The View UpStairs Review by Paul Oswell On June 24th 1973, 32 people died in an arson attack on a gay bar called The UpStairs Lounge in the French Quarter. The devastation was compounded at the time by a shameful, callous reaction to the loss of life from so-called religious leaders (even given that one of the deceased was a Reverend) and city officials alike. It remained the most horrific, violent act against the LGBTQ community until the Pulse Nightclub in Orlando in 2016. Before anything, we remember and honor the memory of those who lost their lives. This may sound like an unlikely backdrop to a life-affirming musical, but playwright and composer Max Vernon was moved to create The View UpStairs in 2013, this one-act production first performed at the Lynn Redgrave Theater in New York in 2017. Unless it was just to be a straight retelling of the events, a conceit was necessary, and so Vernon presents a kind of living flashback to that night. Wes (Donyae Asante), a hyper-modern influencer, has - oblivious to its history - just purchased a derelict lounge bar and tells his online followers that he can’t wait to transform it into a trendy art space. The audience is asked to make a sudden leap as his presence somehow opens up a portal in time, and he is transported back to 1973, where it's just another night for the UpStairs regulars. It’s important to remember that much of queer life was illegal at this time, and so places to socialize were rare, the clientele ranging from vagrants to men of the cloth. Among others, we meet firecracker bartender Henri (Lauren Sparacello), piano man Buddy (Marshall Harris), theatrical Freddy (Eddie Lockwood, who also designed the costumes), pastor Richard (Tom Vaughn), queer elder Willie (Rayshaughn Armant) and hustlers Patrick and Dale (Ty Robbins and Justice Hues). The sense of family is apparent from the off, with a wonderful chorus adding to the opening’s song and dance numbers, a whole world and its dynamic efficiently conjured. Wes imagines himself to be hallucinating at first, but he quickly adapts and before long is explaining phone apps and the vacuity of contemporary life. This theme has some easy laughs as the bar patrons dismiss his rants, and while it’s not the most interesting part of the night, it’s an empathetic bridge that allows us all to cross. Issues - some of which still resonate today - are discussed and fought over...the behavior of the hustlers, the spiritual health of the group, how to deal with a police raid. Some people fight, while others pretend to be straight married men, the eternal conflict between pragmatism and idealism. Asante is tremendously charismatic as he deftly navigates a difficult role, veering from cartoonish arrogance to being mystified and lovelorn as he and Patrick - played with note-perfect, easy assurance by Robbins - start to fall for each other despite the odds. Lockwood shines as a drag queen, beaten on the street and comforted by his mother (JeAnne Marcus) before an entertaining “we’ve got just one night to put on the best show ever” subplot. Mostly in the background, Justice Hues grapples with a gradual descent into desperation with real aplomb. Almost all of the cast are on stage for the entirety of the 100-minute run time, and I want to especially commend the chorus. Given the time-travel aspect, the show relies on the integrity of creating a realistic 1970s world, and they do an excellent job. Jack Lampert’s direction, and the choreography of Monica Ordoñez are both admirable in their dynamism and realism. The music and songs deliver a sense of comradery and maintain an emotional resonance. There are some seriously impressive pipes on stage, particularly from Donyae Asante, Lauren Sparacello, Rayshaughn Armant and soprano JeAnne Marcus. There are some memorable lines, and I laughed out loud when Asante begs “Give me one more chance to ruin your life!” Harris and Armant expertly tease out their characters, while Eddie Lockwood brings their skills as one of the city’s most creative burlesque performers, and they are similarly a joy to watch. The set and book do a great job in taking us back to the early 1970s, capturing the linguistic and aesthetic ticks and contrasting them nicely with the relentless modernity embodied by Wes. It’s a love story, a cautionary tale of modern superficiality, and a gut-wrenching tragedy all in one. It’s also a piece of New Orleans history that asks us to keep in mind both the devastating consequences of one man’s torment, but also the barbaric indifference of our institutions when a compassionate, human response was needed, but from them, none came. Many times, our found families are the ones that