The Conical Glass

"I've been to the zoo."

2009-07-02T21:53:00.000-07:00

We saw Edward Albee's "At Home at the Zoo" at A.C.T. last night, bringing the season to a close. The play's history is quite interesting. Act Two, "The Zoo Story," was written in 1958 and became a popular one-act, winning an Obie Award for best play. Act One, "Homelife," was written almost 50 years after "Zoo," and the playwright now insists that they be performed together. "It kept occurring to me, probably from very early on, with the first production, that it's not quite in balance, I don't know enough about Peter," Albee told the San Francisco Chronicle. Then I got very busy for a number of years, and one day, about 10 years ago, it occurred to me to fix it. Then I waited about another five years and fixed it."

That's probably some kind of record. In any case, despite the fame of "Zoo," "Homelife," a scene from the marriage of Peter, one of the two characters in "Zoo," is perhaps the stronger of the acts. "I think the first act is a little better written than the second," said Albee. "I think I've learned my craft a little more."

Anthony Fusco, a familiar face at A.C.T., plays Peter in sort of a low-key, slightly nebbishy, Bob Newhartian manner. I had never seen "Zoo" before, so I was able to experience the play as a whole. Both acts revolve around extended monologues: "Homelife" builds to a set piece in which the long-married Peter tells his wife, Ann (Rene Augesen), about a college sexual encounter that went wrong; "Zoo" features a seemingly random encounter in Central Park between Peter and Jerry (Manoel Felciano), in which the latter man tells "the story about the dog" -- his attempt to befriend, and then kill, a neighbor's hostile pet.

Peter is sitting on a park bench reading a book, minding his own business, when the manic, overbearing Jerry comes up to him and strikes up a conversation. It reminded me a little too much of times when I've been accosted by random people on the bus who want to chat (admittedly, that doesn't happen so much in Oakland as it did in Berkeley; plus, I have learned to wear my iPod, even if I'm not actually listening to anything). I think the tragic outcome of the encounter totally vindicates my instincts not to want to talk to strangers.

Anyway, it's a very good production, and while Felciano has by far the showier role, I think the night belongs to Fusco and his nuanced portrayal of Peter. Afterward, Joe expressed some regret over our earlier decision not to renew our season tickets, but I assured him that we can keep going -- I just want the ability to steer clear of any clunkers like "War Music." Next season kicks off with an innovative-sounding British production of Noel Coward's "Brief Encounter."

As I do every year, let's rank the 2008-09 plays from best to worst! (Can you guess what the "worst" will be?)

1. "The Quality of Life" by Jane Anderson
2. "Boleros for the Disenchanted" by Jose Rivera
3. "At Home at the Zoo" by Edward Albee
4. "Rock and Roll" by Tom Stoppard - this might have been a tad too erudite for me but Joe ranks it #1.
5. "Souvenir: A Fantasia on the Life of Florence Foster Jenkins" by Stephen Temperley - I didn't write much about this one, but it was much more fun than I expected, and Judy Kaye was heartbreakingly good as Jenkins.
6. "Rich & Famous" by John Guare
7. "War Music" by Lillian Groag

I suspect that Joe might argue that "Rich & Famous" was more painful to sit through than "War Music," but I would argue that while "Rich & Famous" was garden-variety bad, "War Music" was so misguided that it should never have made it to the big stage. It was commissioned by A.C.T., so presumably they would have lost a bundle if they had pulled the plug on it, but I just have to believe that the artistic directors and actors knew they had a stinker on their hands and decided to muddle through.

Sugar Sugar

2009-06-29T19:39:00.000-07:00

I mentioned earlier this month that I was giving up sugar for the month of June, and am now reporting back to say that I did it -- sort of. It is extremely difficult to cut sugar and high fructose corn syrup completely out of your diet unless you shun processed food altogether.

On the "pro" side, I found out about some products which I really enjoyed and plan to keep in my regular diet. Galaxy Granola's "not sweet vanilla" flavor is delicious and I bought a new bag today (it's available at Whole Foods) even though the sugar experiment ends tomorrow. I also found I prefer Organicville ketchup to Heinz -- for one thing, it's thicker so you don't get that "ketchup water" in the first squeeze that you do with most brands. However, trying to find veggie burgers that have no added sugar is too much trouble. I only found one brand (Safeway's Eating Right) and they're OK, but I prefer my old Trader Joe's standby.

We went to a couple of events where cake was served, and I had no trouble avoiding them. I read a fabulous piece on the blog Kateharding.net about the problem many women have with overeating -- the author eventually realized that there wasn't a "worldwide fry shortage looming," and she could eat French fries if she felt like eating them, and if she didn't, she could eat something else. I just decided that this month I wasn't going to eat sugar, and to bear in mind that there's no worldwide cake shortage, and eventually I hope to decide on a case-by-case basis, do I really want to eat cake today, or would I rather have another slice of watermelon? (I did have one dessert that undoubtedly had some sugar in it -- a fruit crisp at Rivoli. Usually I head straight for anything chocolate, but I have to say that the fruit crisp was awfully good.)

The rest of my slip-ups were pretty much inadvertent: one instance of eating restaurant ketchup (maybe Organicville should make their product available in little packets!); a few dried cherries; and some cranberry juice, which probably had high fructose corn syrup in it. I had rum at Forbidden Island, which Joe pointed out is fermented sugar cane.

All in all, I think it's a good idea to once in a while try to shake up your old habits, as our pals Michael & Susan are doing this month with their car-free challenge. Learn some new things, eat some new foods, break out of your usual routine.

Speaking ill of the dead

2009-06-26T19:49:00.000-07:00

There is a Swedish word, lagom, which can't be translated directly into English but means "just enough" -- not too much, not too little. Just right.

I grew up with lagom, in a smaller house than we could afford, but it had three bedrooms and that was enough for the four of us, wasn't it? It's a concept that stays with me today.

Yesterday, I wrote about the important lesson I learned during my childhood, that of living within your means and not going into debt. Today, I read that Michael Jackson was estimated to be anywhere from $300-400 million in debt when he died: "An accountant testified that the singer had an 'ongoing cash crisis' and spent $20-million to $30-million a year more than he earned."

For most people, being $20-$30,000 in debt is a crisis, nevermind $400 million. There was always someone to bail out M.J., though. One of the king of Bahrain's sons reportedly "gave Jackson millions of dollars to help shore up his finances, cut an album, write an autobiography and subsidize his lifestyle." Of course, if he'd lived to perform the 50 concerts on his "farewell tour" in London, that would have helped his cash flow considerably.

Michael Jackson was definitely the antithesis of lagom, and that's probably why I found him so horrifying. I mean, look at this blog post about a collection of memorabilia that was displayed in L.A. earlier this year. LOOK AT THIS!!! He commissioned it!

I grant you that M.J. made some popular and wildly influential music, although it was never my cup of tea (back when Thriller was selling a kajillion copies, I was listening to Roxy Music's Greatest Hits). But the guy spent the last couple of decades celebrating his own wonderfulness. Who could forget the 50-foot-tall "Jackobot" he planned to erect in the Las Vegas desert, or the 35-foot-tall statue he actually did erect in Prague? Then there was his 30th-anniversary special, a $5,000-a-ticket salute to himself. Oh, and the fact that he crowned himself the "King of Pop." And the scrolling list of Great Moments of History that once appeared on his personal web site, highlighting "historic events such as 'Martin Luther King is born,' 'The Berlin Wall falls,' 'Nelson Mandela is freed,' and finally, 'June 13, 2005, Remember this date for it is a part of HIStory.'" (That's when he was declared "not guilty" of child molestation.)

