer every night. These confessions are private and not up for review, so I’ll simply say that I am still blown away by the clever writing and ingenuity of the one I was lucky enough to hear.
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“The Bridges of Madison County” on Broadway: Run Don’t Walk & Then Run Again
Not since “The Light in the Piazza” has a score so overflowed with emotion and moved its audience with its beauty. For classic heart-wrenching ballads that hearken back to the golden age of Broadway, “The Bridges of Madison County” is the show to see this season. I can’t wait to see it again just to hear the gorgeous, romantic score, of a type not seen on Broadway in a long while, sung live. Thanks to the always astounding Kelli O’Hara, perhaps the best interpreter of lush, romantic scores, and the fantastic musical newcomer Stephen Pasquale, this show absolutely captivates.
In “Bridges” the musical, a National Geographic photographer upends the life of a lonely Italian housewife living in Iowa. In town for a few days to photograph the county’s famous bridges, the photographer, Robert (Stephen Pasquale) falls in love with Francesca (Kelli O’Hara) and presents her with a life-changing opportunity. The well-known novel and movie versions are topped, because a musical is the best way to tell a romantic story. Also, musicals are allowed to be somewhat corny, so the story works better here. The whole town is unsettled, knocked off its staid monotonous track with the arrival of the hippie photographer, who fortuitously knocked on Francesca’s door.
It’s no coincidence that O’Hara is partly responsible for the splendor of both “Bridges” and “Piazza”, the two most romantic scores on Broadway since “West Side Story”. Her voice is the stuff wildly romantic songs rely upon. She only gets more expressive and more sophisticated in performance with each Broadway season. It would be a mistake if she didn’t take home the Tony this year.
Steven Pasquale is unbelievably making his Broadway musical debut, and presenting a showcase in how to be a leading male heartthrob. (At the stage door, this 7-foot-tall Russian woman, wearing 5-inch open-toed stilettos in winter and smoking 7 cigarettes during the 20 minutes we waited, had Pasquale sign her fully exposed breast without have English at her disposal. Suffice it to say the rest of the waiting crowd was horrified.) He is just so great. His Robert is up there with Matthew Morrison’s Fabrizio for perfect male love story performances. As the show progresses, and as we get to know the character more, his voice opens up and takes control not only of the house but seemingly of the entire theatre district. I cannot think of another male vocal performance as commendable this season (save Ramin Karimloo in “Les Miserables”, but Les Mis shouldn’t count).
The show’s book is much more decent than I would have expected with such a doe-eyed show. There were a few clunky lines and transitions, but for the most part everything flowed. The best part of the book came from Francesca’s neighbors, the old married couple Marge and Charlie (Cass Morgan and Michael X. Martin). Nosy but lovable Marge knows something is up with her neighbor and pesters her husband about what he would do if she cheated on him. Their neighborly interactions, nosy wonderings, and hilarious repartee is a very necessary comedic relief in this very cryfest of a show. The single funniest part is unspoken, just Marge pressed against her screen door and reaching for binoculars. Amazing. The best line, though, comes from Francesca, when Robert makes a comment on what brought him to Iowa and she says it was “the patron saint of Iowa housewives.” Italians and their patron saints. (Although in the opening song, Francesca’s accent sounded Irish. Whatever, it was still beautiful.)
My other favorite part of the book was when Robert said he was a vegetarian because he “just feels better when [he] doesn’t eat meat.” Score! And when he gathers vegetables from the garden, Francesca comments that he didn’t get kale, which she would have expected because it is a very American thing. Or something very current about the obsession with kale. Tee hee.
The only part I didn’t care too much about was all the time spent at the fair, where Francesca’s husband (Hunter Foster) and kids went during this week. One hitchy-giddyup song was kind of irritating, as was the “Oh I’m in Iowa” song that came instead of a needed emotional release.
But it is worth the ticket price alone to hear the standout moment of the show, the Act II duet between Francesca and Robert called “One Second & A Million Miles”. It is so gorgeous, the girl in front of me started sobbing at its beauty. As did the girl behind her.
The very “500 Days of Summer”-esque staging of the ‘fantasy’ and ‘actual’ endings, when she makes her choice between staying with her family or leaving with her love, is extremely effective and heartbreaking. The show is overall wonderful and should have a long run, but it is facing a challenge from the abundance of quality shows running right now. Hopefully, people won’t assume that they already know this story from the movie or the book and will instead take in one of the most beautiful shows in a while.
Strong London Transfer of Sorkin’s To Kill A Mockingbird
It’s Theatre Thursday! Opening night of this production is tonight! I saw it a few weeks ago so here we are! Have fun tonight to everyone who didn’t get into fights with people that rhyme with Belfont Crackintosh and get blacklisted from press lists!
What a treat for London! Aaron Sorkin’s very-Aaron-Sorkin adaptation of the classic Harper Lee novel To Kill A Mockingbird has successfully made the jump from Broadway to add some heavy heavy drama, depth, and intelligence to current West End offerings. With the familiar portrayal of the novel’s events, some great performances, and subtle improvements on the source material, this production is a must. And I’m not just saying that because I got to stand next to my fave male theatre director OF ALL TIME, Bartlett Sher, for a few minutes as he tweaked his work. (“T-W-E-A-K tweaking. It sounds like…he’s…married. Married 3 kids.”)
