Fencerow to Fencerow

CTG Newsletter, May, 2008

Center Theatre Group New Play Production Program Newsletter - Spring 2008

New L.A. Company Partnership

CTG and Son of Semele Ensemble (SOSE) are developing a new play with the working title, Fencerow to Fencerow based on the Michael Pollan bestseller The Omnivore's Dilemma. The piece combines both historical and fictional characters to reveal truths about the over-saturation of corn in our diets. Helmed by Matthew McCray and devised by SOSE, this new work will have its second developmental workshop this Spring at CTG. Matthew and company share their impulse for the piece.

SOSE was driven to develop "Omnivore" after reading the book The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan, which explores many shocking realities about American agriculture. For some of our company members, Pollan's book was a "call to action" which drove us to create this play. Our creation process for "Omnivore" originated with games, discussion, and group improvisation, later growing into the creation of a text and eventually a draft. The elements found in agriculture (e.g. plant-life, corn, digestion, the food production process, etc.) were exciting to explore in physical and theatrical ways, and our adventurous style of theatre was a perfect fit for it. Also, we felt that the creation of this play was an urgent and pressing matter knowing that America's Farm Bill was up for revision in 2007. Unfortunately, as expected, the forces of agribusiness held strong to the status quo and the 2007 Farm Bill will continue to support systems of food production that damage our people and our planet. We need a change. Obesity and malnutrition are causing illness and death. Environmental damage from the over-fertilization of our land is killing the Gulf of Mexico. 75% of the grocery store is filled with products that contain corn. Where is the line and when will the forces of agribusiness no longer turn a blind eye to the damage of the industry? "Omnivore" is driven by questions like these that MUST be asked now before it is too late.

Melancholy Play

Back Stage West, February 06, 2008, by Les Spindle:

"Critic's Pick"

Sarah Ruhl's wistfully romantic absurdist farce is an artful blend of loopy Charles Mee, vintage Woody Allen, and cinematic surrealism in a Bergman or Fellini vein. Beyond the bizarre plot developments and zany comic tone is a literate and bittersweet ode to spiritual resiliency, ruminating on the ennui that can envelop our lives and the sweetness all around us that we often fail to see. Bringing Ruhl's delicate work to life requires keen sensitivity to her idiosyncratic style. Her plays walk a tightrope between goofy humor and profoundly incisive subtext. In the expert hands of director Barbara Kallir and a spirited ensemble, this charming fable is a richly satisfying treat.

When we first meet Illinois bank clerk Tilly (Kristen Brennan), her self-absorption makes meaningful interactions with others impossible, yet people detect in her the poetic beauty of a tragic heroine. An attraction develops between Tilly and uptight tailor Frank (Daniel Getzoff), a reluctant suitor who finds himself enraptured by her. Also drawn to Tilly's aura of rueful romanticism are two lesbian lovers -- hairdresser Frances (Elizabeth Clemmons) and nurse Joan (Natalie Hall) -- and Tilly's European psychiatrist Lorenzo (Alexander Wells), an eccentric doctor with an oversolicitous couch-side manner. One day Tilly's temperament miraculously switches from melancholia to euphoria, throwing her admirers into a tizzy, leading to an astounding metaphysical occurrence. Or is it strictly in the eyes of the beholders?

In the focal role, Brennan delivers an exquisite portrayal. Her transition from an emotionally blocked ingénue to a giddily radiant young woman is joyful and hilarious, abundant with nuances that are smartly chosen and skillfully rendered. Wells' would-be Lothario is raucously hilarious. His finest moments come during a showdown with his rival Frank (beautifully played by Getzoff), enhanced by Edgar Landa's superb fight choreography. Exemplary support is offered by Clemmons and Hall. Greatly enhancing the script's emotional crescendos is lushly romantic original music by Ryan Poulson and Michael Levin, sweetly performed by cellist Levin, perched on a raised upstage platform. When Levin is cleverly integrated into the story at the climax, the magic of this heartwarming honey of a show comes full circle.

