Chekhov Lizardbrain and John McCain

We were so right, as in so very right, to despise McCain and his presidential bid. The reprise of Pig Iron Theater's Chekhov Lizardbrain could not have been better timed or a sweeter retort to the arts-naysaying of certain conservative elements, spearheaded by McCain and championed by the righteously-dumb Fox Noise Network, that are swimming like sharks, waiting for liberal chum to color their dark waters. And so they pounced on a 25K grant from the NEA to Pig Iron--an Obie-Award-winning theater troupe--as an exemplar of liberal waste. Mmmm. As a result, I remember the sweetness and delight of Chekhov Lizardbrain with particular fondness, a nearly fie-fie-fie-on-you-McCain spiteful fondness.

Oh, and if you missed it this time around, fortunately Pig Iron recently received a $25,000 grant to continue their good work so you will undoubtedly have another chance.

EgoPo's Endgame, next up Godot

The good people at EgoPo made a living thing of Beckett's Endgame, deftly skirting one of the chief dangers of producing Beckett, namely mere re-enactment of the master's work. It was--admittedly--a risk to situate the dysfunctional family of Endgame in a circa-70's suburban American rec room, moving the Mother and Father from their usual garbage pails into a washer and dryer. But the risk paid off, showing us a new approach to the living matter here. It also opened up a new interpretation of the overall predicament of this family. The mother and father idly reminisce about their leggy youth, prior to a horrible accident that deprived them of freedom and mobility, describing in German accents what was clearly the privileged youth of elites in the Weimar Republic. This is paired with Hamm's story of rescuing a boy from one of many starving ragpickers--he notes there were so many that he could have helped--and the fact that some unspecified and uncontrolled extinction event has occured leaving them an island of stranded humanity. All of which leads to suspicion that we are exploring one possible outcome of WWII in which humanity has been extinguished by hate and a few survivors are left to speak about the great necessity of love without, of course, feeling it or displaying love in any of their invariant interactions. So rather than a purley abstracted play that begins and ends with an impossible dysfunctional family, EgoPo has produced a Beckett play the begins with a bizarre ritualized set peice of the walking wounded and leads out to one of the West's most significant failures of the 20th century.

High-Concept Haunted Poe

Brat Production's Haunted Poe, which everyone is talking about, is more of a literary haunted house than site-specific theater. There are embedded performances throughout, including a Punch puppet show, a song sung from the grave, and 2 short films, experienced either through a chink in a stone wall or through the windows of a Victorian train car. The audience moves through the theatrical installations which are cleverly layed out and circle back to a central room, where Poe, Virginia and her Aunt pass a pleasant evening playing cards and reading. Outside that conventional space, Poe's visions are realized, bringing home the striking discrepancy between acceptable Victorian norms of thought and behavior and what was actually happening inside Edgar's tortured head. A further insight the evening brings home is just how pervasive Poe works are today. Other than Shakespeare, it is difficult to think of a writer whose stories are well-known enough to provide the basis for short, interactive performances given without introduction or scene-setting. A dreadfully pleasant way to spend an evening.

Fall Opening (Like an Orchid)

Theaters stir to life. Gas & Electric Arts performs Cabinet of Wonders, a bit of Grey Gardens crossed with Tom Waits in the most fabulous converted industrial space in the Eraserhood. We have to pause and appreciate how much Philadelphia small theaters mean because they want to mean. Art must be tired of talking to itself, now, finally. It is so good when art talks to us, which Cabinet does with a great and cluttered heart.

Frank X is mesmerizing for 3 minutes or 3 hours. A Philadelphia gem, now on the dias in the Arden's The History Boys. A theater immersion that also means to mean.

Soon: Theater Exile will open their season with Hunter Gatherers. Theater Exile is one of the city's most mature small theaters, assured and unerring, they always hit the mark of taut realism (think Mamet, without the weird diction). I do look forward.

A good week for Philadelphia Jazz

On Friday, October 16th, two Philadelphia sons who have more than made their marks on Jazz, return to our fair city. The dazzling Christian McBride, fronting his own bass-lead band, plays at the Kimmel Center at 8pm while sax man Sonny Fortune will be smoking the house at the Philadelphia Museum of Art at 5pm.

High Noon

Not a minute past 12 and not one too late. What is chiefly needed is a voice to say, "Look here, and here, and there, to be astounded or refreshed by the creative capacities in this city and hours of work someone has spent just to bring you a gift (a song, an act)."

If I speak about EgoPo and the Lantern Theater's Beckett Festivals, will you listen?

Happy Days, now at the Lantern, is breath-taking: right, recognizable, swift. Like the inescapable comment of a sharp-tongued friend you wounded unawares. It should be seen. As if this gift weren't enough, they give us Krapp's Last Tape on Monday, October 12th, anchored by the reliable intensity of Frank X.

http://www.lanterntheater.org

Little EgoPo, the theater troupe washed up on our shores from their unluckiest of homes in New Orleans, does Endgame beginning in November and Waiting for Godot in March. This troupe has a kind of magic. Their work should always be seen.

http://www.egopo.org/index.htm