The Tower

LA Times 7/02/04 by David C. Nichols:

"'Old ways never die. They just mutate.' This is one of the many converging ideological lines that constitute The Tower, currently receiving its Los Angeles premiere at Cell2. Matthew Maguire's 1989 fantasia revisits the biblical account of humanity's linguistic divide in an ambitious modernist manner.

At its center is urbanite Ruth (the arresting Lisa Tharps), rendered inexplicably mute. Her surreal gyrations provide talking points and subtext as her husband, Jacob (musical director Matthew McCray), and her medical team (Robert Babish, Michelle Silver and Darryl Ordell) merge with her inner quest.

Thereafter, Tower layers elements of Joseph Chaikin, Pina Bausch and William S. Burroughs to build an allegorical Babel-rouser of post-Internet import.

Playwright Maguire, himself an Obie-winning actor, gives director Barbara Kallir and her Son of Semele Ensemble team malleable material. Though lacking chemistry, Tharps and McCray move skillfully between realities, with the channeling passages especially taut. Babish, Silver and Ordell careen between cartoonishness and conviction with cohesion, backed by indivisible choristers Amanda Boggs, Jennifer Marley, Welton Thomas Pitchford and Richard Van Slyke.

Paul DeDoes' cylindrical set, Misty Ayres' tactile costumes, the prismatic effects of Maxwell Ross Pierson's lighting and Bob Blackburn's sound erect an imposing avant-garde edifice around Maguire's stylistic playfulness. Though Sharyn-genel Gabriel and Anthony Powell's choreography has its precious aspect, like Andrew Ingkavet's original music it suits Maguire's intent.

Whether all this seems portentous or pretentious will depend on one's appetite for cerebral theater of kinetic display. I found The Tower fascinating, challenging and opaque. Audiences for whom thespian pyrotechnics and subliminal topicality do not suffice may resist its altitude."

LA Weekly 7/01/04 by Steven Leigh Morris:

"Ruth (Lisa Tharps), suffering contortions in her mouth from the formation of certain words, is rushed to the operating theater, her husband Jacob (Matthew McCray) by her side. Under anesthesia, she starts slipping away, and in her dream of death, builds a tower and ascends it, seeking some kind of clarity. At the top, she finds a creator-spirit who’s less than benevolent. Matthew Maguire’s 1997 biblical choreo-dream play uses the Tower of Babel as its centerpiece, and from that tower throws a very, very wide net in search of meaning, which glides in between the ropes and then slithers away again. This play is doubtless intended for those with inclinations more poetical than literal, and director Barbara Kallir guides her excellent ensemble through a range of styles, so that the production is something of a cross between a vaudeville and a Catholic mass — a range entirely justified by the work’s surreal essence. The tone is further enhanced by Sharyn-genel Gabriel and Anthony Powell’s sharp, angular choreography, Matthew McCray’s soothing musical direction and Bob Blackburn’s evocative sound design. Maguire toys with language, phrases repeated and their sense altered with the shift of a word or two. And the Tower of Babel is, of course, a symbol of shattered meanings. In the shards lies Maguire’s view of the modern world, of the human prison, of sense dangling off the bricks as though in a painting by Dalí. Though the entire ensemble shows rigorous theatrical discipline, Tharps’ performance is a kind of tower unto itself — each moment thoroughly considered and perfectly orchestrated, with sounds that seem to come less from her vocal chords than from some deeply embedded intestine."

Backstage West 6/30/04 by Jeff Favre:

"The Tower of Babel, for the benefit of those with little Biblical knowledge, is the story that explains how all humans, once united, were then scattered across the Earth, their memories erased of the world's original language. The division of humans into factions was, the Bible says, a result of the people trying to build a mighty tower that reached heaven and God. Playwright Matthew Maguire, through song, dance, and a symbolically rich script, has woven the Bible story into a modern-day retelling. Tightly directed by Barbara Kallir, with a multifaceted cast led by Lisa Tharps, this two-hour avant-garde play with music alternates between genuinely frightening and darkly humorous—all while never losing its grip on the audience's attention.

The simple plot revolves around Ruth (Tharps), who is on an operating table having radical surgery because she is losing her ability to speak. At her side during the operation is Jacob (Matthew McCray), her husband. During the surgery, we see Ruth's nightmares and flashbacks as she becomes obsessed with trying to escape the turmoil of the Earth, and of her life, by rebuilding the Tower of Babel. Evil creatures haunt Ruth during her quest. And her voice keeps leaving her, often jumping into other characters.