matter the most. The View UpStairs plays at Jefferson Performing Arts Center through September 17th. More information and tickets here. Star Crossed: A Midsummer Nightmare Review by Amelia Parenteau In a New Orleans summer rife with Shakespeare, Fat Squirrel serves up a manic retelling of the canon with 'Star Crossed: A Midsummer Nightmare'. Combining text, themes, and characters from over 17 of Shakespeare’s plays, Andrea Watson conceived and directed this original production with an ensemble cast of 18 performers. Watson herself stars as Mercutio, the mercurial agent of chaos tying the divergent plot lines together with his insatiable need for scheming. Like any grand family reunion, the play features many familiar characters and several stunning performances. Laura Bernas is a powerhouse as Fairy King Oberon, taking inordinate delight in drugging Titania (Lizzy Bruce), the Fairy Queen, for nefarious revenge. Mary Pauley as Juliet’s Nurse showcases her phenomenal range, pulling laughs one moment and tenderly tugging heartstrings the next. Elyse McDaniel plays a fierce, spiteful Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, deftly holding the spotlight even while having her lines, spoken in Spanish, simultaneously spoken in English by the Translator (Kaylon Willoughby). Taking advantage of the large ensemble cast, Watson created beautiful stage pictures, including a striking tableau to open the show, with characters garbed in the tunics of Ancient Athens and holding statuesque poses. Court dances and stage combat were high points of the action in an otherwise dialogue-heavy script. The soundtrack combined moody indie rock hits with instrumental underscoring, which could have gone even further to highlight dramatic moments: I would have loved a swelling orchestra beneath Romeo and Juliet’s first ecstatic kiss, for example. “Star Crossed” delivers on unabashedly queer romance, with Hermia (Hannah Dougharty) and Helena (Desirée Burrell) as one of the central pairs of lovers, and Titania falling head-over-heels for the Nurse in her love-potioned trance. Perhaps the truest madness is daring to love at all, knowing that after all humans, gods, and fairies’ machinations in life, we each inevitably meet our end in death? Unless we’re lucky enough to have a poet or playwright keep telling our tale. “Star Crossed” runs through August 24, 2023. Tickets and more information available here. Review by Pippy Calmar
Twelve Mile Limit is a great spot for getting everyone together. There are delicious pop-ups in the kitchen for the foodie, fundraisers for the activist, dance parties for the fairy with endless energy, and trivia nights for the nerd. The Mid-City haunt is decorated with local bands’ concert art, old signs, a pride flag, and koozies that line the ceiling for sound absorption and flair. It feels like walking into your cool older cousin’s college apartment from the early 1990s. The quirkiest bit that truly makes me smile is the bathroom with 2 heads next to each other… 12ML’s rotating events are perfect for date nights: open mic comedy on Mondays, karaoke on Thursdays, and various (often queer) dance parties most weekends. A burlesque show was the perfect midweek pick-me-up on a recent Tuesday night. I always try to make it out for sexy bingo (last Saturday of the month) and trivia (Wednesdays at 8). In addition to craft cocktails, they have delicious non-alcoholic options too, including some locally-made THC seltzers which are my favorite. Every night they have $5 classic cocktails and there’s always a new $3 brunch punch on Sundays before noon. There’s a kitchen on site, with Third Wheel as the main tenant. Third Wheel’s delightful bar bites are right on brand. They make the freshest, tastiest salads that you would never expect from a dive bar– highly, highly recommend! The prices are such that you can order the whole menu, try each dish, and share with your friends/partners/metamours. Chow down with Third Wheel (W and F evenings; Sunday brunch), Milkfish on Thursdays, and Big Little Kitchen on Mondays. Apart from great vibes, tasty cocktails, and fun events, Twelve Mile Limit also does good. Since opening in 2010, 12ML has been a hub for progressive causes: they've held phone banks to support local policy changes and hosted Planned Parenthood for sex ed trivia. Recently, 12ML partnered with Lift Louisiana for a dance party fundraiser for bodily autonomy and abortion access. Every Friday, $1 from their $5 classic daiquiris goes to charity (like the New Orleans Women & Children’s Shelter). Pro tip: if you've got more go-cups than you need, save up your 12ML go-cups to return in exchange for drink credits: 50 cents per cup, no limit or expiration. Do you want to review your favorite local spot? Email outalldaynola@gmail.com - we'll send you some swag if we publish it! Mali-boom Barbie
