 Movie review: Bugonia
Although the possibility of alien life looms over proceedings in the latest film from Yorgos Lanthimos (Poor Things, Kinds of Kindness, The Favorite), it’s alienation that informs the dynamics. In this remake of the 2003 Korean sci-fi comedy, Save The Green Planet, the maximalist slapstick of the original is traded for a psychologically-intense battle of wills. The opening scenes show the morning routine of Teddy (Jesse Plemons), and his autistic cousin Don (Aidan Delbis), contrasted with that of Michelle (Emma Stone). The former are working class and living in relative squalor, while the latter is an affluent healthcare CEO. While all parties are working on themselves, two of them are doing press ups in the dirt, the other has a personal trainer and hi tech lifestyle gadgets. Teddy and Don are shaping up to kidnap Michelle, convinced that she is an extraterrestrial being from Andromeda, who has caused medical harm to both Teddy’s mother specifically (via corporate malpractice), and the human race in general (via alien experimentation). They do so, and hold her captive in their basement, a situation that takes up most of the run time. Whether or not Michelle grew up 2.5 light years away, the difficulty of even basic communication is immediately apparent. Teddy has mostly withdrawn from society, and talks with anxious urgency as he fulfills his life’s work of setting up a meeting with the Andromedans. Michelle is steeped in neoliberal, workplace jargon, pleading for “a dialogue” as she is strapped into terrifying homemade monitoring devices. They talk over each other, never acknowledging the other’s stated reality. Tension mounts as the police start to show up. The officer is coincidentally an old babysitter of Teddy’s (Stavros Halkias) who wants to address some unspecified, shared personal trauma as he makes his enquiries. With Teddy occupied, Michelle starts to manipulate the emotionally-juvenile Don, and the kidnapping pair are forced into ever-more desperate measures as their plan starts to fall apart, and a bleak ending becomes increasingly inevitable. The three-handed, play-like scenes in the basement are dramatically enthralling, with Plemmons, Delbis and Stone all posting up award-bating performances. As the characters continue to frustrate each other, we’re given an allegory via Teddy’s bees. Environmental factors can lay waste to any hive, so if language has broken down and the world no longer has any shared meaning, does that mean colony collapse for human civilization? Is an existential alien threat any more damaging than our own societal implosion? Fans of Lanthimos will sense a slight change in cinematic timbre with Bugonia. His usual removed, stylized sensibilities are tempered somewhat. He needs us to at least somewhat relate to Michelle (and Teddy and Don to a lesser extent), and so there’s an artistic compromise of a more naturalistic approach to the acting. Your willingness to buy into the ending will likely dictate how highly you rate the third film in as many years from the director. The humor is being mined in some pretty dark corners - which is classic Lanthimos - but without his usual box of stylized tricks, it feels more raw. If humans can’t even communicate with each other, what are the chances of a unified front against an alien aggressor, real or imagined, to save this green planet? (PO) Bugonia is playing across the city.  Drew Stroud as Vincent Van Gogh in 'Exhausted Paint' (photo by Kalen Jesse) Exhausted Paint @ Big Couch Review by Paul Oswell Van Gogh spent 11 of his last 18 months in an asylum, wrestling with madness as he created some of his most famous works. Can one man open himself up to beauty so unconditionally that it destroys his own sanity? It’s a question that we’re quickly forced to reckon with in Exhausted Paint (playing at Big Couch through Oct 18th). Drew Stroud plays Vincent Van Gogh, a lone figure on stage, surrounded by abstract sketches on canvas walls and seemingly random artifacts that hang from the ceiling. Vincent is aware he’s in a play (“I’m just a contrivance”), seems clued into his future legacy (“I hate that Don McLean song”) and is ready to push through the fourth wall with a jabbing paintbrush as he muses on one of art’s most enduring life stories. Behind Vincent is a wheel that we the audience have populated with single-word prompt cards, relating to the props. There is an introduction and an ending, but the 14 chapters of this play are given a random order, dictated by the wheel, every night. There’s a potato, a crow, a Chekhovian gun. Stroud’s Van Gogh character pinballs between crises and poetic outbursts. Even within each section, there are sharp shifts in energy, from wide-eyed mania to rambling but beautiful flights of fancy, and poignant reflections on the cruelty of being recognized as a talent, just too late to save a life. Van Gogh was a more prolific writer than he was even a painter, and his letters prove to be engagingly effective source material. This is not a sanitized retelling of Van Gogh’s life, and some of his more problematic peccadillos are writ large as we tick off the chapters. Vincent tells us of the time that he proposed to his widowed first cousin, creating all kinds of familial tension. He