​Guys and Dolls @ Le Petit Théâtre
Review by Todd Perley

Guys and Dolls has been a nearly-ubiquitous presence of musical comedy on Broadway, in the West End, and all over America, for over 75 years. A list of its revivals would exceed my allotted word count. It won alllll the Tonys at its premier in 1950, and is a cornerstone of Broadway history. 

Yet somehow, this reviewer had never seen it! I was, though, thrilled to find that I’ve
accidentally featured most of the songs in my Mad-Men-era all-vinyl lounge DJ set called 'Cool Cats' at various venues around New Orleans for years. Frank Loesser’s music is sublime. Whether you go into the play blind, as I did, or you know the story and music backwards is irrelevant. You will most certainly have a helluva time at this classic show.

The book and music are adapted from several short stories by Damon Runyon, the Prohibition-
era journalist and author who specialized in the New York underground, bringing light and levity to gamblers, hustlers, gangsters, loose women, and the like. The play keeps these vibes as it
introduces us to the ne’er-do-wells of the Manhattan gambling scene, somehow making the underground family-friendly (without pandering).

This production at Le Petit (which plays throughout March) must be as good as the original Broadway cast. The several extended instrumental numbers of dynamic choreography
wordlessly bring us into the time and place, and introduce us to the characters in a unique and
exciting way. Donald Jones Jr. as Sky Masterson brings wicked charisma as he bets on everything. Stephanie Abry, playing the evangelist do-gooder Sarah Brown is a perfect offset to Sky’s sleazy scheming, and her cherubic voice mirrors Sarah’s angelic character.

Michael Paternoster plays Nathan Detroit - the ringleader of the gamblers and the craps game - with duplicitous charm, as he strings his fiancée along for some fourteen years. Leslie Claverie as the forever-jilted fiancée Adelaide wows the stage, recalling Bernadette Peters in her prime.

The rest of the cast and chorus are numerous and flashy enough to keep even the most ADHD-addled viewer focused, engrossed, and entertained. The action never flags, thanks to choreographer and co-director Jauné Buisson, and, like a hula dance, every move has a
meaning. Unlike a hula, I managed to understand the meaning. (I admit I can be a bit movement-illiterate at times...but not at this show.)

The orchestra (cleverly hidden under the stage, poor dears) is A+, bringing melodic comedy to
a litany of classic songs. I highly recommend you take this trip into the Valley of the Guys and Dolls. It’s a bet you can’t lose.

Guys and Dolls plays at Le Petit Théâtre through March 29th. Click here for show times and box office. 

Heist and diced: Crime 101 (Bart Layton, 2026)
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Heist movies are so trope-laden these days that it’s become something of a weary format. Seven years ago, since when any number of such movies have darkened our screens, the TV cartoon Rick and Morty savagely lampooned the limping genre. “The only perfect heist is one that was never written,” is one relatable summary of the episode. 

In the year of Our Lord 2026, Director Bart Layton is in for one last job, though. Well, a job, anyway. Pleasingly, Layton takes the DNA of such capers and adapts this LA thriller (from a novella by Don Winslow) with originality enough to avoid cliche. It also helps that his assembled cast has the charisma to avoid a slide into mediocrity. 

Mike (Chris Hemsworth) is a lone conman/thief, working for a craggy old cove, and his mentor, known as Money (Nick Nolte). Disheveled, divorce-strewn, Detective Lou Lubesnick (Mark Ruffalo), the only LAPD cop with any integrity, takes note of his jewellery store robbery patterns, and starts investigating in his puppy-dog, Columbo-esque style.

Meanwhile, Mike is having doubts after a botched job and is replaced for a big diamond score by Money with an unpredictable, motorcycle-riding maniac Ormon (Barry Keoghan). Mike has also met a woman (Monica Barbaro) that he can only romance by faking normalcy. This situation is strained by his new plan: persuade put-upon insurance agent Sharon (Halle Berry) to give him inside info about a high-worth individual that he can rob, take the money, win the girl and become daddy’s, sorry Money’s, special boy again. 

The less we reveal about the twists and turns, the better. The plot is pacey enough, replete with equal parts action, emotion and an engaging rivalry (unheated) that pitches Mike’s tempered control against Ormon’s feral lunacy. Listen, any expansion on the ‘Barry Keoghan playing a weird little freak’ universe is alright by me. 

I might have misread things, but I thought that Mike was heavily autism-coded for the first hour (straightening cutlery, multiple mentions of his lack of eye contact, etc), but that element seemed to be weirdly dropped. Not that important, I just felt a slight shift in his character that added to the more uneven aspects of the plot. 

