I saw Semele with a great lover of Handel by my side. She’s nuts for him and thus she kind of loved Semele. I, however, thought it was fair but not stunning and a little over-complicatedly silly. While I’m fond of the occasional Handel sonata, I think his style is too light, too chipper and sweet for a story like that of Semele’s fraught affair with Jupiter and eventual death. By Fire. Flute trills, to me, just don’t say “death by fire”. The score is pretty, sure, but seems separate from the story and, certainly, from director Zhang Huan’s Buddhist interpretation (which eliminates much of the optimism from the end of the opera and frames the otherworldly story with the tale of a man who was executed for killing his wife’s mistress (see what I mean about the Handel-ness? Not quite so in-keeping).

The performances in Semele’s principal cast (the COC Ensemble Studio members will take on the roles on May 23^rd for one night) range from blah (the muffled altos, mostly Allyson McHardy) to brightly clever (Anthony Roth Costanzo’s delicate countertenor tells you all you need to know about Semele’s would-be husband, Athamas), to standard-strong (bass Steven Humes, double cast as Cadmus and Somnus, William Burden’s soaring Jupiter) to utterly brilliant (Jane Archibald’s Semele is profoundly beautiful, astounding even when delivering the exact same phrase an angering 47 times. Her vocal control is insane and her tone serene). Huan’s anxious direction sometimes detracts from the strong cast with moments like when a full chorus of sex-having couples overshadows a particularly lovely Jupiter solo or when useless and misplaced sumo wrestlers waste the audience’s time and stall the story. But he also makes the occasional fascinating addition such as the stunning non-libretto traditional singer at the end of Act One and the multi-use concept of the omnipresent temple. Said temple’s backstory is presented in video form at the beginning then recalled at the end in completely unnecessary fashion. Huan’s concept and inspiration are fascinating but not helpful enough to the actual storytelling for it to be useful that he imposes said inspiration on the audience. A thoughtful explanation in the director’s note, for those interested, would have sufficed.

The imposing of the strained frame onto a story that doesn’t parallel perhaps as well as the director would like is a symptom of Huan’s biggest flaw as an interpreter of Handel’s already somewhat flawed opera- he needs to edit. Huan could benefit greatly from Coco Chanel’s rule of accessorizing (always take off the last thing that you put on). Surely sumo wrestlers, an inflatable sleeping god, a golden-winged jacket, an unnecessary modern frame, on-stage blowjobs and general choral sexytimes, a prolonged horse-erection joke AND the ridiculous wrapped-in-a-dragon metaphorical fire-death ending weren’t ALL necessary. Couldn’t we have made do with, maybe, 3 of those gimmicks? Because what is essentially a cautionary fable about gods and mortals set to a fluffy-sweet score becomes a bit of a circus in Huan’s over-directorial hands.

The Simpsons is, in its own right, a remarkable piece of the pop culture canon. The generations of writing staffs its gone through, though varying in genius, have all sported a creativity and insight that is almost unparalleled on TV. I’ve never loved the show, but I appreciate its ability to get to the heart of things, no matter the subject. Had Rick Miller utilized creator Matt Groening’s massive universe of characters more thoughtfully, he could have contributed to the great mass of Shakespeare interpretation that somehow has informed the work it interprets. Why, aside from the actor’s ability to mimic Homer’s voice most closely, would the Simpson patriarch play the title role when the characters are planted into the action of Macbeth (as a sort of self-aware play-within-a-play)? One of Homer’s most inescapable defining qualities is his utter lack of ambition, and since that’s not played for ironic laughs nor is Marge’s Lady M strong enough to motivate all on her own, his casting made me seriously consider whether Miller had actually read Macbeth when he started planning this misadventure. Mr. Burns plays Duncan for no discernible reason apart from his position of authority (there’s no way someone would lose their head for murdering Burns- there’d be a town parade!) and poor Bart, the scampy fan-favourite of The Simpsons, is mined for none of the underlying darkness that the long-running series likes to play with; instead he attempts, then abandons, the itty bitty role of Banquo’s son Fleance. Barney Gumble, the town drunk, plays MacDuff in what could be the worst casting move since… nope, can’t come up with a “since”, literally since Ever. I think thoughtful and loyal Lisa should play MacDuff (or, perhaps the uber moral Ned Flanders), but the more of MacHomer I watched, the more I suspected that the casting, rather than a commentary on both fictional worlds, was simply a reflection of which voices Miller had best perfected (his Homer is solid, his Marge uncanny, his Lisa…. less awesome).

The whole thing plays out with remarkable energy against a backdrop of Springfield/Scotland mashup images that are a life-saver when it comes to differentiating voices and clarifying plot. The play’s best moment is the puppet musical number that summarizes Act One (before a 30 second “intermission” in which Miller drinks a Duff beer before continuing on). Using the tunes of iconic musicals- “One Day More” being the best- the characters speed through the first two acts of Macbeth with accuracy and wit that is far superior to the joke-laden rest of the show (since the puppets are there to indicate who’s talking, the whole thing makes much more sense). The weakest moment is the awkward curtain call performance of “Bohemian Rhapsody” that literally has nothing to do with anything except indulging Miller’s need for validation in his mimicry.

But overall, MacHomer isn’t horrendous. At worst it’s not particularly interesting and doesn’t add anything to either Shakespeare’s text or Groening’s world. It’s being targeted mostly at students, but I think those students, having suffered through months of English teachers explaining basic blood metaphors to them in preparing for the field trip, deserve a proper production. Why Stratford is working under the assumption that teenagers would rather watch a middle-aged guy bop around doing familiar voices over a bloody psychological thriller like the one that graced the 2009 festival stage is beyond me. It feels like departing Artistic Director Des McAnuff just didn’t want to bother doing the required minimum number of Shakespeare productions the festival is expected to produce per year. Yes, yes, “he loves Shakespeare”, I’m not saying he doesn’t, but it’s an undisputed fact that he loves musicals more, and it only takes one look at this year’s festival lineup to hear that loud and clear. Stratford is a Shakespeare Festival- it says so in the name- and 3 out of 14 is not enough Shakespeare. I love musicals too, but a great Stratford musical still isn’t as good as a great Broadway one (just ask the JCS cast, struggling over on the Great White Way). A Stratford Shakespeare production, on the other hand, is virtually unrivaled in quality. Anywhere. So let’s do them again, shall we? Because really, Des, literally no one is buying MacHomer as a suitable substitute for the real thing.

