Curse of the Starving Class

C-

In my review of the recent revival of True West, I observed that “over the years, the plays of Sam Shepard have held little appeal for me. For whatever reason, I seem to have little affinity for his sensibility.” Alas, there was nothing about Signature Theatre’s revival of this early Shepard play that led me to change my mind. This dark absurdist portrait of a family in rural California lacks even one character that I could root for. Weston (David Warshofsky; Biloxi Blues, Blue Window), the father, is an abusive alcoholic. Ella (Maggie Siff; A Lie of the Mind, Frank’s Home), the self-absorbed mother, is short on maternal instincts. Son Wesley (Gilles Geary; Hangmen) is sullen and nasty. Daughter Emma (Lizzy Declement; Lost Girls), newly arrived at puberty, is smart but volatile. To make any generalizations about the failing American dream on the basis of this family is not profitable. Shepard has burdened the play with too many metaphor-laden monologues. Director Terry Kinney (The Price, reasons to be pretty) has combined the first two acts into one, which makes for a long 90 minutes before intermission. The final act is shorter, grosser and more violent. As drunk Weston, David Warshofsky is far more persuasive than he is as sober Weston. Maggie Siff, whose performances on television (“Mad Men, Billions”) radiate intelligence and sophistication, is miscast as Ella. Gilles Geary and Lizzy Declement are quite strong as their children; both deserve a special prize for what they must endure — being covered head-to-toe with mud for her and a gross pig-out as well as a nude scene for him. For reasons unknown, the director has cast the role of Sgt. Malcolm with a tiny woman with a Latin accent (Flora Diaz; Playing God, Seven Spots on the Sun). Andrew Rothenberg is appropriately slippery as lawyer Taylor and Esau Pritchett (A Free Man of Color) is good as the blustery bar owner Ellis. Rothenberg and Pritchett also appear briefly as thugs in the final act. The lamb is cute. Julian Crouch (Hedwig, Head Over Heels) has designed an oversize kitchen that undergoes an amazing transformation in the play’s first minute that could serve as a metaphor for the entire play. For me it was downhill from there. Sarah J. Holden’s (The Price, reasons to be pretty) costumes suit their characters. Director Kinney shows an affinity for Shepard. If you are a Shepard fan, you may well enjoy yourself; if not, it may be a long 2 1/2 hours (including intermission).

Animal

C-

Rejoice, Rebecca Hall fans. That marvelous mistress of misery is back in town. You can really see her up close at Atlantic Theater’s Stage 2 which has been reconfigured to divide the audience in two on facing sides. In this psychological drama with a dash of feminism by British playwright Claire Lizzimore, she plays Rachel, a young married woman who is suffering from deep depression. Her long-suffering husband Tom (played by Morgan Spector, her real-life husband who met her during the run of Machinal) can’t seem to help her. Her therapist Stephen (a droll Greg Keller; Belleville) apparently can’t either. We also see Rachel mistreating an old woman (Kristin Griffith); being kissed by Dan (David Pegram, War Horse), a shirtless stud who may or may not have broken into her house; and conversing with a mysterious little girl (Fina Strazza). After 85 minutes of exhausting, escalating emotions, the play is suddenly wrapped up and tied in a bow by an unexpected and unsatisfying explanation. I felt manipulated. Rachel Hauck’s set is minimalist to the point of near invisibility.. Sarah J. Holden’s costumes are congruent with the characters. Gaye Taylor Upchurch’s direction had a few things that annoyed me, e.g. having Rachel and Tom occasionally speak to each other through microphones from opposite sides of the stage. If you are an avid Rebecca Hall fan as am I, you will be rewarded. (Many will find the sight of David Pegram's torso rewarding too.) If Hall is not your cup of tea, skip it. Running time: 90 minutes, no intermission.

NOTE: If you have mobility issues, check with the theater before attending. The elevator has been broken for several days. There is alternative access via a freight elevator, but it involves a long detour through the bowels of the Google Building and one long flight of stairs. 

The Babylon Line ** C-

Making fun of the conformity of life in Levittown 50 years ago is a bit like shooting fish in a barrel. The target is too easy. Nevertheless, Richard Greenberg’s look at a creative writing class in the local adult education program, now in previews at Lincoln Center Theater, initially shows promise. The presence of such stalwarts of the New York stage as Randy Graff, Julie Halston and Frank Wood as three of the students is a big help. Josh Radnor (Disgraced) is no slouch either as their teacher, an unsuccessful writer who makes the weekly trip from Manhattan to earn a few dollars. Ms. Graff plays a stereotypical overbearing yenta, who would be objectionable if she weren’t so amusing. Ms. Halston, as one of her friends, is more open-minded. Maddie Corman portrays another friend, who has a rocky marriage. Frank Wood plays a veteran suffering from what we now call PTSD, who seeks release in his writing. Michael Oberholtzer plays a strange young man, possibly on the spectrum, who is working on a magnum opus. The final student is a mysterious woman who has lived in Levittown for many years, but is unknown to the others. This character, portrayed by Elizabeth Reaser, whom I have admired on other occasions, has for some reason been saddled with a Southern accent that comes and goes. (Perhaps there was a course on Tennessee Williams next door and she wandered into the wrong classroom.) The first act proceeds smoothly, but after intermission things go seriously off the rails. The second act is overlong and overwrought, burdened with lame gimmicks and false endings. Richard Hoover’s classroom set is excellent. I can't vouch for the accuracy of  Sarah J. Holden’s period costumes, but they seem appropriate. Director Terry Kinney gets tripped up in the second act problems. There are several entertaining moments along the way, but by the end most of the goodwill I felt after Act One had vanished. At least it’s an improvement over Greenberg's last play, “Our Mother’s Brief Affair,” which he briefly references. Running time: 2 hours 20 minutes including intermission

