Author: Shelley A. Sackett

Don’t Let The Bleak Premise Of The First Rate Musical “Parade” Scare You Away

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Cast of the National Tour of ‘Parade’ at the Emerson Colonial Theatre.
Photos by Joan Marcus

By Shelley A. Sackett

It was with trepidation that I attended opening night of “Parade,” now at the Emerson Colonial Theatre through March 23. After all, the premise of the 2023 multiple Tony Award-winning musical revival is hardly uplifting. The book by Alfred Uhry (author of “Driving Miss Daisy”) is set in 1913 Atlanta and tells the true story of Leo Frank, a transplanted Brooklyn Jew and pencil factory supervisor who is married to his Jewish boss’s daughter, Lucille. As the newlyweds struggle to carve out their lives in the red hills of Georgia, Leo is falsely scapegoated for the murder of a 13-year-old white girl in his employ. The rest of the play dramatizes his trial, imprisonment, and 1915 mob lynching.

In the current climate of rampant disinformation and antisemitism, it’s easy to understand why some might eschew entertainment that is grounded in both.

At no point does the 180-minute show (one intermission) shroud the wretched facts of the case and the ginned up hate, prejudice and calculated lies that fueled Atlanta’s judicial, political and journalistic engines. Yet, like alchemy, first-rate staging, talent and especially Jason Robert Brown’s rapturous Tony Award-winning score of 29 songs transform this cheerless tale into a riveting musical production that scratches well below the surface to examine just what made the Jim Crow South tick.

Max Chernin, Talia Suskauer

The stage is minimally set (design by Dane Laffrey) with a high and low platform that will magically evoke the Franks’ home, a witness box, a factory, a soapbox, a cell and a governor’s mansion. Throughout the show, background projections display real photographs, names and dates of the play’s characters as well as archival photos of 1910s Atlanta, newspaper stories and the “Leo Frank Lynching” memorial plaque in Marietta, Georgia. These both make the action easier to follow and remind us that “Parade” is based on truth.

The play opens in 1863 Marietta (“The Old Red Hills of Home”) as a young soldier leaves his lover for battle. Fifty years later, Atlantans still romanticize and mythologize the glories of the Civil War’s “Lost Cause” with Confederacy Day, which is when we first meet Leo and Lucille Frank.

“Why would anyone want to celebrate losing a war?” Leo (a pitch perfect, exceptional Max Chernin) asks his wife. Wiry, prickly and bespeckled, he struggles to fathom the mores of Atlantans. “For the life of me, I can’t understand how God could create people who are Jewish and Southern at the same time,” he bemoans.

Lucille (Talia Suskauer, whose voice seems directly wired to her emotions) doesn’t understand Leo’s Yankee manners any better than he grasps the ways of a Jewish southern belle. We are left wondering what drew these two to each other in the first place. Their singing selves couple in a soaring intimacy that their characters just can’t mirror.

Olivia Goosman, Jack Roden

Their marital conflict pales compared to the troubles that unfold when the body of Mary Phagan is discovered  in the factory. Two suspects are ripe for the picking: Newt Lee, the Black night watchman, and Leo Frank. That Leo is a self-absorbed workaholic who carries himself with a supercilious self-importance may make him hard to like, but his downfall is no less tragic.

District Attorney Hugh Dorsey (a believably slimy Andrew Samonsky) needs a conviction, and hanging another Black “ain’t enough.” The professional boost he seeks requires something more. This time, he’ll need to hang “the Jew.” He suborns testimony from many sources, threatening and cajoling even the Frank’s loyal maid, Minnie. Ex-con Jim Conley (Ramone Nelson in a barnstorming, show-stopper of a performance) fabricates eye witness evidence to save his own skin, yet ends up back on the chain gang when Donley double crosses him. Newspaperman Britt Craig (Michael Tacconi) hails the resurrection of his career as he stokes antisemitic hysteria and catches the eye of his editor.

Atlantans are only too happy to take the bait and, as Act I ends, Leo is swiftly convicted, sentenced to death and jailed.

Director Michael Arden’s staging at several critical moments expands “Parade’s” theatricality and our access to Leo’s opaque interiority. Now imprisoned, Leo spends the entire intermission sitting onstage with his head in his hands. Shed of his cocky, brittle skin, he presents as more grounded and relatable. Although jarring, having Leo mime the false testimony of others during his trial is another stroke of dramatic brilliance.