romantically pursues sex workers and lives a somewhat chaotic life; unstable and poor, careening around a bohemian - for which, read ‘poor’ - artistic demi-monde. He abuses substances to dull the intensity that human emotion and chromatic stimulus evoke: “I drank paint thinner to remove the telescope in my mind.” It's testament to Stroud’s acting that - even with the addition of the randomising elements of the script - he is able to hold the audience’s attention while shifting dramatic gears so smoothly. He gets up close to the audience, staring one person right in the eyes, interacting with a few of us, covering himself in graphite and paint as the image of his life develops. Carly Stroud’s direction keeps things moving apace, while the creative stage team can take credit for a pleasingly abstract set that still keeps us grounded, and has more than one surprise in store. Van Gogh’s story is a familiar cultural touchstone (even having its own Dr Who? episode), but Justin Maxwell’s script feels fresh and enthralling. Even art history majors might discover a few details about Vincent that they weren’t previously aware of, and there are plenty of jokes peppered into things to counter-balance the waves of tragedy. Theater company Fat Squirrel has taken a chance with an unusual one-man show such as this, but the gamble pays off. Among the paint chips and tree roots and graphite dust, there’s a story of a man who is gorging on the world’s beauty, even while it overwhelms him. Van Gogh is such a bright star in the artistic firmament, and one that shines through in this compelling production. Exhausted Paint is brought to you by Fat Squirrel, and plays at Big Couch through 18th October. Click here for more information and ticketing MORE THEATRE REVIEWS This Fall, husband-and-wife culinary and hospitality veterans Chris and Bonnie Borges will open Charmant, a neighborhood bistro that melds European-inspired flavors with New Orleans hospitality. Located at 514 City Park Avenue in Mid-City, Charmant will feature "refined yet approachable" cuisine, an extensive wine program, and a service from daytime brunch and lunch, to an evening wine bar with small plates.
Under the direction of Executive Chef Chris Borges, Charmant will showcase contemporary interpretations of European bistro classics with subtle nods to New Orleans. The menu, still in development, will feature a Fried Brussels Sprout Salad with Lima beans, golden raisins, sourdough croutons, cardamom yogurt, and apple cider vinaigrette, as well as a Croque Madame layered with truffle salami, fontina, rapini, soubise, and celeriac rémoulade. Evenings will feature brasserie-style small plates, such as Scallop Crudo with apples, Tokyo turnips, cucumbers, dill, almond aillade, and crème fraîche; Vermont Goat Crottin with duck confit, frisée, dried cherries, fennel, and spiced pecans; and an array of artisanal cheeses and charcuterie. Cocktails, along with a robust wine list curated by General Manager and Sommelier Bonnie Borges, will also be on offer. The space was formerly home to MoPho. Charmant is slated to open in Fall 2025 at 514 City Park Avenue in Mid-City New Orleans. Website forthcoming, social media as follows: Instagram: @charmantnola Facebook: @Charmant  Review: One Battle After Another
Fans of director Paul Thomas Anderson sometimes identify his filmography as being in drug-fuelled phases. There’s the ‘cocaine’ phase of Boogie Nights and Magnolia, with cameras whipping and zooming. Then the ‘weed’ phase of the more stationary There Will be Blood, The Phantom Thread and the nostalgic Licorice Pizza. With his latest, One Battle After Another, the weed is getting stronger and the paranoia is setting in. We open with a revolutionary group called the French 75 running riot as they free immigrants from federal facilities and blow up politicians’ offices. "Ghetto" Pat Calhoun (Leonardo di Caprio) and Perfidia Beverly Hills (Teyana Taylor) lead the charge, the latter humiliating a military man, Steven J. Lockjaw (Sean Penn). Lockjaw is depicted as being physically tense with bigotry, but develops a sexual obsession with Perfidia. He catches her planting explosives, offering her freedom for one night of motel sex. Peffidia gives birth to a baby girl, but abandons Pat and her new family. She remains active, getting caught again, eventually ratting out the French 75 and going into witness protection. Gang members are slain, the rest go into hiding, and Perfidia disappears. Cut to: 16 years later. Pat is now Bob Ferguson, a paranoid stoner and boozer. He’s bringing up daughter Willa (Chase Infiniti ) as best he can, and she’s independently learning self reliance and karate skills. It’s in the blood, after all. Also in her blood could be DNA from Lockjaw, though. He’s attempting to join an ultra-racist sect - The Christmas Adventurers Club - and an ‘impure’ bloodline just won’t do. What follows is two hours of tense mayhem, as Pat/Bob and Willa are forced into increasingly pressurised situations in light of Lockjaw’s personal mission, as well as general federal interest. Bob’s a little rusty, preferring to watch ‘The Battle of Algiers’ over activism. The weed has fried his brain, too, so he can’t remember old emergency code words to use with the