If You See Something Say Something
Woolly Mammoth Theatre

Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 26 @ 4 PM
Saturday, July 26 @ 8 PM

They say: “Master storyteller Mike Daisey’s new comic monologue takes aim at the history of the Department of Homeland Security. Combining eye-opening research and witty autobiography, he bores into the dark heart of America to discover the meaning of security and the price we are willing to pay for it.”

Brian’s take: Got some free time this weekend? Oooh, I’ve got an idea–you should pay $20 to let a man sit at a table and talk to you for two hours about the history of American security!

You might think I’m being sarcastic (two hours of a man sitting at a table, you say?), but I shit you not. That is actually what you should do, as long as the man’s name is Mike Daisey, the creator and comic purveyor of the exquisitely conceived If You See Something Say Something. I’ll leave the sarcasm up to him.

There may be no metaphor in security, as Daisey astutely notes, but he certainly injects metaphor (and simile, and irony, and synecdoche, and peripetea, &c, &c) aplenty into this series of monologues–stories, really–which he weaves with enthralling dexterity of voice, tone, gesture, and expression.  The show is billed as the story of the Department of Homeland Security, but much of the focus is on the history of the atomic bomb.  The piece is obsessively researched, and by interlacing the straight history with his own anecdotes and observations, Daisey is able to infuse a somewhat sterile topic with a folksy, around-the-campfire sensibility.  In some of the most disturbing but memorable moments, Daisey is even able to turn the monologue into something of a ghost story–one minute you’re laughing at the foibles of Bernard Kerik, the next minute Daisey is describing in unsettling detail what would happen if Cohen’s neutron bomb were detonated above the theater, and you feel just a bit sick for joking around only moments earlier.  

Daisey is one of those people (I’ve seen him before) who can make anything scintillating, so even if you proclaim to be uninterested in neutrons and bombs and the Cold War and deserts and Tom Ridge and that kind of thing, go if only to spend some quality time with Daisey.  It’s like taking one of your favorite nonfiction authors–I’ll use Ian Frazier but you can fill-in-the-blank–crossing him with your favorite stand-up comedian–let’s say, oh, I don’t know, Robin Williams–and hunkering down in a bar for a few hours to discuss a subject about which he’s read every book possible.

See it if: You’ve ever been frisked ever-so-scandalously by a security guard.

Skip it if: You are overly paranoid about getting radiation poisoning.

The 70% Club
Social Hall, Trinity University, 125 Michigan Avenue NE
(Note: The performance changed rooms within the Main Hall at Trinity; they have signs to direct you.)

Remaining Performance:
Saturday, July 26 @ 7:30 PM

They say: “Can a woman find lasting love these days — especially a black woman? Can two people stay together “’til death do us part”? As a couple prepares to say “I Do”, these issues are explored. Will Cynthia and Chris save their marriage? Will Deanna make it out of the 70% Club?”

Brett’s take: Deanna and Jackson are about to get married, but he might have cold feet, or possibly a secret that he’s worried will ruin their marriage.  Chris is not sure he wants to stay with Cynthia after five years of marriage.  Deanna’s friends, including a backstabbing roommate, her sassy mother and a gay man, are preparing for the big event.

You might be able to see from the synopsis, but “The 70% Club” is not a play.  It is a Hollywood romantic comedy on a stage.  That’s not a judgment; the play follows the familiar structures and keeps with the tropes almost exactly.  Considering romantic comedies usually take several Hollywood screenwriters and script doctors to put together, it is impressive that Mary McCallum constructed this on her own - and more so that she then puts in a necessarily likeable appearance playing Deanna, a lead role.

Actually, the script occasionally dips its toes into darker waters, as at the end of each act.  The title is a reference to a New York Times article which reported 70% of black women are without a spouse; although producing company Sista Style Productions “prides itself on providing quality and relevant theatre” only during a scene at Deanna’s bachelorette party (the overall highlight of the evening) does the play actually tackle the subject with any interest.