Of course, it's entirely possible that all of the hoopla was covering up a whopping case of low self-esteem, since he did seem to do quite a lot to obliterate his actual appearance as an attractive African-American male. Yes, he had a crummy childhood and an abusive dad. But I guess no one will ever know exactly what turned him into such a freak show.

When he was accused of being a child molester, I assumed he was lying about being innocent since he lied about so many things -- no one in their right mind could honestly believe his only plastic surgery was "minor work on his nose" for sinus problems, for instance. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but those E! reenactments of his trial provided me with more entertainment than his music or videos ever did. I was totally hooked on those irresistibly cheesy dramatizations and the attorneys who provided commentary (oh, Shawn Chapman Holley and James Curtis, where are you now?).

Out of everything that's been written so far about M.J., the most poignant by far is this blog entry by his ex-wife, Lisa Marie Presley. She recounts a long-ago conversation in which Michael predicted that he would wind up dying like Lisa's dad did. Presley's straightforward account, even the words "Our relationship was not 'a sham,'" seems honest and clear, whereas every one of Michael's public pronunciations always struck me as unadulterated, self-serving bullcrap. "In trying to save him, I almost lost myself," she writes. In that moment, the crazy celebrity freak show stuff falls away, and we're left with a woman who had to leave the man she loved in order to save herself. That, not all the encomiums and paeans to a talent lost, was finally what moved me.

Lessons learned

2009-06-25T18:30:00.000-07:00

I haven't been blogging lately, but I have been keeping busy. Neal was here for a few days, which is always fun. He is the opposite of the folks referred to in this Garrison Keillor column: "I am stuck with houseguests who are unable to sit in a room without me for more than 15 minutes. They follow me around like faithful collies. We ran out of conversation on Friday and they're here until Wednesday." (Hey Garrison, clip 'n send your column to those folks and I suspect they'll never darken your doorstep again!) Neal is, like me, self-employed, and always has endless amounts of work to do on his ever-present laptop. The best guests are the most self-sufficient!

We went to see the free Elvis Costello show at Amoeba Records in San Francisco (along with approximately 950 other folks), to a Q&A about health policy with former Secretary of Labor Robert Reich, and hiking in Muir Woods. Neal and I hiked while Joe (who has a bum knee) sat on a bench near the visitor's center reading Tod Goldberg's Burn Notice: The End Game.

We were going to hike a trail that was marked "easy to moderate," but instead we somehow wound up on the Dipsea Trail, which is listed as "strenuous." I am used to walking the flat urban streets of my hometown but somehow made it up the steep, steep hill (stopping for breath a few times). The coolest thing about it was that we managed to walk for 90 minutes before we saw another human being. Muir Woods is an extremely popular tourist attraction, but obviously most people don't bother getting off the main boardwalk loop. If you, like Keillor, crave solitude, just go into the woods and keep walking... I suspect that you can find peace and quiet even on some of the "easy" trails if you go far enough, but the Dipsea is definitely good for working those leg muscles.

It's a little embarrassing that I've managed to live here for a dozen years without visiting Muir Woods, so I'm glad I finally got to go!

Since I've been busy, I am now trying to catch up on work and other stuff. Walking the dog today, I was listening to last weekend's Marketplace Money, one of my favorite radio shows/podcasts. One of the stories featured listeners telling what they had learned about finance from their dads, in honor of Father's Day. No one asked me, but here is my money lesson anyway:

Before he retired, my dad was employed by a bank in one of those "private banking" divisions that cater to high net worth individuals. So he was always dealing with doctors, lawyers and the like who earned substantial salaries. However, sometimes those people would come to him asking to borrow money, because they were in debt -- perhaps they'd overspent on a house or a boat, or their credit card balances had just spiraled out of control. He told me that whether you make $20,000 a year or $200,000, if you spend more than you earn, you will go broke. I have taken that advice to heart and as a result, the only debt I carry is my mortgage; I pay off my credit card balance every month. If you're a parent, teach your kids to live within their means -- it's a valuable lesson and one that has always served me well.

The art of exercise

2009-06-14T18:36:00.000-07:00

Regular readers know that I am always looking for opportunities to add more walking into my daily routine, so when I heard about East Bay Open Studios, I chose the ambitious goal of hoofing it to every Open Studio in my town. In the end, I didn't quite make it to all of them, but I saw a lot of art and walked many miles.

In parts of Oakland and Berkeley, the studios are highly concentrated -- there may be several within a few-block radius. Here, however, they were pretty spread out. I probably walked a good 10+ miles over the three days I toured studios.

Most of the studios were located in people's houses or garages. I loved being able to go into their homes and yards. For me, that was almost as appealing as the art. One textile artist, who is only about five blocks away from me, lives and works in a charming cottage that dates to the 1880s. Pat Payne, who creates large-scale steel sculptures of birds, had one of the prettiest gardens I've ever seen, a beautiful setting in which to view her work.

In a few cases, there were several visitors checking out the art, but more often, it was just me and maybe one other person. I'm not big on chatting with people, but in this situation, I really had to; if you're the only person walking around looking at the art and the artist is right there, you sort of have an obligation to talk to them about it. Some of it was more to my taste than others, but I tried to find something nice to say about everything. Ceramic artist Alexandra Odabachian (who doesn't have a web site -- maybe I should have brought business cards on my walk!) was probably my favorite discovery; I would love to buy some of her pieces someday. And check out Deborah Griffin, who takes vintage photographs and postcards, scans them, and uses them to make whimsical digital collages. I also liked Margaret Fago's watercolors of San Francisco Bay's birds and sailboats.

One mixed media artist, who had displayed his work outdoors, was deep in conversation with another man when I arrived, but an enterprising eight-year-old neighbor boy had set himself up as the exhibition tour guide, complete with an "official" badge. He took me on a comprehensive but slightly too quickly-paced tour of the artwork, rattling off every piece's name and even translating the one with a Spanish title. ("'Ventana' -- that means window!") At the end of the tour, he asked me if I had enjoyed it, and when I said I had, he brandished a fistful of $1 bills, letting me know that some people had enjoyed their tours enough to provide him with a tip, though he assured me it wasn't mandatory. I was happy to give him a dollar; who can resist such charming chutzpah?

As a bonus for the hungry traveler, nearly everyone has snacks available, ranging from the token bowl of mixed nuts to some pretty good-sized spreads -- platters of veggies and dip, cocktail wieners and meatballs, bowls of fruit, wheels of Brie, bottles of wine. I was grateful to be able to fortify myself with some baby carrots and water before setting out for the next studio.

Open Studios takes place every June, and involves over 400 artists throughout the East Bay. It's a fun, cheap, and (if you walk or bike) healthy activity; I'll definitely look forward to this event in the future.