underground resistance network or evade capture as nimbly as he used to. It’s a dynamic mix of humor (Bob running around like The Dude from The Big Lebowski, if The Dude had trained with the Bader-Mienhoff gang) and tension. Help comes in the form of Sergio St. Carlos (Benicio del Toro), Willa's Karate teacher who is running “A Latino Harriet Tubman situation”. We get manic car chases, brutal violence and multiple reckonings. Based on Thoma Pynchon’s book ‘Vineland’, it’s half Coen Brothers-style romp and half ‘How to Blow Up a Pipeline’ resistance flick. At almost three hours, we’re afforded time to develop character, but a good majority of the movie is action. Old revolutionary flames are reignited, but it’s all about whether Pat/Bob can keep the flame alive. (PO)  L-R: Ryan Hayes, David Lind and Leslie Nipkow (photo: Brittney Werner) The Lehman Trilogy @ Le Petit Theatre, New Orleans Review by Paul Oswell In 2008, we watched TV news as employees filed out of glass and steel lobbies, rivers of forlorn faces and bankers boxes. It’s these boxes that construct the worlds of the Lehman family (yes, those Lehman brothers) in The Lehman Trilogy, a sprawling, three-hour capitalist saga (currently playing at Le Petit Theatre through 19th October). Three actors constantly move dozens of boxes like brick slabs, fabricating stock rooms, school desks, throne-like boardroom chairs, train carriages and even the Tower of Babel. The boxes contain scraps of humble beginnings, machinery for expanding empires, and spiritually destructive amounts of money. The boxes frame two centuries of The American Dream. We know how the Lehman dream ended. We start with its beginning. In 1844, Heyum Lehmann (Leslie Nipkow) arrives in America from Rimpar, Bavaria. He is renamed Henry Lehman, the first corrupting imposition of his new home. Brothers Emanuel (Ryan Hayes) and Mayer (David Lind) follow, and they establish a fabric store in Montgomery, Alabama. What follows is one of the most technically impressive shows you’ll see on a New Orleans stage. Nipkow, Hayes and Lind barrel through a conveyor of characters, employing only changes in accent and countenance. Age and gender are transcended as we race through the years, and meet townsfolk, children, wives-to-be. The actors move continuously and seamlessly between the roles, all while balletically sliding tables and throwing cotton bales and hefting those endless boxes around a split-level stage. The blocking alone is a work of art. Three hour-long installments cover the rise and the fall; of money and capital, of humanity and essence. This first generation cloaks itself in Jewish-European identity, marking holidays and sitting shiva for seven days when Henry dies. America requires more corruption, though. Commerce here equals trade with slavers, befriending them, mollifying them even after the Civil War. Decades pass, fabric becomes cotton becomes coffee becomes commodities and railways and banking. In two generations, the Lehman family are millionaires with New York offices. We are told (the script is mostly delivered in the third person) that their children have no Rimpar or Alabama blood. They are pure New York: rhesus positive for capital. While the cast exploit the entire stage, the video wall behind loops through increasingly industrial backdrops. Cotton fields, factories, stock exchanges and unstoppable trains hurtle us through the years. By the third act, the Lehmans are purebred capitalists, mainlining economic growth, the only landscape a glowing panorama of abstract prices. Eventually, the numbers fall. Seven-day shivas have become three-minute silences. A lightning financial meltdown. A 150-year erosion of character. Boxes asunder on the floor. The end. The U.S. Census of 1860 records that in reality, Mayer Lehman owned slaves. This fact is not mentioned on stage. One of the criticisms of this story - which won Best Play at the 2022 Tony Awards - is that the horrors of slavery are mostly elided. They mostly are. I’m not Jewish, so I’m unqualified to talk on the validity of harmful tropes, another point commonly raised about the work. I took it as an indictment of all craven men. Those who worship only commodity and leverage fall far from any aspect of humanity, no matter their background. There are many conversations to be had around The Lehman Trilogy beyond the scope of this review. What can’t be denied is the genuinely astonishing work done by the cast and creative team on this specific production. Leslie Nipkow, Ryan Hayes, David Lind, and the entire crew pull off a formidable, evocative, artistic high wire act. The questions about America in those boxes are undoubtedly difficult ones, but we should open them and sit with their contents. The Lehman Trilogy plays at Le Petit Theatre through October 19th. Click here for more information and ticketing. First night review: Frankenstein by The NOLA Project @ Lafitte Greenway More theater reviews Cochon Butcher has launched a month-long celebration of German-inspired flavors for Oktoberfest, with rare beer offerings. Each Wednesday, guests can enjoy rotating schnitzel specials paired with cask pours of St. Arnold Oktoberfest Märzen Lager. “Schnitzel Night” kicks off at 5 PM, with 20 oz. pours served in traditional mugs.
