 Topher Johnson and Philip Yiannopoulos in 'True West.' Photo: Rhys Lombardo TRUE WEST @ WESTWEGO PERFORMING ARTS CENTER Review by Todd Perley Sam Shepard’s play explores the rocky relationship between two estranged brothers, Austin, the educated screenwriter, and Lee, the thieving drifter counterpart, as they camp out at their mother’s house while she’s on an Alaskan holiday. As Austin tries to write his play, he makes an effort to be welcoming to his brother, but his patience runs dry as Lee’s truculence and interruptions quickly erode his attempt at brotherly love. When Lee muscles in on a meeting with Austin’s producer Saul and usurps his play, Austin’s bonhomie is over, and the characters’ personalities flip-flop as Lee tries to write and Austin raids neighborhood homes for toasters, trying to prove he can be a bad boy too. 'True West' opened in 1980 with Tommy Lee Jones and Peter Boyle as the sparring brothers, and in 2000 moved to Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman and John C. Reilly, where it was nominated for a Tony for best play. As Shepard said, “I wanted to write a play about double nature, one that wouldn’t be symbolic or metaphorical or any of that stuff. I just wanted to give a taste of what it feels like to be two-sided.” Goal achieved. Set in mom’s kitchen, which steadily becomes more and more trashed as the relationship grows tenser, Topher Johnson’s Austin and Philip Yiannopoulos’s Lee keep the sparks flying in a relentless crescendo. The booze starts flowing, façades are dropped, and the house (and theater) fill with the smell of fresh toast from Austin’s stolen toasters. Smelling toast is often a precursor to a stroke, I recalled, and the animosity between the brothers may be headed in that direction as well. Toast as metaphor? Shepard says no, but what does he know? Mom (Deb Margolin) makes a darkly comedic appearance towards the end as the men are reaching their limit, suggesting gently that perhaps they shouldn’t fight, then leaves for a motel because, “I don’t recognize my house anymore.” Her behavior tells us this is an old story between the siblings. The duality within each brother is relatable, as we all have different masks we wear. 'True West' seems a more masculine-oriented character study akin to Edward Albee. It could be subtitled “Who’s Pretty Damn Exasperated with Virginia Woolf?” 'True West' plays at Westwego Performing Arts through 16 February  The cast of Timbuktu, USA (photo by Leah Floyd) Timbuktu, USA @ The New Marigny Theatre Review by Aura Bishop Two very different women choose the bear - or in this case, the monkey- over belonging to a man in Timbuktu, USA. This absurdist two-act play about power, politics, gender roles, and sex is presented by Intramural Theater company and deftly directed by Frenchie Faith. Kelly Kilkenny (Lauren Wells) is a career politician who turns down sex and marriage in order to maintain power. But she doesn’t stop at politics. She’s a puppet-master to her nephew Bobby Kilkenny (Benjamin Dougherty) who is plagued with gay sex scandals and gossip while pursuing his own political goals. Kelly makes the executive decision to find Bobby the perfect wife to smooth over his reputation (and hers.) She calls upon Babette (Mary Langley) - the overly-sheltered daughter of Senator Henry Rosequest (Joshua Tierney.) Babette and Kelly share an intense fascination and attraction to Kelly’s “pet” monkey Timbu (Emily Laychak) who was the gift of one of Kelly’s rejected suitors many years ago. We soon learn that Babette is more clever than given credit, and is privy to a secret that could destroy Kelly’s career and ambitions. Bobby, Babette, Kelly and Timbu are now in a kind of four-way-tango of tension, lust, and power. This is Timbuktu, USA’s regional premiere. It originated in Boston during the time of President Trump’s first inauguration and the subsequent women’s marches that followed. The subject matter, which was timely then, finds itself relevant still, or maybe yet again. Playwright Ken Prestininzi’s writing style in this piece in many ways seems to echo style, rhythm and themes in the works of late playwright Edward Albee. Actor Lauren Wells even seems to embody a little hint of Elizabeth Taylor in Who’s Afraid of Virgina Woolf? This was my first time attending a show in The New Marigny Theatre, which is a stunning and versatile space utilizing a renovated church just off of St Claude Avenue. It’s an excellent addition to other venues in the area. The space was used creatively with moving set pieces, hanging windows, and effective lighting. Timbuktu features strong, high-energy performances and innovative use of props. Be prepared to go on a strange trip into the human psyche and the monkeys that people have on their backs. Timbuktu, USA plays at the New Marigny Theatre through Feb 3rd. Click here for more information and ticketing MORE REVIEWS SIGN UP FOR YOUR FREE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER  Out for the Count: Nosferatu