Kallir makes the most of the tiny stage, placing the set and actors almost on top of the audience until we are caught up in the madness onstage. Tharps is mesmerizing as a woman who may be losing her mind. And McCray, who has one poignant monologue about Jacob's struggle against God, is equally captivating.

But it's Maguire's words, and the haunting original music by Andrew Ingkavet, that are the driving force here. Each word of the script seems chosen with great care, even during scenes in which people are speaking nonsense. The Tower is closer to a full-length poem than a play. And the profound nature of this layered work will not soon be forgotten by anyone who experiences it."

Reviewplays.com 6/29/04 by Jose Ruiz:

"After winning two Ovation Awards for their electrifying presentation of Animal Farm last year, the Son of Semele Ensemble has been faced with a serious problem; can they continue the level of theatre expected of them after the Awards, or was Animal Farm just a fluke?

Obie winner Matthew Maguire’s The Tower will answer the question once and for all.  SOSE weaves the biblical tale of the Tower of Babel into a modern day psychodrama told in prose, song and dance, wrapped tight with symbolism and metaphors.  Not only is the story exceptional, the cast is first rate. 

Add carefully timed direction by Barbara Kallir and an incredibly haunting musical design by Andrew Ingkavet, and you have the makings of a play that has “winner” written all over it.  

Ruth is undergoing an operation for an unexplained condition that prevents her from speaking, and while she is under anesthesia, visions and dreams haunt her and take over her sub-conscious creating a reality that is chilling and uncomfortably real.  Her mind struggles with four specters in prison stripes that are intent on attacking her during her serene moments, threatening to take her (to death’s door), by force or by fear.  In her visions, the doctors mumble unintelligibly, and she becomes obsessed with building a tower – like the one in Babel, which in her mind will bring her peace and enlightenment once she reaches the top.

Bouncing back and forth between reality and her subconscious, we see husband Jacob as he fights demons of his own, while desperately trying to be supportive of his wife, whose compulsion for the tower has her bringing bricks to the house, falling into frequent spasms of incoherence and seeing the visions more frequently.

Eventually her operation succeeds, but like all major procedures, this one has unexpected side effects and the aftermath is as heartbreaking as her struggle.

This is a powerfully done piece, brilliantly dissected and thought out.  Often quoting the Bible, the action sometimes resembles a M*A*S*H operating room, at other times scenes from Fosse’s film, All That Jazz Maxwell Ross Pierson’s shadowy lighting sneaks around the actors’ faces accentuating the surreal events, while the ghoulish ensemble clad in Misty Ayres’ costumes brings shivers to the back of your neck when they appear. 

The many levels of the subtext flip back and forth, much like the actors who bound back and forth on a set that resembles giant conga drums of various sizes, stepping up like huge random steps.  Voices overlap, sounds pierce, screams erupt, building a nightmare where the characters seldom know what awaits them or how to deal with it when it happens.  It’s a towering presentation with Lisa Tharps giving a stunning portrayal of Ruth, a woman at the crossroads of sanity and Mathew McCray making husband Jacob a sympathetic, strong character who is brought to the edge of patience by his wife’s illness.

The two acts have powerful scenes and musical numbers, with “The Prisoner Song” being one of the more compelling in the first act.  The second act increases its energy level, and “The Song of Censorship” is one of the best remembered. 

With its many metaphors and symbolic references, there is one passage that keeps whirling about in back of the mind.  At one time the actors quoted from Genesis 11:1-9 where God speaks and says – “Behold, they are one people, and they all have one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do; and nothing they propose to do will now be impossible for them.”

These words – “they all have one language” and “nothing they propose to do will now be impossible for them. . .” seem to imply that if people could unify in one language they could become very powerful.  Yet God chose to separate and confuse their language so that they could not communicate, presumably as a punishment for their arrogance in attempting to make a tower that would reach heaven.  Civilizations have been trying to reverse the non-communication plight for centuries, but it seems we are destined to fail in that effort. 

In 1887 Dr. L.L. Zamenhof introduced Esperanto, a new language, in hopes that it would become the second language world-wide and people could communicate globally.  If that ever happens, could the biblical words “nothing they propose to do will now be impossible for them” become true and if so what would be humankind’s limitations?

While this is not part of the play, nor is it meant to be, it is an example of the kind of thought this production can trigger.

The wonderful ensemble cast includes Robert Babish, Michelle Silver, Darryl Ordell, Amanda Boggs, Jennifer Marley, Welton Thomas Pitchford and Richard Van Slyke."

Accessibly Live Off-Line 6/28/04 by Rich Borowy:

"Matthew Maguire's The Tower, a play about one's woman attempt to fine her voice, true inner piece, and the ability to speak and communicate within herself, opens at the Cell2 Theatre in Silver Lake.