Because I’ve long been a totally accepting fan of the film, I had at least some faith that Bring It On: The Musical might not be a disaster. After all, the Legally Blonde musical is far from a disaster, in fact I completely love it (Blonde was a far better film than Bring it On to start with, but still, it gave me hope). Also, the musical pedigree of the folks tasked with turning this film which should not be a musical into a musical is damn impressive (including the likes of the Avenue Q, Next to Normal and In The Heights creators) and I knew the dancing/gymnastics would be fantastic, so I went in with high hopes. Alas, the secret to liking crappy musicals is to not go in with high hopes (I even managed to like Lord of the Rings: The Musical by going to the theatre with horrific review quotes floating around in my head!).

What I found at the newly re-named Ed Mirvish Theatre was a disaster of a product with a sensation of a cast. The music isn’t terrible and the dancing is as expected (meaning, awesome) but, my god!  those lyrics! It’s like they were written by the Glee staff! But Worse! I literally cannot express in words how horrifically cheesy, strained and stupid those lyrics are, I can only warn you that spontaneous mocking laughter is generally frowned upon in the mezzanine, though you might not be able to help yourself. The story (anything involving the English language, really) is equally disastrous. The somewhat interesting take on racially charged competition and awkward white guilt that runs through the film becomes a stupidly self-aware story about a white girl opening up the black kids to the enlightening world of competitive cheerleading (which, of course, changes their lives for the better). There’s a decent but under-written love story in which the one non-cheerleading kid gets Campbell (because all Bring it On leading ladies have to have dumb names) to realize that cheerleading (and, by extension, high school) doesn’t have life-and-death stakes, and the relationship between the tough black girl and the naïve white girl whom she doesn’t want to “try to save her” (until she swoops in and changes her world for the better anyway) at least grows with plausible tentative pacing.

I did appreciate that Campbell’s Act One boyfriend isn’t a bad guy (just a dumb guy) and he and her friends from her old school aren’t squashed in “former life” loser territory. The fact that said Act One boyfriend is played by So You Think You Can Dance favourite Neil Haskell is an unexpected delight. Taylor Louderman is a great leading lady and true triple threat, which is nice to see, playing Campbell with a Cher Horowitz quality that’s utterly appealing, even when she’s saying stupid crap. And she’s met by an overall excellent ensemble. Kate Rockwell (Skylar)’s voice is a bit grating and Ryann Redmond (Bridget)’s acting is too caricature but each makes up for it in other ways (Skylar by being the only naturally funny character on stage, Bridget by having a rafters-shaking singing voice). Adrienne Warren’s Danielle is acceptably awesome though nothing on Gabrielle Union’s no-nonsense character (whom the writers are clearly ripping off). Her sidekicks are also pretty fun between Ariana Debose’s monster voice and Gregory Haney’s general fabulousness (their “Aint No Thing” is probably the best song in the show). Cute-as-a-button Elle McLemore (Eva) makes for the least convincing villain in the history of the world, but that is entirely the fault of the atrocious writing and not the actress. The story has at least a little interesting dimension when it’s possible that Campbell is exaggerating Eva’s villainy (displacement, jealousy, paranoia- all more interesting than basic victimization) but that possibility is taken away pretty darn quickly.

In the opening number there’s one small hint at the entire Eliza Dushku storyline from the film (aka the most successful storyline from the film) and the rest of the plot I understand to be taken from those direct-to-dvd sequels noone (including myself) saw. Why? Why would you make a Bring it On musical and not use the plot of the generally well-plotted film? If you couldn’t clear the rights, then, I don’t know, maybe don’t make a Bring it On musical! Story story story, people. I don’t care how well your kids can dance or whether the funny sidekick can hit insane belt notes or how many beloved SYTYCD alums you can draw- if you don’t tell me a story at least halfway worth watching, I’m out. Bring it On is, at best, a mild diversion, at worst, a Massive Wast of Time and Resources. It’s amazing to me that someone, anyone, during the surely long and surely expensive development process didn’t think to say “hey, you know what? This might completely blow”- why didn’t anyone think to say that? Because, maybe then, there might have been at least a little course-correcting that got done. As it is, you’re better off curling up with a bowl of popcorn and a warm blanket (cause, you know, “brr, it’s cold in here, there must be some Toros in the atmostphere”!)  to watch the surprisingly thoughtful film that spawned this musical atrocity.

After all, is there anything better than this?:

“I’m sexy, I’m cute, I’m popular to boot… Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful, well we don’t like you either, we’re cheerleaders. We Are Cheerleaders”.

*If you don’t get this joke, go fix it and never see Captain America the same way again. 

Daniel Morris, a seasoned director for Bad Habits Productions, adapted and directed this marvelous reimagining of the classic tale. I knew I was watching something different as early as the opening prologue. The original does not feature the prologue and, in any other production, would function perfectly well without it, however, this adaptation thrives on the delightful and thrilling introduction to the magical world of Beatrice and Benedick. From the music to the dancing to the clever introductions to the many characters, including their dynamic and changing relationships, the audience quickly learns the major characters, but more importantly, the audience learns just how fun this production is going to be. This adaptation features five very talented actors who play no fewer than fifteen parts among them, changing costumes with a blink of an eye. Costume designer Pamela DeGregorio does  marvelous and daunting work in this production, making a Hero dress for every character (plus a mannequin) while making numerous quick-change-accessible costumes for over fifteen characters. While I wasn’t in love with Beatrice’s dress, the floral pattern grew on me, and softened Beatrice’s tone throughout the play.

Sasha Castroverde’s Beatrice is captivating. She is a stunning actress to watch and I loved the fine line she walked between a Taming of the Shrew Kate and a Love’s Labour’s Lost Rosaline. Beatrice is a difficult “old maid” to conquer and Castroverde surpassed expectations. She further awed the audience with her range and flexibility in her other four supporting roles. Castroverde is a versatile actress who conquers Don John with melancholy and unease, Friar Francis with piety and poise, Seacole with ambition and gumption, and Hero with daintiness and charm. She makes every moment onstage a spectacle and thrill to watch, adding to the production’s magic and charm.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Seignior Benedick, played with earnest by David Lutheran. His Benedick is a man’s man, with boisterous laughter and thoughtful prosing. But that is where Lutheran gets hung up. He enjoys the comedy so much that I didn’t get the grounded nature of Benedick; for him, marriage, like the world, is a joke. A large part of my concern with his casting as Benedick is how aptly Lutheran portrays Borachio, a henchman to Don John. His scenes are extraordinarily well-played and he performs them with a rich use of physical comedy and excellent command of the language. In any other production, Lutheran should play Borachio and only Borachio; he’s that good in that role.