Act II shifts to Leo and Lucille’s marriage, which is strengthened by his imprisonment and their joint efforts to prove his innocence. Eventually, Governor Slaton (a solid Chris Shyer) heeds Lucille’s pleas and, after investigating, commutes Leo’s sentence to life. His fate has already been sealed in the book of public opinion, however, and he is kidnapped and hanged.

With this storyline fully established from the prologue, it is indeed a wonder that “Parade” feels as dynamic, affective and —yes — entertaining as it does. Make no mistake; this is a first rate Broadway production with a lot going for it.

The cast of vocal performers (particularly the leads and Nelson) is, with few exceptions, extraordinary, and they have a lot to work with in Brown’s marvelous score. Backed by a terrific orchestra, Brown’s Sousa-style marches, work songs, haunting duets and raw blues and efficient, targeted lyrics achieve more than a page of dialogue might. While injustice and inhumanity are ever present, they simmer and percolate rather than boil over. Granted, some of the actors’ accents need polishing and the characters’ unambiguous goodness/evil renders them somewhat two-dimensional, but the timeliness and relevance of this ongoing story is almost reason enough to see it.

(Foreground) Andrew Samonsky, Robert Knight

The wave of antisemitism that results in Leo’s conviction and lynching led to both the formation of the Anti-Defamation League and the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan, both still significant forces. When the chorus of white Georgians chants, “hang ‘im, hang ‘im, make him pay,” it’s impossible not to hear the January 6 refrain and feel its aftershocks. As “Parade” points out, although Leo Frank’s death sentence was commuted, the case, reopened in 2019, is ongoing. Mary’s killer was never found. Unlike the more than 300 cases overturned thanks to the Innocence Project, he has never been exonerated.

As Leo is about to be hanged, right before chanting his final “Shema,” he states, “God chose me for a plan. I don’t know what it is.” Perhaps, at this time of thinking about who gets to write history’s story, one thread of that unknown plan is to broaden the inquiry and ask ourselves who had to pay for those stories we get to tell, and at what price? 

Parade – Book by Alfred Uhry; Music and lyrics by Jason Robert Brown; Co-conceived by Harold Prince; Directed by Michael Arden; Choreography by Lauren Yalango-Grant & Christopher Cree Grant; Music direction by Charlie Alterman. At the Emerson Colonial Theatre, Boston, through March 23rd.  

For tickets and more information, visit emersoncolonialtheatre.com/

SpeakEasy’s ‘A Man of No Importance’ Is Must-See, Feel-Good Theater at Its Absolute Finest

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Eddie Shields and Will McGarrahan in Speakeasy’s ‘A Man of No Importance’
Photos by Nile Scott Studios

By Shelley A. Sackett

There is so much to praise about SpeakEasy Stage Company’s ‘A Man of No Importance,’ director Paul Daigneault’s swansong production after leading the company he founded for 33 years, it’s hard to know where to begin.

Terence McNally’s Tony Award-winning play, for starters, is a brilliant choice for any audience at any time, but its message is especially poignant today. A musical based on the 1994 film, it tells the story of an amateur theatre group in 1964 led by their queer, closeted bus driver leader who is determined to stage a version of “Salome” at his church, despite the objections of church authorities.

1960s Ireland had not yet progressed beyond the era of Oscar Wilde, who was jailed from 1895-7 after a criminal conviction for gross indecency for homosexual acts. Decades away from the days when “coming out” became acceptable, being gay was still a crime in Ireland. McNally, an ardent gay rights advocate, infuses his main character, Alfie Byrne, with his passion. Eddie Shields plays the charismatic character with a pitch-perfect blend of pathos, compassion, and zeal.

At the heart of the play is Alfie’s painful struggle to be his authentic self. He finds relief by channeling his energy and angst in the St. Imelda’s players, a group of local amateurs whom Alfie imbues with his own love for the magnetic magic of the theater.

Shields and cast

The rehearsal space and the camaraderie it engenders create a sanctuary where the community can gather and unapologetically be themselves. They are there for each other but most of all, they are there for Alfie and the life of the artistic world he has introduced them to.

The problem is he has audaciously chosen Wilde’s one-act tragedy, “Salome,” to stage in the Catholic church. The play-within-a-play, which depicts the attempted seduction of John the Baptist by Salome, goes too far. The Archbishop ordains the work as obscene and banishes the troupe from St. Imelda’s.

Alfie protests that the play is dramatic art at its finest, but to no avail. St. Imelda’s doors, Alfie’s sole conduit for emotional release from the loneliness and tension of leading a double life, are closed and bolted.