Based upon the old Testament story of the Tower of Babble (Genesis 11: 1-9) where the people in the area of Babylonia who spoke the same language wanted to build a high tower that would reach to heaven. God didn't want this group the power that they was attempting to get by building this tower. So He instead made this group break off is a series of strange speak ('babble'). They could not communicate, so the construction was abandon and everyone scatters within their own domain. In The Tower, Ruth (Lisa Tharps) has lost her ability to speak, so she undergoes a series of medical operation.s Instead of obtaining speech, she has visions of building this 'tower of babble' where she feels the need to communicate among a sea of different voices, languages, and beings. Her trip is just as surreal as the notion of building a 'tower' that would reach towards 'heaven'. Instead, she arrives at a different point with within her own aspect into heaven, hell, and point in between.

Barbara Kallir directs this production as a surreal tale that asks if building such a 'tower' is the true ticket of understanding one another in a world that is only known to those who live within it. This production is one part melodrama, and one part 'musical' (not in the traditional sense) featuring original music by Andrew Ingkavet,  musical direction by Matthew McCray and choreography by Sharyn-genel Gabriel & Anthony Powell. The cast includes Matthew McCray as Jacob, Ruth's cohort, Robert Babish, Michelle Ordell, and Darryl Ordell as the medical team that attempt to get Ruth on her speaking journey, and Amanda Boggs, Jennifer Marley Welton Thomas Pitchford, and Richard Van Slyke rounding out the ensemble cast.

The Tower is an interesting piece of work that asks many questions, some with answers and some without. It also points out if such a 'tower' should be built within the presence state of minds. The communication value would be too great to attempt!"

A Human Interest Story (or The Gory Details and All)

LA Times 2/20/2004 by Philip Brandes:

Sometimes It's Hard Not To Look

There's an implicit complicity in watching a play about voyeurism, and Son of Semele Ensemble uses it with unsettling effectiveness to immerse the audience in Carlos Murillo's A Human Interest Story (or The Gory Details and All).

Inspired by the real-life 1987 gunshot suicide of a Pennsylvania politician during a televised news conference, Murillo's drama weaves multiple narratives involving characters influenced in various ways by the incident and the underlying media-driven fascination with prying into private lives.

In one sequence, a shaken eyewitness (Edgar Landa) recounts the gory details of the shooting. In another, the mother (Dawn Hillman) of a Columbine-style "cyberpunk separatist wannabe" describes her son's obsession with replaying the footage on his computer before engaging in his own act of teenage white male rage.

A satiric vignette involves a homemaker and dilettante artist (Natalie Sander) who finds her own media event (having her cat create abstract art with its paint-dipped paws) upstaged by the suicide. Finally, a spurned lover (Nathaniel Justiniano) describes a visit with supposedly happily married friends, and the disturbing results of his eavesdropping and diary-peeking.

In his minimalist staging, director Neil Donahue plays to the artifice of these interlocking stories, using cheery narrators (Jeremy and Sharyn Gabriel) to recite the stage directions. While the ensemble is generally capable, the exposition-heavy monologues shift the emphasis from performance to the evocative fury of Murillo's writing."

LA Weekly 02/19/2004 by Neal Weaver:

"In 1987, Pennsylvania politico R. Budd Dwyer held a press conference that was televised live on local stations. Dwyer had been found guilty of corruption and racketeering and sentenced to 45 years in prison, so it was assumed he was about to announce his resignation. Instead, he pulled out a .357 Magnum and blew his brains out. Cameras kept rolling, so unsuspecting viewers were subjected to a shocking on-air suicide, and the gory footage was endlessly replayed on local newscasts. Playwright Carlos Murillo uses this incident, intercut with three related stories, to examine our fascination with voyeurism. It’s an intriguing concept, which Murillo handles with tact, carefully distancing events to avoid sensational or pornographic overtones, but he doesn’t quite trust his audience. He portentously makes the same points, and repeats the same lines, till one longs to shout,“Okay, I get it!” Director Neil Donahue skillfully deploys the able six-person ensemble (Jeremy Gabriel, Sharyn Gabriel, Dawn Hillman, Nathaniel Justiniano, Edgar Landa and Natalie Sander), and Sara Huddleston provides the simple abstract set and rich sound design."

Backstage West by T.H. McCulloh:

There is far too much in Carlos Murillo's script to be absorbed in one 80-minute exposure. At the very least it seems there should be copious program notes, in the Mark Taper Forum fashion, or ideally the experience would be the culmination of a semester devoted to Video,
Voyeurism, and Violation, with this as the final class project. Where to begin?

