Sunday, July 13, 2008
A+E, Theater, Reviews

Not quite essential

‘Power Plays’ festival yields a mixed bag

By Bert Osborne
 
With Essential Theatre’s 10th annual trilogy of “power plays,” artistic director Peter Hardy continues his admirable commitment to bringing Atlanta audiences their first look at plays by nationally recognized writers, in addition to fostering locally written new work through the group’s Georgia playwriting award, which offers a cash prize and a “world premiere” production.
 
If that’s the good news, the bad news is that this year’s winner, Letitia Sweitzer’s “West of Eden,” is something of a flop—a poorly conceived and fairly unbearable biblical comedy (aimlessly directed by Tristan Ludden) about an older Adam and Eve, long after that shameful Garden of Eden incident and the deadly turn of events between Cain and Abel.
 
Aside from a lot of apple jokes, most of the so-called humor deals with how the primordial family reacts to the inexplicable advent of humanity. Clumsy anachronisms abound: As the remaining son prepares to marry, they follow proper wedding etiquette (coordinating colors and menus with the in-laws), and yet they’ve never heard of a bridesmaid or groomsman; Eve uses a stone and a bowl to grind their nightly meal, even with an electric blender sitting right there on her kitchen shelf. The only performance of note is DeWayne Morgan’s as the mystical guru and “life coach” who counsels them.
 
The other shows fare better. Hardy helms the regional debut of “Valhalla,” a schizophrenic comedy by Paul Rudnick (“I Hate Hamlet”), half of which is quite rewarding. The play alternates between—then gradually overlaps—dual storylines, one about a cocky gay punk in pre-WWII Texas and the other about “mad” King Ludwig in 19th-century Bavaria.
 
Tonal discrepancies prevent the two parts from forming a truly satisfying whole. The period scenes are pitched more for campy laughs, although the modern scenes are no less outrageous (and all the more involving) in their comparative naturalism. The conceit might have worked better had Rudnick limited the Ludwig stuff to occasional fantasy sequences, instead of giving it equal emphasis—or had Hardy cast a more versatile and resourceful actor than Topher Payne in the part.
 
Conversely, as if relishing what is (to my knowledge) his first role outside of Shakespeare Tavern—where he’s excelled in classics like “Romeo and Juliet,” “Hamlet” and, most recently, “Of Mice and Men”—Matt Felten is rather amazing as the small-town Texan, who evolves from an incorrigible, sexually adventurous young kid to a lovelorn, battle-scarred war vet. That the character isn’t entirely likable (a “filthy disgrace” and proud of it, as opposed to the usual put-upon, misunderstood gay boy) is actually refreshing, and his impromptu musical number (with a fleeting nod to Ethel Merman) is downright exhilarating.
 
Rounding out the lineup is another regional premiere, “After Ashley” by Gina Gionfriddo, a drama about the media frenzy surrounding a brutal murder and its impact on the victim’s husband (who cashes in on the tragedy with a lucrative book and TV deal) and, more pointedly, their teenaged son (who rejects attempts to turn his mother into some kind of celebrity martyr). It’s undeniably gripping, until the play degenerates into a sordid exposé of the woman’s secret sex habits, a theatrical equivalent to putting the victim herself on trial.
 
Notwithstanding several noisy, distracting scene changes, the production is capably directed by Ellen McQueen, who elicits strong supporting performances from Dowd Keith as the boy’s girlfriend and Rob Glidden as an obsequious talk-show host. But the pivotal opening scene between mother and son is faulty—partly because Dina Shadwell seems more laid back than “provocative” or “unhappy” (thus leaving no real impression), and partly because Brent Rose comes across from the outset as a “surly, argumentative smartass” (which is presumably what he becomes in his later grief).
 
You can’t help wondering what the newly liberated Felten could’ve done with the material. SP