The Money Shot **

The poster for Neil LaBute’s new comedy, now in previews at MCC Theater, is doubly misleading: the four actors do not end up in bed together and Fred Weller does not have hair on his chest. The play raises the question of whether the world really needs another satirical look at the denizens of Hollywood. They are both too easy and too frequent a target, unless the playwright has some new insight to share. That is not the case here. Steve (Weller) is an obtuse 50-ish action film hero whose fight against Father Time has led him to marry Missy (Gia Crovatin), an ex-cheerleader and would-be actress less than half his age. Since Karen (Elizabeth Reaser) came out as a lesbian, her movie career has been on the skids, despite her attempts to pump it up with a cookbook, website, charitable activities and marketing ploys. Her lover Bev (Callie Thorne) is a film editor with a pugnacious personality, to put it mildly. Steve and Karen are currently filming a movie that they hope will revive their careers. The European director has suggested that they liven up an upcoming bedroom scene by actually having sex. The four are gathered at Karen’s luxurious home in the Hollywood hills the night before filming, allegedly to negotiate with their loved ones how far they are allowed to go in the shoot. However, it is more than an hour into the play before they finally get around to the matter at hand. The first hour is devoted to a series of arguments over such weighty questions as whether David Crosby is Bing’s son and whether Belgium is really part of Europe. By the time they get around to arguing over where tongues may or may not be placed during the shoot, we have realized that LaBute’s own tongue is planted firmly in his cheek. There are many amusing lines, but it all adds up to absolutely nothing. The actors give it their all. Weller, who was billed as Frederick in Mothers and Sons is listed here as Fred; I wish he had also shed the pinched voice that was so annoying in McNally’s play. Derek McLane’s set is lovely, Sarah J. Holden’s costumes are just right and Terry Kinney’s direction is fluid. Too bad they didn’t have something more substantive to work on. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes; no intermission.

Our New Girl ***

Irish playwright Nancy Harris’s gripping psychological drama, after a highly praised London run, has reached New York and is now in previews at Atlantic Stage 2. The title character is Annie (Lisa Joyce), an Irish farm girl who turns up unexpectedly in the London kitchen of the quite pregnant and quite overwhelmed Hazel (excellent Atlantic stalwart Mary McCann) to be the new nanny for her troubled 8-year-old son Daniel (a remarkable Henry Keleman). Trouble is Hazel’s husband Richard (CJ Wilson), a plastic surgeon away doing charity work in Haiti, has not bothered to tell Hazel about it. Daniel is a handful, acting out in school and at home, with a stare that could turn water to ice. When Richard returns, he and Hazel continually fight over just about everything, especially about how to raise Daniel. Since Richard hates his day job injecting wealthy ladies with botox, he finds satisfaction and a bit of glory with charity missions in world trouble spots. An added benefit is the chance to escape his unhappy household. Hazel had been a high-powered attorney. On holiday in Sicily a year previous, she was so smitten with Alessandra, an earth mother figure who seemed able to do it all, that she impulsively decided to quit the law and open a home business importing Sicilian olive oil. Crates of it now clutter her kitchen. Hazel would be the first to admit that motherhood does not come easily to her. Annie bears the scars of an unhappy past and tries as a nanny to provide better nurturing than she got. One of the play’s greatest strengths is that the characters are all complex, alternately evoking our sympathy and our disapproval. The play opens with a shocking wordless prologue that is difficult to watch but is definitely an attention grabber. Harris is skillful at building suspense. I found the ending less than satisfying and was puzzled why a woman who found motherhood so difficult would even consider having a second child. Timothy R. Mackabee has designed a sleek, aptly sterile kitchen. Sarah J. Holden’s costumes are appropriate. Dialect coach Ben Furey has wrought convincing British and Irish accents. Gaye Taylor Upchurch directs seamlessly. Running time: 2 hours 10 minutes including intermission.

Reasons To Be Happy ***

(Please click on the title to see the complete review.)
Neil LaBute's seriocomedy, now in previews at the Lucille Lortel Theatre in an MCC production, revisits the four characters he introduced in "reasons to be pretty" three years later. However, familiarity with the earlier play is by no means a requirement for this one. The four are working stiffs; many of the scenes take place in the break room of the plant where three of them are or have been employed. Greg (Josh Hamilton), the one who has finished college and aspires to be a teacher, is nonconfrontational and commitment-shy in the extreme. Carly (Leslie Bibb), the pretty one, is a security guard and single mom, recently divorced from Kent (Fred Weller), the macho jock with anger-management issues. Steph (Jenna Fischer) is the not-as-pretty hair stylist who, although now married, suddenly has renewed feelings for ex-boyfriend Greg as soon as he takes up with her close friend Carly. Complications ensue. LaBute is a master at creating pitch-perfect dialog for awkward situations that is funny, vulgar, yet wise. He seems to regard his blue-collar characters with a mixture of sympathy and condescension. Their life is governed by the harsh buzzer at the factory and even the buzzing device at the restaurant announcing that their table is ready. Except for Greg, they hold book learning in low regard. Watching these four bounce off each other may not lead to anything profound, but I found it highly entertaining. Hamilton perfectly captures Greg's tentativeness, but does not display the charm that would make it more plausible for the two women to be so attracted to him. Weller plays Kent almost as a caricature, but it works. Fischer has some fine moments and Bibb was consistently fine. Neil Patel's scenic design has the stage platform painted in diagonal yellow and black stripes like a loading platform; his break room at the plant nails every detail. Sarah J. Holden's costumes befit the characters. LaBute's direction is assured, but the play might have been tightened up a bit if it had the benefit of another director's views. Running time: two hours, 10 minutes including intermission.