The central, and unseen, image is that of the ethically dubious politician who calls a live televised press conference and, in the middle of the programming block devoted to game shows and children's fare, blows his head off. This story is filtered first through the mother of a "separatist cyber-punk wannabe." She hears but doesn't see it, as she's watching a video of her son watching his download of the event. Said lad is fellating a gun at the time and … well, you get the picture. Dawn Hillman has the sense to deliver her performance in a factual, almost deadpan manner; trying to live up to the horror being described would only come off as histrionic. The tale then runs concurrently with others, as a nameless young man (Nathaniel
Justiniano) relates the experience of watching a documentary titled Baboon Warriors of the Serengeti. The young man is fascinated with the film's focus on a third-tier male baboon who lacks the courage or position to effect change and is thus relegated to carping from the sidelines. "Critic," it will not surprise you, is one of the descriptive terms given to this beast. It sounds dry, but Justiniano has the charisma to pull it off. Finally the image is entwined around that of a well-maintained housewife (Natalie Sander, as a marvel of social obliviousness), whose artistic cat will serve as the human-interest story on the news the following day. Her interviewer, Kipper Russell (Edgar Landa), ends up being in the middle of the central horror. The paint-slinging cat segment appears to go forward, though. The attractive Jeremy Gabriel and Sharyn Gabriel serve primarily narrative functions, occasionally stepping into minor roles and providing both impetus and eye appeal. Director Neil Donahue, working on Sara Huddleston's clean steps-and-boxes set, wrestles nobly with the text and makes it as clear as it could possibly be. Chris Greulach's lights are as understated and neutral as is the set.

The last time I saw a show here I felt that one viewing left me with about, oh, a third of what was actually going on. This time around I'll say a half, which gives me hope that I'm slowly rising to the challenge of this intrepid ensemble.

Film is Evil, Radio is Good

LA Times 10/10/2003 by David C. Nichols:

A brainy, breathless Foreman extravaganza

""Radio Rick is on the air; Radio Richard doesn't care." This insidious jingle is one of countless catchphrases that delineate Film Is Evil: Radio Is Good, now playing at Cellwithin as part of EdgeFest 2003. The West Coast premiere of Richard Foreman 's abstract 1987 tract on communication is an arresting ergonomic display.

Avant-garde icon Foreman is among the world's foremost purveyors of opaque shenanigans. Since 1968, his N.Y.-based Ontological- Hysteric Theatre has set tickling, impenetrable standards for passive-aggressive kinetic expression.

Like "Film Is Evil: Radio Is Good," whose title indicates both its ideology and experimental vocabulary. Rampant verbiage and movement, multitiered amplification, a film sequence and other performance art elements intersplice across a calibrated palette, forming a surreal debate over cinema's manipulation and radio's stimulation.

Its referee is accountant Paul (Matthew McCray), initially spotted in mannequin mode manipulating the trademark red strings that bisect Paul Dedoes' radio station set. As the dial-switching of co-director Al Sgro 's invaluable soundscape fades, station WSOS host Estelle (Michelle Ingkavet) informs Paul , "You're not my Prince Charming."

Under Sgro and co-director Edgar Landa 's knowing surveillance, this cues up a relentless metaphysical assault, bouncing Estelle off Paul and against WSOS owner Helena (Kristen Brennan), whose deadpan moxie speaks volumes.

Foreman's work forgoes the forebrain for the medulla oblongata, and the Son of Semele Ensemble forces here radiate ontological hysteria without ego. A wry design scheme includes Jeremy Little's dense lighting, Michele Barrett 's witty costumes and Mac Caudill's film inset, which suggests Pasolini shooting through David Lynch 's coffee filters.

Besides McCray, Ingkavet and Brennan (all excellent), Jeremy Gabriel 's duck and snowman, Hahn Cho's hangdog God and Landa's celluloid Radio Rick and Richard make vivid impressions amid an ace ensemble.

Foreman's theater-as-ordeal ethic is, as ever, an acquired taste. Attendees demanding explanations risk cranial liquefaction. Still, that Film Is Evil is even playing in Los Angeles bespeaks its innate chutzpah, and Foreman fans should flock."

Backstage West 10/16/2003 by Wenzel Jones:

"Richard Foreman's staged montage, which decries the primacy of the filmed image (which enters the brain as fact) over the aural presentation (which is informed by personal experience as it filters through) is particularly trenchant after an election in which the electorate flocked to a candidate whose overriding appeal was as a studio-generated icon. It's a frenetic production, more a fever dream than a play, and about as EdgeFest-y as it gets.