LA Times, February 07, 2008, by Charles McNulty:

"Recommended"

Son of Semele Ensemble stages Sarah Ruhl's goofy, upbeat look at sadness.

"I would like to propose to you -- this evening -- a defense of melancholy." The announcement, spoken at the start of Sarah Ruhl's "Melancholy Play: A Contemporary Farce," sounds strangely upbeat. A cellist named Julian (Michael Levin), tucked away above the stage but visible throughout, releases arty strains into the air. A psychoanalyst's couch waits expectantly. The subject is sadness but the colorfully lighthearted treatment -- as bright as a package of Starburst fruit chews in Son of Semele Ensemble's staging -- makes you smile.

Tilly (Kristen Brennan), a narcissistic bank teller with flowing blond locks, visits Lorenzo (Alexander Wells), a psychiatrist with an Italian accent and opera buffa manner, to talk about the nature of her despondency. "Cheerful people are the worst sort of people," she says languorously. "It seems to me that you enjoy this 'melancholy' of yours," the doctor sharply observes. "In fact, you seem proud of it. A little vain, even." Well, Tilly has good reason for being secretly pleased with her tears. No one, man or woman, can resist them. Frank (Daniel Getzoff), a tailor with a brooding streak, falls for her unhappiness while stitching her up an outfit. Frances (Elizabeth Clemmons), a hairdresser who used to be a physicist, and Joan (Natalie Hall), her nurse girlfriend, vie to become Tilly's comforter. And not even Lorenzo is immune to his patient's poignant charms. This daft, zoomed-up comedy suggests that the road to romantic bliss is paved by pity. Even nuttier, the competition that breaks out for Tilly's affection is tamed only by the irresistible depressive's sudden reversal into manic jolliness.

Ruhl, whose other plays include "The Clean House" and "Eurydice," is one of the most original new voices in the American theater. "Melancholy Play," a relatively early work that received its L.A. premiere in 2005 courtesy of the Echo Theater Company, is slight, deliberately silly and verging at times on precious. It's an exercise in zaniness that requires you to go along with such absurdities as long-separated twins whimsically reuniting and a lovelorn character turning into an almond.

Thanks to Barbara Kallir's pinball-paced direction, a crack cast of kooks and an eye-catching pastel production design, these cutesy contrivances are surprisingly easy to accept. Your teeth might ache after the candy-coated shenanigans, but there's sweet delight in the theatrical moment.

City Beat, February 06, 2008, by Don Shirley:

"Critic's Choice"

In Sarah Ruhl’s whimsical comedy, a young bank teller (Kristen Brennan) has developed such an exquisite sense of melancholy that two men (Alexander Wells, Daniel Getzoff) and two women (Elizabeth Clemmons, Natalie Hall) fall in love with her – or at least with her bittersweetness. Their love makes her so happy that she sheds her melancholy – and with it, her appeal. The last part of the play enters magical realism territory, as one of the characters turns into an almond (read the program notes) before harmony can triumph. Reminiscent of Charles Mee’s lighter plays, Ruhl’s lark has fun with the conventional wisdom that drama requires unhappy characters – and with the notion that solo cello music (provided by Michael Levin) is the surefire way to express melancholy. Barbara Kallir’s staging is perfectly in tune with the play’s tongue-in-cheek disposition.

Downtown News, February 11, 2008, by Jeff Favre:

Happy Sadness
'Melancholy Play' Shows The Early Development of a 'Genius' Playwright

When Sarah Ruhl received a MacArthur "genius" Fellowship in 2006, she was described as "a playwright creating vivid and adventurous theatrical works that poignantly juxtapose the mundane aspects of daily life with mythic themes of love and war." Kristen Brennan plays Tilly, a sad woman who suddenly becomes happy, in Melancholy Play at the Son of Semele theater. It was written by rising young playwright Sarah Ruhl. Photo by Michelle Ingkavet. Melancholy Play, which opened recently at the Son of Semele theater just west of Downtown Los Angeles, is an opportunity to see that genius develop. The play premiered in 2002, a couple of years before her Pulitzer Prize-nominated work The Clean House. (Ruhl's Demeter in the City for Cornerstone Theater Company was also staged Downtown, at REDCAT, in 2006.) Equal parts funny and hopeful, the two-act, two-hour, fantasy-filled production brilliantly displays Ruhl's ability to turn normalcy on its ear while still making perfect sense. It continues through Feb. 24.