I, Pundit

2009-06-12T13:18:00.000-07:00

I once thought it would be my life's ambition to be interviewed on "Fresh Air with Terry Gross," although I've come to realize as the years pass that it's extremely likely I will never accomplish anything worthy of getting a spot on that show. Then I figured I'd be willing to settle for "Forum" (our local equivalent to "Fresh Air"). I eventually downgraded that dream to calling in and asking a question on "Forum." Which I totally did, a few years ago. I think it was on a Tuesday and that night, a couple people at my book group asked, "Didn't I hear you on 'Forum' this morning?" Yes... yes, you did.

It had never occurred to me to fantasize about someday being interviewed for a Canadian newsweekly, but if I had, I would be hoisting up the "Mission Accomplished" banner today.

I hope my dad doesn't mind that I mentioned his age. He is in his 70s, but it's a youthful and vital 70s.

What happens in Vegas

2009-06-07T15:36:00.001-07:00

I must admit to a bit of schadenfreude upon hearing that "Land of the Lost" is turning out to be a huge bomb, since for the past several weeks, I've been cringing in agony at its horrible commercials and trailers. Long before it opened, I told Joe I'd be willing to bet that "LotL" would get worse reviews than "Night at the Museum 2," and I am so vindicated. ("LotL" has a Rotten Tomatoes rating of 28% fresh, vs. 44% for "Night.") "LotL" just looked awful. Of course, frequently a movie I think looks like it'll be about as much fun as spending an hour in the doctor's waiting room with only 2-year-old issues of Newsweek and Sunset to pass the time winds up making a kajillion dollars, so I'm actually surprised "LotL" wasn't a huge hit.

Apparently, instead of "LotL," everybody was out seeing "The Hangover" this weekend. "The Hangover" is a raunchy R-rated comedy, and many of the reviews have emphasized its lack of star power, but you know what? Ed Helms (formerly of "The Daily Show") and comic Zach Galifianakis are my idea of stars. Zach G., whom I first discovered via "Late Show with David Letterman" back in 2000, is one of the funniest men alive, and is directly responsible for one of the most hysterical things I have ever seen at a comedy show. See, there are these guys who busk outside the American Conservatory Theater on most performance nights singing the old spiritual "Down By the Riverside." That's the only song I've ever heard them sing, and it's become sort of a running joke with Joe & me. Anyway, we went to see the Comedians of Comedy tour a few years back, and Zach had actually gotten the "Down By the Riverside" guys to join him onstage to sing. I don't remember the exact set-up, but the lyrics were, "She ain't gonna e-mail you no more," and it was hysterical. I will love Zach forever for that bit, which is immortalized in one of the Comedians of Comedy movies.

I'm delighted that Zach is getting such acclaim for "The Hangover," and he is scary-brilliant in the film, playing the awkward, desperate-to-fit-in future brother-in-law invited to the bachelor party in Vegas just because, well, the groom feels obliged to let him come along. He winds up inadvertently drugging the three men (the groom and his two best friends), which leads to a night of total debauchery... that none of them remember the next morning. There are some pricelessly funny moments in "The Hangover," such as Zach's character Alan's comment about blackjack: "Counting cards isn't illegal, it's just frowned upon, like masturbating on an airplane." "I'm pretty sure it's illegal to masturbate on an airplane." "Well yeah, ever since 9/11 people have been so sensitive. Thanks a lot, bin Laden." (I thought that was hilarious. If you don't, this movie's obviously not for you.)

The film sort of runs out of gas when the men are threatened by a mincing Asian gang lord who claims they owe them a great deal of money, but no one expects a movie of this type to bat 1.000. Like "Superbad" and "Borat" a couple years ago, before too long, you'll be tired of hearing everyone repeat their favorite jokes and catchphrases from "The Hangover."

Truly, it is the golden age of dude movies. I know I've complained about this before, but as a comedy fan, I've seen pretty much every one of these flicks, from "Old School" to "School of Rock," from "Role Models" to "Knocked Up," and at this point I would be thrilled beyond belief to see a similar type of comedy about the ladies. I was looking forward to "Spring Breakdown," with "SNL" vets Rachel Dratch and Amy Poehler, but the film won't even be getting a theatrical release. I suppose I'll have to wait for "30 Rock" to come back in the fall to get a female comedy fix. Thank goodness for Tina Fey's Liz Lemon.

Meanwhile, the grand poohbah of the dude comedy, Judd Apatow ("Knocked Up," "The 40-Year-Old Virgin"), has a new release coming next month, and at least I'll be able to save my ten bucks and skip it. Why? Because the trailer for "Funny People" played before "The Hangover," and I think it's safe to say that every significant plot twist in the movie is given away in the preview. Star Adam Sandler is (redacted), but wait! then it turns out he's not really (redacted), and then he falls in love with (redacted), except she's (redacted), but you know they'll be able to work that out. I kind of hope the movie sucks because if it's great, I'll be crushed that I didn't have a chance to see it before watching the entire film condensed into a 2-minute trailer.

Summer of Lent

2009-06-05T10:23:00.001-07:00

Some friends and acquaintances of ours around town are taking the Car-Free Challenge, which entails trying to stay out of autos (even carpools!) during the entire month of June. (Granted, some challengers are simply attempting to drive fewer miles, not 0 miles.)

I am pretty committed to minimizing my auto use -- I mean, we moved so that Joe could be within walking distance to his job, and one of the reasons we chose this location is because it's one of the most walkable communities in the Bay Area. We can walk to the library, the movie theater, the post office, and a ton of restaurants. However, I must admit that I love my car, mainly because I enjoy getting to places quickly. I realize this is anathema to all those public transit lovers out there, but I hate buses. Subways and light rail are great, but buses -- yuck.

A few days ago, I had to take the bus to the intersection of Ashby & San Pablo in Berkeley. I have made this trip several times via bus, and it always takes an hour. There are two ways for me to get there: I can either take the "rapid" bus down San Pablo and transfer to the local in downtown Oakland, or I can get on a bus that will take me there directly without having to change. The latter bus takes a leisurely, circuitous route through West Oakland. I love the super-speedy "rapid" buses, but having to transfer always seems to trip me up. The bus I was transferring to is supposed to come every 10 minutes, but on Wednesday I wound up waiting 20 minutes for it to arrive.

My bus trips were also slowed down by four riders in wheelchairs who got on at various points along the way. I think it's wonderful that disabled riders have access to transit, but there's no denying that it throws the buses off schedule when the driver has to deploy the ramp and strap the rider in. One driver had trouble getting the ramp up and it took several attempts to fix it so we could resume our travels. And then there was the driver who didn't realize that there was a guy in a wheelchair waiting at the stop. The bus drove off without him, but he zoomed after us in his motorized chair and caught the bus at the next stop. That led to a loud confrontation between the driver, who swore he hadn't heard the guy say he needed the ramp deployed, and the rider, who kept yelling "I'm going to report you!" Seriously, who wouldn't want to be in a nice, private car listening to their radio station of choice rather than idling at a corner while two men are loudly arguing?

I wish I could ride a bike, but I'm too cowardly. The last time I was on a bicycle was a year ago on Mackinac Island, which has no cars -- an ideal situation for those on two-wheelers. In the real world, with few dedicated bike lanes and a lopsided ratio of motorists to bikers, I would feel too vulnerable.