by Paul Oswell What’s the crossover point of nuclear weapons and a famous American doll? Probably the bikini, right? In 1946, Europeans experienced their first summer without war in years. The air was ripe with optimism, and in France, designer Louis Réard noticed women rolling up the edges of their bathing suits to improve their tans. He created a skimpy two-piece bathing suit using a few triangles of fabric. Across the world in the south Pacific, Bikini Atoll was being used for atomic bomb tests. The islands took their name from a local word, ‘pikinni,’ meaning ‘coconut place.’ Réard thought his invention was as ‘small and devastating’ as the atom bomb, and bikinis were born. Oppenheimer - Chris Nolan’s biopic of the eccentric physician heading up the Manhattan Project - doesn’t concern itself with fashion, although there are some gratuitously saucy clips that go way beyond flashing midriffs (more on this). At three hours long, it’s something of a test of endurance, especially given the decidedly un-cinematic plethora of scenes that are mostly just men arguing in a broom cupboard. Other scenes include men arguing at parties, men arguing in congressional hearings and men arguing on trains. Oops, they accidentally-on-purpose invented a devasting weapon, and now there’s some moral qualms about using it, and the world-ending doors that its use inevitably opens. I found that the conflicts - Oppenheimer’s personal ones as well as the larger ethical/political picture - carried the drama well enough, and given that there’s only one ‘action’ scene (the testing of the bomb), I personally didn’t feel that it dragged. There are some surprising revelations. Much of the first part of the movie is negotiating Oppie’s romantic tangles. He was quite the player, let me tell you. Apparently he was irresistible, and he didn’t even look like Cillian Murphy that much in real life. Still, it rounds out the character nicely. Otherwise we’d just be watching repeated heated discussions of theoretical physics. There are some fun cameos - Tom Conti as Albert Einstein for example - and a Salieri/Mozart-type storyline with embittered scientist Lewis Strauss (Robert Downy Jr). Florence Pugh spends much of her screen time in the nude, and I’m not too sure how it advances the plot but Nolan seems to think it important. There’s lots of Communist hunting and intellectual jousting, and of course it’s a huge topic. In some ways, we are all living in the post-credits sequence. They also make Oppenheimer say his famous line (“Now I am become Death, etc”) twice, just for kicks. But overall, it’s a commendable achievement, imho. Two hours after Oppenheimer finished, I was laughing at Ryan Gosling being a plastic doll. Barbie could not be more diametrically opposed as a movie, and I’m glad we saw them both in this order. I am Very Much Not The Demographic for Barbie, but Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach deliver a witty, self-aware script that elevates this film way above, say, The Emoji Movie or Sonic the Hedgehog 2. Given that it’s essentially two hours of product placement, it’s a biting, near-subversive commentary on gender politics, and two-thirds of the way through, America Ferrera delivers a feminist manifesto that is genuinely rousing. I can understand why Ben Shapiro pretends to hate it for money, and that in itself is pleasing to me. Margot Robbie, Kate McKinnon and America Ferrara all deliver, and Ryan Gosling’s commitment to the role of Ken is impressive. Issa Rae and Michael Cera are also absolutely loving their roles. If you want six hours of experiencing just about every emotion that you could feel watching movies, I heartily recommend the double bill. Just be careful about the order and remember the old saying: “Oppenheimer before Barbie, you’ll still want to party; Barbie before Oppenheimer, you might have a bad time-a.” REVIEW: BIOSPHERE
