pathetic is writer/director Julia Jarcho’s riff on Racine’s Phedre, the neo-classical exploration of a woman’s lust, so of course it takes place in a high school.
Donovan builds a tranquil place effortlessly, and then creates darkness within the negative (theatrical) space around it, using it as atmospheric pressure to hold the memory in place.
Dan Safer is the devil you’ve been dying to dance with and Ae Andrea’s enviable lines and swag make them an optimal fiend friend for that card.
Everybody Hates a Tourist: Romeo Castellucci Visited America, and Makes Clear He’s Picked Up Some of Our Worst Habits
In summary: This should shouldn’t have been put up, here or anywhere
A composite of quite ordinary gestures that combine to make something novel, much in the way the entire play uses old poses in service of a show much more than an aesthetic or expressionistic dance.
If life is a race, all the characters here are lagging behind the leader, just hoping to keep up and find space to breath amidst the density of inevitable heartbreak that comes along with living.
After over a decade hiatus in making work, with “now my hand is ready for my heart” downtown icon, Nicky Paraiso gushes forth while looking back on several lived lives in Nickyworld.
I’m not sure I would call Mrs. Murray’s Menagerie a play, as such, if only because a play suggests an exterior blueprint which is then built or enacted by a group of performers and designers. The Mad Ones appear to build out – they start with what is generally interior, a collection of tiny behavioral tells that shape human intention, and construct around it.
through sharing, repeating, layering, and rephrasing, the company finds a way to both underline and subvert the brutality without explicitly pointing at it.
Since it’s often hard to explain a good piece of theater – as Milo Rau’s Five Easy Pieces, which had its all-too-brief North American premier two weeks ago at the Skirball Center, certainly was – we might as well start with everything this show is
It’s not so much a communing with the dead as an un-containing of the self, casting meaning into the void, hoping perhaps to receive some echo of that meaning back, in the shape of a hug, or song, or strip of tin foil torn from the wall.
A very telling moment occurs right at the top of American Juggalo, a new play produced by collective Unattended Baggage, at HERE Arts Center that closed March 3. After a projected slideshow introduces us in the briefest possible way to the Insane Clown Posse, Juggalos,