Set in small town Illinois, the core of Melancholy Play is Tilly (Kristen Brennan), a beautiful banker in a constant state of sadness. It's her melancholy, and a habit of saying whatever comes to mind, that makes her attractive to her European psychiatrist Lorenzo (Alexander Wells), a tailor named Frank (Daniel Getzoff) and a lesbian couple, hairdresser Frances (Elizabeth Clemmons) and nurse Joan (Natalie Hall). Tilly's misery is sexy to everyone. Frank goes so far as to collect her tears in a vial. But when Tilly suddenly becomes happy, her new and pleasant demeanor makes those around her miserable, so much so that one actually turns into an almond... maybe. Almonds abound in Ruhl's script, which director Barbara Kallir joyously exploits, having Brennan methodically crack almonds on stage before the play begins. The symbolism of the nut comes from the amygdala, an almond-shaped part of the brain involved in the generation of emotions.

Ruhl was inspired by The Anatomy of Melancholy, written in 1632 by Robert Burton. With a modern eye, Ruhl questions whether in the fast-paced world there is time for melancholy acts such as gazing out the window for hours at the rain, or watching an elderly woman walking alone. It's an outdated emotion, which makes the entire story feel centuries older. To succeed, it requires a versatile actress who fully embodies melancholic Tilly.

Brennan possesses that versatility, and is mesmerizing in every scene. With a wide-eyed gaze and childlike sense of wonderment, she delivers every line as if it's the most important thing ever said. Her transformation from satisfyingly sad to happy is subtle at first, but gradually Brennan becomes manic. Ruhl's script works so well because Brennan creates a Tilly who is as alluring as the written description. The supporting cast is equally impressive. As Lorenzo, Wells elicits laughs with a Chico Marx-like accent. Getzoff's everyman quality is ideal for Frank, the play's de facto narrator who makes a case for why melancholy should exist, as well as what causes and remedies the ailment. It turns out to be the same thing.

Beautiful cello music composed and performed by Michael Levin, who is seated on a platform above the action, permeates each scene, adding a palpable layer of emotion to the action. S. Logan Wince's whimsical set design, accented by Brandon Baruch's romantic lighting, includes a putting green and tiny river across the width of the stage; this is inhabited by a toy boat that delivers a message about almonds at a crucial time in the play. Though it's not a musical, there are a couple of dance scenes that highlight each act, with easy, yet enjoyably goofy choreography by Kari Zander. Kallir keeps the tone light and the scenes transition smoothly from one locale to the next, with just slight changes in furniture and lighting. Despite the flights into fancy, Kallir keeps one foot of the production in reality, which makes it easier to identify with, and sympathize for, Tilly and her friends. Ruhl may have earned her reputation as a rising young playwright with A Clean House, but it's easy to see that the path to that work - and future ones - goes right through Melancholy Play.

Melancholy Play runs Fridays and Saturdays at 8 p.m., Sundays at 7 p.m., through Feb. 24 at Son of Semele, 3301 Beverly Blvd. Tickets are $15 for adults, $12 for seniors, and $5 for residents of zip codes 90004 and 90026, (213) 351-3507, www.sonofsemele.org.

365 Plays / 365 Days

LAist, April 07, 2007, by Zach Behrens:

Creepy, Dark & Quite Amazing: Son of Semele Does 365 for One More Night

Like Circle X, the theatre troupe, Son of Semele (as in Dionysius the God) took 7 of Suzan-Lori Parks plays influenced by the War in Iraq to another level. In a small narrow room that is the theatre's house, the audience is whirled into worlds of chaos, confusion and dark enchantment. Usually, plays in this year-round 365 Days/365 Plays festival last about 20 minutes. Son of Semele took the plays in a lengthy direction, methodically displaying the relevance of these short dramas in 2007 with multi-media and dance. All extremely captivating.