As it happens, though, before I heard about the Car-Free Challenge, I had already decided on my own challenge, which was to give up sugar for the whole month. This is one of those things that sounds easier than it actually is, because once you start reading ingredient labels, you realize that almost everything has sugar in it. I had to buy new salad dressing and ketchup. I could only find one type of veggie burgers (a staple of my diet) that didn't have sugar, and I switched from buns to pita because most commercially baked bread has sugar. High fructose corn syrup is out, too, but I had to make some concessions; my favorite cereal, Kashi, has "evaporated cane juice," which sounds suspiciously like sugar, but at least it's not a refined sugar. Sometimes compromises need to be made in order to live our lives.

Up, up and away

2009-05-30T20:18:00.000-07:00

I think my favorite thing about Pixar is how deeply they care about making really good movies. No one there is simply interested in the quick buck; if the Pixar name is on a film, you know all of the super-exacting people who run that place have made sure it is truly excellent, both in story and in the quality of the animation, before sending it out into the world. It's almost heartwarming, in a way.

"Up" continues the Pixar tradition of quality, but I think they were seduced into releasing it in 3D in order to capitalize on the current trend for animated 3D movies. Because there is really no reason for "Up" to be in 3D. I say this as someone who truly enjoyed the 3D effects in "Coraline," "Monsters vs. Aliens" and "Bolt" and thought they added a lot to the viewing experience. But in "Up," the 3D seemed like a distraction, and there were no eye-popping effects that used the format to its advantage. During the scenes set at the mysterious and beautiful Paradise Falls, I suspect the animation is even more dazzling in 2D. And, if you're a total sap like me and get all teary-eyed during "Up"'s heartbreaking first 10 minutes, your glasses will get fogged up. So save your $2, people, and don't bother with the 3D!

I was so eager to see "Up" that we went to a kiddie matinee instead of waiting for the late show, which we probably should have done, as I could tell the under-10 set was getting mighty restless during the opening section that was making me sob into my funny glasses. It's no secret by now that, like Toffifay, Pixar's movies are too good for kids. And for those of us who live in the East Bay, home of Pixar, how cool is it that they are always dropping in local references -- like Fenton's. I'm not going to relate the plot, because you already know you should see it and you will want to be surprised by the crazy machinations of the story. OK, one more thing: I totally want one of those high tech dog collars for Bibi. And be sure to arrive on time, because the opening short, "Partly Cloudy," is a gem.

Some enchanted evening

2009-05-28T15:34:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago, an A.C.T. telemarketer called to remind us that it was time to renew our season ticket subscription. I had already decided not to renew, and was kind of hoping to vent about the crummy plays they'd done recently, especially the now-legendary flop "War Music." (It'll take a long time to erase that dud from people's minds; a commenter on the Chronicle's web site SFGate.com wrote a couple weeks ago that "after 'War Music' anything would look good.") Unfortunately, the telemarketer's reaction was pretty much "kthanxbai" so that was that. I thought maybe they'd be tallying subscriber feedback, but apparently not. (Fear not, theater fans, we still have season tix to two other theater companies plus a half-season Berkeley Rep subscription, so we are by no means deserting our local stages.)

However, last night, we unenthusiastically dragged ourselves to A.C.T. to see the next-to-last play of the season, Jose Rivera's "Boleros for the Disenchanted," and were beyond pleasantly surprised. It had gotten the "little man in chair" rating from Chron theater critic Robert Hurwitt (the same rating he gave "War Music" and the equally dire "Rich and Famous"!) which seemed like bad news, since Hurwitt seems to engage in a bit of grade inflation with A.C.T.

Well, I think Hurwitt was dead wrong about "Boleros" -- or maybe it's become a stronger show since it opened three weeks ago. Both Joe and I found it a very moving, engaging show. "Boleros" is playwright Rivera's retelling of his parents' love story: how they met by chance in Puerto Rico in the 1950s, how they came to move to the U.S., and the lifetime they spent together. Act One features the young Flora and Eusebio and Act Two takes place nearly 40 years later, with the actors who played Flora's parents in the first act portraying the couple. Eusebio, now in his 60s, has lost both of his legs to diabetes and is confined to a hospital bed in their modest Alabama home. Despite his big dreams of finding success in the U.S., it is obvious that Eusebio's life has been one of struggle and pain; and Flora, who gave birth to nine children (six survived), seems doomed to live out her days in the caretaker role she has performed for her entire adult life.

"Boleros" is an antidote to the "happily ever after" of romantic comedies, and I heard more than a few sniffles immediately after the curtain fell. However, the show is very funny at times, too, and most importantly, it tells a great story that hooks you from the first moments of the play, and lingers in your mind after it's over.

December(ists) Will Be Magic Again

2009-05-21T09:54:00.000-07:00

Last night, we went to see the Decemberists on the second date of their Hazards of Love tour. You should click that link to see if they're coming anywhere near you, because this was a seriously amazing show. The first half featured the album performed in its entirety, as a seamless whole, no pauses between songs -- it's a tribute to the seven-member band and a handful of incredibly hard-working roadies/techs that they were able to pull it off so flawlessly. The Hazards of Love is a concept album or rock opera, whatever you want to call it, and I'm still not 100% sure what it's about because the lyrics are printed in such tiny type in the CD booklet. I have a hard time paying attention to words because I get too caught up in the music. In any case, I figure singer Becky Stark was the good girl, since she was wearing a flowy, fairy-tale gown, and Shara Worden, in a black dress and sparkly tights, must have been the bad one.

This was the first show I'd seen in the recently renovated Fox Theater in Oakland, and it's a gorgeous, gaudy palace. The floor was standing-room general admission, but we had seats in the fourth row of the mezzanine, and they were super-comfortable with a perfect view of the stage. It's a real treat to have such a spectacular venue an easy bus ride away. We East Bay people get tired of having to go to San Francisco for everything! On one of the Hazards songs, five of the seven band members were all playing drums, and the lighting cast enormous shadows on the theater's walls. It was so beautiful and dramatic that it gave me chills. (Here's a photo I found online, though it doesn't capture the shadows, unfortunately!)

After performing Hazards, the band took a 20-minute break -- singer Colin Meloy mentioned that he had been bleeding during the second half of the set, I'm not sure if he cut his hand or what -- and did some crowd-pleasing older material like "The Crane Wife 3" and "We Both Go Down Together." It was all good, but seemed a little lightweight after the powerful Hazards. They didn't do either of my favorite Decemberists songs ("Infanta" and "16 Military Wives"), but it's not like they asked me to write the set list. Oh well.

It's really hard to imagine what form the Hazards material might take on future tours -- I can't imagine it without Becky and Shara, who each have their own bands and are not official Decemberists. So this might be your only chance to see it performed live, though I sincerely hope they will be filming at least one of the shows for a DVD release.

Bonus question: Did I feel old? No. There were surprisingly many gray and bald heads in the house, as well as the expected young-hipster contingent. One thing there was not was ethnic diversity; this had to be one of the whitest crowds ever to assemble in the middle of Oakland.

Norwegian Wood

2009-05-18T19:43:00.000-07:00

Norwegians. They're rich. And lately, they're turning up everywhere.

It's appropriate that yesterday was Norway's national day, because this past weekend was a Norwegia-bration. On Saturday, the country's entry into the Eurovision song contest, Alexander Rybak, won first place by the largest margin ever, their first win since 1995. Longtime readers know I love the Eurovision. For me, the campier and more over-the-top, the better; this year, I was rooting for Greece's Sakis Rouvas, whose "This is the Night" was a classic Eurodisco anthem (check out the part near the end where he's riding on a giant Greek stapler!) and Ukraine's Svetlana Loboda, kind of an Eastern European Britney Spears who allegedly mortgaged her home to pay for the enormous hamster wheels that made up her stage set. (Alas, she finished in 12th place.)