While Alfie is the eponymous man of no importance, it is the ensemble of first-rate supporting actors, musicians, choreography, set design, 20 songs, and brilliant directing that are the shining constellation at the epicenter of this production.

Keith Robinson and Shields

Jenna McFarland Lord’s set literally sets the stage and mood from the get-go. The audience is seated on three sides around a platform in the square. The fourth side holds a small stage with just enough room for musicians. Above them is an amalgam of Alfie’s book-stuffed bedroom, St. Imedlda’s stained glass window, and the rough-hewn wood that hints at a traditional Irish pub.

For 105 minutes (no intermission), live traditional Irish music accompanies the brilliantly poetic and funny songs (Lynn Ahrens’ lyrics and Stephen Flaherty’s music) and acts as a background. Actors double as musicians and enter, exit and linger in the aisles. The effect is live surround sound and the audience can’t stop smiling and tapping their feet in appreciation.

Master choreographer Ilyse Robbins has designed playful, effective moves for the nimble cast that are both functional (moving furniture, for example, to create a bus or pub) and wildly adorable (Kathy St. George’s tap dance is a show-stopping knockout).

Jennifer Ellis (center) and cast

As Lily, Alfie’s devoted sister who has put her life on hold until her brother finds a wife to take care of him, Aimee Doherty brings depth, humor and impeccable timing. Her duet with butcher Carney (a delightfully smarmy Sam Simahk), “Books,” is a storytelling first-rate number and a stand-alone hit.

Another storytelling marvel, “The Streets of Dublin,” takes the audience into the world of the workingman’s pub, capturing the characters’ everyday world of pints, traditional ballads and dancing. In adding the ghost of Oscar Wilde to his adaptation of the film, McNally gives Alfie the opportunity to express his true self to his idol and imaginary mentor. Will McGarrahan brings flourish and panache to red-caped Wilde, and Alfie takes his support and advice to heart. Encouraged by Wilde to “love who you love” and get rid of temptation by yielding to it, he braves the first step down the path of sexual authenticity to predictably disastrous results. Alfie is beaten up, outed, and publicly shamed.

This is, after all, still 1960, and the love that dare not speak its name has no place in a world that desperately clings to what it knows.

Despite setbacks and disappointments, the play ends on an uplifting note, one that is as relevant and helpful today as it might have been in Oscar Wilde’s day. Alfie’s theatrical community and sister don’t abandon him and he basks in a new understanding of what is of most importance in a world that thrives on conflict, humiliation and accusation.

Shields and Aimee Doherty

“I used to think the most thrilling words in the English language were ‘At Rise’ as we began a new project and opened our books to the first page of the playwright’s text,” he says.

After his ordeal and the rallying of his troupes, he has changed his mind. “The most thrilling words in the English language,” he amends, “are these: ‘Good morning, my dear friends.’”

‘A Man of No Importance’ – Based on the film, ‘A Man of No Importance.’ Lyrics by Lynn Ahrens; Music by Stephen Flaherty; Book by Terrence McNally; Directed by Paul Daigneault. Choreographed by Ilyse Robbins. Music Direction by Paul S. Katz. Scenic Design by Jenna McFarland Lord. Presented by SpeakEasy Stage Company. At the Roberts Studio Theatre, Calderwood Pavilion, Boston Center for the Arts, through March 22.

For more information and tickets, go to: https://speakeasystage.com/

‘Art’ Becomes More Than What Meets The Eye in Lyric Stage’s Splendid Production

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John Kuntz and Michael Kaye in Lyric Stage’s ‘Art’. Photo Credit: Mark S. Howard

By Shelley A. Sackett

The French playwright, actress, novelist, and screenwriter Yasmina Reza has a special talent for creating dialogue and characters that simultaneously focus inward on the complexities of interpersonal relationships and outward on the demands and mores of contemporary middle-class society. ‘Art,’ now enjoying a magnificent run at Lyric Stage Company, premiered in Paris in 1994 and took both London’s West End and New York’s Broadway by storm. It won Olivier, Tony, Molière, and every other major theatre award and has been packing in audiences worldwide in 30 languages ever since.

The plot is deceptively simple. Serge (Michael Kaye), Marc (John Kuntz) and Yvan (Remo Airaldi) have been friends for 15 years. Serge is a successful dermatologist. Marc is an aeronautical engineer and Yvan has spent his life “in textiles.” Unlike his friends, his professional life has been a failure and he has a new job as a sales agent for a wholesale stationery business. He’s engaged to marry his boss’s daughter in a couple of weeks.