Like Benedick, Evan Sanderson’s Claudio also enjoys the humor and slapstick of his role a bit too much for my tastes. Sanderson seems almost too dynamic for Claudio, who falls almost instantly in love with Hero (played by no fewer than five actors at various points in the production). Sanderson reaches his acme late in the second act (Acts 4 and 5 for the academics) when his command of Claudio’s pathos is riveting and he uses this energy to propel his character through the end of the show. Sanderson’s Dogberry, meanwhile, is a delight from his first moment onstage. Dressed similar to a postal carrier, he instantly had my support and attention and his charm and brashness is ideal for the role. While Sanderson has fleeting moments as a Claudio with passion and drive, his real successes are his moments as Dogberry.

But the reason I went to this show was Sierra Kagen and, as usual, she does not disappoint. When I first read her roles in this production, I was disappointed, but she shines by making the most of her array of characters. Her Leonato is warm and inviting, while achieving a deep level of scorn and sadness in the later acts. Her Conrad is perfectly suited to Castroverde’s Don John, and their scenes are marvelous. Her Margaret is unforgettable and zany. But, surprisingly, Kagen’s highlight is her role as Hero. As previously mentioned, all five actors, plus a mannequin, play Hero throughout the play. Kagen gets the best scenes, thankfully. Her Hero has the wonderfully fun scene with Ursula (Margaret is absent, obviously) where they not so secretly try to trick Beatrice into falling in love with Benedick. Adam Kassim as Ursula, the flamboyantly, re-imagined friend of Hero, shines in this scene with Kagen. Kagen and Kassim have sharp dialogue, glowing chemistry, and fun pacing to make the scene a delight to watch. Kassim also tackles the forgettable Don Pedro with excellent class and charm; he hits the right notes and helps feature his fellow actors in a selfless way. This maturity and skill is admirable in a young actor, especially in a Shakespearean comedy.

The standout skill and passion of the production lies with the director, Daniel Morris. He’s constructed a marvelous retelling and adaptation of this classic comedy while preserving the story. His strengths lie in his emphasis on the fun and joyful tale of love and its many splendors. You can’t help but smile and beam at the ending; it’s pitch-perfect. He has infused so much of modern culture and humor into the production that any audience member can follow the Shakespearean language. The dances and songs are wonderful additions, expertly developed by music director Rebekah Mardeson and choreographer Crystal Lisbon. While the production does run long at two-and-a-half hours, the play wizzes along at a perfect pace. Are there moments that could be fleshed out? Yes, but the captivation and commitment from this talented crew of actors more than compensates for any of these moments.

William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing . . .  With a Twist runs at the Boston Center for the Arts until May 13. Don’t miss the magic and charm of falling in love with this talented cast and crew as they re-imagine one of the Bard’s most beloved comedies.

            Songs for a New World was originally staged with a mere four actors telling over fifteen different stories through solos, duets, and ensemble numbers. Director and music director Jason Luciana expanded this cast to six for his production. I was willing to suspend my doubts, especially since some productions have achieved greater success and harmony through adding more voices. Unfortunately, the opening fell a little flat for me; I felt like they doubled-up the wrong parts and I missed some of Jason Robert Brown’s key harmonies. However, this cast boasts some impressive vocal talent. There wasn’t a weak link among them, and my chief complaint was under-utilizing some of my favorite voices and personalities in the cast.

Man 1, played by Kevin Hanley, sure can wail. His vocal range is particularly impressive while his command and control is even more stunning. However, Hanley is so swept up in the music that I miss any character or personality in his performance. He sang a few of the more well-known numbers, including “Steam Train” and “King of the World”, yet neither role hit the right note for me. He lacked any real connection with the audience and most of this show is this connection. The storytelling was lost in Hanley’s performance.

Equally disappointing, for similar reasons, was Woman 1, played by Renée Saindon. Saidon is a legit, classically training soprano and, again, musically, Saidon is at the top of her game with cool consistency in her vocal performance. Yet, there is more to Songs for a New World beyond the notes on the page. Like Hanley, she is given some of the show’s most iconic numbers, “I’m Not Afraid of Anything”, “Stars and the Moon”, and “I’d Give It All For You”. I had trouble caring about or engaging in any of these songs, despite being a huge fan of all three independent of the production. While Saindon is and would be a stellar cabaret performer, something more is required to pull off a song cycle. Saindon is capable of carrying a character, but that character never grew throughout each song. This static enactment limited Saindon’s full potential onstage, and stifled most of Jason Robert Brown’s storytelling.

Fortunately, the other cast members carried the show in unexpected ways. I’m not a huge fan of “Just One Step”; I think the song’s a little one-note for me, and I’ve rarely seen an actress tackle all of its complexities. Miriam Cross, as Woman 2, however, did a splendid job, providing just the right unnerved and nervous energy to succeed. Her real shining moment was in, ironically, the boring “Christmas Lullaby”. What a voice! What a waste by giving her an actor’s nightmare in “Just One Step” and an audience member’s boredom in “Christmas Lullaby”, but Cross exceled. I hope to see more of her; I found her solos in ensemble numbers, particularly the sweeping “Hear My Song”, to be astoundingly good. I think she was wasted in this performance, but it’s extremely difficult to divide the song cycle with six actors.

Equally dynamic, yet under-featured, was Man 3, played by Michael Gallagan. His “The World Was Dancing” was charming, moving, and an excellent play of character, especially opposite Cross. Additionally, his “I’d Give It All For You” was warm, though a little flat in character for me, but he was also paired with Saindon, who didn’t deliver as moving of a performance as Cross. Overall, Gallagan’s performance was particularly strong, especially his rich lyrical baritone and acting abilities. I wish he was given the opportunity to sing “She Cries”, though Man 2 (Michael Chateauneuf) did a passable job with that particularly beloved song. Something was missing from Chateauneuf’s performance, though, and I still struggle to pinpoint where he lost me. Perhaps it was the moving from moment to moment; I’ll return to the importance of the moments later.

