This is Drama Masks, a Bay Area performing arts column (full of mad ramblings, Oxford commas, and “theatre” with an “r-e”) from a born San Franciscan and longtime theatre artist in an N95 mask. I talk venue safety and dramatic substance, or the lack thereof.
I don’t know what it is, but something about watching two back-to-back shows about doomed romances sorta makes one ponder how theatre thrives off dysfunctional relationships. Even without the two shows below, this year has given Bay Area stages at least two Noël Coward centennial shows, a surreal Southern-friend lesbian tragi-comedy at NCTC, and a literal operatic take on Frida Kahlo’s tempestuous marriage, to name but a few.
The term “dinner and a show” refers to going to the theatre on a date, yet the latter-half of that term could very well leave the potential lovers never wanting to speak to one another again. Granted, I’ve taken dates to shows and even had significant others sit in the audience to watch me perform (and vice versa), but I’m also glad to say that we never took personally whatever relationship foibles were portrayed on stage.
Perhaps it’s that whole “there but for the grace of God go I” factor that allows us to securely scrutinize toxic couples from comfort of our chairs. An unearned sense of superiority makes for an all-too-irresistible temptation to think ourselves better than the folks of Albee’s plays and prefer to think of ourselves as the Robins and Marions who live happily ever after. Yet, that failure to recognize one’s own toxicity in a fictional portrayal will exacerbate that very toxicity. Hell, I can think of a hundred couples like Troy and Rose from Fences, but very few who take that for the red flag that it is.
As someone who’s been single for {checks watch} quite a few years now, I’m certainly not one to insist how any person or couple should react to a dramatic portrayal of a life that could very well be theirs. But if one holds on to the excuse of escapism for everything they see, then they wind up diminishing whatever message the play’s producers were going for. It’s not just that we watch the characters go through changes, but we patrons of arts should also be willing to change.
CARMEN LIVESTREAM FROM SF OPERA
“Change” isn’t something that comes to mind when one thinks of Bizet’s Carmen (through December 1 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF). The classical opera canon’s favorite eponymous honey trap is still a cringe-inducing portrayal of the Romani people, and Bizet’s score is still as thrilling as when it premiered some 149 years ago. There’s “hit the ground running,” then there’s conductor Benjamin Manis leading the SF Opera’s orchestra through the thrilling overture at the show’s opening.
Though Carmen (French mezzo Eve-Maud Hubeaux) is, debatably, not even the lead in her own title story, she’s very much the object of affection for every man of her Spanish village who lays eyes on her. This includes ardent soldier Don José (Chilean tenor Jonathan Tetelman), who finds himself so smitten with the cat-fighting beauty that he instantly forgets that he’s already promised his heart to nice-girl Micaëla (British soprano Louise Adler). Complicating matters further is the fact that Carmen has caught the eye of toreador Escamillo (US bass Christian van Horn). Add in a group of rebels with whom Carmen associates and you’ve got yourself quite a romantic quagmire.
As with most unchanged classics, the original context only matters so much in comparison to how it’s portrayed now. This production employs the same Francesca Zambello direction and Tanya McCallin production design as SFO’s production a decade prior. (Full disclosure: I was a super in that production.) This one hits nearly all the same beats, but Justin A. Partier’s lighting design leaves a lot be desired: Despite its Goya-esque feel, everything is way too dark and sepia-toned, as if all the War Memorial’s lights had been covered burgundy shawls. Had I not been watching at livestream capable of multiple close-ups, I probably would have missed most of the action due to not seeing the stage clearly.
For performances, Hubeaux never seems fully comfortable portraying Carmen as a rebel-allied seductress. She does quite well when Carmen is emotionally wounded or conflicted in her loyalties, but the diva never quite nails the “femme fatale” side of genre’s quintessential Helen of Troy-type. She isn’t bad, by any means, but she never gets a handle on all aspects of Carmen the way Adler does in her flawless portrayal of Micaëla.