Kaye, Kuntz and Airaldi

When Serge spends an extortionate amount of money on a modernist painting by Atrios that is all white with three white stripes, his close friends are not just baffled but deeply rattled. Like an earthquake, Serge’s purchase shakes the bedrock of their friendship and sends aftershocks and tsunamis in its wake.

Marc is appalled to hear that Serge had paid two hundred thousand francs for “a piece of white shit.” Serge argues that the painting, created by a reputable artist (“he has three paintings in the Pompidou”) is worth its hefty price, but Marc remains unconvinced. The two draw verbal swords, and the temperature in the room rapidly rises as the thrusts and parries turn nasty and personal.

Both break the fourth wall, addressing the audience with what they really think. Serge mocks Marc, one of the “new style of intellectuals” who are enemies of modernism yet know nothing about it. Marc is upset on a deeper, more individual level. His friend has done something he cannot understand or relate to. He is hurt and untethered. “It’s a complete mystery to me, Serge buying this painting. It’s unsettled me, it’s filled me with some indefinable unease,” he admits. Worst of all, Serge seems to have lost his sense of humor. Marc can’t bear the thought of not sharing a laugh with Serge, even though it is over an act Serge himself committed.

Overwhelmed by the perceived seriousness of the situation, both Serge and Marc confide in Yvan about their disagreement. Yvan, who is dealing with his own conflict over his forthcoming wedding, tries to remain a neutral peacemaker, giving each just enough of what they want to hear while avoiding firmly taking sides. To Serge, Yvan is noncommittal, only admitting that he does not grasp the essence of the painting. To Marc, Yvan laughs off the price tag, but suggests that the work is not quite meaningless “if it makes Serge happy.”

Kuntz and Kaye

Serge’s shuttle diplomacy is a failure. Instead, each digs in his heels deeper, and the clash escalates to all-out war. Objective art appreciation shifts to subjective, petty, tactless attacks. At the heart of the matter is the fact that these two really care about each other and this schism wounds them both. “What I blame him for is his tone of voice, his complacency, his tactlessness. I blame him for his insensitivity. I don’t blame him for not being interested in modern art, I couldn’t give a toss about that…,” Serge says. In an aside to the audience, Marc admits that, bottom line, his feelings are hurt. “What kind of friend are you if you don’t think your friends are special?” he laments.

Yvan’s vacillations are gas on the flames of his friends’ conflict. When neither Serge nor Marc succeeds in their goal of manipulating Yvan to their side, they turn on Yvan after he is late for dinner. Not even a Moth StorySLAM-worthy monologue of an excuse (Airaldi deserved a standing ovation) can dissuade Serge and Marc from attacking Yvan for being, well, Yvan.

That a male friendship could become unglued over a provocative painting rather than a love or property rivalry underscores the way Reza deftly peels this delicate onion to reveal the kind of profoundly felt emotions more usually explored among female relationships. These three ask deep and heady questions, revealing their innermost private selves in their answers. They are brutally honest, especially when they know the truth will sting. Yet, when all has been said and done, the underlying bond they share withstands even this most violent rupture.

Kaye and Remo Airaldi

Airaldi imbues Yvan with the kind of heart, humor and self-acceptance reminiscent of Jonathan Winters at his best. Kaye’s Serge is nuanced; he’s snooty and disdainful one minute yet insecure and lonely the next. As Marc, Kuntz has the difficult job of hiding his fears and vulnerabilities beneath a frosty veneer of supercilious superiority and furious frankness. All three actors give flawless performances, the kind that make 90 intermission-less minutes fly by.

Shelley Barish’s sleek, contemporary set mirrors the painting’s self-conscious minimalism. Chrome and steel benches adorn a simple platform of white tiles bordered in pale gray. The tone is both monastically sterile and peacefully Zen.

Kudos to Courtney O’Connor for her pitch-perfect direction. Recommended.

‘Art’ by Yasmina Reza. Translated by Christopher Hampton. Directed by Courtney O’Connor. Scenic Design by Shelley Barish. Costume Design by Chelsea Kerl, Lighting Design by Elmer Martinez. Sound Design by Adam Howarth. Presented by The Lyric Stage Company of Boston, 140 Clarendon Street, Boston, through March 16.