Ruffalo and Berry especially have great chemistry, and their half of the story was more engaging to me as they wade through the mire of low pay and abusive disrespect from their bosses. Crime 101 felt to me like a Michael Mann film, but directed by Steven Soderberg (can we call it a Steven Fauxderberg? Probably not, right?). It’s slick, but with a heart. OK, OK, FINE, Bart Layton. I’m in. But this is the last time. (PO)

Crime 101 is playing at cinemas across the city.

The Sudbury Devil 
(2023, Directed by Andrew Rakich​)

New Orleans local Andrew Rakich's debut feature premiered in 2023. Melding folk and historical horror, it’s an evocatively harsh, unfiltered experience that sits with you like a jolting mug of rotgut wine. I mean this as a compliment. There’s a cinematic earthiness to this story, marinated as it is in a steaming rural mire that almost wafts off the screen, stewing viewers in the ongoing discomfort. 

A fully-realised feature film (and a convincing period drama at that) from New Orleans talent is always an exciting feat, the production levels and practical effects here even more impressive once you consider the challenges of creating a film that looks this good on a $25k budget. The production admirably operated as a cooperative project, cast and crew working for profit share rather than upfront pay. Rakich cannily harnesses any aesthetic roughness, folding it into a vivid fever dream. 

Set in 1678 Massachusetts, it’s two years after King Philip's War left the colonies soaked in trauma and indigenous blood. The story follows Puritan witch hunters Fletcher (Benton Guinness) and Cutting (Josh Popa), who arrive to investigate the woods outside the village of Sudbury. Together with their guide, Goodenow (Matthew van Gessel), they soon encounter chaotic spiritual forces that are hostile to their pious, righteous certainty.

Directorial references might include Robert Eggers, Ben Wheatley or even Peter Strickland. Rakich dives into a visceral experience, grabbing you by the collar and rubbing your face in the rotting undergrowth. The period detail is thorough, and even the Early Modern English vernacular is rendered with linguistic integrity.

I especially admired the cinematography when it adhered to a distancing, objective discipline; when it’s at its most Protestant, if you will. Some of the still shots of interiors and the woods put me in mind of the uneasy aesthetic calm of Paul Shrader’s masterful First Reformed. Even the ever-looming 4:3 aspect ratio seems fittingly Calvinistic.

The reassurance of simple religious tradition is thrown into disarray by mysterious, ethereal landowner’s wife Patience Gavett (Linnea Gregg), and the primordial presence of former slave Flora (Kendra Unique). These women channel magical powers and a feral sexuality that torments the investigators even as it hints at a more sinister, larger evil. 

Rakich puts up the ritualistic violence of devil worship against the bloody genocide of so-called Christian colonizing and asks…are they so morally different, actually? Empires are built on curses, and we shouldn't show surprise at the devils that are summoned. (PO)

WATCH The Sudbury Devil online
MORE: Louisiana Movies: The Apostle (1997, dir Robert Duvall) 
More movie reviews

Movie review: Marty Supreme

Many are saying that the recent cult movie ‘If I Had Legs I’d Kick You’ should be renamed ‘MomCut Gems’ (I personally prefer ‘Uncut Gams’). Using that formula, Marty Supreme could be…(cough) ‘Top-spunCut Gems’? (a friend told me that’s a long walk, I don’t disagree). 

Riffing on the true story of a world-class table tennis player from Brooklyn (Marty ‘The Needle’ Reisman) trying to topple his Japanese nemesis, director Josh Safdie channels the pressure-cooker atmosphere that he and his brother Benny have made their signature vibe (see Good Time, Uncut Gems). You don't go to a Safdie film expecting restraint, and I don’t think it’s spoiling too much to say that you certainly don't find it here.

The story concerns the orbit of 1950s ping-pong (don’t call it that) miracle Marty Mauser, who personifies the hunger, drive, and specific energy of post-war American ambition. Timothée Chalamet attacks the title role with no little commitment. Every aspect of his life - all in some way geared towards world fame and fortune - is coated in hi-octane sweat, sometimes near-genius precision, and occasionally reckless abandon.
 
Marty is a hustler, the kind that denizens of Noo Yawk Cit-eh think that they have a monopoly on. He’s taking money from rubes at casual table tennis games with his associate Wally (Tyler the Creator), he’s having an affair with married childhood sweetheart Rachel (Odessa A’zion), he’s designing his own orange table tennis ball, he’s stealing money to travel to tournaments. 

It’s already a lot of plates to keep spinning, and throw in an erotic obsession with a fading movie star (played by Gwyneth Paltrow) and falling into the bad books of a local gangster (indie directing legend Abel Ferrara in a rare acting role) and you’ve got the kind of excessive, disorienting, occasionally exhausting caper that Safdie obviously relishes. 