Watching Rybak's performance, I didn't understand why it was so incredibly popular. He's sort of adorable, like a European Zac Efron, but the song seems like nothing special, even though I like the fiddling. Later, though, I read that Rybak was born in Belarus, giving him an "in" with Eurovision's powerful Eastern voting bloc, and speaks fluent Russian despite having grown up in Norway.

To top things off, Sunday's season finale of "The Simpsons," which is available to view here, dealt with Norwegian immigration -- the Norsemen and women of nearby Ogdenville moved to Springfield when their barley industry went bust, and proved so hard-working that they started taking jobs away from the lazy Springfielders. My favorite part of the show was when Marge had to take Bart to the emergency room, and it turned out the only forms they had left were in Norwegian. (Pressing "pause" on the TiVo showed that it looked like everything had been translated correctly.) If only they'd managed to get in a "For English, press one, for Norwegian, press two" gag.

Fake or real?

2009-05-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had the experience of watching TV or listening to the radio in the middle of the night, and seeing/hearing something so bizarre that the next morning, you couldn't decide whether it had actually happened -- or if you'd only dreamt it? I just had that experience, except it wasn't even 10 PM yet and I was wide awake.

We were watching one of our favorite shows, the satirical pop culture program "The Soup," which I had TiVo'd a couple of nights ago. When I set up a TiVo season pass, I usually add a couple minutes to the end to make sure the program doesn't get cut off if it runs a bit long. "The Soup" airs on E!, so I tend to wind up with the beginning of a trashy reality show like "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" or "The Girls Next Door." Usually, I can't even get through two minutes of those shows.

Tonight, however, we managed to capture two minutes of a show so weird that it just makes you go "What the $%#& was that?" I'm talking about "Fake or Real," a new game show hosted by onetime MTV VJ Brian McFayden. McFayden only has 52 Twitter followers and he does his own laundry (sample tweet: "laundry day sux...who separates whites from colors?") so you know we're talking about a minor celebrity here. I mean, E! News presenter Giuliana Rancic, who I'm guessing most of my readers have never heard of, has almost half a million followers.

"Fake or Real" is like the "To Tell the Truth" of plastic surgery. Three judges (more about them later) have to decide which one of three contestants has had a boob job or tummy tuck. The winner, presumably the one who the judges guess is the one who went under the knife, goes home with $1,000. Yes -- one thousand dollars. That's probably like $600 after taxes. "Who Wants To Be A Thousand-aire?" The economy must truly suck if people are willing to debase themselves on TV for that kind of dough. Gee, E!, why don't you at least throw in one of those ceramic dalmatians they used to give away on "Wheel of Fortune" back in the 80s?

With such a top of the line prize, you can imagine that the "celebrity judges" are equally stellar. The first one was a woman who used to appear on MAD TV and exclaimed that she was well qualified as she'd had implants and liposuction. Judge #2 was "an actress, and held Briefcase #11 on 'Deal or No Deal.'" By this point, I was laughing so hard I was literally weeping. Briefcase Girl #11! This was the big time! Judge #3 was a plastic surgeon from the reality show "Dr. 90210" who seemed to be playing an over-the-top parody of an L.A. doc, complete with tacky sunglasses and stethoscope.

Sadly, after the judges were intro'd, the recording cut off so I never got to see the contestants. Still, the whole thing seemed so cheesy, down to the show's ultra low-rent logo, that I had to try to find out more about it online. And here's where it gets creepy -- it was almost as if the show didn't actually exist. There was nothing about it on the E! web site; no thread for it on Television Without Pity. Of course, Googling "fake or real" was not much help, since even putting in "fake or real tv show" mainly gets you a bunch of pages where people are wondering if, say, "The Hills" is actually scripted. (Answer: yes.)

Finally, I found a LiveJournal page by someone who watched the show. The plastic surgery du jour was apparently gender reassignment; "try to guess which panelist used to be a man." I wonder how the casting call for that went? "Get me two chicks with Adam's apples -- stat!"

Oh, E!, why are you hiding this show? It will be airing after "The Soup" again on Friday (10:30 PM), and I suggest everyone watch it. Brian McFayden will be glad you did.

To boldly go... to the movies

2009-05-09T15:29:00.001-07:00

Here is a sentence I never thought I'd say: "Hey, let's go see the new 'Star Trek' movie!" And yet, the film got great reviews, and I have a bit of residual affection for the original characters because my brother was a huge "Star Trek" fan. I went with him to see the first "Star Trek" movie back in December 1979 -- a few months before Chris "New Kirk" Pine was born. Yipes.

So does "Star Trek" have anything to offer the person who has pretty much ignored the franchise since 1982's "Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan"? Yes and no. The very first scene in the film deals with the circumstances of James T. Kirk's birth, so you figure the filmmakers are going back to the very beginning and will show you how the well-known characters all met and became shipmates aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. And then some stuff happens that even the most casual "Trek" viewer like myself knows does not correspond with what took place in the original series. But... but what about the episode "Journey to Babel"? That could totally not happen now!

Then you realize that the entire film is basically an elaborate, two-hour set-up to wrest these well-worn characters and their circumstances away from "Trek" canon. It's really quite clever.

Zachary Quinto as Young Spock was, I thought, by far the most appealing character in the film. I found him far more charismatic than Pine's "bad boy" Kirk and had no trouble believing that Uhura would think he's totally hot.

The plot drags a little bit in the middle and there's that first-episode distraction of waiting for all the characters to be accounted for (it takes forever for Scotty to show up, but it's cool that when he finally does, he's played by Simon Pegg). I don't care about effects and explosions, I want good characters and a strong story, and in that regard I'd give "Trek" a B -- not as good as "Spiderman 2" (which will probably always be my gold standard for summer blockbusters), but better than "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull."

Judging from the previews shown before "Trek," I may be done with summer popcorn flicks for the year. "GI Joe," "Transformers," "Land of the Lost," "Terminator 4"? No thank you. There's always that Karel Vachek retrospective over at the PFA -- who can resist a 4 1/2-hour dadaist Czech documentary. Now that's counterprogramming.

Going Rogue

2009-05-02T17:18:00.001-07:00

Last night, we drove through the rain to see the film "D Tour" at the San Francisco International Film Festival. It was playing at the Kabuki, the big multiplex in Japantown where most of the festival films are screened. In the past, you could get to the theater early and line up to ensure you got a good seat. However, yesterday, when I stopped by Will Call for the tix, I learned that Sundance Cinemas, which took over the Kabuki some months back, no longer lets patrons line up indoors. They put a lobby bar in that space. So when it's freezing and/or raining, you get to wait outside. Thanks a lot, Sundance. (I'd be curious to know how the theater is doing during the non-festival months, since there was quite a bit of criticism of its "amenities fee" when it opened. This means that in addition to paying $10.75 for the movie, you pay an additional $1-3 per ticket. But you get to enjoy "gorgeous furnishings from the Sundance Catalog" and "beautiful finishes," plus they recycle -- that must be worth an extra three bucks, right?)