And I’m finally at the star of the show. Unexpectedly exceeding expectations was Woman 3, played by Katie Pickett. My expectations were exceeded solely because of the limited songs given to Pickett. She was stuck with “Surabaya-Santa” and “The Flagmaker, 1775”, two songs that I’ve glossed over numerous times on the soundtrack. After listening to Pickett’s rendition of both songs, I won’t be hitting next on my iTunes anymore! She is a powerhouse performer, knowing exactly where to emphasize, both as a singer and actress. My eye was drawn to her in the ensemble numbers, and not in a bad way. Her energy never distracted, but only added to this production’s spark and drive. I felt she was under-featured and under-appreciated, and I can’t wait to see her in a more featured role in the future.

My last concern was Luciana’s direction. While he brought out exceptional vocals from his talented cast, I think consistently he missed the moments in each song of choices and change. These are called “buttons” and, to use a legal phrase, “I know it when I see it”. A button is a clincher; a moment at the end of a scene or song that pops for the character and audience. An example of a missed opportunity is the ending reflection in “Stars and the Moon”, but Jason Robert Brown uses them consistently in Songs for a New World and I think this artistic choice is what makes the song cycle so unique. While many songs in many different genres feature “buttons” (a contemporary example may be “Call Me Maybe” and its grossly popular ending), the consistent use of choice and change in Songs for a New World’s song makes “buttons” an interesting and necessary directing decision. The absence of these “buttons” drives down the quality of the characters and the importance of their songs and choices.

Lighting Designer Erik Fox should, and most likely will, be nominated for area theatre awards for his work on Songs; his lighting balance and colors perfectly set the mood for each song and the change in the characters. The set by Set Designer Brie Frame was workable and provided much-needed levels, but nothing amazing (though in her defense, the set doesn’t have to be visually stunning but merely allow the characters to tell their story). The production elements were passable but, aside from the lighting, barely noticeable, which is a good thing.

Overall, I found the production a tad underwhelming, but mostly because some of my favorite songs weren’t played to the same acting degree that I expect. The production runs until May 12, but Longwood Players’ next season looks particularly promising with productions of Rock ‘n Roll by Tom Stoppard and the rarely-performed Chess with music from ABBA and lyrics by Tim Rice.

The set is a unique backdrop of a metal American flag. The many entrances and exits onstage make for particularly good blocking. The most interesting part is how dulled, worn, and vicious the flag looks, especially from far away. Designer Kamilla Kurmanbekova does excellent work, especially with help from lighting designer Ian King. Together with costume designer Evan Prizant, the audience views a splotched, used, and questionable American society. Their concept is expertly executed, and provides a lens to observe the musical’s plot and message. The only bright colors come from our storytellers, the Proprietor, played with perfect demeanor by Matthew Dray, and the Balladeer, played with quirky resonance by Evan Gambardella. I enjoyed the Proprietor’s costume the most because of its strong reminder of the American dream, an important recurring theme in Assassins. Unfortunately, the Proprietor is unmemorable, despite a potentially strong opening number; he fails to deliver and quickly fades into the background. Luckily, I enjoyed this unintentional interpretation. The Proprietor is not the focus of the musical, nor should he be its star player.

Director Jim Petosa’s production of Assassins seems to re-imagine the Balladeer as the central character, featuring the Balladeer in the background of more scenes than typically intended. While this choice is strong, I think Gambardella’s portrayal of this iconic American figure misses the mark. Gambardella is charming and quickly wins over the audience’s trust and confidence with his quirky mannerisms and bright personality. Yet, the camp goes a little too far. His brilliance dazzles farther than it should and noticeably detracts from many central scenes. I found him ridiculous in some musical numbers, but he carries the show in numerous numbers with his voice, movement, and grace. I would enjoy seeing him featured in another musical, perhaps Jack in Sondheim’s Into the Woods or the Emcee in Cabaret; he was that good, just not good as the Balladeer. Oh, and before I forget, the lack of guitar is almost shameful; this production tried to get around Gambardella’s inability to play guitar by having him listen to it? For shame.

Many of the other leading characters failed to rise to Gambardella’s star quality, further making the Balladeer stand out in most ensemble numbers. Giuseppe Zangara, played with angst by Harrison Brian, was too much for me, somehow hitting the caricature rather than the character. Leon Czolgosz, played with some consistency by Zachary Clarence, seemed star-struck onstage and his passion fell flat, despite many comments about his zealous demands for reform. Samuel Byck, played with staggering sadness by Leo Stagg, seemed overwhelmed by the confused and mentally unstable lower middle-class man; his attempts at comedy missed the mark, though I admire his commitment to the character and his interpretation.

One of the leading, and more notable, characters in Assassins is John Wilkes Booth, played with charisma and determination by Christiaan Smith-Kotlarek. A quick Google search confirmed my guess that Smith-Kotlarek is a trained opera singer. He has a stunning and captivating, unique voice. His opening scenes were underwhelming, especially given that Booth’s history is so memorable, but Smith-Kotlarek is riveting in his ending scenes. While he kept my focus, I didn’t really invest in his willingness to convincing Oswald to commit the crime of the century. I think Smith-Kotlarek’s portrayal is passable, but nothing akin to the Tony-winning performance of Michael Cerveris as Booth.

That brings me to my favorite characters. I’ve seen Assassins about half a dozen times in various venues and with varying levels of professionalism, so I admit to being a little opinionated about the show and its characters. With a large ensemble cast, the actors have a difficult job of making themselves memorable. Oddly, the most memorable for me is Charles Guiteau, played by John Scala. Scala exudes the perfect amount of confidence and off-kilter personality necessary to carry his role. While I found his singing a tad underwhelming, especially given the prior productions I’ve seen, his commitment to his role was captivating and made his downfall actually heartbreaking.

Equally good, surprisingly, was John Hinckley, played by John Zdrojeski. I have never seen an actor take on Hinckley so well, especially given his awful dialogue. His voice is rich and stunning on the iconic “Unworthy of Your Love”. His scene would be nothing, however, without “Squeaky” Fromme, played with incredible talent and knack for comedy by Casey Tucker. Talk about a committed actor. Tucker takes crazy and makes it so damn cool that you can’t help but believe her conviction and commitment to Charlie (yes, THE Charlie Manson). Though I found her singing a little underwhelming, especially given how famous “Unworthy of Your Love” is outside of the musical’s plot, I couldn’t help but appreciate her strong acting throughout the song and the play. Her partner-in-crime (pun intended) is Sara Jane Moore, played with maturity by Melissa Carter. What a firecracker! Her performance is spot-on brilliant, and her scenes with Tucker are some of the play’s most memorable, thanks in some part to the excellent dialogue, large part to the actors’ commitment to their respective characters.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the ensemble. While sparingly featured (a product of the musical’s construction rather than any directing decision), they captured the energy and life of the American people. None of the ensemble did this better than Emily Zickler. Her stunning solo in “Something Just Broke” is one of the most heartrending songs I’ve heard in a while. Her brilliance comes not from force, but from conviction and her energy comes from a willingness to move forward despite the change in our country’s history; these emotions are especially felt in today’s society. Her ability to channel these emotions in an often underappreciated solo is breathtaking. The girl needs to play Cinderella in Into the Woods and deliver a heartbreaking rendition of No One is Alone (apologies for all the Into the Woods/Assassins parallels).