The themes of reanimation are hard to ignore in Robert Eggers' latest. Of course, there’s the undead nature of the monster itself, added to which the project itself is a remake of a remake of a remake of the original Dracula story. A (cough) revamp, if you will (though you probably won’t). Taking on Dracula is to operate under the weight of the mythos. Bram Stoker’s novel was published in 1897, and its grip on the human imagination means that we’ve had countless iterations since then. 1922’s Nosferatu, a classic of the German Expressionism movement, was essentially an unlicensed adaptation for German audiences. Changing a few minor details didn’t dissuade the Stoker estate from suing, and all copies should have been destroyed, the ruling coming too late to prevent its distribution. Since then we’ve had everything from the classic 1930s Bela Lugosi to Gary Oldman’s creepy Count in Copolla’s 1992 version. Twilight, Blade and Sesame Street’s Count Von Count show Dracula’s panoramic reach. Eggers (The VVitch, The Lighthouse) makes the canny choice to take the material, and shape it using his strengths. These would be, among other things, obsessive attention to historical detail, a fascination with esoteric folklore and an evocation of dark atmospherics that is among the best in modern cinema. Bill Skarsgård’s Count Orlock (‘Nosferatu’ is an archaic Romanian word for ‘vampire’) is a necrotic, zombie-like creature with a mustache you could lose a small nutria in. He swings between weakly cadaverous and bounding towards us with the gait of a rutting grizzly bear. In his own worlds, he is not a mortal object. “I am appetite!” he growls, placing him beyond reasoning, and beyond mercy. He has become fixated on Ellen Hutter (Lily-Rose Depp), luridly projecting himself into her dreams before pursuing her through his business dealings with her effete husband Thomas (Nicholas Hoult). Ellen’s visions and seizures are equal parts seduction and repulsion, increasing in intensity as Orlock ships himself from Romania to take up residence in her home town. Depp does an incredible job swinging from sexual mania to nihilistic melancholy. Orlock is a one-man apocalypse, bringing pestilence, plague and infant death. He is parasite and strongman, terrible yet irresistible. Ellen’s condition reflects a physical darkness across the town, one that must be battled. Local doctor Wilhelm Sievers (Ralph Ineson) enlists eccentric metaphysician and occult scientist Professor Albin Eberhart von Franz (played with obvious relish by Willem Defoe), and once Orlock’s nature is beyond doubt, they wage war as best they can. Given the sheer scale of a century and a half of world building, Eggers’ take is even more impressive. Chilling psychological drama keeps the inevitable levels of camp in check, and the grotesque form of the Count - as opposed to a Brylcreemed, cape-flapping caricature - create a vampire that is stirringly novel, yet remains a sincere homage to both the original source material and the pioneering 1922 adaptation. Old horrors in new forms. It’s truly a monster for our times. (PO)  It's a Bard knock life...& Juliet at The Saenger Theatre First Night Review: & Juliet @ The Saenger Theatre review by Dorian Hatchett We are such stuff as dreams are made on Shakespeare is for the people. I would posit the notion that every adaptation, every derivative work, is exactly in keeping with the voice of the bard. Each time someone picks up a play that was written for the stage at the Globe Theatre and says “But what if…” a new flower grows in Stratford-Upon-Avon. Jukebox musicals are the very definition of theatre for the sake of fun. If music be the food of love, play on & Juliet premiered in 2019 at the Manchester Opera House, and has been playing continuously in one form or another ever since. The soundtrack is by Pop songwriting phenom Max Martin, who is arguably the reason we know names like The Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Pink, Katy Perry, and even Taylor Swift. The super-cut medleys in this show are pure nostalgia for millennials, candy coated love letters to the wreckless times in the late 90s and early aughts before social media and phones with built in cameras. The characters are believably teenagers because this was the treble and bass of our teenage years right there played out in lights and rhinestones. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts. & Juliet examines what would happen if the final tragic moments in Romeo and Juliet hadn’t been the end at all, but a prequel to Juliet waking up and realizing she kind of let herself get carried away with that star-crossed lovers bit. Rachel Simone Webb as Juliet is a rose we need by no other name. Her best friend May (Nick Drake) is the yassss every teenage girl needs in her corner. It also plays out a marital rift between the playwright (Shakespeare is played by Corey March) and his wife (Teal Wicks is Anne Hathaway) and as these story lines weave in and out of one another, and finally coalesce, we are shown a lesson about the value of kindness and truth in the pursuit of love. The course of true love never did run smooth This show is above all, polished. There’s a dynamic set, a company of skilled dancers who take up space and fill the background, a costume department that is at once a riot of color and variety and also completely cohesive. Just the right amount of broadway magic transports you into the action as confetti rains down during a rhinestone-studded climax when Juliet finally learns the lesson that her heart had been seeking the entire time. Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none &Juliet Plays at the Saenger Theatre January 14-19th, click here for information and ticketing 