Schnitzel Night & Cask Tap Dates and Specials: October 8th: Balkanschnitzel – fried pork cutlet with paprika and tomato sauce and spaetzle October 15th: Holstein Schnitzel – veal cutlet with fried egg, Brabant potatoes, Ortiz anchovies, and lemon caper butter On the final night of festivities, Cochon Butcher will also tap a rare cask of Weihenstephaner Festbier—the gold standard of Oktoberfest lagers from the world’s oldest and longest-operating brewery. Throughout the season, Cochon Butcher will also feature daily and weekly German food specials, including beer-braised brats with potatoes, apples, and sauerkraut; German potato salad; currywurst with potato wedges; kielbasa sandwich with fresh kielbasa, onion, and tarragon mustard; and fried Emmentaler with roasted beet salad. The Americas selection of the Pastry World Cup and Bocuse d’Or will return to New Orleans and the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, following a historic and highly successful debut in New Orleans in 2024. No other U.S. city has ever hosted this prestigious international culinary competition. On July 25th, 2026, the Americas selection of the Pastry World Cup will bring together eight teams from all over the American continent. Each team, made up of three specialists (a sugar expert, a chocolatier and an ice cream specialist), will have to demonstrate technicality, audacity and mastery to convince the jury. At the end of the day, only the four best teams will qualify for the Grand Final of the Pastry World Cup 2027. The next day, the competition will continue with the Bocuse d'Or Americas. Eight teams, from eight different countries, each composed of a chef, a commis, a coach and a jury will defend their vision of gastronomy in order to gain a place for the Grand Final. The Top five will qualify for the Bocuse d’Or 2027.
 The NOLA Project's 'Frankenstein' (Photo: Jillian Desirée Oliveras Maldonado) FIRST NIGHT REVIEW: Frankenstein @ The Lafitte Greenway Review by Paul Oswell The comic potential of Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel ‘Frankenstein’ has been heavily mined. Mel Brooks’ and Gene Wilder’s 1974 film ‘Young Frankenstein’ is so beloved that it is many people’s favorite film of all time. So numerous are the spoofs, you’d think you were looking at a literary corpse that’s pretty ripe, and not for new adaptations. I know this thesis is one that I just suggested, but: you’re wrong. Enter The NOLA Project’s ‘Frankenstein’ (playing through Oct 17th at the Lafitte Greenway), written by Pete McElligott. They have, and yes I’m starting a glaringly obvious line of analysis so brace yourself for an indulgent run-on sentence, stitched together parts of the original and its many interpretations, and jolted new comedic life into this moribund cultural cadaver. It’s…and here comes the unforgivably predictable pay-off…alive. The Gothic world building around a bare concrete warehouse is instantly immersive thanks to the cast’s skillful character work. Back that up with Leslie Claverie’s razor-sharp direction and a script that’s as taut as a virtuoso skin graft and you’re in for quite a ride. If you saw last year’s ‘Dracula’ (also penned by McElligott), you’ll love both the tonal similarity and the cast’s astonishing theatrical dexterity, whisking through multiple roles at breakneck speed. We open aboard a ship in the eerie Arctic seas (where Shelley's novel ends), and a beleaguered Victor Frankenstein (played with glorious scheming idiocy by Keith Claverie) has been rescued by a spooked collection of seafarers. The suave but seedy Captain Walton (Matthew Thompson pompously lording it on deck) wants to know more. "You wish to know my whole life story?" asks Frankenstein. "No. No. I don't think we have time for that...", but it’s too late, and with the first of many, many laughs, we’re spirited back to Victor’s childhood. The first half is a hailstorm of gags that come at you from all angles. Victor’s love for his adopted sibling Elizabeth (an adorably bratty Keyara Milliner) develops alongside his reanimation obsession. In college, his professor (one of a host of James Bartelle’s incredible weirdos in this show) inspires him to conquer death via an amazing extended riff on homeopathic medicine. Characters and plot points come thick and fast. Godrick the sexy graverobber (Noah Hazzard oozing seductive silliness), Victors’ fully mature ten-year old brother (Thompson again, stealing every scene he’s in with costume designer Jazzmyne Cry’s incredible visual), a suspiciously ardent cop (a pitch-perfect Kristin Witt), a dancing medium, and a cheeky postal worker (J’aiLa Christina dynamically nailing both) all pinball around the venue. Khiry Armstead’s (sound) and Adachi Pimentel’s (lighting) designs keep things engagingly atmospheric, and some fantastic human shadow puppetry