While the production is hardly the best Assassins I’ve seen, many of the actors’ performances are just good enoug to that make it worth seeing. Any negative commentary on individual actors’ performances is based on my long-held opinions on the show, and didn’t detracts from the warmth, energy, and verve in the show. The cast and crew does a brilliant job of telling a story that deserves to be told in today’s society and features some stunning performances along the way.

No matter how dark a tragedy, it is always made more tragic by the moments of hope that show the potential for happiness the characters just can’t reach. The Real World? has those moments, but they are undermined by the end of the play when the hope that maybe Claude’s real life is not as dark as he imagines disappears and his father is framed as an absolute villain instead of a hated, ambiguous figure. Tremblay leaves the door open for Claude ‘s imagination to be running away with him, but the atrocities he presents as absolute fact are so horrendous that the decision becomes: believe him or run the risk of turning your back on a heinous crime and being wrong. I liked the idea that the father Claude hates is turned into a villain in his play, but I think that concept is more interesting and more honest if the embellishment is in Claude’s filter and not in some truth his mother Madeleine and sister Mariette have been repressing. Again, there’s that possibility, but I wish the door was left maybe a little bit more open.

The production of Tremblay’s play currently on stage at Tarragon is generally pretty strong (though on opening night the set did begin to literally fall apart- maybe it was a metaphor?). Matthew Edison is particularly effective as tortured playwright/judgmental son (and Tremblay proxy?) Claude. He’s got the screwy self righteous indignation of any writer whose life heavily influences his work (meaning all of them) and the way he uses his writing to right the wrongs he sees in his family’s behaviour is oh-so-honest. Sophie Goulet is exuberant and carefree as Mariette 1 (the real one) while Cara Gee is dour and haunted as her fictional counterpart. The Madeleines (Claude’s long-suffering mother) are closer variations. The wig on Claude’s maternal creation (Meg Tilly, so great in Bomb Girls) is a little neater, her dress a little prettier, as she speaks the words and takes the steps Claude believes his real mother should. Said real mother is a fascinatingly still shadow of the strong-willed Tilly version, played with self-reflective hurt by a wonderful Jane Spidell.  Costume designer Charlotte Dean did a wonderful job creating two sets of character looks- one just slightly more colourful, more ideal- and the cast funhouse-mirrors each other excellently. There’s a great defensiveness to Tony Nappo’s possibly-innocent Alex and a desperate violence to Cliff Saunders’ definitely-culpable one.

The trick of the play lies with Mariette, however. The nothing-alike-ness of the actresses who portray her gives light to the two options of Claude’s world. He’s written the characters of his play-within-a-play as brutally honest, airing their  every issue no matter how painful (in Mariette’s case, she becomes a miserable figure when she otherwise is determined not to be). His real family, on the other hand, is either strong and silent in her sadness (Madeleine) or defiantly happy (Mariette). Claude’s assertion is that his fictional world deals with reality when his real life does not- hence the titular question mark, asking what is really The Real World?.

The first act of the evening is Zemlinsky’s A Florentine Tragedy, a densely serious take on Oscar Wilde’s play about a cheating wife whose passion for her husband is reignited when he kills her lover in front of her. As absurd a premise as that is, it plumbs the depths of human sickness in what could be an utterly fascinating way. Why are we both desensitized and drawn to violence? Why is a violent temper a quality that attracts many women to dangerous men? Is our lust for attention so extreme that we parade lovers in front of a spouse, hoping for a reaction, no matter how extreme? How terrifyingly flexible is our personal line of justifiability? A Florentine Tragedy should be terrifying and evocative, thrilling, steeped in foreboding suspense. It is not. Mostly, it’s just boring. The voices of Gun-Brit Barkmin (Bianca, the troublesome wife), Michael Konig (Guido Bardi, her lover) and Alan Held (Simone- the jealous husband) are good (it is the COC, after all) but far from the most impressive of the night. They seem thin, expressionless, uninspired. Wilson Chin’s set design is the best thing about the one act- a 1920’s Florentine apartment with a massive and hauntingly stoic photo of the married couple who lives there, looming large over the scene (a particularly effective innovation). Thankfully, during this travesty of blah-ness, I was seated in the Four Seasons Centre’s third ring, the best seat in the house for pit orchestra gazing. There are few sounds more exciting in this world than that of a quality orchestra’s final tune before they begin an overture (the ritual currently plays over the opening title of NBC’s Smash and is, at the moment, the best thing about the show). Then, barreling into Zemlinsky’s fierce score, the opera orchestra was at their absolute best (as they always are, they really are a brilliant ensemble). So I spent most of that first act watching them, because pit gazing really is a wonderful diversion from an achingly dull production, complete with frantic and amusing bow synchronization, at least one particularly handsome cellist, and that beautiful effect when light from the music stands hits the wooden string instruments and makes them glow like embers.

