Review: The Catastrophe Club

This site-specific, post-apocalyptic play is a secret gathering at a bar in an attempt to figure out where humanity went wrong.

The exact address of the undisclosed location is sent to the attendees of The Catastrophe Club on the day of the event. See, it's the year 2520, and public gatherings are outlawed, hence the secrecy. We are seated around the room in an underground bar and our host, scientist/programmer Ruth (Rachel Towne), invites us to travel back in time to approximately 2015-2025 with the help of four Sims. Ruth created Zizzie (Cassandra Nwokah), Teres (Sue Kim), Anders (Stewart Walker) and Emime (Dan Kublick) from a time capsule, made by these four friends and climate scientists while hanging out in a bar one evening trying to figure out how to save the world and comfort each other. They sarcastically called it “The Catastrophe Club” while a glimmer of hope still remained.

Clockwise from left: Cassandra Nwokah, Sue Kim, Stewart Walker, and Dan Kublick in The Catastrophe Club. Photo by Jeremy Varne.

Spoiler alert, they didn’t quite succeed in saving civilization. The Great Flood and Freeze that happened somewhere between 2015 and 2025 Common Era destroyed the majority of the Earth's population. Relying on her modern technology and objects from the time capsule, Ruth tries to understand what it meant to be a human in “Year One to Year Ten,” and perhaps get closer to understanding her own heritage. In between stopping and resuming the reconstructed scene, the head of our little gathering shares information about her current world of strict order and total surveillance; in 2520, it looks like a catastrophe of a different sort might be on its way. So how do we preserve our emotion-rich, communal, conflicting “human nature” and save the planet from fatal climate change? This is the main question that author Devin Burnam poses.    

The Catastrophe Club feels a little lingering towards the end but overall it is quite enjoyable, mostly for the charismatic characters of “the past” performed with vigor by four wonderful actors. As Emime, the comic-relief, Kublick is especially memorable in his stand-up comedy routines, clarinet playing, and acrobatics on the bar floor. In this intimate, site-specific setting, every tiny movement and intonation are on display and it’s really difficult to hide a lie or get away with overly theatrical gestures. The cast, directed by Shaun Bennet Fauntleroy, still seem to be perfecting this delicate balance, but ultimately they are on the right path.

The Catastrophe Club is site-specific, but only to a point. True, the action happens throughout the bar, and is sometimes obstructed by the architecture of the space, or else by the gaps in Ruth’s data about the evening. And via its emails, The Catastrophe Club succeeds in creating an atmosphere of adventure and conspiracy even before the audience enters the theater. But I wish this atmosphere had stretched beyond knocking three times on an unmarked door. Inside the bar two themed cocktails—“Near Death Experiences” and “Devastating Newses”—are available, but nothing else reminds us where we are and why we are here. There are many missed opportunities to make the whole experience even more immersive, from check-in to the pre-show. In its current run, The Catastrophe Club is a play performed in a bar, but it has the potential to be much more. If only the creators could borrow some of the courage, inventiveness, and genuine care for fellow humans from their characters.

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The Catastrophe Club played at a secret location near Bleecker Street and Lafayette Street, through November 22, 2019. The running time was 90 minutes with no intermission. Performances were Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 7. Tickets were $30. For more information visit thecatastropheclub.com.

The Catastrophe Club is by Devin Burnam. Directed by Shaun Bennet Fauntleroy. Produced by Sea Dog Theater, Janelle Garcia Domig and Christopher Domig. Sound Design by Tye Hunt Fitzgerald. Original Music by Devin Burnam and Christopher Domig. Stage Manager is Whitney Bahr.

The cast is Cassandra Nwokah, Sue Kim, Stewart Walker, Dan Kublick, and Rachel Towne. 

(This review was published on theasy.com on 11.21) 

Review: Performance For One

This one-on-one intimate show reflects on the role of the audience member in the form of a hyper-concentrated 10-minute dose of theatre.  

At the Chashama Window Gallery a small part of the room is separated from the rest of the space with a white curtain. A mirror, window, and two chairs complete the tiny cubicle. It's similar to the set-ups of fortune tellers' shops, although I am not here to find out about my future but to listen to somebody else’s past.  