The actors all acquit themselves well, particularly Jene India who effecitvely plays against her apparent youth to portray Deanna’s mother.  If not for the awkwardness of the musical cues covering transitions, this could very well be filmed and put on screen as part of TInseltown’s menu of romantic comedies.  The play is performed in a massive, echoey ballroom; the sumptuous decor actually matches the plush set (no set designer is credited), although the venue has no place for lighting whatsoever, and thus overhead lights remain on the whole time.  The actors effectively project above their own echoing and the din of an air conditioner.

See it if: You like romantic comedies.

Skip it if: You don’t.  (Sometimes these things are simple.)

Crashing Home
Harman Center - Forum

Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 26 @ 3:00 pm
Sunday, July 27 @ 12:00 Noon

They say: “Voted “Pick of the Fringe 2007,” WEERD SISTERS brings back singer/songwriter Annie Johnstone and choreographer/poet Diana Tokaji in a feast of words, dance, live music, and song. Expect chilling beauty - voice and muscle: Raw, ripe, “funny, intense.” (Takoma Voice) With David Jernigan, jazz bass; and Mattias Rucht, drums.”

Sheffy’s take: With the clock running out on CapFringe ’08, I’ve been combing the blogs to chart a roadmap for my final few hours. Even though the alluring blurb for Crashing Home in the festival guide is right on target, I didn’t know what to expect. But Fringe is about experimenting, and I’m glad the nearly 70 people in the audience ranging in age from 7 to 70 were not deterred by the less-than-stellar review posted elsewhere. The multi-cultural WEERD SISTERS showcase musical and creative talent in a program of four unrelated pieces that feature live instrumental music, original poetry, dance, and vocals.

I must admit I’m usually inside-the-box when it comes to theater: I prefer characters with names, a plot, and at the end of the day, I expect there to be some meaning. But this was no theatre (it’s the Harman Center for the Arts). Crashing Home is more akin to a jazz concert—while I didn’t learn anything, I enjoyed each piece, and the show left me in a relaxed, peaceful mood.

Although Diana Tokaji’s vibrant energy was the glue holding everything together, the show lacked unity and focus. Yet each individual element—from Chinwe Enu’s soaring operatic voice harmonizing with Annie Johnstone’s rich alto to Tokaji’s choreography to a primal drum circle to David Jernigan’s string base—resonated with an innate beauty. The verdant costumes and lighting design and the nature video projected during the last piece imbued all with organic overtones. The silent rainstorm featured in the finale left my spirit feeling cleansed. What this show lacked in coherence, in made up for in Zen. And just like good theater, there’s plenty to discuss afterwards as everyone leaves with a different impression.

See it if: You’ve been heretofore avoiding that “experimental” genre from the festival guide because it conjures images off-beat college kids in turtlenecks and black lipgloss lying on the floor in a circle in total silence interrupted intermittently by shouts in Esperanto (and no, don’t anyone steal that idea for next year).

Skip it if: You can’t call it poetry if it doesn’t rhyme (don’t get me started on Homer’s Iliad “poem”).

The Passion of Persephone

Remaining performances:
Friday, July 25 @ 6 PM
Saturday, July 26 @ 11 PM

They say: “Hades has captured the Goddess Persephone and tied her up to keep her from leaving the Underworld. When her mother Demeter discovers why Zeus won’t rescue Persephone, Demeter wreaks a terrible vengeance . . . Greek myth updated to modern times: A work-in-progress, presenting the last two scenes of Act I.”

Suzyn’s take: As the blurb notes, Passion of Persephone is still a work in progress, so perhaps it’s appropriate that it has the feel of something that’s still deciding what it wants to be. The advertising materials play up the S+M focus, suggesting those mediocre Anne Rice S+M novels about Sleeping Beauty. There’s some of that in this show, which is also a rock opera, and at times there is a bit of winking farce.

Primarily, however, the show seems to exist as a vehicle for the leading lady/librettist/composer/instrumentalist/producer Rosanna E. Tufts. Tufts plays Persephone, and is at the center of the show. Tufts’ performance showcases her voice, which is indeed very good. That said, her acting leaves something to be desired. She has little chemistry with Hades and they frequently sing about how attracted they are to each other, yet have bored-looking expressions while doing so. At one point Persephone sings about Hades when he’s offstage and she achieves a quiet fire in that scene that was absent when Hades was actually there. It is as if she finds the idea of Hades more striking than the reality, which in a sense is the most accurate part of Tufts’ portrayal of a naive young woman in love. Also, Tufts is a bit past the maiden stage. A male friend of mine described her as the “MILFiest Persephone I’ve ever seen.”

