An American Book of the Dead
(The Game Show!)
Annex Theater at Empty Space
Through July 24.
An American Book of the Dead: The Game Show! is a weird cocktail of Tibetan death mythology, game show kitsch, and the rich freakiness embedded in American history. It’s also one of those rare performances that has a hundred tiny flaws, but so much breadth, wit, and imaginative force, it kicks your ass anyway.
In this Buddhist game show, three newly-dead contestants are repeatedly reincarnated throughout American history, trying to achieve their “soul goals”—in this case, finding true love, smashing American hypocrisy, and fighting at Gettysburg. That premise kicks off a wonderful meander through small, fascinating American moments: cannibalism at Jamestown, the evolution of corporate law, and a social history of New York’s #7 train. Between lives, the contestants wander through surreal shadow realms called bardos. These are the play’s best moments, as writer Paul Mullin reimagines new and bizarrely appropriate historical tableaux, like introducing Harriet Tubman and Stonewall Jackson as husband and wife, with Emma Goldman and a WWII hero as their children.
Director Mike Shapiro has patched together a great ensemble—special mentions go to Basil Harris for being the smarmiest game show host in ass-less chaps, and Rachel Pate for general versatility and her fantastic incarnation of Stonewall Jackson as a black woman. BRENDAN KILEY
Les Liaisons Dangereuses
Theatre 4
Through July 10.
My dear Marquise de Merteuil,
Last night I attended the dramatization of a certain notorious epistolary novel, concerning the salacious skullduggery of debauched pre-Revolutionary French nobility. All boded well: The adaptation, by a Mr. Christopher Hampton, is renowned for its arch wit; the Cast—including the bawdy and robust Ms. Peggy Gannon, the willowy and austere Ms. Shawn Yates, the petite and delectable Ms. Jennifer Perrault, and that raffish bounder Mr. Roy Stanton—have comported themselves admirably in numerous productions about town; the costumes and furnishings pleased the eye… why, then, did I find myself pining for the program’s long-overdue conclusion?
I blame the director. He wisely spared us the usual mélange of accents, but his staging consisted of little more than unmotivated pacing, while his sluggish rhythms exacerbated the weaknesses of Hampton’s dangerously static script—which, campy double-entendres aside, features lengthy expositional monologues throughout. I once thought the architecture of the plot was failsafe; but though Ms. Perrault (whose performance, as a manipulated ingénue, was the best of the evening) and Ms. Gannon wrested a chuckle or two from the audience, the play’s machinations roused no delight, its cruelty inspired no pang. Lugubrious.
Yours, Valmont
Principia Discordia—Live!
Annex Theatre at Empty Space
Through July 23.
Compared with the rich whirlwind of their American Book of the Dead, Annex’s Principia Discordia felt a little hollow, like watching a school recital. By and large, the actors had good comic instincts, some raw talent, and enough energy to give the audience a contact high, but the show itself was never inspiring and only occasionally interesting. Based on the “magnum opiate of Malaclypse the Younger,” Principia is a goofy, pun-filled tour of yet another ironic anti-religion of the SubGenius genus. The Discordians trace their roots to the Greek goddess Eris (played with hilariously bitchy asides by Betsy Morris), who crafted the golden apple that eventually precipitated the Trojan War. The religion is a gleeful mishmash of pop Nietzsche, cafe pedantry, and Merry Pranksterism, and its evangelists make liberal use of bicycle horns and citations from the Book of Uterus.
Principia has lots of shouting and a little wit, but its precious nonsense gets repetitive and dull pretty quickly. There’s only so much you can do with a mock religious tract that’s best read while stoned, sitting on some commune crapper in southern Oregon. BRENDAN KILEY