A room of one's own: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, playing at Big Couch
First Night Review: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? @ Big Couch Review by Todd Perley Edward Albee’s notorious play landed in the early 1960s and was groundbreaking—and controversial— for its graphic autopsy of a nihilistic marriage. The idealistic ghost of the 1950s was finally put to rest when our less-than-ideal couple’s dirty laundry was displayed on stage, and this was beyond shocking for the era. Though certainly a play of its time, it remains timeless. Just as the play caused a stir in 1962, Mike Nichols’ film version starring Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton was controversial in its own way. Shot in 1966, two years before the official demise of the tiresome Hays Code, there was nothing this raw and edgy in American cinema. It’s helpful to remember the historical and cultural significance when seeing this play through jaded 21st century eyes. Drowning George (Casey Groves) and Battleaxe Martha (Fire Weeds’ co-artistic director Lin Gathright) stumble home at 2:00am from a faculty party, and are soon joined by young newcomers to the college, Nick (Logan Macrae) and Honey (director Jaclyn Bethany). Thus begins three marvelous, unforgettable hours of liquor-ridden psychological warfare between our merry coterie. The play is just as funny and witty as it is eviscerating. All four Fire Weeds’ actors hold their own throughout the tricky material. In particular, Gathright manages to coax out the subtle, fragile pathos of braying, brazen, brutal Martha beyond even Elizabeth Taylor’s Oscar-winning film performance. I’ve never had so much sympathy for Martha as in this production. And I thought I knew Martha so well! The setting is crucial. Bywater’s theatre “Big Couch” seats a mere thirty-five people, and the intimacy of this theater-in-the-round literally puts you in George and Martha’s living room amidst the mayhem. Seated four feet away from a raving Martha is a frightening experience, and you can’t help feeling a part of the party. When George suggests a venomous game of Get The Guests, I reverted back to fourth grade, hoping the teacher wouldn’t call on me to participate. The tiny space also allows the performers, in less tumultuous scenes, to get as small and quiet as they please. Even whispering can be heard clearly. A larger venue would prohibit these quieter moments. Only Big Couch could provide this rare environment that serves the material so well. Whether you love the play and know it backwards as I do, or you’re a virgin, Fire Weeds and Big Couch offer a unique way to experience Albee’s masterpiece. I would call this a must see, but get your tickets soon. Those thirty-five seats are gonna fill up quickly. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” plays at Big Couch with an newly-extended run, through January 19 - click here for information and ticketing A free, weekly, curated arts and culture newsletter for New Orleans. Sign up here: 
A ward to the wise: The cast of Human Troubles at The New Marigny Theatre
First Night Review: Human Troubles @ The New Marigny Theatre Review by Todd Perley Set in the fictional (???) hospital called “Orleans Parish Psych Ward for Poor Mutherfuckers,” (and I’d like to place a bid on the neon sign telling us this), Mariana Santiago’s new, one-act play follows the...ahem...“recovery” of four patients treated by a staff of caregivers who all suspiciously resemble each other. Dora (Liz Johnston-Dupre) has been committed for a three-day evaluation after a suicide attempt. She is smart, but depressed. Her intelligence is not recognized because depressed people are clearly stupid in the eyes of this cut-rate facility. She just wants to get this 72 hours behind her, but becomes embroiled in the neuroses of her fellow inmates. It’s difficult to call this musical comedy a satire since its examination of America’s lackluster mental health care seems awfully close to how many of these facilities are actually run. We immediately sympathize with Dora as she voices her distaste for the facility and her new comrades, and her displeasure is only more ‘proof’ of her diagnosis of crazy. Through absurdly short and dismissive one-on-one sessions with the shrink, neglect from the nurse (“If they want me to care about you, they’re gonna have to pay me $2 an hour more”), and pointless art therapy classes, none of our inmates does much recovering. The lack of character arcs is in itself a damning commentary—people leave very much the way they came in. Except perhaps for Dora, who may or may not survive the ordeal due to death threats from the Jesus freak, appropriately named Christian. Santiago’s play does not indulge in the hubris to propose a solution to the dilemma; rather, she holds a mirror to the problem, and then laughs at it. Laughter is, after all, the best medicine. - Human Troubles plays at New Marigny Theatre January 2nd–5th - click here for more info and ticketing - READ OUR INTERVIEW WITH MARIANA SANTIAGO - SIGN UP FOR YOUR FREE WEEKLY ARTS & CULTURE NEWSLETTER  Gnome alone: Elf, The Broadway Musical