As with SF Opera livestreams, there was no need to take CO² readings, and I only saw a handful of masked patrons in the pre-show lobby footage.
It’s a funny coincidence that Carmen opened on an SF stage as Wicked premiered on screens worldwide, the latter forcing cinemas to enforce a non-sensical “no singing” policy for patrons. That policy makes more sense for live theatre, especially opera. Yet even projects as disparate as Carmen and Wicked—both of which were met with critical indifference upon their respective (stage) premieres—share the fact their instantly catchy songs have made them bonafide classics. Its gender politics may not be encouraging, but Carmen remains an entertaining melodrama full of music you’ll never forget.
CARMEN runs through December 1 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF. Tickets and further info here.
THIRTY-SIX AT SHOTGUN PLAYERS
Whereas Carmen’s gender politics have grown uncomfortable, Leah Nanako Winkler’s play was made with the express purpose of having audiences squirm in their seats as the show throws proclamations of sexual liberation in their faces. (Not literally, thankfully.)
Perhaps it’s the Gen-Xer in me, but I couldn’t help but find something Linklater-esque about Thirty-Six (world premiere through December 22 at the Ashby Stage, Berkeley), the raunchy new rom-com from the playwright of the hilarious Two Mile Hollow. The new play is a throwback to works like Sexual Perversity in Chicago by the pre-MAGA David Mamet, except Winkler’s script is even more self-aware and far more dedicated to revealing that modern sexual boundaries are as thin as a single doll’s hair.
As narrated (practically Z Space/Word for Word-style) by an omnipresent specter named Stage Directions, played by nic feliciano, our story—staged in Randy Wong-Westbrooke’s white void with office tables—finds us in contemporary New York, where two twenty-somethings are meeting up after connecting on an app. Our seemingly-cliché heteronormative couple are David (Soren Santos), a personified “Future is Female” decal, and Jenny (Lauren Andrei Garcia), a personified Craigslist personal ad. They meet at a bar. He’s overly polite. She just wants to fuck, which she tells him in no uncertain terms.
What follows is a night-long, two-person excursion into verbalized hashtags, emotional sincerity, blurry lines of consent (including blatant unsafe sex), and exploration of a 36-entry questionnaire by the NY Times which David finds through clickbait. Like I said: it’s got hints of Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise if it were written by, say, Anaïs Nin or Catherine Breillat.
And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Director Michelle Talgarow, who starred in the world premiere of the aforementioned Two Mile Hollow, again proves herself as one of the Bay Area’s most underrated directors as she tows the delicate line of two characters who are as frank with their sexuality as they’re guarded with their emotions. Winkler’s is at least young enough to where she (always) fall back on “These damn kids today” tropes, so Talgarow knows that the proverbial sledgehammer sexuality is just to loosen up the audience before we dive into this couple’s core.
In fact, Talgarow executes some incredibly inventive literal choreography, despite keeping Garcia and Santos on opposite sides of the stage for the 90-or-so-minute runtime. That the distance of their desks becomes metaphorical for their mutual connection is one of the more subtly inspiring directorial touches. Add to that some fine neurotic performances from the two leads and it makes for a show directly connected with the opening’s audience—while leaving it squirming in its seats.
Said opening audience had very few masks. As proud as Shotgun are about their HVAC system, the actual flow of air remains a challenge. The opening night CO² levels on my Aranet4 hit 2,781ppm by the final bow. By the time this review is published, the show’s one and only Masked Matinee will have passed, and there are currently no plans for the company to bring back their livestreamed performances.
The ”Gen-Z-isms” of Winkler’s script can be grating and the explicit dialogue won’t be to everyone’s taste. Still, if you give it a chance, Thirty-Six might just spark quite the dinner convo for a couple spending date night at the Ashby.
THIRTY-SIX’s world premiere runs through December 22 at the Ashby Stage, Berkeley. Tickets and further info here.