The music is fine, though the songs sound very much alike. I found myself wishing a little bit more had been done with the direction. The lights could have gone down a bit as Demeter sings about the sun fading, for example. Also, there’s a lot of standing in this opera. Some of that is because they have a large cast in a small venue, but even when individuals are on stage alone, the actors don’t move around much. A notable exception is Sara Stewart, whose Demeter moves very naturally. Stewart chewed the scenery in a satisfying way that suited her character, particularly after she took off a large goofy hat that obscured her face for much of her first scene on stage. Her voice was impressive as well, and I will look for her in future shows.

Michelle Mullany, Lily Fay Tufts Prothuro and Ayana Fenton do an excellent job as the dead children in the underworld, singing with charmingly sweet voices and appearing convincingly dour.

Again, the show is a work in progress. I suspect a lot of the problems will be ironed out by the time it is a full length show. I saw it with three friends and two of us were interested in coming back when the show is performed in full. Still, like Persephone’s Hades, right now this show is a lot better in theory than it is in reality.

See it if: You’re into Greek Drama, Rock Opera or the combination of the two, which works surprisingly well.

Skip it if: “Dick Cheney” is your safe word. The show takes itself a little too seriously for that.

I’ve been planning on writing up an actual reviewlet, but the day has gotten away from me.

So, short version, because they’ve got a perf tonight at 8 (at the Source): It’s worth checking out, especially if you’re into the whole ancient-tales-retold thing.

Some strong movement, some interesting work with shadows and (human-generated) sound, a youngish cast of new faces, and so on.

Adaptation’s OK, too: Nice, incantatory feel to the storytelling. Some of the tellers could maybe use a little more experience with the classics — heightened speech ain’t as easy as it looks, and there’s some furry diction here, the odd bit of tentative delivery there — but on the whole it’s a worthy effort, and smart.

And they’ve got one last performance on Saturday, too.

Photo: Paul Gillis

Prototype 373-G
The Source

Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 26 @ 1:00 PM
Sunday, July 27 @ 4:30 PM

They say: “In Polynesian mythology, when people were first created, they were born hatching out of turtle’s eggs … maybe they were right. Prototype 373-G blends humor and magical realism to tell the story of a woman battling extraterrestrials, a series of odd dreams, and the unpredictability of her own heart.”

Trey’s take: How much nonsensical fun was that?

Be warned: Prototype is less a finished play than an excuse for playing around — if I’ve got the story right, it started when some Arena Stage folk, working on that house’s tepid Christmas Carol 1941, realized that they were having fun, and someone’s uncle had a barn called Fringe, and gee, why don’t we put on a show?

Also it’s an excuse for: an unhinged bit of costume design courtesy of The Crafts Action League, an outfit that apparently builds a lot of gaudy stuff for shops around town. One dream sequence alone (check the photo) features a seaweedy mermaid fantasia, a belly-dancer whose look is distinctly chelonian, and a leafy-greens cocktail number that might have been hallucinated by a crash-dieting drag queen midway through an enforced week of Chop’t Salad.

So, why the lettuce wrap? Well, the redhead there (Tara Giordano as struggling stand-up comic) has been brainwashed by the commanding general of a belligerent race of space turtles (Hugh Nees), who plans to use her as a host mother, and –

See, I don’t really need to tell you more, do I? Turtles like lettuce, and this show features marauding alien turtles strong-arming comely Titian-haired maidens into terrestrial sex slavery: ‘Nuff said, book your tickets, do not pass Go.

A rapacious talent agent (Helen Hedman), an impulsive and ultimately unfaithful fiancé (Tim Getman), a recently lobotomized next-door neighbor (Daniel Eichner), and a rapidly growing Trojan Tortoise all play their parts in a loopy, no-development-is-too-wacky script — which, again assuming I’ve got my post-show chatter right, playwright Benjamin Fainstein whipped up specifically for this here ensemble.