Review by Dorian Hatchett New Orleans loves Christmas. Any holiday that comes with an excuse to add glitter to anything really speaks to us. We are the rhinestone-bedecked drag queen of American cities, and so it is no surprise that a musical whose primary message is that the christmas spirit can be found in the shimmering refraction of tinsel and lights would be well received. Elf: The Broadway Musical at the Sanger is a saccharine, sparkling package wrapped in the exact right amount of ribbons and bows for our addiction to anything extra. I enlisted the aid of my eleven year old to add a youth perspective, and while he insisted that he would “literally die” if I tried to quantify the show’s relative level of “rizz” in a published review, all potential parental embarrassment was immediately forgotten as we approached the theatre entrance. Giant snow machines making soap bubble flakes transformed the marquis into a magical wonderland and turned every person in line into a kid anticipating an epic winter adventure. It doesn’t snow in New Orleans (3 times in my entire life, to be precise, and never enough to stick) but the Saenger Theatre would not be deterred, and even an avowed Christmas-hater like myself was melted a little bit by the kids and adults twirling around in the fluffy white flurries pouring onto the brick pavers. Director Sam Scalamoni brings us a feel-good story based on the 2003 Movie that’s appropriate for kids and adults alike. The cast is a mix of seasoned actors and relative newcomers who play their parts with sincerity and delight. Special mention must be made of New Orleans’ own Tyler Price Robinson (Store manager, Mr. Greenway) who absolutely lights up the stage with his presence, chewing up scenery along the way. Broadway traveling shows are known for bringing a high level of technical production value and Elf is no different. Layers of curtains and backdrops move the action like the page turns of the story book that Santa is reading, and the musical numbers are tight and polished. In particular both the kid and I agreed that the Nobody Cares about Santa scene was our favorite, with choreography and lighting equal or better to any scene we’ve seen on Broadway. A grip of department store Santas and bell ringers eat late night dinner at a Chinatown restaurant and bemoan the lack of Christmas spirit in the city that never sleeps, while cabaret lighting and classic chair dance moves create a vibe that feels very reminiscent of Cell Block Tango. Physical comedy, a few belting voices singing ballads, and costumes as bright and colorful as a dish of ribbon candy really complete the chemis-tree equation for a holiday show that sleighs. Elf: The Broadway Musical runs at The Saenger Theatre through December 8th.  Glad all over: Gladiator II
Review by Jeff DeRouen The first Gladiator is not even close to my favorite Ridley Scott movie (that honor belongs to Thelma & Louise), but the Best Picture Oscar-winning sword and sandal epic is universally adored, and I certainly acknowledge that it’s a whole lot of fun to watch. And it’s that fun that Scott and company are after with Gladiator II, no doubt giving Paramount a blueprint for what future sequels (or series, or cartoons, or aerial drone shows they can “evolve” the property into) will look like. I’d give you a full rundown of the plot, but it basically follows the original in that we have the rightful heir to the throne fighting their way to freedom in the coliseum while being nursed by Connie Nielsen. The “fighting their way to freedom” part provides the spectacle that a seasoned pro like Ridley Scott can do in his sleep. Aside from an overreliance on CGI creatures (this movie could have been called, Gladiator II: F**k Animals), the battle sequences are big, loud, vicious, and very, very bloody – exactly what we want to see on the big screen. Even the over the top and ridiculous “battle at sea in the coliseum with SHARKS” sequence is pretty darn thrilling, because Ridley Scott knows how to do his job. The movie, though, plays it too safe in trying to be a direct sequel and makes the obvious choice of following the “son of Gladiator” and not giving the movie to Macrinos, played by Denzel Washington. Macrinos is calculating, manipulative, power-hungry, FUNNY, and absolutely the best thing in this movie. Denzel is having so much fun and is so masterful here, I wanted to follow HIM as our protagonist; “spawn of Crowe’s” storyline just isn’t as interesting and feels wholly underwritten. The movie belongs to Washington anyway, so why not have given him the whole thing from the beginning? If fun is what you’re after, then Gladiator II is a solid pick. Yeah, it ultimately suffers from being an unnecessary follow-up, but you get a fine cinematic meal from one of our great storytellers who always delivers a great night at the movies.  It's all Poping off: Conclave