Yvonne Roen in Performance for One. Photo courtesy of Untitled Theater Company #61  

Behind the curtain, an actress (Yvonne Roen in my case, but she is just one of a rotating cast) sits on one of two chairs, facing the street. What is about to unfold is Performance For One. As writer and director Edward Einhorn observes in his note, “Performance For One” is not just the title, but also the form and the subject of this solo show in two parts, each of which lasts for about ten minutes.

Sitting eye to eye at arm’s length with a stranger might feel uneasy, especially without the social norms and conventions of a familiar setting. Roen doesn’t test the borders of my discomfort and right away instructs me that I can look into her eyes, or at her forehead, or, if that’s too much, at her hands. “I sometimes find that people’s hands are more intimate than their eyes. I look into many people’s eyes but don’t remember many people’s hands.” 

In her monologue, Roen talks about the memory of her late father's hands, which had a prominent “masculine” smell. But of course, this isn't Roen's memory—she's just speaking from Einhorn's script. From the beginning, the performer points out that both of us—actor and audience member—play roles. And now the third “player,” the writer, is introduced. Although unseen, Einhorn is present throughout Performance For One. The fact that the actor is the medium for his text is brought up several times, preventing me from lingering in the sweet illusion of a sincere connection to the storyteller.  

But despite the recurring meta-theatrical remarks, Performance For One not only manages to succeed as a highly intellectual show but also as an emotion-packed experience. Are tears in the theatre—whether of actor or audience member—“real"? If you cry at a fictional story, are your emotions still valid? When I hold the actress’s hand, whose hands are those at that moment? Yvonne’s and Asya’s? Or maybe those of the playwright and his decaying mother? 

It felt like only a few minutes passed from when I slipped behind the white curtain until I was back on the noisy, smelly midtown street. Yet this fleeting encounter left a mark on my day. During this short period, Roen and I made a connection. And if for Roen this moment might be lumped together with her other experiences of doing this show, for me, the memory stands out. I catch myself speculating about the inner life of the actor, and feel like in those twenty minutes I have grown as an audience member. When somebody trusts us with their story, our role entails empathetic listening, be it in theatre or everyday life.   

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Performance For One plays at various locations across Manhattan, through November 3, 2019. The running time of each of the two parts is 10 minutes. Tickets are free. RSVP to performancefor1@gmail.com to request a time. For performance dates, locations, and more information visit untitledtheater.com.

Performance For One is written and directed by Edward Einhorn. Originally developed with Yvonne Roen. Produced by Untitled Theater Company # 61.

The rotating cast of actors is Elizabeth Chappel, Joshua Coleman, Andrea Gallo, Jan Leslie Harding, Allison Hiroto, Yvonne Roen, and Melissa Rakiro.

(This review was published on theasy.com on 11/3)

Review: The Second Woman

A 24-hour live performance on the border of theatre and film, The Second Woman explores masculinity through a superb durational performance by Alia Shawkat.

A woman sits in a pink room, her big blond hair done perfectly, her dress matching the carpet almost as if she herself is an element of the interior. Enter Marty. They eat Chinese takeout, drink J&B whiskey, talk, dance—and then she orders him to leave. Then this five- to six-minute scene repeats 99 more times. The same woman (Alia Shawkat), with 100 participants (mostly male but at least one woman) go through [mostly] the same dialogue over a period of nearly 24 hours. None of the participants (all from the local community) rehearsed with Shawkat; they were only given the script, along with the freedom to interpret the scene however they see fit. This process results in an array of performances of masculinity over a very, very, very long night and day in the theater.  

Alia Shawkat in The Second Woman. Photo by Nay Marie.

This “theatrical marathon” is The Second Woman, written and directed by Anna Breckon and Nat Randall. By way of Australia and Taiwan, the piece made it to BAM's 2019 Next Wave Festival. Audience members were encouraged to spend as much or as little time with The Second Woman as they desired, and to leave and come back as many times as they want. I sat through the first five and a half hours (with a quick break for Chinese takeout). Although I didn’t plan on returning and had to go to work, I found the gravity of the piece irresistible. I found myself going through the lines of the scene while falling asleep and even singing its catchy song in the shower. As the scene continued to repeat onstage without my presence, it continued to play in my head as well. The next day I impulsively ran back to BAM Fisher to find Shawkat looking as fresh as she did 19 hours prior, when she started.