Anyway. "D Tour" is a documentary about Pat Spurgeon, the drummer for the East Bay band Rogue Wave, who are one of those groups that always seem on the verge of becoming super-popular but have never quite made it. They used to be on SubPop and now record for Brushfire, which is the label owned by soft rock surfer dude Jack Johnson. Spurgeon had a kidney transplant many years ago and just as Rogue Wave were about to set out on a tour, his donated kidney began to fail. He decided to perform dialysis while on the road ("D" for dialysis +tour, get it?) and began a search for a living donor, since it could otherwise take over five years to receive an organ. One of the most crucial things about peritoneal dialysis is keeping the process squeaky-clean, since you're pumping fluid directly into your abdomen through a tube. Playing divey rock bars and sleeping on people's floors presents the patient with an additional challenge.

The first half of the movie had a little too much detail about the kidney stuff for my tastes, but it really picks up steam in the second half when some pretty amazing things happen, none of which I'm going to divulge here; you can read this review if you want to learn all the twists & turns. We knew Spurgeon would be OK, of course, since he was attending the screening (Rogue Wave played a brief set after the film). I don't think "D Tour" is slick enough to get mainstream distribution, but Spurgeon is an incredibly likable guy and the film's climax is undeniably powerful.

April Showers (of books)

2009-05-01T17:19:00.000-07:00

I keep threatening to start going biweekly to my book group so I can read more books of my own choosing, but the group is almost like family to me at this point (I'll have been a member for 10 years in 2010!) and it's just not as much fun to attend if you haven't read the book. So I read, and I go. All of the fiction I read in April was for group; meanwhile, that new Bill Pronzini novel calls to me from my to-be-read pile...

Ian Rankin, Knots & Crosses. We were actually supposed to read Rankin's final Rebus novel, Exit Music, but I wasn't going to start from the end, so I read the very first one instead.
Charlotte Armstrong, A Dram of Poison. One of the rare books that everyone loved. A wonderfully surprising book with many twists & turns; first published in 1957.
Deborah Crombie, Dreaming of the Bones. I had kind of lost track of this series (the U.K.-set Duncan Kinkaid and Gemma James police procedurals) -- I know I read the first four, and this was #5 -- but it was quite enjoyable. Anyone who likes Elizabeth George should check her out.
Ruth Rendell, No More Dying Then. Any time I read a Rendell (or her alter ego Barbara Vine) I'm always in awe of the smooth, flawless quality of her writing and plotting. The book's main character, a widowed policeman, was far from sympathetic, but Rendell knows how to keep you turning the pages.
Ngaio Marsh, Death of a Peer. Usually, if I really hate a book I don't finish it, but I made myself read all the way to the end -- it took over a week! -- because I wanted to be able to complain about it. I loathed the feckless upper-crust family and wanted them all to be guilty.

I also read Dr. Drew Pinsky & Dr. S. Mark Young's The Mirror Effect: How Celebrity Narcissism Is Seducing America, and was able to finish it in a week, reading it while I was eating lunch. A very easy read, in other words. The authors surveyed celebrities to determine whether they showed more narcissistic traits (vanity, exhibitionism, entitlement, exploitativeness, self-sufficiency, authority, and superiority) than "ordinary" people (surprise: yes!), and the doctors claim that the trainwreck antics of Britney, Amy Winehouse, Lindsay Lohan, Paris, etc. are causing young people to "mirror" their bad behavior. The narcissism survey is included in the book (it's also online!) and you can compare your score to the celebs who agreed to let Dr. Drew share theirs with the world. The highest scorer? Howard Stern sidekick Robin Quivers. The lowest? Frankie "Malcolm in the Middle" Muniz. My score was even lower than Muniz's, even though I am narcissistic enough to have a blog and a Twitter feed.

Say yes to Michigan

2009-04-25T18:15:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing much self-helpy stuff here lately, but rest assured that I am still walking, and still biking on my Magnetrainer on nights when I'm home and watching TV -- I can now easily "ride" 12 miles during a 90-minute episode of "Dancing with the Stars" -- but the big question, "how do I feel," is more complicated. I've had a flare-up of my shoulder issues and that just makes me feel crummy. My inbox is down to 71 messages. Ultimately I'd like to get it under 50, since that's what would fit on a single Gmail page.

Last night, while I was pedaling my bike and watching "The Soup" on E!, I saw an ad from the State of Michigan's tourism board. This was the second ad I'd seen -- I caught the first one a week or so ago. It was promoting Michigan as a water wonderland. 11,000 lakes! More freshwater coastline than any other state! The ad had lots of gorgeous Michigan scenery and ended with the slogan "Pure Michigan," which beats neighbor Wisconsin's "Live Like You Mean It," I guess, but isn't as good as the 1980s-era "Say Yes! to Michigan." They should have brought that one back -- it's a classic!

Anyway, I grew up in the state, return there every year or two, and think parts of it are fabulous -- if it weren't for the snow, I'd be perfectly happy to live in the Traverse City or Petoskey area, which are stunningly beautiful. Last summer, I had the pleasure of introducing some good friends to the charms of my former hometown of Grand Rapids, which I do enjoy visiting, even if the tourism board's claims of "fast-paced excitement" are perhaps a bit far-fetched. It's a fine city, but let's not go overboard.

However, the ad I saw last night was not about water or Grand Rapids or even the giant sand dunes, which, trust me, you need to visit someday -- put it on your life list! No, this ad, which was broadcast to my home in California, was urging me to vacation in... DETROIT. "It's often intense and challenging, but overwhelmingly real!" says the Michigan.org web site. Yep, that's one way to put it! The TV ad featured a glittering shot of the Renaissance Center with its prominent GM logo. "Here are five words that will never, ever be spoken," I said to Joe. "'Honey, let's vacation in Detroit!'" He pointed out that there are always people who set the goal of traveling to every major league ballpark, and that the Tigers' Comerica Park is in in Detroit. He had a point there. If you want to see the Tigers play at home, you will have to go to Detroit. I guess one could also add that if you live in the Midwest and want to gamble, Detroit has casinos.

I daresay, however, that no one else -- NO ONE -- would in a million years choose Detroit as a vacation destination. It's America's most dangerous city and America's most miserable city. I'm not sure why anyone would try selling it as a potential tourist hot spot. The northwestern lower peninsula, however? Now that's worth a trip.

The heat was hot

2009-04-23T15:03:00.000-07:00

My bank has an ATM right outside the drugstore downtown, so I walked over there yesterday afternoon to take out some cash so I could go in and buy some new contact lens solution. The ATM was out of order; OK, I figured, I'd use my debit card for the purchase. I pick up the solution and bring it to the counter.

"Do you have cash for that?" the cashier asks. "No, I was going to use my debit card," I reply. "We can only take cash," she says. "The computers have been down all day long." I look in my wallet; I have $6. A twin pack of store-brand solution costs $11.99. No matter how hard I stare, my five and single do not magically double. "I'll try back tomorrow," I say. I am annoyed, but what can you do? Computers!

So this morning, I went back to the drugstore. The ATM outside was still down, but when I asked the cashier, she said I could use my debit card to pay. Then she volunteered the information that the reason for the computer woes was the heat. Yes, our awesomely fierce 85-degree weather had melted the wires. Or something. "It happens every time we have a real bad heat wave!" she revealed. Can't we get some of the extra industrial strength wiring they must have in places like Houston or Phoenix where the mercury regularly tops 100 degrees? Of course, now it's back to normal, bring-your-jacket-or-you'll-freeze weather.