After intermission, I hardly watched the orchestra at all because the action on stage was so wonderfully entertaining that I wasn’t even tempted. First of all, you can try arguing with Puccini’s genius with opera score, but no one will be listening, because his work in the medium is consistently remarkable. Gianni Schicchi, a one act comedy that I’d never heard before, easily lives up to the Pucinni legacy, and then some. Comedic opera is a sadly under-produced genre but there’s something incredibly cool about a massive English-speaking audience erupting into laughter because a performer’s facial expression or inflection clued them into a fantastic Italian joke. Such productions require a particularly apt cast who can convey the joke without crossing the ham line. The ensemble of The COC’s Gianni Schicchi is wonderfully up to the task. They are uniformly wonderful. The Donati family are particularly hilarious as they pretend to mourn their deceased relation and fight over his will. They are the perfect comic ensemble, taking themselves hilariously seriously and being the bad human beings we all love to laugh at- pretentious, selfish and largely useless. Obviously, they nail Puccini’s vocal score, but the chorus of Gianni Schicchi could be completely silent and steal the show on their physicality and wonderful facial performances alone. As Rinuccio, the black sheep Donati who hopes to inherit enough money to marry his lower-class love Lauretta without a dowry, Rene Barbera is lovely. As an actor he’s merely passable, a sort of operatic Bobby Moynihan in puppy love, but his soaring tenor is one of the best I’ve heard, truly captivating. The object of his affection, Lauretta, is played superbly by the great Simone Osborne. Osborne was a bit disappointing in Rigoletto earlier this season, but her stunning soprano really soars here. Her famous aria “O Mio Babbino Caro”- in which she appeals to her father (the titular Gianni) to help Rinuccio’s family get their inheritance by posing as the deceased and changing his will- is nothing short of glorious. The clarity and control in Osborn’s voice is insane and her tone is simply beautiful- one of the best vocal performances I’ve heard this year. The plot of Puccini’s one act (libretto by Giovacchino Foranzo) is based on part of Dante’s Inferno and the bad-guys-get-what’s-coming-to-‘em resolution is thus as appropriate as it is delightful. Director Catherine Malfitano smartly updates the action to present day where the themes are ever more relatable and the characters all the more recognizable. Her staging is also refreshingly fluid, counting on her performers to deliver even when she takes away the conventional stand-and-sing comfort of most stagings.

Gianni Schicchi might just be the best thing I’ve seen from the usually uber-serious COC. There’s a self-aware fun to the one act that is completely missing from its double-bill companion, The Florentine Tragedy (which is neither fun nor deep enough to be truly commanding and is certainly not self-aware). With both productions coming in at only 52 minutes each, the Double Feature is also one of the most economically timed offerings I’ve seen in awhile, yet its first half still feels centuries long. If you can make it to intermission, however, Gianni Schicchi just flies by.

Repurposing quality director Mario D’Alimonte (Laramie, Stephen) as a leading man was the company’s first mistake. Stiff, cheesy and simply too old for his role, D’Alimonte was my principal complaint in a generally fraught production. I was pretty sure I didn’t like Kelly Anne Woods as D’Alimonte’s love interest Norah, but as my friend pointed out at the welcome intermission, it’s tough to judge her effectively opposite such an badly cast partner, the awkward chemistry was as little her fault as the stilted blocking.

I understand the directing challenge inherent in the multi-location story and low-budget company matchup, but I struggle believing that director Jacqui Burke  couldn’t think of any solution less uncomfortably uninspired than 5 mini-sets that the characters get up and walk to as they bizarrely transition from place to place in the terribly constructed memory play. Once in a particular mini-set, D’Alimonte and Woods had about a foot of movement space each, so there was more stand-still-and-gesture blocking than is ever okay.

The costume design by Alex & Carmen Amini was equally horrific (if not more horrific than the direction). D’Alimonte was dressed alright- I think, there wasn’t much memorable about him- but poor Kelly Anne Woods looked like a Golden Girl trying to save a buck. Her horrible pink suit resembled mangy terry cloth and could not have been frumpier. No actress deserves that level of aesthetic mistreatment, especially one trying to sell a love story.  Looking at the poster for Wrong for Each Other, I’m just now realizing that there was supposed to be a notable class difference between the symphony-loving venue manager Norah and the baseball-loving housepainter Rudy. I totally didn’t get that during the play, I wasn’t quite sure why they were so “wrong for each other” at all, really. They were both in unflattering blazers that were most likely bought at Goodwill. If the central premise calls for a high-class character in order to work on its most basic level, there is no excuse for dressing her in terry cloth or its aesthetic equivalent.

At the centre of all this well-meaning terribleness was Norm Foster’s script. In the hands of stronger actors with palpable chemistry and rat-a-tat timing, I am determined to believe that Foster has a passably charming romantic comedy script here. It’s a far cry from meaningful and certainly not unique in any way, but comedy (and quick, rhythm-based dialogue) is all in the timing, and not a single one of Foster’s lines was delivered strongly enough to judge. He does, however, layer in more clichés than I knew how to deal with, for which he’s being deducted major points (particularly for the verbal ones, situation clichés are harder for writers to avoid). Foster’s script is nothing special, it can never be called good, but Encore didn’t do anything to elevate it. They tried, but they somehow only managed to make it worse.

In his interview for our 2011 Nominee Series, Gregory Prest pointed out that he was “happy to be doing the comedy You Can’t Take it With You after spending eight months in dark Thompson-Ibsen-O’Neill world”. That sense of the comedy being a pleasant relief is one of the things that makes it particularly great. Soulpepper is coming right off of what I called “Morphine Month”- a repertory period that featured a black black black comedy (High Life- starring Diego Matamoros and Mike Ross from You Can’t Take It With You) and an even blacker domestic drama (Long Day’s Journey Into Night- starring Prest, Ziegler and You Can’t Take It With You matriarch Nancy Palk). In fact, most “serious” theatre companies stay away from lighthearted fare like You Can’t Take It With You altogether and the result can be dizzying darkness-fatigue. What the Kaufman & Hart comedy does is lift you back up from where the ingenious but difficult Long Day’s took you. It’s an optimistic and big-hearted piece. It has a message, sure,- all things worth presenting do- but that message is nothing more or less than: You Can’t Take it With You, so be happy and be yourself while you have what you have.  It’s a lovely message and a lovely play. It doesn’t stay with you all that long after it’s over, but You Can’t Take It With You, while it lasts, is a welcome dose of happiness.

In tiny roles, the wonderful Diego Matamoros and Mike Ross have great, broad, goofy fun as a crazy Russian ballet instructor and the nervous/enthused son-in-law of the principal Sycamore family; had those roles been much bigger, they may have been tiresome but as they are they’re delectably quirky. Andre Sills steals his scenes as happy-go-lucky Donald next to Sabryn Rock‘s amusingly no-nonsense maid, Rheba. Maria Vacratsis suffers a bit under the most uselessly dumb role I’ve seen in quite some time- that of exiled Russian Grand Duchess “Olga”- and poor Raquel Duffy isn’t far behind her as the almost-as-useless Gay Wellington, her best gag being a passed-out role to the floor. But every other character is supremely well-used. Soulpepper’s go-to homerun hitter Nancy Palk plays perpetual hobby-switcher Penny Sycamore with infectious giddiness while Derek Boyes plays her husband with indelible warmth and fatherly sweetness. Their one daughter, played by Patricia Fagan, is a ball of quirkiness- dancing ballet in the living room to the tune of her husband Ed (Ross) on the xylophone. The other daughter is fairly normal, odd only by association with the eccentric family she loves so much. Said daughter, Alice (played with openness and backbone by the lovely Krystin Pellerin) brings home the boss’s son and quickly gets engaged, leading to a comedy of manners as he (purposefully!) brings his well-to-do parents into the topsy-turvey Sycamore home on the wrong night.