What a daring, yet simultaneously perfect, choice of a theatrical debut for a film and TV actress. Shawkat brings perfect comedic timing to the piece and demonstrates astonishing endurance, sharp presence, and an ability to own the situation without going into extremes. From the beginning, she paces herself, both to save energy and to provide space for each new scene partner. But by no means is her performance dull or mechanical. Always alert, playful, and often teasing her scene partner, she makes every encounter meaningful. Her calm and collected energy urged me to tune in and just listen and watch very carefully all the people going through her door.           

And what a range of personalities and archetypes! When you see the same scene over and over again, you start picking up on the smallest and the most mundane nuances of human behavior: how does one serve drinks to their lover, how does one react when food flies in their face. After spending hours peering into the cubic aquarium of a set designed by FUTURE METHOD STUDIO, one could write a dissertation on the various ways one can perform masculinity. Some actors are gentle and timid and some try to intimidate; some have fun and others are visibly nervous and tense.    

At times The Second Woman feels like a behavioral experiment, at other times an audition. Halfway through my visit I moved from the first row to the back of the house and discovered a whole other layer to The Second Woman, namely a large real-time projection screen to the right of the stage. Along with the retro interior design and Shawkat’s hairstyle (by Sophie Roberts), this live video is one way in which the performance pays homage to its inspiration source, the 1977 Cassavetes film Opening Night.

The live video is supported by a team of female and non-binary creatives: two camera operators on stage and two vision switchers behind the scenes. The gauzy fabric covering the walls of the cube serve as a hazing filter that provides a filmic look to the dramatic closeups of the scene. The added presence of the camera’s gaze increases the voyeuristic effect, reminding us how much our behavioral stereotypes and patterns are borrowed from film and TV. 

The placement of the screen is somewhat strange—it isn't visible from house left, whereas the inside of the main set isn't visible from house right (so few people watch from there). Conceptual boldness or set design failure, this suggests how the same event might look different from various angles. And just as actors control the mise-en-scene and the live cinema crew controls the screen image, audience members are free to change seats as often as they wish, something that traditional theatre-goers are not accustomed to.        

Similarly, as the scene unfolds over and over, it constantly shifts its meaning, depending on multiple variables: who comes through the door and how he is going to behave; how Shawkat feels and how she responds. I too went through several modes of perception. To me The Second Woman was in turn many things: a soapy melodrama about a mistress coping with her position of “number two” day in and day out; a playground for a single actress where she constantly invents new ways of kindly messing with the male participants; a meta-theatrical and meta-film commentary on the ways we think about gender dynamics. 

And then it all became “real” during the last scene I witnessed. One participant decided to veer from the safe common ground of scripted dialogue into meaningless improvisation, even getting a bit handsy during the dance. This was the fastest Shawkat pressed the stop button on the stereo and said her last line: “Marty, I think you should leave,” thrusting forward a hand with a $50 bill in it, as she had done dozens of times before. He grabbed it, balled it up, and threw it in her face, saying something like “So weak!” The audience gasped with shock and disapproval. Shawkat went on a 15-minute break (which she took every two hours or so). I exited BAM, processing what caused a man to perform such hatred to any woman, fictional or not. Where does theatre end and real life begin? With The Second Woman, it appears that line is blurry.     

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The Second Woman played at BAM Fisher, 321 Ashland Place, October 18 - 19, 2019. The running time was 24 hours. For more information visit bam.org.
The Second Woman is written and directed by Anna Breckon and Nat Randall. Produced by Performing Lines. Set Design by FUTURE METHOD STUDIO. Lighting Design by Amber Silk and Kayla Burrett. Sound Design by Nina Buchanan. Hair and Makeup Design by Sophie Roberts.  

Performed by Alia Shawkat and 100 (mostly) male participants. 

(This review was published on theasy.com on 10.20) 

Review: Swan Lake / Loch na hEala

Irish dance company Teaċ Daṁsa brings a familiar plot into contemporary Ireland, weaving fantasy and reality in a melancholic yet hopeful tale of abusive power clashing with empathy.

