This is Drama Masks, a Bay Area performing arts column 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 have to say, I’m seriously diggin’ this idea of joy being an act of rebellion. Seriously, even I’m surprised at how being grateful to be above ground has worked in improving my outlook in some regards.
Sure, I still notice things like my regular food bank taking on so many new members that the queue has begun to bottleneck; but I’m also comforted in knowing people are going out of their way to make sure other people won’t starve. I know that every news outlet in the country paints SF as a wasteland somewhere between Mad Max and Blade Runner (both of which are cool movies, so that’s a compliment), but that hasn’t stopped knowledgeable local reporters from praising their favorite local activities (something we 48 Hills folk are also wont to do). Not even all the road-clogging Teslas on our streets can overtake the fact that there are now even more people on the sidewalks giving the finger to said Teslas.
Lest we forget: there’s art everywhere we go. I spent the past week finishing up screeners for SF Indiefest (pretty OK haul this year), hearing local musician-friends prep for shows, reading season announcements from various companies, and catching a pair of plays that seemed eager to make their audiences smile. That’s a noble goal these days, what with this country currently being run by prep school bullies.
But one thing about SF is that we have more than a few Lisa Simpson-types in this town, willing to strum our guitars to support the workers’ union as the greedy bosses try to choke us into submission. The only thing that pisses off those grinches more than our failure to yield is our choice to embrace joy.
That’s what you do when you have something to live for.
UNCLE VANYA AT BERKELEY REP
After a recurring systemic flaw had me miss the last Berkeley Rep show, I was just happy to finally make it inside the complex this time. Getting inside, I found I’d wandered into yet another show in which the fourth wall was treated more as suggestion than a hard, fast rule. I’d seen several such shows in December, which likewise used minimal set pieces to let the audience see the walls of the theatre without a professional set creating many pre-conceived notions. (The Rep tried it before a few years back with their messy production of Wuthering Heights.) This show didn’t have as bare a stage, but costumes and props were scattered around the stage as out-of-character actors interacted with one another and audience members alike. Not exactly what one would expect of a Chekov classic.
But this was, indeed, how the Rep opened their production of Uncle Vanya (through March 23 at the Berkeley Rep). The first act is purposefully performed like an in-progress workshop with actors in casual dress, gradually taking on more period-appropriate attire from the clothing racks behind them. By the time the second act begins, they’ve moved so organically into period accoutrement that one has to stop and remind themselves that such a transition took place.
For those unfamiliar: Our story takes place in stately manner of Prof. Serébryakov (Tom Nelis) and his new young bride, Yelena (Ito Aghayere). Along with the house comes Vanya (Hugh Bonneville), brother to the professor’s late first wife, who thinks Yelena’s too good for the pretentious professor. But Vanya holds his tongue in order to stay in the house rent-free. As regular guests and family members make their way in-and-out of the mansion— most notably, Vanya’s niece Sofia (Melanie Field) and family doctor Mikhail (John Benjamin Hickey)—unspoken feelings do what they do and bubble up to the surface.
Say this for the show: It breathes a lot of life into a century-plus-old Russian piece. It’s hard to say whether it’s the way Vanya laments the unlived life, the way the affluent professor insists he’s earned all the “success” built on the backs of others, or even the way Sofia and Yelena deal with old and new gender norms, but this Conor McPherson adaptation (directed by Simon Godwin) strikes a tone that makes it seem fresh and new. Not a moment is wasted with this electric international cast (including the Bay Area’s own Kina Kantor, who also brings her cello skills to the stage), and Godwin’s direction feels both assured and organic.
It also didn’t hurt that the Rep’s HVAC seemed to once again be in top shape. That’s a relief for a masked audience member sitting in front of an unmasked chronic cougher and behind and unmasked chronic sneezer. Fortunately, the airflow was good enough to where my Aranet4’s CO² readings only peaked around 1,179ppm over the course of the two-act show.
After trying to get to the Rep for nearly a month, a part of me is still disappointed that I’ve only seen half of their current repertory. Having said that, the piece that I did see signals a strong start for their performance year.
UNCLE VANYA runs through March 23 at the Berkeley Rep. Tickets and further info here.
CUCKOO EDIBLE MAGIC WORLD PREMIERE AT MAGIC THEATRE
There are things people think about San Francisco, then there are things people will never understand about San Francisco. Reed Flores’ Cuckoo Edible Magic (world premiere in-person and online through March 8 at Magic Theatre, SF) tries to encompass both. That’s why it shouldn’t surprise anyone that getting high is the catalyst for an anime-inspired adventure through the Bay in a battle for humanity against a sentient rice cooker. ‘Cause why not?
The SFBATCO production follows Filipinx-American stoners Ren (Dom Refuerzo), recently without a job or place to live, and Mai (Nicole Apostol Bruno), who has both but couldn’t cook if their life depended on it. Seriously, they have a giant bag of jasmine rice their mom gave them two years ago. As the two hit up the corner store for supplies—and Ren avoids an uncomfortable call with his dad—the two come across the aforementioned rice cooker, which tries to kill them. This is the just beginning of an adventure involving Wushu fights, BART trains, explosions in the sky, and lots of ancient prophecies.
Did I mention the two were stoners?
Working in the play’s favor is its unabashed ethnic identity. At a time when non-white citizens are demonized from the White House itself, Flores’ play revels in its Asian-ness with a cooking sequence straight out of Food Wars!, references to brands found in small Asian grocers, and enough thick accents to make a DOGE founder pull out his hair plugs. It’s both a relief from the still-lily-white-norm of modern plays, and it’s the very sort of format in which director Michelle Talgarow frequently thrives.
Yet, that same direction also holds the play back. Though the script is still rough enough to where it could use another draft or two (some character work would help), there’s also the way Talgarow seems to allow the actors to add more “air” in-between lines when it isn’t needed. It slows the play down whenever it gets its momentum going. Really, this show shouldn’t need two acts, as it could easily be a solid 90 minutes. But to do that, the pace will have to step up considerably, so as to not lose the audience.
Said audience wasn’t full, as I caught the show after opening night. CO² readings peaked around 1,060ppm by show’s end, which isn’t bad for the Magic stage. BATCO had the play’s mask-required show on the 23 (which I didn’t attend), but they’re still making the show available on-demand through their website for the rest of the run. Ideally, one can watch it at home surrounded by as many munchies as they desire.
One is tempted to think that the drawn-out pace of the play may be an allusion to the way time seems to expand when you’re under the influence. Whether or not that’s true, it’s something the show would benefit from dropping. The show is at its strongest when it embraces the eccentricities of ethnicity and the absurdity of its Bay Area setting. There’s clearly a love of life and surroundings on display; it’s just hampered by a bit too much foot-dragging.
CUCKOO EDIBLE MAGIC’s world premiere runs (in-person and on-demand online) through March 8 at the Magic Theatre, SF. Tickets and further info here.