LAist Recommends: 365 Days/365 Plays @ Son of Semele. Tonight only, two showings at 4 and 8 p.m. FREE. Call ahead to reserve a spot, but not neccessary (chance it). Parking is best found to the east of the theatre.

Iphigenia ... (A Rave Fable)

LA Weekly, November 08, 2006, by Sandra Ross:

"GO"

IPHIGENIA CRASH LAND FALLS ON THE NEON SHELL THAT WAS ONCE HER HEART (A RAVE FABLE) Loosely based on Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, Caridad Svich’s ambitious play with music is set near the killing fields of Ciudad Juarez. Facing a tough election, General Adolfo (Richard Azurdia) plots the murder of his daughter, Iphigenia (Sharyn Gabriel), to secure the sympathy vote. She escapes, soon meeting up with the Fresca Girls (Alexander Wells, Jonathan C.K. Williams and Richard Azurdia), three ghostly maquiladora workers who lead her to a rave where she encounters Achilles (Doug Barry), a drug-addled pop star. (All of this is set against the background of the unsolved murders of young female factory employees in Ciudad Juarez.) Matthew McCray’s stylish direction more than compensates for the occasionally awkward juxtaposition of rave aesthetics, social commentary and Euripides. The technical elements are frequently dazzling, including masks by Hallie Dufresne, puppets by Deborah Bird and multimedia projections (Michael Marius Pessah and Barbara Kallir). John Eckert’s lighting design and Cricket S. Myers’ sound design underscore the building menace, and Ryan Poulson’s original music also deserves kudos. Son of Semele Ensemble at THE STUDIO SPACE, 1238 W. First St., L.A.; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m. (no perfs Nov. 24-26); thru Dec. 3. (800) 838-3006.

King Cat Calico Finally Flies Free!

LA Weekly, June 26, 2006, by Steven Leigh Morris:

"GO"

KING CAT CALICO FINALLY FLIES FREE! Edgar Landa’s animated staging of Aaron Henne’s new play is a remarkable exercise is serious goofiness, a comedy about loneliness, abuse and addiction. This surreal romp crawls inside the head of an animal hoarder who’s arrested for criminal neglect of the 150 felines residing in her tiny abode (15 were found in her freezer) and we watch the critters, played by the graceful ensemble, shuffle through the big yellow door, while our heroine, Heidi K. Hendrickson (Laura Carson), struggles to push it shut. The plot consists of both Heidi’s trial, some flashbacks and depictions of her fragile mental state and chronic addiction. (An appearance by a pill-popping Rush Limbaugh [Charls Sedgwick Hall] strains the metaphor a bit.) During the raid on Heidi’s house, King Cat Calico (Mark McClain Wilson) breaks free, so the play also examines what “freedom” really means. We see hints of Heidi’s molestation by her father (Don Boughton), who, in a repeated tableau from the confines of a screened yellow box, guiltily offers Heidi a kitten before driving away to kill himself. Despite the cartoon take on a harrowing theme — the judge (Elizabeth Clemmons) and court-appointed psychiatrist (Michael Kass) contort in sexual paroxysms while trying to do their jobs — Henne’s depiction of Heidi’s obsessive-compulsive disorder is right in line with the empirical research in the field, though it’s unlikely Heidi would have been jailed after a first offense, especially when the charge is animal neglect, not cruelty. However, this production never ceases to engage the imagination, thanks in part to Reagan’s whimsical costumes, while set designers Maureen Weiss and Josh Worth have carved emblematic cubicles and cages around the newspaper-lined stage floor. Son of Semele Ensemble, 3301 Beverly Blvd., Silver Lake; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 7 p.m. (added perf Mon., July 10, 8 p.m.); thru July 16. (800) 838-3006. (Steven Leigh Morris)

LA Times, June 29, 2006, by David C. Nichols, Special to the Times:

"RECOMMENDED"

"How many cats do you know who have the power to deny their instinctive urges?" asks the title character of "King Cat Calico Finally Flies Free!" Not many, and Aaron Henne's absurdist dramedy at Son of Semele isn't too optimistic about human urges, either. When this alliterative account of a reclusive cat collector and the alpha male of her dreams goes for psychosexual mayhem, purring anarchy reigns.