For more information or to buy tickets, visit https://www.lyricstage.com/

Hell Hath No Fury Like Hedda Gabler’s Scorn

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Parker Jennings and Joshua Lee Robinson in Apollinaire’s ‘Hedda Gabler’
Photo Credits: Danielle Fauteux Jacques

By Shelley A. Sackett

In ‘Hedda Gabbler,’ Ibsen dramatizes the miserable life of his title character, the iconically unclassifiable Hedda Gabbler. The pampered daughter of a wealthy general, Hedda recently married the mild-mannered, decidedly middle-class George Tesman. Fearing her years of youthful abandon might be behind her, she snagged the first – and only – bird that actually landed in her hand. “I can’t think of anything ridiculous about him,” she explains when asked by a former suitor why she had settled for George. He is also respectable, conscientious about his research work, and intent, under any circumstances, to look after her.

What George is not, however, is dangerous, sexy or aggressive, three traits Hedda admires, embodies and craves.

Director Danielle Fauteux Jacques cleverly arranges for the actors and audience to settle simultaneously. As the theater seats fill, actors stroll across the comfortable set, moving furniture, placing flowers, even repositioning a piano. The spacious, tastefully furnished drawing room is decorated in dark colors and lit by tiers of candles. Solo piano music enhances the mood, and Elizabeth Rocha’s costumes reflect the play’s end-of-19th-century time period.

The Tesmans, we learn from the maid Berta (Ann Carpenter) and Aunt Julia (a splendid (Paola Ferrer), have just returned to Christiana (Oslo) from a whirlwind six-month European honeymoon. George (played by a suitably understated, good-natured, if somewhat clueless, Conall Sahler) is enthralled by both their new wife, Hedda, and the ancient manuscripts he unearthed. He and Aunt Julia (the maiden aunt who raised him) are in the midst of reconnecting over George’s boyhood slippers when Hedda stomps onto the stage, barefoot and with a head full of steam explainable only by her having been interrupted either in the middle of brawl or while on the prowl to start one.

Unlike George, Hedda (played with almost relentless malice and moue by Parker Jennings) has returned bored, disappointed, and generally pissed off. She doesn’t like the house; she insults Aunt Julia’s new hat, and most of all, she doesn’t like being married to George. Like a freshly caught wild animal suddenly caged and on display, she paces. She is trapped but not tamed.

Disengaged from her own life, Hedda is in desperate need of a diversion. When Judge Brack (a smarmy Christhian Mancinas-García) comes to call, he and Hedda have the opportunity to reconnect in private. It’s clear the two share both a sexual backstory and many of the same values. “I get these impulses,” Hedda confesses to Brack. “I have no talent for life.” He seems to know exactly what she means.

Brack offers a polyamorous triangular relationship as a solution, but Hedda’s boredom is not that easily assuaged. What she needs, she declares, is to manipulate another’s life, to control them completely through her power and her will. As if on cue, her girlhood schoolmate, Thea (a credibly solid, earnest Kimberly Blaise MacCormack), arrives with all the ingredients to set Hedda’s plan in motion.

Paola Ferrer and Conall Sahler

George’s academic rival, Eilert Løvborg (an outstanding Joshua Lee Robinson), has resurfaced. An alcoholic, Løvborg was mired in scandal and poverty after squandering the family fortune on debauchery. Recovered and renewed, Løvborg wrote a book that was received with thunderous acclaim. The bestseller is in the same field as George’s, and George worries that Løvborg’s success could put a damper on his chances of securing the professorship he was financially banking on when he married Hedda and went into hock to buy her a house (which she hates) and take her on the extravagant honeymoon she expected and abhorred.

Thea’s agenda has nothing to do with the Tesmans. She and her husband, Sheriff Elvsted, took Løvborg in when he was down and out to tutor Thea’s stepchildren. While her husband was away on business, she worked closely with Løvborg on his newest manuscript and developed a great love for him. She worries that his fragile rehabilitation is in jeopardy now that he is back in the city with a pocketful of royalties money. She has packed a bag, left her disastrous marriage, and is now trying to locate Løvborg so they can pick up where they left off.

Knowing that he and George were university chums, she has come to ask George to write a letter asking Løvborg to visit him. She tells the Tesmans that her husband sent her, but Hedda has a nose for deception (being the Queen herself) and sniffs out the juicier tale.

She dispatches George to write the letter and ruthlessly grills Thea until the poor girl divulges her secret to her new and trusted confidante. Hedda assures Thea she will take care of everything, but as she breaks the fourth wall and treats the audience to a Snidley Whiplash wink, we know all will not end well for anyone.