against a hung sheet (among other deft touches) speaks to the talents of Lucas Harm’s production design. Breaths caught in the interval, the second half introduces the creature, but don’t expect any clichéd neck bolts. Michael Aaron Santos brilliantly melds slapstick brutishness and humanity with genuine pathos. The source material is treated with refreshing fidelity, but it’s interpreted so imaginatively; see for instance the ingenious workaround that directs the creature’s learning. The joke rate is still frantic, but the climactic confrontation threads compassion into the comedy: “We are our own creations” becomes a poignant refrain. No joke set up is left hanging, the callbacks are flawless, and every supporting character (too many to individually admire here but see 'Extras', below, for added info) adds to the anarchic hilarity. Even a passing bike tour blasting music was seamlessly folded into the performance. Frankenstein is a triumph for cast, director, writer and crew. There’s a huge heart beating beneath this riotously funny monster of a show. The NOLA Project's 'Frankenstein' plays at the Lafitte Greenway through October 17th. Click here for more information and ticketing FIRST NIGHT REVIEW: THE LEHMAN TRILOGY MORE THEATER REVIEWS EXTRAS
There's a lot of moving parts in this show, and I could have written twice as many words, but here's a few extra thoughts in case you're interested (no spoilers, I don't think): - Alex Martinez Wallace has done an amazing job with the fight choreography. - Noah Hazzard plays live music on stage amid all the chaos, and it's impressive! - The characters that only come in for a scene or two (including the skeevy guy, the passive-aggressive couple, Father Walton, the concerned parents, the Eurotrash serial killers, etc) are so well thought-out and performed, set up great jokes, and not a single line or character feels superfluous or indulgent. - Michael Aaron Santos' switching between monster and human modes of speaking as he occasionally breaks the fourth wall is the best kind of comedic whiplash - Shout out to production manager Tova Steele and stage managers Sara Clawson and Josef Pons (Asst.) on what must have been a challenging process, expertly handled - Olivia Winters' props also held the world building together wonderfully.  Details of the works Tree and Cabin (left) and Conjoined Trees and Field (right) by Dawoud Bey, 2019 Dawoud Bey: Elegy @ NOMA Review by Jamie Chiarello An elegy is a poem of serious reflection, often a lament for those past. The exhibition currently on show at the NOMA by Dawoud Bey carries this title and I couldn't think of one more fitting. The moment we step through the massive doors we are transported somewhere dark and slightly disorienting. We are surrounded by the sounds of muffled murmurs, twigs breaking and wind whistling. In every which direction there are pathways and tangles of tree branches. It feels like simultaneously one is being beckoned to run anywhere and nowhere. These are the banks of the James river in present day Richmond Virginia, the same banks slaves saw after being kidnapped and brought to an unknown land. Bey does an excellent (and difficult) job of simultaneously sharing with us the actual sights and sounds slaves experienced while also conveying the impossibility of entirely revealing all literal aspects of history. He pivots from the literal and pushes us into experience and contemplation. A massive screen rolls footage that in any other context might seem mundane or commonplace. Perhaps that is what is so unsettling. We want to believe that the horrors of history, like slavery, are experiences that are not common place. Moving through the exhibit it is impossible to shake the eeriness of this possibility. Over and over I felt confronted by these sights, imagining someone hundreds of years ago taken to a new land, searching and searching for a sign of the familiar. We are asked to reconcile the irreconcilable. The beauty of the landscape and the brutal humanity it held. When you reach the benches facing the video installation I ask that you sit down and give yourself to the moment for 15 minutes. As a skeptic of contemporary art, I have lingered at countless video installations that made and left no impression on me. I won't describe what is there for your own experience, but I felt my breath slow, my soul ache. I felt a deep connection to my own humanity and a tremendous longing for things ungraspable. Scattered through out the show are quotes by various writers and Bey as well. One by Toni Morrison echos a perfect sentiment of the show: "Here, in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in the grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it." I cannot encourage you strongly enough to go and experience this powerful show while it is at the NOMA. The curation is gorgeous, as though only what was essential was included. When handling a subject this heavy, and work as intense as Bey's, an intention to create an air of reverence is necessary - that is exactly what can be experienced here. Dawoud Bey: Elegy runs at NOMA through January 4th, 2026. Click here for more information.  