The style is episodic, disjointed, and largely surreal, but it’s not that much work to stay on top of things. And what’s surprising, given the show’s loose and lark-y nature, is how much texture — how many tender, spiky, coarse, sweet, and downright charming moments — that ensemble manages to create.

Director Dan Pruksarnukul (he’s casting wallah at Arena) doubtless shares much of the credit, but here’s the real trick: No matter how mad the material gets, he’s got his actors honestly invested in their characters, and they’re paying attention to — and connecting with — each other every moment they’re onstage together.

See it if: You’re attracted to frivolity for its own sake — or you’re an sucker for tight ensemble work.

Skip it if: Whimsy makes you queasy, and no quantity of stagecraft will settle your stomach.

Photos: Paul Gillis

The Disappearance of Jonah
The Shop at Fort Fringe

Remaining Shows:
Thursday, July 24 @ 6:00 PM; Friday, July 25 @ 8:30 PM
Saturday, July 26 @ 5:00 PM; Sunday, July 27 @ 12:30 PM

They say: “When small town golden boy Jonah Thompson moves to New York City, he dreams that the city will be his playground but soon he disappears. Two years later his brother Finn sets out to find Jonah, or at least some answers.”

Brett’s take: It’s painful to review a show that clearly has benefited from hours upon hours of effort and attention from thoughtful, hardworking people (who have traveled to D.C. from New York) but that nevertheless leaves you cold. You can see the conviction in the actor’s faces, hear it in their voices, and even see it in the way one of the leads’ limbs shake with apparent nervousness before going into a big scene. But sincerity can’t save this production from pretentiousness and hollowness.

The plot concerns… well, the disappearance of a college student named Jonah. It leaps back and forth from the time leading up to that event and some years afterwards (two years, as far as I could grasp), when Jonah’s younger brother Finn goes to New York City to search for him on Jonah’s birthday. In quick succession, we meet a coterie of educated New York characters, including a writer, a professor, a photographer/physics student, and an aspiring actress/waitress, all of whom had some connection with Jonah and all of whom begin to have new connections to each other. Just why these new connections start happening right when Finn is arriving at the city - besides convenience for writer Darragh Martin- is an unanswered question that points to the problems with the play.

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Carnal Node
Harman Center - Forum

Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 26 @ 9:00 PM
Sunday, July 27 @ 3:00 PM

They say: “Sex, love, and lies in the internet age: what is it about technology that simultaneously brings us together and drives us apart? Where can lonely souls find love in this age? Great Noise Ensemble explores these ideas through the works of D.J. Sparr, Mark Mellits, and Ryan Brown.”

Brett’s take: Reading the blurb, you’re forgiven for not realizing this is primarily a musical performance. It consists of three pieces, of which the one entitled “Carnal Node” is the second. That titular piece is an operatic miniature, the story of a lonely man engaging in an Internet romance, sung by a soprano who “fills the dual roles of narrator and protagonist.” The first piece, “Thick Skin” is in an avant-garde jazz vein, while the final section, “Five Machines,” comprises a quintet of ‘musical machines’ (more on that in a moment).

Here is a sampling of the notes I jotted down during the performance, when I wasn’t too enraptured to do so: “Oddly triumphant,” “powerful,” “mashup artists,” “never lose grasp of a hook, head or melody even when way off-kilter,” “Beatles (Abbey Road) drum solo?,” “old woman in audience plugged ears,” “unpredictable,” “Gastr del Sol,” “surprisingly down-to-earth humor,” “Tubular Bells.”

This is modern composed music at its best; nimble, expressive, ear-turning and strange in an accessible way, highly virtuosic (7/4 time, anyone?) but never pretentious. “Thick Skin” is a good choice for an opener because it works in the most familiar forms: despite the odd time signatures and musical use of clothes hangers (yes, clothes hangers), the three movements recall jazz ballad, film score, march, even rock n’ roll (that Ringo Starr-on-bebop drum solo I noted). It’s fun, it’s beautiful.

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The Naked Party
The Shop at Fort Fringe

Remaining Performances:
Friday, July 25 @ 10:30 PM; Saturday, July 26 @ 11 PM; Sunday, July 27 @ 2:30 PM

They say: “A hot new play that gives an intimate and honest look at exactly how much there is to lose when you decide to reveal yourself. The Naked Party takes nine students and strips them of their costumes, armor (and inhibitions) in order to fully see themselves for the first time.”