Last night, Joe and I went to the "Unwigged and Unplugged" show at the Paramount, featuring the once and future Spinal Tap: Michael McKean, Harry Shearer and Christopher Guest. The moment this show was announced, Joe said, "We must get tickets -- no matter what they cost!" $55 each plus service charges, as it turns out, but for that, you got two fun-packed hours of Spinal Tap and Folksmen favorites, along with some rare video and reminiscing from the trio. The Oakland stop was only the fourth one on the 6-week-long tour so things were still relatively fresh.

If you're not excited by the prospect of hearing Spinal Tap B-sides and don't immediately recognize "This Bulging River" from the "Waiting for Guffman" DVD extras, this might not be the show for you. But there were plenty of Guest/McKean/Shearer superfans in the house, including us. How many people there have seen every single Guest mockumentary during its initial theatrical release? At least one -- me! Yes, kids, I saw "This Is Spinal Tap" during its opening weekend at the now-defunct Rotunda Theater in Baltimore.

The concept behind the tour was that the trio would appear as themselves, rather than as their characters. Naturally, the Folksmen tunes were written for the acoustic format, but surprisingly, the Tap tunes worked equally well, from their jazzy interpretation of "Big Bottom" to the tongue-in-cheek sleaze of "Bitch School" and "Sex Farm." In a comic highlight of the concert, the men performed a dramatic reading of the NBC censor's notes on a proposed 11:30 PM showing of "This Is Spinal Tap." They also showed the first-ever film of Tap (from a 1979 TV broadcast) and some fan-created music videos, including a marvelous Lego stop-motion version of "Tonight I'm Gonna Rock You Tonight." I found it on YouTube so those of you who didn't attend can enjoy it. Check it out, and if you live in the East or Midwest, see if the "Unwigged and Unplugged" tour will be playing at a venue near you!

I want to know what love is

2009-04-18T10:03:00.000-07:00

This is love:

It's 8:40 PM on a Friday and your husband has changed into his sweatpants after a long day at work and is watching "Bones" on the TiVo and you're reading the SF Weekly and see that Mexican Institute of Sound, a band you enjoyed at ¡Globalquerque! last September, are going to be playing at a club in San Francisco this very night. Love is saying, "Why yes, I'd be happy to jump in the car and drive into the city right now" instead of, "Are you nuts?!"

I made the prophetic statement last year that if MIS ever played here I would "feel old and hopelessly unhip" (compared to the very diverse crowd in Albuquerque), which turned out to be absolutely true, but I'm still glad I was able to see their San Francisco gig, and it was fun to see the band expanded into a five-piece (from the three-piece of last fall). They were even able to get the San Francisco crowd to dance, which is kind of a rarity here. The Latintronica (is that a word? it gets 1,270 Google hits, so I guess so) band plays at the very-big-deal Coachella festival on Sunday afternoon, and their artist page on Coachella's web site features a video from their ¡Globalquerque! performance. Their brand new album Soy Sauce is available now.

I promise that the only thing I have planned for the rest of the weekend is an ice cream social for local Meals on Wheels volunteers tomorrow afternoon. I definitely won't be the oldest person there -- especially since it's being held in the common area of an assisted living facility.

Tot Mom Case Grips Grace

2009-04-17T11:41:00.000-07:00

We went to see comic Jake Johannsen last night at the Punch Line. I always enjoyed seeing Jake on "David Letterman" way back when, and it's cool that he's still bringing the funny out on the road after 20+ years. Moshe Kasher was opening -- he's a very good young stand-up whom we've also seen open for Patton Oswalt and Dana Gould. Anyway, it was the first time we'd been at the Punch Line since SF Sketchfest back in January.

Last year, we discovered a pizza-by-the-slice place about a block away from the comedy club which allows us to grab some quick, cheap eats before a show. When we were there in January, we happened to be sitting near a TV that was broadcasting CNN's Nancy Grace show. The TV was muted, but CNN has so many crawls and chyrons that you really don't need the sound. The topic of Nancy's show was Caylee Anthony, a 2-year-old Florida girl who was allegedly murdered by her mother, Casey. Casey Andrews was referred to as the "Tot Mom" in the CNN onscreen graphics, which for some reason we found hilarious. We couldn't stop saying it -- or singing it, to the tune of the "Batman" theme. Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da, Tot Mom! Tot Mom!

Yesterday, we wound up sitting at the exact same table we sat at in January, and Nancy Grace was on. Even though it was three months later, Grace appeared to be devoting her entire show to the Tot Mom. She had some exclusive new statements from Tot Mom's uncle.

Now, obviously I think it's awful -- horrible -- that a beautiful little girl was killed. However, I don't understand the mindset of someone who would want to obsess over this case for months at a time. What makes someone tune into "Nancy Grace" night after night to find out the latest Tot Mom developments? I guess people want to see justice done, and that's fine, but do they really need to know every twist and turn in the case? There must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of children killed since poor Cayley died, including Sandra Cantu right here in the Bay Area. Cantu's alleged slayer is a female Sunday school teacher. Since the woman was arrested a few days ago, I must admit I've read several articles about the case because I am so curious how and why it happened. We may never know, but I continue to look for clues as to what would drive such an unlikely killer to commit a heinous crime.

That doesn't mean I would watch a nightly program about it, though. There just seems to be something unhealthy about this fixation on murdered children.

Shock of a summer's night

2009-04-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

If plays are Swedish food, then "War Music" was a 300-pound, overcooked meatball and the Aurora Theater's "Miss Julie" is a delicious wild strawberry cake with whipped cream. August Strindberg's wildly controversial (in its day -- it was written in 1888) still has the power to shock, and, in Mark Jackson's staging, to awe. At a brisk 90 minutes, "Miss Julie" had me mesmerized from the first moment to the last.

The always splendid Lauren Grace portrays Miss Julie, the daughter of a count and a very messed-up girl whose flirtation with her father's footman, Jean (in a powerfully virile turn by Mark Anderson Phillips), sets the events of the story in motion. It's Midsummer's Eve, and Julie would rather party with the servants than do, well, whatever it is upper-class young women did in 1888. We learn that Julie recently broke her engagement, so presumably she's at loose ends. Despite the fact that Jean's fiancee, kitchen maid Christine (Beth Deitchman), is right there, Julie orders Jean to dance with her -- and then to kiss her boot. But Jean eventually gets the upper hand. The interplay of upper and lower classes must have been as scandalous in late 19th century Sweden as the sexual content and language.

I had never seen "Miss Julie" before, although I knew how it ended -- when you're dealing with a 120-year-old play, some spoilers are bound to leak out over the years -- but even so, the suspense was almost unbearable at times. We had seats in row A, and the actors were often literally just inches away from us. This is what theater should be -- emotional, raw, captivating, immediate. Go, and be transported.

