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.
If you hadn’t heard, last week, a twice-impeached failed businessman accused of multiple sexual assaults openly threatened genocide on a Middle Eastern country to distract from his connection to a sex trafficker. This same failed businessman spent the last 15 months illegally profiting from his public role and insisting US citizens start using asbestos again. I could go on about his crimes, but suffice it to say, this guy personifies Nixon’s infamous statement of “[W]hen the president does it … that means that it is not illegal.”
A president is an elected official who, while clothed in immense power, is subject to checks and balances. Ol’ Cheeto Mussolini insists he was anointed by God, or literally is God. At least, he thinks he’s a king. My history may be kinda fuzzy—what with cuts to education to install TalkingPoints revisionism—but I and millions of others seem to recall the founders not being too fond of kings.
The SF Opera frequently tells tales about kings and commoners alike. Just last year, they produced Verdi’s Rigoletto. I thought it was a handsomely-staged production, but SF playwright Marissa Skudlarek saw what wasn’t there. As someone well-versed in the source material, Victor Hugo’s Le roi s’amuse, she noticed that the opera leaves out quite a lot. Everyone remembers “La donna è mobile,” but beneath that beauty is the story of a mad king and the vengeance brought upon him for victimizing a young girl. Remind you of anyone?
(Full disclosure: Marissa and I both joined the same bar-based theatre troupe 16 years ago. I’ll let every former member of that troupe take a breath in realizing that almost two decades have passed.)
For those of us familiar with Marissa, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the Vassar alum knew the original French text and found contemporary misogynist parallels. That’s why it’s also not surprising that she took her case straight to SF Opera. As part of their Opera Unbound Showcase, she translated, adapted, and compressed Hugo’s text into the new play When You’re the King, They Let You Do It. It’s actually having a staged reading this Sunday at the SF Public Library.
I’m booked to see another show, but I’d recommend it to anyone who’s available. For one, I know the high standards of Marissa’s writing. What’s more, it’s great to be reminded that power mad tyrants usually don’t survive to the end of their own stories.
Asbestos lasts forever, though. Don’t use it.
La Sylphide by SF Ballet
Before I begin, I feel obliged to mention that SFB principal Francesco Frola is said to be on the mend following his gasp-inducing injury during last month’s opening for Don Quixote. We press weren’t given many specifics, short of there being “dancer privacy” concerns, unlike the constant updates about pro athletes. I’ve said before that transparency can only benefit all involved, but it’s a relief to hear that Frola may soon grace the War Memorial stage again.
Now then, if there’s a classical theatre trope that every layperson knows, it’s the story of being young, stupid, and in love. What’s the one Shakespeare play everyone’s definitely heard of? What’s the one Broadway musical based on that Shakespeare play that everyone’s definitely heard of? Even if youngsters can’t grasp the nuances of classical text, they can relate to stories of love—or, at least, libido—driving you to make dumb decisions. Those stories stick with them into adulthood, even if they forget the proper words.
It could be argued that La Sylphide (through April 16 at the War Memorial Opera House) is another story that fits that trope. If anything, it’s a story about giving up a good thing to chase a fantasy. If nothing else, I think we can all agree that more ballets would benefit from dancing men in kilts.
Good thing for us that our story (libretto by Adolphe Nourrit, using the surviving 1836 August Bournonville choreography) drops us into old-time Scotland. Our titular sylph—Wona Park, appropriately light on her feet—takes an interest in Alban Lendorf broad-shouldered James, despite his being engaged to ingénue Effy (burgeoning soloist Carmela Mayo). No one believes James about having seen this magical creature, and he’s none-too-happy when a palm-reading witch played by Nathaniel Ramirez predicts that Effy will actually wind up with James’ friend Gürn. What follows is a whirlwind tale of jealousy, destiny, and the joy of running out on your fiancée to dance in the woods with forest spirits.
La Sylphide is tailor-made for first-time ballet patrons: Its 90-minute runtime allows one to get home at a decent hour, and its classic fairy tale structure makes it easy to digest. Witches and those dancing kilts make for enjoyable storytelling. Add in José Verona’s scenic design and CO² levels that never exceeded 889ppm on my Aranet4 and it’s hard to find something to complain about.
LA SYLPHIDE runs through April 16 at the War Memorial Opera House, SF. Tickets and further info here.
how to make an American son Regional premiere by NCTC
I once heard that it’s every son’s duty to disappoint his father. I wouldn’t call it “duty” so much as inevitability. As with mothers and daughters, so too do fathers see themselves more in their sons than anyone else. Should those sons not live up to the father’s myopic expectations, the father is convinced the whole world thinks him a failure. It’s the sort of thing humans should have grown out of, but we still haven’t kicked our addiction to fossil fuels, so what do we know?
The patriarch and scion of christopher oscar peña’s how to make an American son (regional premiere through May 10 at NCTC, SF) fit the mold perfectly. Honduran father Mando (Town Hall Theatre’s Richard Perez) is a firm subscriber to the idea of American meritocracy, which he credits to the success of his business and weaponizes against his profligate son Orlando, played by Nicholas René Rodriguez. To teach the boy some responsibility, Mando has the kid do custodial work at the office on weekends. That’s how Orlando meets Rafael (Caleb Cabrera), an undocumented migrant who never got the opportunities that Orlando takes for granted.
For his first production as NCTC’s new AD, Ben Villegas Randle definitely creates competent staging around Maya Linke’s fascinating “glass case” set. Yet, peña’s script is too sitcom-y to give situations the weight they need. The climax, for instance—in which Mando’s business interests collide with Orlando’s personal life – feel too telegraphed and overly-expository. That’s rich material on its face (particularly a subplot involving Monica Slater as Mando’s put-upon Gal Friday) and how to make an American son looks pretty, but the script tries too hard to be familiar, rather than seek an identity of its own.
CO² levels stayed steady, peaking around 1,388ppm by the final bow of the 90-minute show.
HOW TO MAKE AN AMERICAN SON’s regional premiere runs through May 10 at the New Conservatory Theatre Center, SF. Tickets and further info here.