The cast, which is huge, does impressive work in a show composed of innumerable split-second cues. There is discourse and dancing and singing and then more discourse. The production is anchored by Matthew McCray , who handles the geeky-hottie dichotomy with aplomb and displays an impressive knack for physical comedy. Michelle Ingkavet , the strongest of the radio personalities, is an intriguing and dynamic presence. She spars well with the ethereal film creature, Helena , portrayed by Kristen Brennan , an actor with verve and a classic 1930s movie face. The technical aspects are quite amazing, beginning with Paul Dedoes' multilevel clutter of a radio studio. The film-within-the-play, no small aspect of the evening, is a memorable work by Mac Caudill. The production shines even more in its sound design, under the expert hand of Al Sgro who, with Edgar Landa , also directed the piece. It's 70 minutes of sizzle and spark with an afterglow that lasts much longer. Did I get it? A little. Would I go back? You bet. Twice. Once to pick up the background action, once to sit through it with my eyes closed."

Animal Farm

Roles crafted in clay By Don Shirley, Los Angeles Times, 11/11/2002

Helping to put together their own masks in a theater production of "Animal Farm" gave the actors a better feel for their characters.

Michael Nehring compares making the canvas mask he wears as Napoleon, the tyrannical pig in "Animal Farm," to the experience of delivering a baby.

He cut the mask off the wet clay that shaped it, and "it was like doing a caesarean section," he said. He cleaned it, repatched it, strengthened it, attached foam and a strap to it. "I know it so well because I helped give birth to it," he said. "It was a huge, cathartic experience."

Several of the other actors in the Son of Semele production of the dramatization of George Orwell's classic fable (which opened Friday) had similar experiences, said mask maestro Deborah Bird, who designed most of the show's 23 masks and mask-like puppets and painted all of them. She believes the actors' performances will profit from their hands-on contributions to their masks.

"Performing in masks is so uncomfortable," she said. "It occludes vision and breathing, and it makes you sweat off the top of your head. But if you work on it and see it some to life, you have a proprietary sense of pride. It helps when you go into rehearsal. You develop a comfort level with it, and you also develop a reverence for it. You know not to treat it like some sort of hat."

Bird, who won an LA Weekly award for her human masks in a production of "The Call of the Wild" and who also creates masks and props in Hollywood, didn't have much experience designing animal masks when Son of Semele artistic director Matthew McCray asked her to do so.

Animals usually are depicted as "cutified, infantilized" cartoons, she said. "Animal Farm" called for masks "with ambiguity, with duality of features that can be filled in with the weight of the actor's performance."

Nehring, who is the chairman of theater and dance department at Orange's Chapman University, from which Son of Semele's core group graduated, had met Bird in Bali at a theater workshop in the mid-'90s and brought her work to the attention of the group.

With a production budget of only $6,000 for a three-week run at the 50-seat McCadden Place Theatre in Hollywood, Son of Semele had no money to pay Bird, but, she said, "I really like Orwell."

And McCray said he never thought of doing the show without masks - because a key moment in the play is when the pigs remove their masks, having morphed into the abusive humans they had once overthrown.

A member of the company donated a Hollywood garage for use as a studio, and Bird began working in June, joined by some of the actors in September.

For Nehring, "it's a completely different way of working on character because it's embodied in this potent symbol. I couldn't be more anonymous."

LA Times 11/14/2002 By F. Kathleen Foley , Special to The Times:

Son of Semele Ensemble gives Orwell 's fable currency with a polished staging.

ììAnimal Farmî at the McCadden Place Theatre proves an impressive outing for the Son of Semele Ensemble, an up-and-coming theater company founded in 2001.

In it's short history, the company has gained considerably in maturity and expertise. In contrast with the ensemble's somewhat rudimentary early productions of ìLavaî and ìBreath,î by Richard Foreman and Samuel Beckett , respectively, ìAnimal Farmî is gratifyingly polished.

George Orwell 's grim parable about a farm animal rebellion, and the rise to power of a cunning pig despot, is often construed as a polemic against the intrinsic evils of communism. As director Edgar Landa points out in his program notes, Orwell most likely intended a cautionary tale about the perils of voter apathy and an uninformed electorate ñ a warning particularly apropos today.

Peter Hall 's musical adaptation, which features undistinguished lyrics and music by Adriam Mitchell and Richard Peaslee , respectively, was produced earlier this season at the Theatricum Botanicum , a much more spacious Equity venue. Landa deserves considerable credit for confining the action to the sub-99-seat McCadden's postage-stamp stage without impeding its flow.