Two men and three fish spend years in a geodesic dome after a nuclear holocaust. If this sounds like a set up for a joke, then it kind of is. Billy (Louisiana’s own Mark Duplass) and Ray (Sterling K. Brown) are - as far as anyone can tell - the last remnants of the human race, just as Sam, Diane and Woody are the last of their piscine cousins. Hilarity ensues. Er, sort of. The why is the first reveal. Turns out Billy was a red-button-happy President (of the United States), and Ray his right hand man, his childhood friend-turned-consiglieri. Ray had built the dome just in case of the apocalypse and WHOOPSIE it was a good job he did. We join them a number of years into the situation, and they’re living like a couple of college roomies, playing video games, maxin' and relaxin' and just wholesomely bro-ing out, man. The fish reproduce and provide fresh food sustainably, and so when ‘Sam’ dies and is the main star of that night’s fish fry dinner, it’s no biggie. Only they realize just before dessert that it‘s actually Diane who went fins up, which puts a freshly-urgent spin on humanity’s present and future, such as they are. What transpires is kind of a Black Mirror-esque buddy comedy as the leads deal with immediate and existential threats. How will we eat now, and oh, a strange green light appears in the completely black sky of the nuclear winter, and is starting to grow. The lifelong dynamics of Billy and Ray start to emerge. Billy is impulsive and kind of a goof, Ray is scientific but open to the mysteries of the unknown. They have Odd Couple-type fights about personal privacy, video game hacks and their different recollections of a childhood magic show. It’s mostly fun times given the circumstances, but with the sudden ecological and evolutionary pressures, a lot changes very quickly. Directed by first timer Mel Eslyn (who co-wrote the script with Duplass), some interesting ideas are explored. Given the lack of diverse settings and microscope of the dome, though, it’s hard to misdirect, and so the developments at times feel like they’ve been foreshadowed with a slightly heavy hand. It’s not hard to keep a step ahead of the script if you’re paying attention. Duplas and Brown are charismatic, and bounce off each other charmingly. We are mostly unencumbered by hard sci-fi problems or thoughts of everyone that they ever loved having been vaporized, though if you had a two-person dome set up in advance, then presumably you’d already reconciled yourself to them not making it. I won’t spoil the main conceit though you’ll work it out early on. It does throw up some fun conversations and slapstick moments, but I left feeling like it could have worked well as a one-hour episode in an anthology rather than a 100-minute feature. Bereft of the distraction of other characters, there’s a limit to where you can go (thematically and geographically). The future of the species being in the hands of two petty men who mainly like to argue about The Super Mario Brothers isn’t without its amusing moments, though. (PO) Biosphere is playing at Prytania Canal Place Miss Rose: A Cabaret Play The Marigny Opera House (this performance relocated to the New Marigny Theatre) When we arrive, we are given two programs, “One that the company made and one that Miss Rose made.” The latter is a primitive-looking single sheet, headed ‘The Tarrytown Care Center Presents: Rose’s Turn’. This is the cabaret within the play, a ‘turn’ of songs and stories performed by the character of Rose Williams. In real life, Rose was the sister of Tom ‘Tennessee’ Williams, who was institutionalized for her entire life after a failed lobotomy. Reportedly a real-life inspiration to Mr Williams (certainly for some of his most famous characters - e.g. Laura Wingfield in The Glass Menagerie), in this world, she is an entertainer, just looking to express herself and put on a show for her baby brother’s birthday, despite her circumstances. It’s a simple but immersive set, and we ourselves play the part of an audience (her fellow patients?) that don’t show up, but are imagined. A sad table of refreshments languishes expectantly in the corner. A pianist (music director Audrey Smith) accompanies the songs, and a nurse (assistant director Alston Brown) conducts, directs and sometimes participates in the skits. Set over a series of visits, the opening has an agitated Tennessee seemingly there just to get away from production woes on his new play. She makes fun of him, playfully calling him ‘Idaho’, and attempting to both delight and goad him with family memories and shared experiences that veer between wholesome and traumatic. This is a pattern that repeats itself, the siblings often caught in cycles of euphoric reminiscing and raw confrontation. Rebecca Gibel plays Rose with a fierce dexterity and charisma, flitting between ebullient dramatics and erratic psychosis. Songs are played for laughs as well as sympathies, scenes and games from their childhoods evoke joy and trauma in equal measure. Gibel has a wonderful voice and timing, which might not ring completely true, but the cabaret itself can’t be too amateurish or it would be a challenge to sit through. In short: she and the direction strike a great balance and Gibel is impressively fearless and completely entertaining. Leicester