Meet sweetly eccentric Heidi K. Hendrickson (the excellent Laura Carson). Heidi faces trial over the 150 cats (60 in the refrigerator) trapped in her 1,100-square-foot apartment (smartly evoked by Maureen Weiss' yellow-hued set of detritus-stuffed compartments and a newspaper floor).

The real defendant is Heidi's sanity, which is where King Cat Calico (the formidable Mark McClain Wilson) comes in. A crowned renegade, King's attempts to escape from Heidi's obsessive-compulsive clutches have left him at tether's end. Overseen by a porn-reading judge (Elizabeth Clemmons) and a lascivious German shrink (Michael Kass), metaphors of survival and denial merge into an abstract portrait of thwarted identity, with Heidi's dead Papa (Don Boughton) holding at least one key to her needy neuroses.

Under Edgar Landa's agile direction, the designs are sharp, with Cricket Myers' soundtrack outstanding. The feral, funny cast ingests the contrasts in tone like tuna. All the actors-as-kitties in designer Reagan's costumes are delightful, arching and spitting with perverse glee.

Such aplomb scores past some scratchy patches. Although Charles Sedgwick Hall embodies Rush Limbaugh's id with hilarity, the reference feels arbitrary, and Henne could expand the tabloid reporter (Ray Paolantonio). Nonetheless, the ripe imagination on tap should be catnip for the adventurous. Dog lovers may need tranquilizers.

Wilhelm Reich In Hell

Back Stage West, October 14, 2004, by Jennie Webb:

Oh, what a world, what a world, what a world. And I mean that in the best possible sense. I think. So the gutsy Son of Semele Ensemble has taken on some pretty big questions in its latest titanic production, a musical updating of Robert Anton Wilson's 1984 Wilhelm Reich in Hell—questions such as, "Do good and evil really exist," "What are the causes of war, cancer, and schizophrenia," and "How many layers can you put on a play before the play itself gets lost?" In this case, the answer to the last question is, "One too many."

The play is most definitely a wild ride, wherein the real-life Dr. Wilhelm Reich—an Austrian-born, Freudian-trained physician/scientist exiled by the Russian, Swiss, and Nazi governments and subsequently persecuted and imprisoned by the U.S.—must defend himself in a surreal, circus-like, afterlife trial. This Reich is no small guy, metaphysically, and his radical ideas about energy as it relates to human emotions and the cosmos—which in 1954 led to our freethinking government burning Reich's books, banning his research, and locking him up until his death in '57—are enough to fill a play or two, or more. Add to this playwright Wilson's own anarchistic rhetoric and seductive connection of American icons when it comes to morality and reality.

Then, together with the intrepid ensemble, director Reverend Mike Smith and composer/musical director Kristen Toedtman have dared to push this inherently wiggy work beyond its limits, with mixed results. Rousing musical elements often underscore the action—the live band here gets a thumbs up, with Sharyn-genel Gabriel's smashing vocals—but while Toedtman's original songs create an atmosphere of unbridled rock 'n' roll chaos, they do little to help the audience focus on the arguments at hand. The performers generally do a fantastic job, particularly the compelling Ray Paolantonio in the difficult role of Reich; Michelle Ingkavet, who wows as the prosecutor, a clowning Marquis de Sade; Nathaniel Justiniano giving satanic judgment; and Bridget Brno, heartbreakingly funny as Marilyn Monroe. In typical Son of Semele style, the creative team puts together an attractive, action-packed free-for-all that's interesting to watch, but this time audiences may be left with questions such as, "Why?"

The Tower

LA Times, July 02, 2004, 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, July 01, 2004, 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."

Back Stage West, June 30, 2004, 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, June 29, 2004, 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."

Accessibility Live Off-Line, June 28, 2004, 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, February 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, February 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."

Back Stage West, February 20, 2004, 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, October 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."

Back Stage West, October 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."

MORE PRODUCTION REVIEWS (2002 and prior)