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.
It’s officially been one year since a rich guy took charge of San Francisco and chronically bankrupt “rich” guy took over the White House (again). The former hand-picked district supervisors who resigned in record time; the latter assembled a confederacy of dunces to eviscerate nearly every government organization. The former wants an out-of-state university to set up in SF in place of a beloved arts college; the latter implemented tariffs that set the country on a fast track to recession. The SF guy gets his photo taken for accomplishments he hasn’t come close to achieving; the latter was just re-gifted a Nobel Peace Prize as he threatens to invade Greenland, potentially setting off World War III.
Frankly, I’d be surprised if either finishes his term. Don’t give them the satisfaction of giving up. They have power, we have support. You’d be surprised how far a little support goes when you outnumber the opposition.
Anyway, I finally got to see some theatre again last week.
“The Book of Mormon” at The Orpheum
As someone not too keen on Broadway goings-on, my entire knowledge of “The Book of Mormon” (through February 1 at the Orpheum Theatre, SF) has been tangential. I know it’s by “South Park” creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone alongside Robert Lopez of “Avenue Q.” I know that the theatre-averse Parker and Stone had to be hand-walked by Lopez through the entire process. I know the show won a lot of Tonys and introduced the world to someone named Josh Gad. And I knew the story involved the titular Mormons (a go-to Parker and Stone topic since Orgazmo) on a mission in Africa.
So, is it any good? Meh. A decade and a half after conquering The Great White Way, the show comes off a bit like a relic. One could say the same thing about Hamilton (and I have), but that show’s lasting appeal lies in a “Fight the power!” message that everyone wants to believe they represent. The Book of Mormon, on the other hand, retains the edge-lord sensationalism that made me give up South Park nearly 15 years ago. Parker and Stone have always fancied themselves “equal-opportunity offenders” and have proudly lambasted everything from Ayn Rand to the current White House, but the two still identify as libertarians and capitalists who bristle at the idea of regulation or moderation.
Our incendiary story finds Utah-born Mormon Elder Kevin Price (Sam McLellan) denied his dream of mission work in sunny Orlando, only to be stationed in war-torn Uganda. As if that weren’t grating enough, he’s doubled with socially awkward Elder Cunningham (a genuinely comic Jacob Aune). Upon arriving in the arid, poverty-stricken land, the two face an uphill battle of trying not to offend the local war chief as they attempt to convert locals who just want to not worry about where their next meal is coming from.
To say the creators paint with broad strokes would be an understatement. Their vision of Africa is something out of Alighieri, or at least an exploitation film. As much as I have to give props to Scott Pask’s intentionally cartoonish set design, I’m hard-pressed to remember any time that I genuinely laughed during the show. There were definitely a few, I just can’t remember what they were.
I can easily tell you why the best work of the three creators endures: It contains substance beyond its shock value. That’s why “Avenue Q” is still staged regularly (it was once a staple of NCTC), but Team America is just “that movie where ‘America—Fuck Yeah!’ comes from.” “The Book of Mormon” is a button-pushing work from three guys who are good at it. The problem is that they’ve all done it better than this.
On the plus side: despite very few masks in the opening night audience, the Orpheum’s HVAC continued to impress. CO² levels on my Aranet4 never climbed any higher than 764ppm, which is pretty damned impressive for a fully-packed major house.
If “The Book of Mormon” provides a provocative form of comfort for you in these trying Christian Nationalist times, don’t let me tell you whether or not to see it. If, however, you want to see Parker and Stone when they’re firing on all engines, just watch the “Trapped in the Closet” episode again.
THE BOOK OF MORMON runs through February 1 at the Orpheum Theatre, SF. Tickets and further info here.
Killing My Lobster’s Sketch on Speed at Z Below
There homecomings, then there are resurrections. Killing My Lobster were clearly shooting for the latter with last week’s one-night Sketch on Speed show (January 17 at Z Below, SF). Last year’s infamous NEA cuts left the company essentially dead before they announced a surprise residency with Z Space. Specifically, one that saw the company return to their former home of Z Below as they tread carefully into the new year. (Aside from Sketch on Speed, the only other things they have scheduled are a performance at SF Sketchfest and a final read for their writing class.)
Having said that, the company clearly wants to hit the ground running. The show (which finds two teams of writers and two teams of actors performing script-in-hand work that was only created in the 24 hours prior to curtain) employed the troupe’s usual punching-upward ethos, which almost served as an antidote to the Broadway hit I’d seen just days earlier. Team A (Devon deGroot, May Ramos, and Shane Swenson) lampooned topics ranging from a misunderstanding of “Dry January” to Sydney Sweeney attempting to promote a less-fascist line of clothing.
Team B (Jen Marte, Emanuel Morales, River Sanders) took on more political topics, lampooning the dead eyes of Kash Patel and tackling suicidal ideation under Trump 2.0. Heavy stuff, but handled with aplomb for an eager full house (which had few masks as CO² levels hit up to 3,226ppm).
During her pre- and post-show speeches, AD Nicole Odell seems to absorb the love in the room like Tinkerbell surrounded by hall of clapping children. Even with the company’s future still not crystal clear, both regulars and newcomers were happy to bask in the glow of like-minded folks who just want to laugh at a world that feels less satirical and more tragic. Fortunately, it’s easy to laugh when watching a sexy mime competition. Just sayin’.
