10
Jun
2013
I wouldn't necessarily associate the titular "gourmet," which implies "high-quality" or "fancy," with the script for the Richmond Hill Barn Theatre's 100 Lunches: A Gourmet Comedy. But the production is entertaining beyond its thin plot, the two-dimensional characters and situations are at least interesting enough to warrant continued attention, and although this is yet another play that could end at intermission and still leave audiences satisfied, the second act - despite boasting a wholly dissimilar tone - proves just as appealing as the first.
While I have no doubt that women who've experienced "the change" - and the men who've experienced it with them - will better appreciate the humor in the Circa '21 Dinner Playhouse's latest, Menopause: The Musical offers a lot of entertainment that transcends that particular life experience. Filled with comically altered lyrics of popular, mostly 1960s songs, the familiar melodies, energetic rhythms, and notable performances from the cast of four had Friday's audience on its feet at the end of the production.
The trouble with the Playcrafters Barn Theatre's The Trouble with Cats is that Patti Flaherty is not featured enough during its two-and-a-half-hour length. Playing a dry, crass, flirtatious lowbrow named Joy Bombay, Flaherty proves it's possible to present bad material in a way that's enjoyable to watch, and when I laughed during Friday's performance, it was usually due to Flaherty's comedically nuanced deliveries or comically condescending or cruel facial expressions and body language. The actor is clearly gifted when it comes to comedy.
While playwright Peter Sinn Nachtrieb's boom is slyly hilarious, and the QC Theatre Workshop's production of it laudable for so many reasons, there is one aspect of the performance that stands out in particular: Angela Elliott's laugh.
While I've loved every children's production I've reviewed at the Circa '21 Dinner Playhouse, How I Became a Pirate marks the first in which I wish I had the soundtrack to enjoy with my partner's nine-year old daughter Madison on our way to and from school each day. With music and lyrics by Janet Yates Vogt and Mark Friedman (both of whom also wrote the musical's book), the songs are worth revisiting for their singable melodies and enjoyable styles, particularly the calypso numbers and a speedy, staccato, complexly rhymed nod to Gilbert & Sullivan's "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General." After Saturday's performance of the show, in fact, Madison and I were singing lyrics from several of the songs on our car ride home, which I hope suggests how fun and memorable they are.
The Richmond Hill Barn Theatre's Death of a Salesman marks one of James Driscoll's most powerful, effective, fully realized performances to date, which is saying a lot given the actor's résumé, which includes roles such as Long John Silver in the Playcrafters Barn Theatre's Treasure Island and his multiple characters in last year's Anton in Show Business for New Ground Theatre. During Friday's presentation, I was awed by Driscoll's ability to shift from sanity to a mental confusion bordering on insanity as his Willy Loman transitioned from his vision of his past to a moment in the present. Driscoll accomplishes this both through physical gestures, such as rubbing his head as if sweating, and vocal inflection, as his voice becomes more frantic and emotional during his state of confusion.
Scott Community College's Blue Sky Merchants is an interesting idea that doesn't reach its potential, mainly due to its absence of subtlety. Local playwright and actor John R. Turner's play about a man (simply named Deskman, and played by Turner) who listens to, and then green-lights or rejects, ideas for television shows could be a poignant commentary on modern society's tastes in entertainment. Yet while Turner has a laudable knack for dialogue, Thursday's production left me with too-little question as to his intended message, mainly because his Deskman character clearly states the author's intent, rather than allowing the audience to decipher it.
Before the production officially begins and without uttering a single word, Gini Atwell effectively sets the tone for the Prenzie Players' Antigone. On Friday evening, during the ad-libbed pre-show that's a staple of Prenzie productions, Atwell sat at the front of the stage, half-cradling her knees while wearing a far-off look in her eyes and a deep sadness on her face, as though lost in thought on woeful memories or circumstances.