The excellent cast, spearheaded by the towering Michael Nehring as the tyrant pig, Napoleon, is collectively capable, although an occasional solo falls flat. Valiantly struggling with a malfunctioning instrument, musical director and pianist Leo Meza effectively marshals his performers, whose full-throated choruses compensate for the paucity of accompaniment.

David T. Edwards ' picturesquely battered set, Chris Greulach 's brooding lighting and Al Sgro 's cacophonous sound set the dystopian tone. Huge masks, designed by Deborah Bird , are strapped atop the actors' heads like helmets. When the actors tip their heads down, their faces are completely obscured. Handsome and magnificently constructed though they may be, the masks prove an emotional barrier between the audience and the actors. One yearns for these performers to raise their chins and reveal the human expressions.î

Backstage West 11/13/2002 by Madeleine Shaner:

George Orwell 's self-described fairy story is rather an extended allegory dressed as a cautionary tale for the phoenix-like dictators who rise from the revolutionary ashes of subjugation to become clones of the tyrants they have fought against. Peter Hall 's adaptation of the 1845 novel, with lyrics by Adrian Mitchell and music by Richard Peaslee , was presented in Orwell 's seminal year, 1984, at the Royal Shakespeare Company at the National Theatre in London . This allegory about the abuse of power is still relevant in a world that doesn't seem to learn from its mistakes.

The animals on Mr. Jones ' ( David T. Edwards ) farm have a hard life under their negligent owner; feed is scarce, sometimes even forgotten; labor is hard, and loving kindness is never a factor in the relationship between the alcoholic farmer and his beasts. Their poor treatment has brought about a shared bond of brotherhood between the different species, which leads, with very little stimulation, to a shared desire for revenge on their master. Led by the pigs, who consider themselves superior, a revolution is born, quickly followed by an ideology, and Mr. Jones is driven out.

Like all ideologies, it's better in the planning than in the execution, because, as Orwell points out, ìAll animals are created equal, but some are more equal than others.î Once Old Major, a.k.a. Lenin ( Ray Paolantonio ), is out of the picture, the new lead pig, Snowball, a.k.a. Trotsky ( John Yelvington ), who has too many good ideas, is ousted by Napoleon, a.k.a. Stalin . You don't need to know the language ; the fable, maybe too obviously, depicts the corruption brought about by power and severely flawed human, i.e. animal, nature.

Director Edgar Landa creatively equips his actors with short arm crutches that act as front legs, plus a splendid set of full head masks (designed by mask artist Deborah Bird ). Despite the intimacy of the stage (fine design by Edwards), one quickly accepts that these are animals, not actors in sheep's clothing, and even feels enormous empathy for these unprivileged creatures. And their poor backs! These young actors encourage older bones to ache, and may end up enriching the coffers of Beverly Hills chiropractors if the play extends for a long run.

Everyone is superb, from the posturing Napoleon (Michael Nehring) to an excellent Squealer (Marie Bain), a cool Cat (Julie Gawkowski), a gallant Boxer (Matthew McCray), and a sweet-natured Mollie (Helen Yeoman), not forgetting the feisty little Narrator (Michelle Ingkavet), who holds her own with only two feet.

Music and lyrics are simple, sometimes funny, a tad repetitive, but well performed. One outstanding feature: Even with huge masks muffling heads, not a word of the dialog is lost to bad-actor mumbling. It can be done.

Somewhere, Someone Said

Backstage West by Leigh Kennicott:

There's more to this production than what's on the tiny stage. On opening weekend the audience contributed heartily, its comfortable mix of generations gathered to watch and learn from four Greek legends modernized by the youthful members of this enthusiastic ensemble. The cinematically written sketches, performed by the cast of 13, are shoehorned onto the postage-stamp-size stage by director Anita Bloom . Against a diaphanous white background festooned with bunting, the opening choral prologue, reminiscent of Ancient Greek drama, features the entire cast to good effect.

The myth of Icarus provides the foundation for Pamela Ezell 's script. She turns the story into a cautionary tale of parental permissiveness and its consequences. Kristen Brennan , in the first of several roles, is the beckoning girlfriend, Pallas; Al Sgro makes a convincingly rebellious 15-year-old protagonist, while John Roberts handles the complex role of a conflicted father. Bloom provides the right touch.

The second sketch, written by Graham Dodge based on the myth of the Minotaur, focuses on the difficulties of difference in a teenage world. Intended as a comedy, this is the weakest piece of the four. The wandering script is not helped by a lack of pacing and the over-the-top playing for laughs. However, Kathleen M. Darcy is a beautiful Pasiphae , and Hahn Cho as her son, the Minotaur, exhibits the right amount of angst when mercilessly teased by his classmates.