Review by Jeff De Rouen “You know what’s missing from my life? A good papal thriller,” said no one ever and Hollywood, as far as I know, hasn’t scratched that nonexistent itch since Godfather III (for the record, I love Godfather III but, apparently, it’s just me and one other guy in Peoria). The world of Vatican intrigue was indeed ripe for the pickin’ and director Edward Berger (All Quiet on the Western Front) delivers unto us the compelling, taught, and beautifully shot thriller, Conclave. We’re thrust right into the story: the pope is dead and Cardinal Lawrence, played meticulously by “definitely will be nominated for everything this year,” Ralph Fiennes, must organize and run a conclave to choose the next pope. From the beginning, we have games: power moves are executed, loyalties are tested, and secrets are uncovered. The movie’s pace never slows, and it’s a delight to watch some of our best actors (Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, and Lucian Msamati – in a stunning performance – to name a few) chew the scenery and bring their A game. That being said, the movie is VERY GOOD but misses some big opportunities. They basically waste the iconic Isabella Rossellini (her “big” scene merely repeats what we already know despite a magnificent opening line) and the big reveal at the end felt like artists trying to say something important but playing it safe so that it’s more palatable, completely diluting the message. In my opinion, they should have really gone for it. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you see it and you absolutely should see it ON THE BIG SCREEN. Berger’s film expertly uses space and color as the foundational canvas for the actors and one shot in particular, a sudden occurrence of violence, is breathtaking. Conclave will not go down as one of the best films ever made, and who knows what you would actually call this genre, but it’s a perfect addition to the “let’s have a really fun time at the movies without anything like a Pixar-induced full-blown emotional catharsis” genre that pairs perfectly with popcorn. MORE MOVIE REVIEWS SIGN UP FOR YOUR FREE WEEKLY NEWSLETTER  LET US PREY: HERETIC
Behold the timely arrival of a new A24 horror film as the nights start to get darker. It’s holding the cinematic door open for us, all we have to do is nose into the shadows of the rickety old house…just ignore that there’s only flickering candles and no real light. Slice of pie while we watch? I don’t mind if I do. Providing the chills in this creepy three(ish)-hander is Hugh Grant, starring in his first flick from this particular genre since Ken Russell’s The Lair of the White Worm, all the way back in 1988. The innocents knocking gingerly at his door are Mormon missionaries Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East, here with a mind to convert non-believers to the Mormon cause. It begins simply enough, the disciples welcomed by Mr Reed (Grant), who is doing his best, genial Brit schtick to great effect. It’s a dark, crumbling cottage with lots of strange doors and idiosyncrasies, but his wife is purportedly making blueberry pie in the kitchen. She never does seem to appear, though, much to the growing consternation of the holy sisters. As Grant’s religious cynicism and theoretical challenges start to become more intense, the girls' safety slowly recedes, and the weird, remote house becomes a kind of ecumenical escape room. Mr Reed has lured the girls here with the intention of skewering their beliefs, or at least scaring the girls into questioning their realities. The film is quite dialogue heavy, and you can almost imagine it as a stage play. There’s a lot of rhetoric in the first two acts, with some fairly predictable takedowns of organized religions. Grant has so much of a twinkle in his eye, though, that we get swept along by pure charisma. Thatcher and East are the foils, but they hold their own as the situation intensifies. The climax has the audience questioning if supernatural forces are actually at work, Grant toying with them relentlessly as the Mormon elders start to notice that two of their number are missing and a ticking clock starts. It’s a psychological horror as much as anything, and though some of the arguments are philosophically sophomoric, the performances and twists keep it elevated above schlocky. I’m enjoying late-career Hugh Grant almost as much as he evidently is. (PO) |
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