Landon plays Tennessee/Tom with a louche touch, at once coy and outrageous, with many a bon mot, served awash with sultry, southern allure. Landon’s physicality, sometimes brooding, sometimes camp, but always dynamic, is a very strong aspect of his acting. He carries a comically surreal scene equating creative and literal constipation with hilarious aplomb, and rolls with the verbal jabs that he and Rose - like most brothers and sisters - use to lift and belittle each other with equal effect. The visits bounce between elation and despair, Rose wrestling with her social and romantic solitude is as visceral as Tom confronting his sexuality in an unforgiving time (one that sadly has unwelcome modern-day relevance). The play presents the discrete sessions as one continuous play in Rose’s mind, meaning that the coherence is never lost, though a couple of very minor trims would make for a leaner, more punchy last half hour in this layman’s opinion. Writer-directors Kenny Prestininzi and Christopher Winslow have a debut that they can be very proud of, though. Gibel and Landon have an engaging chemistry, and the framing is a compelling way into the exploration of this complicated, but fundamentally loving relationship. Kudos also to Audrey Smith and Alston Brown, who help finesse the world on stage with their musical and theatrical flourishes. With any luck, this production will return for next year’s Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival - I’ll definitely be there to see it again if that happens. More reviews See upcoming shows at the Marigny Opera House GET YOUR ROCKS OFF: ASTEROID CITY
Every time a new Wes Anderson movie comes out, I take to Twitter and say, “I see Wes Anderson has made his film again.” It’s very funny every single time, and the post often gets up to three likes. Anyway, Wes Anderson has made his film again, and if you like Wes Anderson films, boy are you in for a treat. If you don’t, then boy are you in for a bad time. But cool your jets - perhaps you’re like me, someone who kind of likes Wes Anderson films, but thought that his last one, The French Dispatch, had jumped the whimsical shark and had taken Mr Anderson’s film making to its logical, pastel-drenched conclusion. You might, if this is you, like Asteroid City; Mr Anderson seems to be pulling back from the brink of his own stylization. All the tropes are there: the comforting color palate, the endless list of A-list stars (notably Bill Murray-free this time), the love of analogue artifacts and affectation and steampunk-adjacent exploration, the snippy dialogue, etc. However, whereas in The French Dispatch it felt at times that the style was leading the substance, here the story takes to the foreground, and it’s all the more enjoyable for it. There’s an implied sense of artifice in most Wes Anderson films, but here the whole movie is presented as a staged production, making the artifice overt from the start. Brian Cranston plays ‘the announcer’ and leads us through the post-modern scenes of the writer (Ed Norton) not only creating the play that is 'Asteroid City', but also conversing with the cast (mainly Jason Schwarzman, Scarlet Johanson and Tom Hanks) as they prepare scenes. The world of ‘Asteroid City’ is self contained and coherent, but the leads walk backstage and peel back the layers, and we’re invited to look into the play’s innards. The plot of the play - delivered in typical Andersonian fashion - is that a group of young science geniuses have gathered in a small desert town to receive awards for innovation. While there, the assembled crowds witness an extraterrestrial event and are subsequently held captive by the military. In a charming, whimsical way, of course. Jason Schwarzman’s character also has to tell his kids that their mother (also the daughter of Tom Hanks’s character) has died. Annnnnd…that’s about it, with some very funny supporting roles from Steve Carell, Hope Davis and Tilda Swinton. The future-retro aesthetics of a post-war jet age are employed with humor and much less worthiness than The French Dispatch, and it’s a return to the more innocent, playful vibes of Moonrise Kingdom. Make no mistake, I was prepared to be annoyed by this film, but the deceit is just charming enough for it to work, and its compact running time and budget make for welcome creative restraints. I feel like Wes Anderson decided to dial things back, and Asteroid City is all the better for it. In the meantime, I see I’ve made the tweet about Wes Anderson making his film again again. Only this time, I’m not mad about it. (PO) Chekov's Fun: Vanya & Sonia & Masha and Spike