Do you remember sweet melancholy followed by excitement when you caught the first signs of fall; the first colored leaves in August, the first chilly morning in September? Very unexpectedly, I had a similar feeling of winter approaching yesterday when a feather landed on my shoe during Swan Lake / Loch na hEala. This production of Teaċ Daṁsa premiered in London in 2016 and was chosen to open BAM’s Next Wave festival under its new artistic director, David Binder.

Alex Leonhartsberger, Rachel Poirier, and Mikel Murfi in Swan Lake / Loch na hEala.
Photo by Marie Laure Briane.

Even the building of the Harvey Theater has received an upgrade (rough walls preserved, entrance entirely redesigned, and—finally—there's an elevator to the balcony level), not to mention getting rebranded (it’s BAM Strong now). The atmosphere of celebration electrified the air on opening night. And yet there was a dollop of melancholy, inevitable during the celebration of a major transition. What a peculiar choice for an inaugural show. And how interestingly it reads in the context of current political events. Or maybe it’s just my ex-Soviet collective memory that got triggered by Tchaikovsky’s ballet Swan Lake, which played on a loop on TV during the government overturn in 1991?

Ominous nature aside, there is not much of Tchaikovsky left in this adaptation, written, directed and choreographed by Michael Keegan-Dolan. The action is set in modern-day Irish Midlands. The twists of the “magical” plot are quite earthly. Instead of a sorcerer, there is an abusive priest (Mikel Murfi) who has sexually assaulted Finola (Rachel Poirier), and threatens to transform her and her three young sisters into “filthy animals” unless they keep silent. Instead of Prince Siegfried, there is depressed 36-year-old Jimmy (Alex Leonhartsberger), whose only comfort is to smoke cigarettes. “The Queen” is Nancy O’Reilly (Elizabeth Cameron Dalman), a frail woman in a wheelchair crippled by arthritis.

The narrator (also Mikel Murfi) starts the play as a kind of “nasty animal” himself. Tied to a block of concrete by the neck, he walks around in his underwear bleating like a goat, as the audience members take their seats. After the rituals conducted upon him by an ensemble of three men, he receives the ability to speak. Murfi also plays other power-possessing, “speaking” male characters, including a priest, a politician and a policeman. His swift transformation is just enough to signify a change of the “mask” but ultimately, these are all just different sides of the same multi-faced “evil” entity.

The narrative (mostly by Mikel Murfi) is intertwined with whimsical dances performed by the two main protagonists and six ensemble members. Jimmy and Finola barely make any sound but glide noiselessly in their beautiful ballet. Effortless, sometimes playful, choreography by Keegan-Dolan effectively uses symbolic props like wings and concrete blocks. Set design by Sabine Dergent consists of ladders on which the winged girls occasionally climb, along with minimal elements like a table or a piece of tarp pulled in and out for different scenes. Live, traditional Irish and Nordic score from the trio Slow Moving Clouds, seated on the platform upstage, accompanies Swan Lake / Loch na hEala, suspending the action in absolutely magical, eerie music.

In Teaċ Daṁsa's Swan Lake, a glimmer of hope shines upon mundanity and despair. And despite the tragic fate of the protagonists, love and empathy have a chance in a world where there is magic. I am not only referring to the magical realism of falling in love with a swan-girl, but the magic of dance. The humorous absurdity, physical liberation, and visual poetry of Keegan-Dolan’s choreography linger long after the last feather falls down.
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Swan Lake / Loch na hEala played at BAM Strong - Harvey Theater, 651 Fulton Street, October 15-20, 2019, as part of BAM's Next Wave festival. The running time is 75 minutes with no intermission. Tickets started at $30. For more information visit bam.org.

Swan Lake / Loch na hEala is written, directed, and choreographed by Michael Keegan-Dolan. Produced by Teaċ Daṁsa. Set Design by Sabine Dargent. Costume Design by Hyemi Shin. Lighting Design by Adam Silverman. Music by Slow Moving Clouds.

The cast is Rachel Poirier, Alex Leonhartsberger, Mikel Murfi, Elizabeth Cameron Dalman, Zen Jefferson, Anna Kaszuba, Saku Koistenen, Erik Nevin, Latisha Sparks, and Carys Staton. Musicians are Aki, Mary Barnecutt and Danny Diamond.

(This review was published on theasy.com on 10.16)