The actual table tennis games are impressively choreographed and feasibly dramatic, but they’re almost sections of relief, given the frothing mess of everything around them. Adversarial investors, fraying family bonds and friendships, and an absolute casserole of a love life all build to a suitably chaotic climax, and some of the explosive set pieces - the hotel bathtub scene being one - are instantly memorable. 

If you found Uncut Gems (or Uncut Gams for that matter) somewhat on the anxiety-inducing side, then it’s likely not going to be a relaxing time at the cinema for you. If, however, you love a grifting-on-the-hoof, relentlessly intense, house of cards-style calamity that somehow keeps delivering hope, then let Marty Supreme paddle you into a good time (PO). 

Marty Supreme is showing in cinemas across the city.

​Stanley and his Demon @ The New Marigny Theatre
Review by Todd Perley

Stanley, as the first-and-a-half-coming of Christ, is grifting his congregants, suggesting a tithing of
eighty per cent of their income, which they are more than happy to pay, such is the spiritual succor they receive from The Church of Stanley.

When a man brings his possessed wife into the church asking for an exorcism, Stanley and his wife Esme see the opportunity for diversification, and expand their outfit to demonic dispatching at five G’s a pop, a most lucrative side-hustle indeed.

The demon Tansanazel (“but call me Chad”) attaches itself to Stanley, promising to possess and
relinquish any number of people he desires ... for a price. As any self-respecting evangelical holy man would, he takes the deal with the devil, with dollar signs in his eyes. Business is booming, but what does the demon want in return? Reform of the Church of Stanley. Less 700 Club, more community outreach, feeding of the needy, and general altruism. Y’know, Christ-y stuff. Stanley and Esme begin to rue the day!

Mariana Santiago’s new play is a darkly comedic twist cut from Faustian cloth. Peat Wolf’s
Stanley is repulsively charismatic as the cult leader, and Mia Frost as Esme, the real brains of the
operation, is even more deliciously despicable. His followers are hilariously clueless sheeple who don’t think it’s strange at all that they’ve been possessed by a demon several times each in the last few months.

Liz Johnston-Dupre as the initial possessed woman, crawls around the floor like a writhing, twerking Linda Blair. A scene of exposition has never been so fun to watch. Thugsy DaClown, playing God most divinely, pays a visit to Stanley, offering him a get-out-of-hell-free card, and we have to wonder who’s the real demon in this play?

I’m always down for a good old-fashioned skewering of organized religion that illuminates the
inherent hypocrisies, and Santiago’s play effectively spins everything on its head with nihilistic
merriment. A most catty approach to dogma. Meow!

Stanley and His Demon plays at the new Marigny Theatre through January 12th. Click here for more information and ticketing

​Review: The Squirrels
The Lupin Theatre, Tulane

What happens when instability threatens an otherwise idyllic existence? Robert Askins’ (writer of the Tony-nominated Hand to God) dark comedy creates a squirrel world - yes, called “the squirld” - that asks just this question. The Squirrels (playing through Nov 20th at Tulane’s Lupin Theater) addresses wealth, race and power inequality. 

We’re introduced to the ‘squirld’ by a fourth wall-breaking scientist (Trina Beck), who provides a primer on squirrel behaviour and noises. Nuts - collected and stored by variety - essentially become capital, and the different species (gray and red/”fox” squirrels) are ethnic and/or class divides. 

Sciurus (John Jabaley), is an aging grey squirrel patriarch, living comfortably with his wife Mammalia (Dale Shuger). They have enough nuts to last ten winters, which in squirrel terms means they’re set for life. One daughter, Rodentia (Ella Hughes), is an adopted red squirrel they found half-frozen. The other daughter, Chordata (Audrey Gotham), is secretly seeing another red squirrel, young Carolinensis (Sacha Codron). 

Carolinensis needs food, but he’s from a different part of the woods, and Sciurus is suspicious about sharing his nut stash, even before he knows about the forbidden romance. Tensions arise, and are stoked by Sciuridae (also Trina Beck), an agenda-driven, affluent grey squirrel who appears with the sole intention of provoking division. 

What was likely subtext at 2018’s world premier is now overt social commentary. Mistrust, disinformation and bigotry evoke a paranoid world as resources become ever more scarce, and roiling animosity evolves into violence. Conspiracy foments conflict, a civil war with scant benefits and heavy societal tolls. 

Theatrical immersion is a tall order, but director Ryder Thornton - backed by the wonderfully evocative, multi-level woodland set - presents a believable, lived-in world. Tails and ears added to otherwise human clothing keep the production from straying into pantomime, and the drama hits without distractions. 

