The Head and the Load

B+

After a sold-out run at the Tate Modern earlier this year, William Kentridge’s remarkable multimedia piece about the overlooked role of Africans in World War I is having its North American premiere at the Park Avenue Armory. Although over a million Africans were conscripted by both sides to serve as porters during the war and probably at least 100,000 of them died from hunger, exhaustion and illness, almost no mention of them appears in the history books. Kentridge redresses this omission with a multimedia tribute that combines music, dance and art to powerful effect. The music by Phillip Miller and Thuthuka Sibisi which incorporates African idiom into the score, is played by The Knights and gloriously sung by a talented ensemble. Gregory Maqoma’s choreography is strong, especially a heartbreaking duet for two men. The varied projections by Catherine Meyburgh are an essential part of the production. The art by Kentridge includes an array of metal sculptures and stylized objects carried by the porters that look remarkable when seen in shadow play. Some of his drawings are periodically projected on newsprint. The costumes by Greta Goiris, some fanciful, others realistic, are evocative. Set designer Sabine Theunissen, with a stage that runs the entire length of the Armory’s gigantic drill hall to fill, breaks up the space with a few whimsical towers. The piece uses repeated processionals with cumulative effect. The large cast is excellent without exception. The stage is so wide that it is almost impossible to take in everything that is going on at any given moment. I doubt that anyone would understand the events depicted without reading about them in the program. In London it ran 70 minutes; now it’s 90 minutes. 70 would be better. Nevertheless, it’s a truly unique experience that should not be missed by the adventurous. It runs through December 15.

Yerma

B+

Although the Olivier which it was awarded was for Best Revival of a Play, the Young Vic production of Yerma now at the Park Avenue Armory is hardly a revival in the usual sense. With a different location, period, social class, motivation, outcome and text, there is not a lot left of Lorca’s 1934 drama except for the theme of a woman undone by infertility. What we get instead, in the words of the program, is a “radically reimagined adaptation.” Author/director Simon Stone has confined the actors to a glass box with stadium seating on facing sides. The voyeuristic effect is striking, but also distancing. The fact that the actors are heard only as mic’d voices is a bit unnerving. The play is divided into seven chapters. Video surtitles during blackouts announce the chapters and scenes and occasionally contextualize them. Some of the set changes between scenes are magically rapid. The downside is that to drown out the sounds of moving sets, there are deafening blasts of choral music. In this high-concept environment, the actors have their work cut out for them. Fortunately, they are up to the task and then some. As the title character, known in this version only as Her, Billie Piper plays a London newspaper journalist and blogger. Her long-time lover and then husband John (Brendan Cowell) is a businessman who is often away on international trips. Her mother Helen (Maureen Beattie) is a cold-blooded academic who is anything but maternal. Her sister Mary (Charlotte Randle) doesn’t let a bad marriage prevent her from repeatedly getting pregnant. Her ex-lover Victor (John MacMillan), whose child she had aborted a decade before, suddenly reappears in her life. Her young assistant Des (Thalissa Teixeira) encourages Her to blog about the painful experiences of trying to conceive, irrespective of the embarrassment it might cause others. It is painful to watch Her change from the brash confident woman we initially meet into the desperate, unhinged woman she becomes. Ms. Piper does not hold back; it is easy to see why she won the Olivier for her performance. Mr. Cowell is a fine foil for her. I admire Mr. Stone and designer Lizzie Clachan for the originality of their concept, even though I found it somewhat alienating. It was a stimulating evening. Running time: one hour 40 minutes; no intermission.

The Hairy Ape

A-

While it can’t duplicate the excitement with which Eugene O’Neill’s expressionist play was greeted 95 years ago, this gripping revival accomplishes the difficult task of making this problematic play acceptable for a 21st century audience. The Park Avenue Armory has imported a production originally done for the Old Vic and adapted it to take advantage of the enormous space of their drill hall. A bank of bright yellow stadium seats greets you upon arrival. The action takes place on a revolving stage with elements that roll into view as needed. One element is a long bright yellow container open in front that serves first as the stokehole of an ocean liner and later as the gorilla’s enclosure at the zoo. Richard Jones’s creative direction and Stewart Laing’s striking design are enhanced by stylized movements choreographed by Aletta Collins, brilliant lighting by Mimi Jordan Sherin and music and sound design by Sarah Angliss. Bobby Cannavale’s (The Motherf**ker with the Hat) visceral performance as Robert Smith (Yank) anchors the production. David Costabile (Titanic, Billions) shines as Paddy, the salt who misses the good old days. Catherine Combs (A View from the Bridge) is fine as Mildred Douglas, the rich young lady who wants to see how the other half lives but, when she sees Yank, calls him “a filthy beast” and then faints. Becky Ann Baker (Good People) is good as her disapproving aunt. The other cast members also excel. Yank, who had not only accepted but relished his place in the order of things is so unhinged by Mildred’s reaction to him that he loses his bearings and starts the downward spiral that ends at the zoo. While O’Neill’s take on class conflict and the search for identity in the industrial age may have lost some of its power today, this production makes the best possible case for giving the play another chance. Running time: 90 minutes; no intermission.