Brenda Robins and John Jarvis play the uptight Kirby parents with just enough sympathy to keep them multi-dimensional and, in  fact, right until the end I thought the play might do the unexpected by letting everyone be a good guy. Alas, Mr. Kirby’s outing as an unhappy man leads to a good old fashioned scolding of the rich folk- the unaccepting and immovable rich folk, par for the course. Said scolding is done, however, in such a charming fashion that I was forced to forgive the play’s predictable characterizations of the Kirbys. Eric Peterson‘s turn as Grandpa Sycamore- the untouchable free spirit who carries the message of the play as a life philosophy and thus delivers said moral/scolding himself- is great stuff. In the program note, Peterson points out  that “this is the first old guy I’ve played, since I started playing old guys, that isn’t grouchy and angry; who is happy and brave”, a point I found fascinatingly revealing. The Sycamores are happy and brave and that makes them, for whatever depressing reason, unique modern theatrical creations. And because of that, however goofy and lacking in deadly disease and alcoholism they may be, each member of the Sycamore family is a great part for the actor- none so much as the memorable, inspiring soul of the piece, Grandpa (the way he says grace alone…).

The final member of the cast is the plot lynch-pin-Tony Kirby. After he falls for his secretary Alice Sycamore, Tony ventures bravely and open-mindedly into her crazy home in act one to be greeted by a laugh-out-loud scene of personal space invasion, among other things. Later that night, he proposes to her anyway, shouting down her trepidations that her family is too outlandish to accept. Of course he can accept them, Tony loves her. This gets proven in act two when he brings his stuffy parents a day early to dinner at the Sycamores’, when they’re not prepared, when they’re just being themselves. For the Sycamores, “being themselves” means crazy Russians cooking blitzes and giving dance advice to Essie in full tutu while she passes out homemade chocolates, Penny wonderfully contemplating her latest script debacle (“I’ve sort of got myself in the monastery and I can’t get out”), Ed working away on a printing press or xylophone, Grandpa spontaneously attending commencement ceremonies, family friend Mr. De Pinna (a bumbling-sweet Michael Simpson) posing as a greek warrior and patriarch Paul testing homemade fireworks in the basement. That little act of rebellion, purposely mixing up the dates, is unbelievably brave for the sheltered, tentative Tony and makes him my favourite character (well, that and Gregory Prest who is so damn lovably sweet that I fell madly in love with him. Again). See, for the Sycamores, it’s as odd to be average as it is odd for the Kirbys to be odd, and Tony is the only character willing to bridge both worlds. He’s never as outlandish as Grandpa, as exuberant as Ed, or as excitable as Paul, but Tony steps out of his box and dares his parents (and the Kirby-tentative Sycamores) to see things a new way. Grandpa may speechify the moral of ‘be happy when you can’ but it’s Tony who insists he can ‘be happy’ with whomever he chooses and however he chooses- however odd or normal or combination thereof that my be. And that really feels like the moral of this happy-go-lucky, sweet-as-pie piece of theatrical comic relief: ‘be happy, whatever that means’.

"Riverdance" the Act I finale

When I was a kid, I was completely obsessed with Riverdance and its far more linear counterpart Lord of the Dance. Obsessed. I would listen to the soundtrack in the car, make up fake Celtic words to the songs, invite my friends over to dance along with Michael Flatley on the old VHS. When my parents finally took me to see Lord of the Dance, the experience was ruined by the horrid woman in front of 7-year-old me turning around and insisting I “stop kicking her chair”- I was dancing, Hello! All this is to say that once upon a time I did in fact know just how astounding an artistic achievement Riverdance and Lord of the Dance are. In the years since my childhood Irish-dance enthusiasm, I’d somehow managed to forget. I was on that disaffected cool kid train where odes to the exuberance of dance are “dorky”, no matter how impressive. But my doll of a little cousin Taylor is in love with Irish dance so when Riverdance came to town, however briefly, I agreed to take her. And that old sense of wonder came instantly flooding back.

"American Wake"

Riverdance is simply amazing. It’s better than amazing, it’s fun and uplifting and evocative and impressive all at the same time. The more theatre I see, I find myself doubting that those 4 adjectives can exist together. Things that are fun tend to leave most audiences un-provoked and things that are impressive and evocative are rarely much fun; they tend to leave a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomach. But Riverdance… I do not care if it’s the dorkiest thing to love in the world- I spent the rest of my night last Saturday at the uber hip Mod Club watching an avant garde jazz band with the cool kids, and I wished the entire time that I could just go back to Riverdance.

"Thunderstorm"

As Taylor and I danced up the aisle after the show, we couldn’t stop humming the soaring melodies that had accompanied the explosive dancing in the 2 hours previous. The music of Riverdance is sensationally beautiful, and while the pipe solos had me wishing the dancers would reappear to lighten things up, the rollicking fiddle pieces entertained all on their own (though I would have enjoyed them more had the audience clapped On The Beat when asked to join in). The set and lights are also sublime, telling the story all the more effectively with production values that rival the best of Broadway. I don’t think the random story about settlers is at all improved or clarified by the awkward voice-of-god narration, I’d dispense with it altogether, because Riverdance doesn’t need story clarification. This isn’t Lord of the Dance with its colour-coded good guys, masked villain and his troupe of ne’er-do-wells.  The story of Riverdance is in the emotion and expression of the dancers and musicians; it’s a cultural celebration, forcing an obscure narrative onto it does no one any good.

"Trading Taps"

The stories told in individual dances are all the audience needs to understand the point of Riverdance. Most memorable is the showdown between contemporary tappers and Irish steppers, “Trading Taps”. Like the flamenco routine (but better), the number exemplifies the cross-cultural influences in both styles. The tap battle is also particularly funny as dancers from both sides mock the others’ style. It’s also damn impressive- but so is everything else. Lead dancer James Greenan was the standout performer the night I saw the current US/Canada Riverdance tour. He’s an insanely good dancer, that goes without saying, but there’s an energy and eccentric enthusiasm to Greenan’s performance that is downright infectious. He turns to smile at the other dancers (mid-routine!), encourage his chorus and generally looks like he’s having the time of his life. If you’re going to be a professional dancer, I really think that’s the attitude you should have towards dance. Greenan not only looks like he would rather be doing nothing else but dancing, but he makes the audience feel the same way. The brutally brilliant act one number “Thunderstorm” perfectly exemplifies how Greenan leads the male chorus with astounding skill, a sense of fun and dance-til-you-can’t-stand determination.