Myth-take

2009-04-10T09:50:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I wrote about the incredible level of audience hostility directed at A.C.T.'s revival of John Guare's "Rich and Famous." Fortunately, there was sweetness & light again during the crowd-pleasing run of "Souvenir," which was genuinely funny and terrifically well-acted, but it turns out that play was the equivalent of a delicious filling sandwiched between two moldy pieces of bread. Last night, we experienced "War Music," which seems to be so hated that it's practically the "Ishtar" or "Heaven's Gate" of theater. The reviewers on Goldstar.com are angry: "an absolute failure on every level"... "one of the poorest presentations I've seen in my 30 years of attending ACT"... "the worst theatre production I've ever experienced"... "there was no war & no music. I ended up sleeping during most of the play." Ouch!

Joe and I have season tickets in the dress circle, and during intermission, I went downstairs to hear what people were saying in the lobby. A tall, distinguished-looking man was talking to two friends, and he sounded pissed off. "This is exactly what Stanislavski was railing against in 1900!" he thundered. "People standing up and declaiming. It's as if Chekhov never existed!"

So many patrons were streaming out the doors that I went back upstairs and told Joe we should move to the orchestra for Act 2. We sat down in the fifth row, center. There were four other people in our row. The fourth row was completely empty.

What, you may be wondering, is the fuss about? "War Music" is a world premiere, an adaptation by Lillian Groag of Christopher Logue's telling of "The Iliad." The play depicts the end stages of the Trojan War, which, if you recall your mythology, involved the Greeks, Trojans and the Olympic deities. The same group of actors portray all three groups of warriors; the only way you can tell who they're playing is by the color berets they're wearing (or, if they're playing gods, they have masks on). These are all excellent actors whom I've seen many times before, but the fact that they don't really change their voices or mannerisms when they change character makes it hard to follow. I suspect that this decision was the result of budget. Having to employ another 25 or so actors would have been cost prohibitive.

As the man I quoted above indicated, there's not a lot of dramatic tension going on here. Three men act as narrators -- I think two of them are supposed to be Homer -- when they're not filling other roles. So a character will say a line, and the narrator will add, "he said." The effect is stultifying. And if you're not intimately familiar with "The Iliad," it's also very hard to follow if you can't tell your Agamemnon from your Artemis.

Did I mention that everyone is wearing khakis? In one scene, when the entire ensemble strikes a pose in their khaki pants and black T-shirts, all I could think of was how much it resembled a Gap ad: "Odysseus wore khakis." There are also a lot of anachronisms, like references to Uzis and modern battles, and in one scene, Zeus is playing with a yo-yo.

Things pick up a little toward the end of the second act, when Patroclus is killed and is grieved by Achilles, but the play ends abruptly as Achilles is going into battle to avenge him. Joe, who is way more knowledgeable about mythology than I am, told me afterward that Achilles winds up killing Hector, who slew Patroclus, and dragging his body around Troy on a chariot. Good to know.

This play couldn't have come at a worse time for A.C.T., which just sent out its season ticket renewals. The play runs for another two weeks, and I suspect the poisonous word-of-mouth will keep attendance way down. Since it is a premiere and has been developed by A.C.T. over the past three years, I'd be curious to know what the theater's powers-that-be really think of it: misunderstood masterpiece, or half-baked mistake? In my opinion, like another Greek god, Icarus, they were overambitious, flying too close to the sun -- and tumbled back down to earth.

Scene of the crime

2009-04-05T12:22:00.001-07:00

On Friday night, we went to a murder mystery event at the public library -- the kind of thing where you go around interviewing actors playing "suspects" and then have to guess whodunit. Participants were divided into 10 teams, and we had to go all around the library to meet the suspects and learn about all the fabulous things the library has to offer. (I had never been inside the Teen Room before, and I probably never will again, but it was super-cool and cozy! Too bad I'm so old!) The funniest thing was that the "detectives" took it so seriously -- they didn't want to hear the spiel about the library, they wanted to get right down to questioning them. You'd have thought we were investigating the Unabomber killings and had to find the culprit before he struck again. I am very pleased that my team came in first place, though. Joe's team initially had the correct solution but changed it at the last minute. Always go with your gut!

Last night, we saw David Hare's "Skylight" at Shotgun Players, starring my fave Shotgun actor John Mercer, as well as Emily Jordan and, in a smaller role, Carl Holvick-Thomas. I knew Mercer would be great, of course, but Jordan was equally fantastic -- her role was a bit more challenging, as she is literally onstage the entire time, and she has to cook a spaghetti dinner. She chops an onion and clove of garlic and fries them up in a pan with a can of tomatoes; eat before you go, or the smells will make you ravenous. (Plus, it's a long play -- 2 1/2 hours.) The meal does not get consumed during the play, and afterward, I mentioned to Joe that I wondered what would happen to the food. By the time the show ends, it's been sitting there for at least 90 minutes; plus, I'm pretty sure she seriously overcooked the spaghetti. After the audience left, one of the crew came out and started eating the pasta. That answers that!

I didn't know anything about the play going in, so in the first scene, between Jordan's Kyra, an idealistic teacher living (and teaching) in some of London's least desirable neighborhoods, and Holvick-Thomas's 18-year-old Edward, I was confused: what is the relationship between these two people? All becomes clear when Tom (Mercer) enters, and the rest of the play is basically an extended discussion (often contentious) between the poor younger woman and the wealthy older man. It's extremely intense and emotionally gripping. The set is designed in such a way that about a dozen audience members are actually sitting in couches onstage, as if they were in Kyra's living room. I'm kind of glad I was a few rows back in the regular seating area; otherwise, I might have felt compelled to pop up and join in the argument myself -- or at least ask for some spaghetti.

It's been a year

2009-04-04T15:22:00.000-07:00

Hobie
Jan. 27, 2001 (adoption day) - April 4, 2008
I am grateful for every moment I spent with you.

Down in the park

2009-04-01T18:19:00.000-07:00

Perhaps because I've been a "Law & Order" fan for a good percentage of my adult life, I've always nurtured the rather macabre fantasy of stumbling across a dead body in a park. I imagine dialing 911 on my cell phone, the rapid response from the police, answering their questions -- "I was just walking in the park, minding my own business" -- and then following the case in the news. At first, the police would suspect the dead man's business partner of committing the murder because he was afraid that his colleague had discovered his embezzlement scheme. But then it would turn out the victim's wife had iced him because she was having a secret affair with his brother.

I was walking the dog in a nearby park when I noticed a guy lying face down in the grass. He wasn't moving. No one else was around. Now, this was just a small neighborhood park, consisting largely of a bit of lawn, some playground equipment, and an asphalt volleyball court with no net. It was hardly Central Park, the vast expanse in New York where so many corpses have been found over the years on "Law & Order."

I went over to the guy and stood about a foot away. No blood. I realized I didn't have my cell phone, so I couldn't call for help even if I wanted to. After staring at his torso for a minute or so, I could see his back move up and down, ever so slightly. He was breathing, and he didn't seem injured.

As we were leaving, I noticed someone else in the park -- a young man wearing a badge on a lanyard around his neck. He walked over to the guy and nudged him. The man on the ground lifted his face just enough so that I could see he had a scruffy beard. A local drunk, I'm guessing, passed out on the grass. There would be no need for police involvement, as long as he was out of there by the time school let out and kids started walking through the park.

Perhaps it won't come as a surprise that March was an all-mystery month for me. I only read three books last month: Peter Robinson's All the Colors of Darkness, Rhys Bowen's In Dublin's Fair City and Jeffrey Cohen's A Night at the Operation. Rhys and Jeff are clients of mine, but I'm also a fan! And Robinson is always good.