As an American, my DNA comprises the book To Kill A Mockingbird like it does peanut butter and apple pie (not together ew gross! wait, actually… (I truly just made the two faces of that girl in the gif, you know the one)). I assumed that British folk did not have to read the book in their version of middle school as commonly as we did (every single American schoolchild reads it) and according to some of my British friends that is correct, since they didn’t have to. The draw, then, to this show and the cultural importance of it might not be as compelling as it was in NYC. But hopefully it still makes its mark.
TKAM tells the story, as you know (unless you’re a British schoolchild), of nice-man lawyer Atticus Finch, his children Scout (tough girl!) and Jem (boy of middling toughness!), their new friend Dill (based on Truman Capote!), and the Alabama town they live in and all its eek-face-making goings-on. Atticus is tasked to represent a black man accused of raping a young white girl, Atticus being one of the few non-super-racist whites of the town and thus the accused’s only chance at justice. Even though everyone and their dog knows the man, Tom Robinson, is innocent, the politics of the town and time mean that getting justice for the man will be a longshot.
The courtroom drama scenes are so well done. So much time is devoted to Mayella’s and Bob Ewell’s testimony and you want to scream the whole time but it is mfing gripping drama. I haven’t been that nervous and breathless watching cross examinations since I was an intern in a real courtroom for a trial of this very nature, although the attorneys there could have really used some Sorkin writing on their side (and that IRL defense attorney was actually more offensive, racist, and bigoted than the prosecution here! hooray America!).
Rafe Spall’s Atticus carries the show fine, and is strong in the scenes with the children. He’s good in the court scenes too, although his surprisingly loud screaming at the end felt like a shocking misfire for a character always shown as level-headed. Yes, it’s to show he’s losing his famous patience with this miscarriage of justice, but even so, a little too much to be believable. Scout, our narrator, is playedth by Gwyneth Keyworth, who has some amazing moments (“go right for the eyes!” being literally the hardest I’ve laughed in the theatre in years) but needs to work on her uneven accent. My fave performance of the whole shibang comes from David Moorst as a spindly and sprightly Dill, who is gottam HILARIOUS 70% of the time and completely heartbreaking 40% of the time (that’s right) with no lag time. I could cry again thinking of him. HE’S NOT REAL, I have to keep telling myself otherwise it’s unbearable. (Moorst played Puck in that beyond perfection production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Bridge so I guess he joins my list of favorite UK actors, cool cool cool.)
What I really loved about this production was how Atticus, long heralded in American culture as the faultless hero white man who helped solve racism, was called out for trying to be nice to everyone, even to bad racist people. His long-time black maid, Calpurnia (Pamela Nomvete), does the calling out over time and then all at once, in a satisfying and believable way, though the bigness of that moment’s portrayal feels a bit forced Atticus was rightly revealed as being neutral towards offenders, like a modern person still trying to be friends with Republicans who vote others’ rights away, and finally having that stated as unequivocally wrong-headed. This is what I meant as some of the “subtle improvements on the source material”, although it has been so long since I read the book that maybe it’s in there. But I very much appreciated Sorkin’s making it clear that trying to be nice to everyone means you are nice to people who aren’t nice to some, who are evil in fact, who don’t deserve it. Being Switzerland to everyone means you’re also Switzerland to the Jews. (Look it up!)
Despite the length of the show (see infra), it moved well (like so many musical theatre actors on their resumes). Well, for the most part — hopefully by tonight the final 20 minutes will have been tightened, because it was like a belt on its biggest beltloop when it needed to be on maybe its second-to-smallest. The whole part with the sheriff and the judge and Atticus being CONVINCED for no good reason that his skinny lil son killed a man?? (Brick killed a guy!) felt like I was being draggggeduh physically through molasses. It was not believable that Atticus wouldn’t get the picture for that f-ing long. I kept wanting to shout “he ran into my knife! he ran into my knife ten times!” Would’ve livened that scene up (although omg when Boo appears, my heart!! it’s so good!). BUT ANYWAY. TKAM is an always timely reminder that the justice system does not work for everyone, and that the same general issue — vital decisions made without the burden of facts — have opposite results for different people (i.e., it destroyed Tom’s life, and it saved Boo’s). It’s an important-feeling, high-quality production that benefits from Sorkin at his West Wing best and not at his Molly’s Game worst (it was just on TV, it is all voiceover narration? so annoying. Congrats to Chasty though, love her).
INFORMATION
My performance began at 19:35, Act I ended at 20:56 (WOOF that’s a lot to ask of my bladder, I am aware that’s not normal don’t worry), and the show ended at about 22:30. long! but great! It might have been (hopefully) tightened up by tonight but I can’t say because of the aforementioned yet-another shit list I’m on for being honest/not taking other people’s shit.
AUDIENCE
Masks on about 10% of people, 80% of unmasked coughing like it was their gottam job. COOOOOL.
TIP
If you sit in the stalls house left, there’s a little hidden ladies toilet that you can run to and beat the queue, what a treat.