"Reel Around the Sun"

The female leads and full chorus are equally sublime, the latter showcased particularly well in the uproariously joyful “American Wake”, the show-opening “Reel Around the Sun” (which features unbelievable synchronization) and the famous “Riverdance” act one finale. It literally comes down to “I did not know human legs could move that fast”, because the performances in Riverdance are so unbelievable (though precocious little Taylor did inform me that “Riverdance is easier to get into than Lord of the Dance; it’s not as good”). I saw Lord of the Dance as a kid but now I can’t possibly imagine how anything could make Riverdance look easy.

The actors are hyperactive and goofy  as they play out their story of disguised aristocrats sizing each other up. The acrobatic Gil Garratt was the audience favourite as Arlequino, the valet who puts on buffonish airs while posing as his master. His match is Lisette (a well-timed Gemma James-Smith putting that obnoxious airy voice to far better use than in The Glass Menagerie), a mousy-come-confident maid who poses as her mistress and catches the affections of Arlequino (whom she thinks is Dorante, his master). The real Dorante is played with masterful charm by Harry Judge. He and Trish Lindstrom (at her best AGAIN as Lisette’s too-clever-for-her-own-good mistress Silvia) nail the tricky element of inescapable good breeding, even when dressed as a valet and a maid.

The class disparaty, while awkward in today’s political climate, creates much of the comedy and is the centrepiece of the tricky plot. The arranged marriage of Dorante and Silvia is a product of their aristocratic upbringing and the posturing of their servants when given a taste of power is one of play’s  bigger laugh-getters. Dorante and Silvia are the masterminds behind both plans to switch places and their dialogue is bright and witty; Arlequino and Lisette, for their part, provide easy, broad humour. Personally, I was far more taken with the high-headed banter of the supposed “servants” (aka Silvia and Dorante) rather than the physical gags of Lisette and Arlequino (posing as Silvia and Dorante) but that’s the beauty of The Game of Love and Chance. The comedy runs the gamut, hitting on every imaginable taste. Add Zach Fraser as Silivia’s almost Rupert Everett-esque brother Mario-  swaggering around, causing problems and eating candy- and no matter your comedic niche, The Game of Love and Chance Will find a way to make you laugh.

First up was The Tales of Hoffmann presented by the Canadian Opera Company. As usual when it comes to COC productions, the set was beautiful and the voices soaring. I thought Lauren Segal was a little thin on her vocals as Hoffmann’s Muse and John Relyea’s myriad of bass villains melded together as a two dimensional bore, but the rest of the cast was spot on. Two of the three women who take centre stage in Hoffmann’s unlikely “tales” shone the brightest: Erin Wall’soulful Antonia, and , most notably, Andriana Chuchman who added great timing and physical comedy to her insane soprano as the show-stealing automaton Olympia. Yes, there’s an automaton, with whom Hoffmann earnestly (read: idiotically) falls in impetuous love.

All of Hoffmann’s tales are of earnest idiocy and impetuousness. They string together incredibly loosely and serve mostly to inform a weak frame device wherein the poet Hoffmann loses the girl he loves because the manipulative Muse drives him to drink as he recounts his tales of lost love (and the women he thinks are all pieces of his beloved Stella). It’s a dumb story at best that is fueled largely by the cat-fight instinct of a jealous woman and the overbearing cliche of the tortured alcoholic artist. Jaques Offenbach’s score is neither unique and provocative enough nor beautiful and stirring enough to carry the piece on music alone on top of being unendingly repetitive. It takes Offenbach and librettist Jules Barbier 3.5+ hours to tell a remarkably simple story. The second act (of 3 plus prologue and epilogue) is the story of Hoffmann’s fiancee Antonia who will die if she sings but is tricked into singing anyway and, thus, dies. That story, which took me one sentence to describe, takes an entire hour to unfold on stage. It’s torturous. I know it’s not common opera practice to do so, but one thoughtful music director with a red pen ready to make some judicious cuts in Offenbach’s score could literally make all the difference to a production that was otherwise fairly well executed.

The set looked great; it was a simple and classy politician’s office at Christmas time. The book shelves were lined with a mix of economics and inspirational Boston sports books. Everything was just so, and that not-quite-real feeling you get from a set – any set – was actually perfect for a politician. The play was off and running quickly, throwing the audience right into the inner circle of Massachusetts State Representative Kevin Murphy. Right from the beginning I was working to keep up. The Boston accents were strong and not entirely consistent across the board, and the name dropping was plentiful. I could catch up based on context, but many of the jokes and references went right over my head. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; the play just knows its audience – that just happens to not be me. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the story quite a bit, but the world of the play might have made more sense if I had understood politics in Boston in the 90’s. I would blame it on my west coast education, but my east coast-raised companions were not much better off. It’s because we’re twenty-somethings and were not politically aware at the age range of 2-5. We’re not going to have a personal connection with the time period on stage, so we’re going to look to the characters to bring us into the world.

At this, the show excelled. I was wrapped up in the drama completely. When Kevin Murphy reveled parts of himself to his staff; or Seth the Washington big-shot invaded and dissected their lives, I cared. Confession, discoveries, manipulation and intrigue kept the realistic character drama moving. Catherine O’Neill’s script was deeply clever and well paced. I rarely felt a scene was dragging – though much of that can be attributed to Brett Marks’ skillful directing. I was unsure of Robert Pitella’s Murph at first, but I was sold after Act I. It took awhile for the character to unfold as a real person, instead of a cardboard-cutout politician. Once he did, I was really intrigued; but it’s always hard for me when it takes half a play to see a character, especially in a four person show. James Bocock and Emily Kaye Lazzaro stood out as Gary and Katie. They had fantastic chemistry and put the action into their bodies the most effectively. James Bocock’s Boston accent sounded the most consistent and easy – maintaining their accent seemed to strain others at times- and the scenes that highlighted them really shined.

I’m really excited to see where Argos Productions goes. As a new company they’ve really impressed me with great talent, strong directing (and I’m picky), and smart texts. I know I will definitely go see whatever they do next.