Brian’s take: All right, I’ll admit it. I may have been to a naked party or two. Ok, fine, and by “two” I mean two dozen. And maybe, just maybe a handful of those were held in my living room. So what? I’m not ashamed. We nibbled sashimi and rhapsodized about Kant, you know, normal Saturday night stuff. Hell, the New York Times covered a naked party I helped host–that’s gotta lend a guy some credibility, right?

Maybe not. However, I do feel particularly qualified to offer my opinion of The Naked Party, which has been selling out the Shop at Fort Fringe. There are elements of the show that work very nicely, such as a conceit by which every party-goer gets time in a closet to undress while airing their inner feelings. Likewise with the staging–maneuvering 9 actors around a space as small as the Shop with quite a few set pieces is no easy task, and playwright-director Jason Schlafstein manages to minimize traffic jams while keeping the picture dynamic and balanced. And I have to give a shout-out to Guitar Guy, a character that might have been forgettable had not Rob Shand done such a superb job engaging (and, at all the appropriate times, blissfully disengaging) with the silliness around him. Plus he reminds me of about 15 of my buddies rolled into one.

It’s actually quite remarkable how Guitar Guy, who has very few lines and integration with the main action, emerges more fully than some of the more prominent characters. My first thought upon leaving the theater was that Schlafstein should excise a character or two–Julie, perhaps, or Jordan, who both seem to represent the same moral conundrum. But the concept for this play poses a logistical dilemma: it requires a quorum in order to put the party in “naked party,” and each member of this quorum, if the play is to reach its potential, must be more fully fleshed out.

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Thousands of Years—Rome
Flashpoint - Mead Theatre Lab

Remaining performances:
July 24, 9:30 p.m.; July 25, 6 p.m.; July 26, 1 p.m.; July 27, 12 p.m.

They say: “Thousands of Years—Rome takes a Roman Legionnaire and a Senator’s daughter from their 1st Century parting in the Roman Forum to their 21st Century reunion there. They participate in the Roman conquests of Britain and Spain, the Renaissance, Unification of Italy, Nazi occupation of Rome, and the Iraq war.”

Ted’s take: Like the rape of the Sabine women or the reign of the Emperor Otho, this is an hour and change that I will never, ever get back. The accompanying wherefore, however, is hard to peg. Calling the play historical romance is an insult to that already debased epithet; calling the whole thing a vacuous cliché would be an insult to vacuums.

Take Dead Again, mix it with a little Forrest Gump and a touch of Quo Vadis, then toss in the “never let go” moment from Titanic, and you’ll have a good sense for this piece. Spanning twenty centuries (and making each look at its watch and squirm), Thousands of Years traces the ill-starred love of Octavia and Marius (or, after 800 A.D., Mario) through various pitfalls and entanglements including but not limited to:

• war
• sickness
• poverty
• bad luck
• “Daddy don’t approve”

and, last but not least,

• a toothsome, barely-clad Boadicea, to whose military superiority, leather undergarments, and general sexiness Marius eventually responds by making lotsa whoopee…

…thus spawning future hordes of Marii for the reenactment ad nauseum of said pitfalls and entanglements. The acting is difficult to watch, not merely because of the technical glitches in a technically spare show (before every gunshot scene, the audience hears whisper-shouts of “Two shots or three?” “It’s three.” “Three gunshots?” “Yes, three.” “Okay! Three gunshots”…and then the effect),* or even because the term doesn’t necessarily apply—it’s difficult to watch because one likes and feels for the actors nearly immediately, as one never can for the characters in whose service they toil.

The Washington Post, in its rather mindless promotion of this piece, exhorts readers: “When in Rome, Love as Romans Do, Over Again.” The proper epithet for my money? “Sic transit gloria…over and over again.”

See it if: You’ve always wondered why “bodacious” means what it means.

Skip it if: You believe, as I do, that reading a facing-page translation of Livy might provide a more titillating, better staged, and adequately lit experience.

*It bears acknowledging that the reviewer saw the show on opening night, and that these glitches may well right themselves in successive performances.