Clever writing by Scott Christian and a star turn by David Andrew DeAngelo as Mephistopheles advance the modern retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice . A magic/realistic style gives the otherwise matter-of-fact adaptation an elegant gloss. In her second role Brennan is appealing as the Eurydice character, and Jeff Cole is charismatic as Orpheus . Jennifer Laux brings an earthy quality to her role as Orpheus ' second girlfriend.

Brennan 's retelling of the Eros and Psyche myth seems to have the least to do with our modern times. Brennan chooses to situate the story in an amorphous fairytale time and people her episodic playlet with stock characters: the beautifully beguiled Psyche, played by Erica Rice ; the androgynous Eros, softly played by Edgar Landa , and two sisters, wickedly played by Julie Gawkowski and Brennan . Here Bloom seems to have the most problems with staging as she situates ìanother placeî up against the left wall, while the central portion involving the enchanted palace of Eros occupies the entire breadth of the tiny space.

The American Plan

Backstage West by T.H. McCulloh:

Richard Greenberg is an adventurous playwright. He zeros in on a familiar crowd, the well-to-do mixing it up with some wannabes - territory playwrights have plumbed for years. But Greenberg always adds another ingredient to fire his action. In Eastern Standard it was a wise old bag lady. Here it's a presumably faded homosexual relationship that might just foul plans for a presumably happy marriage-to-be. In both cases he pulls it off with ease.

Gentile Nick Lockridge is vacationing at a posh Jewish Catskills hotel with a young woman he might be engaged to. Then he spies, and meets, another young woman who lives on a private estate across the lake, Lili Adler . His plan changes, and he and Lili fall rapturously in love. But Lili is slightly unbalanced and under the strict by benevolent control of her domineering mother, Eva . An old formula, it's made interesting by Greenberg's light touch and sense of humor masking the dead serious course of events, particularly when Nick 's ex-lover Gil enters the fray.

With a solid understanding of Greenberg's style and manner, director Elizabeth Mestnik guides her company with the airiest of touches, at the same time keeping the darkness beneath simmering gently. She knows how to balance the playwright's shifting moods, where the laughs are, and how to play the shadowy underlying honesty. The only thing she hasn't been able to make ring true is the final scene, which takes place 10 years later, after Eva 's death. It's a final statement that Greenberg could cut completely for a more solid play. The twist is hinted at in the preceding action, and that's enough.

The company is solid, but Elizabeth Clemmons as Lili is inclined to go overboard occasionally with her hysterics, Ray Paolantonio often overplays Gil's gayness, and Emily Williams could give us just a little more hint of the black maid's humor, which peeks through only occasionally. These flaws are tiny but present. As Nick , David Edwards is on surer ground. His totally innocent approach and his cheerful manner easily mask the fortune hunter he really is, to good effect.

The performance of the evening belongs to Lorna Raver as mother Eva . It's a difficult role, gilding Eva 's selfishness and tortured loneliness with a façade of kindly wisdom, and Raver brings it off beautifully, allowing her wispy hints of engineered events to surface only gradually, like a developing theme in a concerto. It's a performance of rare delicacy and power.

Peer Gynt, Part One

LA Weekly 12/5/01 by Alison Merkel:

Before writing the prose plays for which he would be universally acclaimed as the father of modern drama, Ibsen wrote this picaresque epic that traverses farce, tragedy and fantasy. Based in part on Norwegian folktales, Peer Gynt follows a rogue trying out different selves and never concerned with the ramifications of his actions or his own authenticity — a huge journey that unrolls over the course of six decades and several continents. This production covers only the first half, leaving the audience physically and emotionally abandoned early in Peer’s journey. The decision to end here undermines an otherwise solid production. Director Nicholas C. Avila takes on the Herculean task of guiding his strong ensemble through Ibsen’s lyrical dialogue, and at times does so quite deftly. Performer Edgar Landa makes a worthy effort to lead the audience through the imagination of young Peer, whose tall tales take us both far away and deep within the character. But because the show ends before Peer degenerates into a self-seeking opportunist, he is mainly a victim of circumstance, and the story bereft of dramatic tension. Ray Paolantonio, flanked by a more gothic than trollish entourage, delivers a fabulously sinister performance as the Troll King, succinctly capturing all that is unreal and most dynamic about this commendable production.