Review by Ameila Parenteau Rounding out its first season, new-to-the-scene Crescent City Stage presents Vanya & Sonia & Masha and Spike by Christopher Durang, a belly-laugh comedy that centers on the narcissistic despair of its three titular siblings: Vanya (Doug Spearman), Sonia (Jana Mestecky), and Masha (Lorene Chesley). Yes, they’re named after Chekhov characters, and the script is littered with easter eggs for theater buffs, but even those with no knowledge of Chekhov’s oeuvre will find this 2.5-hour escapade wildly entertaining. Michael A. Newcomer’s scenic design furnishes a sumptuous bohemian-meets-mid-century-modern living room in the siblings’ family home in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where the entirety of the action takes place. Vanya and Sonia live listlessly in this house they inherited after their parents died, while Masha foots the bill for their languorous lifestyle as a world-famous movie star. The play begins with 'Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf'-level bickering between Vanya and Sonia, revealing Sonia pines for Vanya, and she was adopted. The pair have spent the past 15 years taking care of their aging parents and find themselves purposeless without them. The tone veers from heightened poetic realism as Vanya and Sonia retread the tedium of their matinal rituals, to theatrically absurd with the entrance of their housekeeper Cassandra (Donyae Asante) and her daily prophecy of doom. The comedy ramps up as Masha breezes in with her significantly younger boytoy, Spike (Cody Evans), who can’t keep his shirt on for the life of him. Speaking of shirts, Tiffani Sheriff’s costume design adeptly emphasizes each character’s idiosyncrasy, from glamorous Masha to fastidious Vanya. Act one builds to a costume party at the neighbor’s house, with the threat of Chekhovian tragedy descending on the farcical fun, as Masha is threatening to sell the family home, thereby evicting Vanya and Sonia (as Cassandra had warned). Act two showcases the cast’s comedic and dramatic chops, including Sonia and Masha’s pity party dressed as princesses on the couch, competing for Vanya’s sympathy, and fawning neighbor Nina (Yvette Bourgeois) trawling her depths to embody a molecule in the performance of Vanya’s climate apocalypse play-within-a-play. Liam Gardner’s lighting design provides the perfect backdrop to brilliant, wild Cassandra’s prophetic outbursts, and Amara Skinner’s sound design supplies a fun soundtrack to accompany the characters’ mood swings. An unusual climax comes in the form of a Boomer humor nostalgia tour monologue from Vanya, berating Spike for his lack of appreciation for how things were: “The past was idiotic, but I miss parts of it. […] Though it was extremely boring, it was something we shared.” Durang can’t help but deliver a happy ending, and Vanya & Sonia & Masha give Spike the boot and accept a new appreciation of their uncertain middle age. Neither idiotic nor boring, this Chekhov in the twenty-first century spin-off is an American response to Russian existentialism, full of hubris and humor. Vanya & Sonia & Masha and Spike runs through June 30. Tickets and more information available here. Review by Amelia Parenteau
A warm, chatty audience assembled to take in PearlDamour’s Ocean Filibuster at the CAC, furthered warmed by the locally-cast ensemble of “activists” walking up and down the aisles with clipboards, asking us to sign their petition if we “stood with the ocean.” Originally commissioned in 2016 by the American Repertory Theater in partnership with the Harvard University Center for the Environment, Ocean Filibuster attempts the impossible: letting the vast, unknowable Ocean speak for itself. The audience was seated facing a stark white stage, with a “Global Federation - Humans on Earth” seal projected upstage and Sorkin-esque music on loop. As the show begins, we learn we’re attending a special session of the Global Senate. “Mr. Majority” (Jennifer Kidwell) presents his “End of Ocean Bill” to “put the ocean out of its misery” by draining vast parts of it, thus creating more land and a smaller, condensed set of “seven seas” to cut our losses and continue sustaining human life on this planet for the foreseeable future. This speech is underscored by Evan Spigelman patriotically clashing cymbals, ever the comedic genius. Then the anthropomorphized Ocean (also played by Kidwell) appears in a gown made of plastic bags to filibuster the bill. The Ocean goes on to regale the audience with a myriad of original songs, composed by Sxip Shirey, scientific facts, imaginings, and objections to the notion that humans (ourselves made of 60% water) could survive without it. Kidwell is magnificent, deftly