Wendy, Darling @ The Midtown Hotel Review by Todd Perley “Where you’re seated, there’s a chance you may get splattered with blood. Is that okay?” I feel that any event where I don’t go home splattered with blood is a night wasted. My friend MJ whispered, “Is this Gallagher on crack?” We nodded assent with big, stupid grins and were handed airline- sized bottles of 'Jack’s Red Rum', and that, plus the sanguinary caveat, had already created an immersive experience even before getting to the pool where much of the action of the play would be...well...immersed. We begin with the ensemble gathering in 1920s togs as Midnight and the Stars and You is played by The Bomb Pulse, our live band for the evening. If you know Stanley Kubrick’s film adaptation, this melody is the quickest and most effective way to set the scene. Champagne and ballroom dancing, and a quick dip in the pool for our first water ballet. The audience howls, hoots, whistles, laughs, and applauds, turning the space into an all-inclusive party. Set in the Underglance Hotel in New Orleans, the Torrance family was warned, before the hotel closes for the season, “Are you sure you want to be here through the summer? It can get very lonely and isolating.” (No lie!) And so begins the tale-as-old-as-time story of Stephen King’s 'The Shining' wrapped in a tortilla of snarky parody. Psychic son Danny (Riley Elise) is college-aged, and mom Wendy (Rebecca Poole) knows to use the they/them pronouns, while self-absorbed, frustrated Jack Torrance (Cody Keech) never catches on and obtusely sticks with he/him. This is a subtle detail that both brings the story into the 21st century, and establishes Jack as the asshole, with succinctness. Danny is visited by their childhood ‘imaginary friend’ Tony (dressed as a cartoonish tiger, natch) and is warned of the dangers of the Underglance Hotel for those who shine. Dick Hallorann, the hotel’s resident drag queen chef, also warns Danny telepathically, but assures them what they see can’t hurt them. Yah, right. Most of the scenes are punctuated with a water ballet sequence set to contemporary music expertly played by The Bomb Pulse. Throw in a little pole dancing from the Grady Twins (why not!), and a wet hedge maze constructed of leaf-adorned paddle boards just for funsies, and the Torrance’s season of turmoil has never been so hilarious. Keech’s Jack is genuinely frightening amidst the camp of the rest of the performances, which adds a touch of danger and tension. Danny’s complicated relationship with Tony the Tiger illustrates how alone they’ve been throughout a life spent with the shining talent. I’m not too concerned with spoiling the plot of The Shining. IYKYK, after all. But I’ll refrain from any further spoilers of how Aquamob and especially the deft direction of Lizzy Collins skewers these well known plot points. It’s best to go into this as blind as possible. Let each irreverent moment surprise you. And they will. One of the most enjoyable aspects of Wendy, Darling is the atmosphere the company and band manage to create. No polite clapping at the end of each ballet scene. Screams and whistles are encouraged, more akin to a rock concert. During intermission (through which the band plays some rockin’ good tunes), my friend MJ was regaled by the woman seated next to them about the eight seasons of Aquamob plays she had seen, as she vowed she would never, ever miss a production by this company. I looked around during intermission and saw everyone talking to everyone, friends and strangers alike, and the whole courtyard felt like a Mardi Gras parade with that New-Orleans-specific sense of community and bonhomie. I can’t say I’ve ever been to a play that evoked this special feeling that only our city can understand. I don’t know the precise recipe to create this world, but Aquamob thankfully does. You leave the show just feeling so connected and damned good! Although I left without a drop of blood on me, the night was most certainly not a waste. A bloody good time. You may have 'Midnight and the Stars and You' stuck as an earworm for the next few days, but it’s an acceptable price to pay. I’m with MJ’s neighbor -- a new convert, I will henceforth be at every year’s Aquamob production. Absolutely do not miss Wendy, Darling! Wendy, Darling plays at the Midtown Hotel through October 11th, click here for more information and ticketing READ OUR INTERVIEW WITH DIRECTOR LIZZY AND AQUAMOB FOUNDER ALAYNE |
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