The cast and ensemble do a remarkable job with consistent physicality, relaying a dextrous energy that combines skittishness and nimbleness in a way that isn’t cartoonish. You immediately buy into the ‘squirld’ and its logic, along with the nuzzling and distressed squeaks and affectionate "muk, muk, muks" that pepper squirrel speech. Keeping the characters engaging without descending into ‘Cats’-style parody is a high bar, cleared by everyone on stage here. 

The individual characterizations are impressive, too, and every actor manages to instill their creature with personality, free of patronizing broad strokes. The family dynamic is immediately recognizable, from the love and bickering of the parents to the bratty kids. Actors appear from hidden nooks, and move with rodent-like jumpiness - hats off to both R’Myni Watson and Kelly Bond as intimacy director and movement and vocalization director respectively. 

There’s humor to be had with transposing human behaviour onto squirrels, having them drink maple syrup like booze or celebrate with pine cones and the like. A good recurring joke is Sciurus’ repeated bravado claims to have fought off dangerous hawks, though his wife lets slip it was really just blue jays. 

These affectations anchor the audience in the drey (the squirrels’ nest) and woodland, well enough for the underlying aggression and brutality to be genuinely moving. The Squirrels reflects our own animalistic tendencies, aspects of ourselves that become more apparent every day. (PO)

The Squirrels plays at the Lupin Theatre at Tulane through Nov 20th. Click here for more information and ticketing

Movie Review: Frankenstein

Legacy horror has enjoyed some big recent releases, what with Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu last year, and now Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of Frankenstein (a 35mm print is currently showing at Prytania Uptown). 

Before prodding the creation further, I’ll just note that I had a uniquely New Orleanian issue watching the opening. Last month, I saw NOLA Project’s excellent stage adaptation and so for the first 20 minutes, I was half distracted recalling the play’s hilarity as the otherwise-serious scenes played out. I laughed at the actual movie, too, but we'll get to that. 

Like the play, this sumptuous-looking film is faithful to Mary Shelley’s 19th century novel. Captain Anderson (Lars Mikkelsen) and his crew are stuck in the Arctic ice when they find a dying Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac). As they drag him onboard, they are attacked by a monstrous creature, really the last thing you need when you’re trying to evade advanced hypothermia. They temporarily repel the monster, cueing up Victor’s life story flashback. 

Victor's mother dies in childbirth, creating his lifelong conviction that death is negotiable. As he rises through the medical ranks, the establishment thinks he's lost the plot. Enter Christoph Waltz as arms dealer Harlander, along with his niece Elizabeth (Mia Goth) and her fiance, Victor's brother William (Felix Kammerer). Harlander backs Victor’s reanimation projects, and Victor juggles falling in love with Elizabeth with gathering battlefield corpses for his greatest achievement yet. 

One face-off with Harlander and a huge bolt of lightning later, and Victor’s hard work pays off. He awakes to find the creature (Jacob Elordi) watching over him, a meek and childlike giant, more baby giraffe than brute. Frankenstein becomes increasingly frustrated and cruel. Emotions run high, Victor’s love is unrequited and Elizabeth starts to feel affection for his tragic creation. Victor manically tries to destroy his lab and the creature, losing his leg in the explosion. 

Back on the ship, the creature has reappeared, and has violently boarded in search of Victor. It’s here that one of the clunkier plot devices kicks in, as Elordi also sets up a flashback. Granted, Del Toro has described the movie as an “emotional Mexican melodrama” but this, “Now let me tell you MY side of the story” and multiple people telling Victor that he’s the real monster both had me rolling my eyes and smirking cynically. Perhaps that was the point. 

Elordi instills an impressive emotional life into the creature, ricocheting between violence and tenderness as he becomes more articulate. He flees into the woods, is educated by a blind hermit, and returns to find Victor on the day of Elisabeth’s wedding. Now aware that he will spend eternity alone, the creature wants a companion, but Victor refuses. Pandemonium ensues, and the hunting of the creature begins, leading them both into the Arctic. 

Del Toro is a masterful world builder and the aesthetic flourishes, together with a tone that verges on camp without committing to it, make for an entertaining ride. The sets are perhaps less fantastical than Lanthimos created for Poor Things (essentially his Frankenstein), and aren’t as cartoonish as a Tim Burton joint. It’s a striking, visually dramatic work, though, and Alexandre Desplat’s excellent score only occasionally conjures up Danny Eflman. If you like your horror with a healthy amount of melodrama running through its DNA, then Frankenstein is well worth firing up (PO).

Frankenstein is currently streaming, and showing at the Prytania Uptown 

Review: ​One Battle After Another
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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)