transitioning between characters, wryly interacting with the audience, and singing their heart out. As the Ocean contains multitudes, the ensemble periodically returns, dressed in diaphanous robes and coral-like headpieces, to amplify songs with their chorus of voices. The design for this show is outrageously good, from glorious costumes by Olivera Gajic to otherworldly projections by Stivo Arnoczy and Tal Yarden, and immaculate sound design by Andrew Lynch and Sxip Shirey. At intermission, the audience is invited into the lobby to interact with several stations: activism resources to be gleaned through QR codes, a couple underwater dance parties, a sand art display of the composite ingredients of humans and oceans, and AR depictions of ocean life available via iPads. Part two begins with Kidwell luxuriously draped over the Senate desk for some coy hilarity, followed by more songs, the end of the filibuster, inevitable manipulation by Mr. Majority, and a dreamscape of what ifs — envisioning if humans remembered we are, in fact, a part of the global ecosystem, rather than extractive parasites draining the planet for all it’s worth. The activists return for a final chorus, a whale song sung in the round (literally around the audience), and then we all trickled off into the night. The creators’ key word was “wonder,” as the Ocean sings: “Isn’t it enough that I am beautiful? Just stand back, and wonder.” Confronted with the enormity of the climate crisis, no work of theater can offer tidy resolution. Instead, Ocean Filibuster asks its audience to be willing to be immersed in experience, open to feelings as well as facts. I, for one, was happy to swim around in that world, for a while. Ocean Filibuster has ended its run but check out upcoming events at the CAC here. MORE REVIEWS MORE CULTURE Review by Amelia Parenteau To open its 30th season, the New Orleans Shakespeare Festival at Tulane presents Twelfth Night, directed by AJ Allegra. Allegra’s version of Twelfth Night is placed in 1950s Italy, as evidenced by the set’s colorful two-story façades and town square with a faux marble fountain laced with climbing ivy, designed by Joan Long. The audience sits surrounding 3 sides of the stage, and with actors entering and exiting from 4 different access points, feels enmeshed in the comings and goings of this charming Illyria. Whose Italy we’re inhabiting varies from character to character. Tia René Williams brings a strong Strega Nona vibe (and accent) to the town square, while Mike Harkins and Keith Claverie as Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek, respectively, lean more Sopranos. Allegra’s direction keeps a tight pace, which serves the comedic timing of the many pranks and plots unspooling throughout this story, while also allowing for moments of stillness for the audience to soak up the lyrical acoustic music composed by Ainsley Matich, performed live by Rich Dally III, Noah Hazzard, and Steven Rose. One particularly delightful piece of staging was the 3 Stooges-esque trio of Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Aguecheek, and Fabian (Noah Hazzard) spying on Malvolio (Graham Burk) through three shuttered doors on the upstairs balcony as he reads the faux love letter intended to humiliate him. Similarly, the dramatic irony at the end of the play is almost unbearable as the characters fail to understand there are siblings afoot rather than just one rascal Cesario, deliciously exacerbated by staggered staging, keeping Viola just out of Sebastian’s eyeline. While the word play and “sword” play and poor Malvolio in his yellow stockings, cross-gartered, still hold their charm some 420 years after Twelfth Night was written, Viola’s cross-dressing for survival made me yearn for an unabashedly queer telling of this story. Instead of telling him/her “Cesario, come/ For so you shall be, while you are a man./ But when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress, and his fancy’s queen,” what if, in the final moments, Orsino was proud to be seen in public with his male-passing lover? As always, Kacie Thomassie’s costumes dazzle, particularly the mourning ensemble and whoops-I’m-in-love floral number worn impeccably by Brittany N. Williams. Mandi Wood’s lighting design and Mike Harkins’ sound design rounded out the Mediterranean world, and achieved a hilarious climax with a warm, rose-colored spotlight on the door to Olivia’s chambers while Italian opera swelled and Sebastian and Olivia enjoyed each other’s company, if you will. Twelfth Night runs through June 24, 2023. Tickets and more information available here. ALL REVIEWS MORE CULTURE |
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