Lava/Breath

LA Weekly 8/29/2001 by Luis Reyes:

Written in 1989, Richard Foreman’s Lava eschews character and narrative in a meditation on meaning and language — in many ways an implosion of what Beckett does with his 1969, minutelong Breath. The former depicts three men (David Edwards, Edgar Landa and Anthony Powell) who grow increasingly more frustrated as an ethereal voice (Peter Westenhofer) and three sirenlike, plaid-skirted women (Kristen Brennan, Julie Gawkowski and Lauren Ziemski) lead them through a litany of repetitive and discouraging recitations on a quest to achieve the elusive "category three," a confluence of image, language and enlight enment. Director Al Sgro deftly navigates Foreman’s piece away from intellectual indulgence, making it seem okay if we don’t get it while pummeling us with abstract theatricality. After a 15-minute intermission, the audience stumbles back to their seats to witness the 60-second piece, Breath, before the houselights come on — sans curtain call — to signal the end of the evening’s bill. On the night I attended, there were five minutes of silence before any audience member chose to stumble out — a nice, brief joke at the patrons’ expense.

LA Weekly 8/29/2001 by Luis Reyes:

Writer/director Richard Foreman is a seminal force in modern American drama. Like many of our more experimental artists, he is woefully under-appreciated in the United States , while his reputation is strong elsewhere in the world. (The French government, for example, subsidized his theater there from 1979 to 1985.)

Foreman is an original voice, with literary roots in the soil of European absurdism and with theatrical influences from vaudeville to commedia dell'arte. Beginning in 1968, when he founded his Ontological-Hysteric Theatre in New York , he has produced a significant body of work that has been performed around the world, often directed by Foreman himself.

Because Foreman's theatrical and visual style is so particular, it is hard for anyone who has seen a Foreman piece ñ often with Foreman in the front row literally directing the action ñ to imagine the work performed and directed by anyone else. Clearly much could be lost as it slips out of the grasp of the writer/director.

However, this production of Lava , which was first performed by Foreman and the Wooster Group in 1989, is a pleasant surprise. The company manages to capture many of the signature Foreman touches - the herky-jerky movements, the monotone speeches, the omniscient narrator, and the pounding use of acoustics ñ to good effect. It is true some of the crispness and vigor of a Foreman-directed piece is missing, but most of the writer's peculiar intention is not lost.

The play is essentially an essay, like much of Foreman's work. in this case, the subject is the categories of our understanding of reality. While this may seem a terribly abstract subject for an evening, Foreman makes it an exciting emotional and intellectual journey. Director Al Sgro and his ensemble cast, which includes Kristen Brennan , David Edwards , Julie Gawkowski , Edgar Landa , Anthony Powell , Peter Westenhofer , and Lauren Ziemski , approach this journey with energy and care, and succeed to a great extent in the difficult task of bringing a Foreman piece to life without Richard Foreman.

The second piece in the evening, Samuel Beckett 's one-minute conceptual piece, Breath , is virtually impossible to describe in a review without ruining the effect. All that can be safely revealed is that the concept is nicely executed by Michael Nehring.

New Times 8/23/2001 by James Taylor

For the next two weeks, Son of Semele Ensemble presents Lava/Breath, a double feature of plays by two of the 20 th century's most inscrutable dramatists: Breath , Samuel Beckett 's 1969 minute-long play, and Lava , Richard Foreman's 1989 exploration of communication and self-improvement as restaged by Al Sgro . Sgro and producer Matthew McCray are the first to stage these two highly abstract works in tandem so as to reinforce their shared themes. ìThey make a nice pair,î says McCray. ìBoth plays are similar in what they're saying: Foreman in a complex, categorical way and Breath is simply as an inhale and exhale.î As Sgro puts it: ìYou do it the cerebral way for an hour and then you take a break and do it again in a visceral way.î

Foreman founded his Ontological/Hysteric Theater in New York more than 33 years ago. New York Times critic Ben Brantley once dubbed Foreman ìa titan of the American avant garde,î but his plays are rarely seen in Los Angeles. Lava, a signature Foreman piece with its myriad props and heavy use of drums, eschews traditional theatrical devices such as plot, character and resolution in favor of long off-stage recitations; overlapping, often nonsensical dialogue; and a stage covered with spinning propellers. ìPeople need to come knowing that they're not going to see a linear piece,î Sgro warns. McCray says, ìIt's like watching a living painting more than watching a play. You have to listen and be open to where it takes you - the minute you think you understand, it changes.î

Lava/Breath will probably confuse many viewers and perhaps anger others. ìBut hey,î Sgro laughs, ìthe things that excite me are things that I leave and say ëI have no idea what I just saw, I've never seen anything like it - you have to go see it.' I think Foreman's work has the potential to start something like that with people here.