Jennings

Løvborg gets the message and comes to the Tesman house in a tizzy. From the first hello, it is clear he and Hedda also shared a romantic past. In their scenes together, Hedda comes as close as she does in the play to displaying genuine compassion and vulnerability. Jennings and Robinson have real chemistry in the scenes when they sneak embraces as George comes in and out of the room. Hedda’s evil side doesn’t need the hammering Parker sometimes gives it; her words make her unlikeable enough. But these tiny glimpses of her inner humanity soften her character just enough to make her believable and less of a melodramatic stereotype. A very little could go a very long way.

In any case, Hedda will be damned if she lets Thea’s influence over Løvborg eclipse her own. No matter what it takes, she vows to smash their liaison.

To George’s relief, Løvborg has no intention of competing with him for the coveted professorship but has his hopes pinned on the masterpiece sequel he has written, the only copy of which he totes about in a brown paper envelope. Thea shows up, and Hedda immediately breaks her promise of confidentiality, telling Løvborg that Thea followed him to the city because she feared he would relapse. Løvborg reacts poorly, and Hedda delights when he goes off the wagon in front of her. She convinces him to accompany George and Brack to a party where she knows there will much drinking and carousing, assuring him she and Thea will be fine dining alone.

Predictably, Løvborg falls hard, failing to show up at the Tesmans the next morning. George returned earlier with the coveted manuscript, which Løvborg lost during the evening. When he is called away to his dying Aunt Rima’s bedside, he instructs Hedda to safeguard it.

Løvborg does eventually show up, a messy aftermath of a nasty night. He lies to Thea and Hedda, telling them he destroyed his manuscript. Thea is bereft; that work was their love child, a validation of her worth and his reform. Hedda does nothing to contradict Løvborg or reassure Thea. Distressed and disappointed, Thea leaves the former lovers alone.

Løvborg confesses that he actually lost the “child,” an act infinitely more unforgivable than destroying it. Hedda convinces him that the only recourse is for him to end his life with “vine leaves in your hair.” (Vine leaves in the hair are a symbol of Dionysus, the Greek god of wine and tragic insight). She gives him one of her father’s pistols and happily sends him away with one command: that if he chooses to do this, he do it beautifully.

Cristhian Mancinas-García, Robinson, and Sahler

The moment he leaves, she retrieves the manuscript and, one page at a time, ceremoniously burns it in its entirety, her face aglow from the flames and her own inner satisfaction. “One is not always mistress of one’s thought,” she will later muse.

It would be unforgivable to spoil the rest of the plot, but suffice it to say that Hedda’s plan goes awry, and she gets a healthy dose of her own medicine. Fauteux Jacques takes directorial liberties and adds elements that translate what passed for shock in 1891 into terms that resonate more in 2025 (I refer to one of the final scenes between Hedda and Brack). Kudos to Fauteux Jacques for this bold and stirring move.

Yet, despite inspired staging and acting, Ibsen’s starchy, dusty “Hedda Gabbler” is a difficult piece to access. Hedda is neither rational nor irrational in the usual sense of being random and unaccountable. Her logic is personal and unique. What she desires is critical to her happiness, yet it represents what “normal” society would reject as unacceptable. Hedda’s interior is as complicated as her exterior, which is razor-focused. Jennings does an excellent job of trying to carry this intricate character from beginning to end, but it is a real challenge to make believable why Hedda would command the attention of the men in her life, much less that of her audience.

‘Hedda Gabbler’ — Written by Henrik Ibsen. Adapted by the company from the translation by Edmund Grosse and William Archer. Directed by Danielle Fauteux Jacques; Scenic and Sound Design by Joseph Lark-Riley; Costume Design by Elizabeth Rocha; Lighting Design by Danielle Fauteux Jacques. Presented by Allpoinnaire Theatre Company at Chelsea Theatre Works, 189 Winnisimmet Street, Chelsea, through March 16.

For more information and to buy tickets, go to www.apollinairetheatre.com

Jenece Upton Channels Billie Holiday Body and Soul in ‘Lady Day At Emerson’s Bar and Grill’ at MRT

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Jenece Upton in Merrimack Rep’s ‘Lady Day At Emerson’s Bar and Grill’

‘Lady Day At Emerson’s Bar and Grill’ by Lanie Robertson. Directed by Candice Handy. Music Direction by David Freeman Coleman. Scenic Design by Tony Hardin. Costume Design by Yao Chen. Lighting Design by Brian Lillienthal. Sound Design by David Remedios. At Merrimack Repertory Theatre, Lowell, MA. Run has ended.

By Shelley A. Sackett

I was lucky enough to squeeze into the next to the last balcony row at the sold-out last performance of ‘Lady Day At Emerson’s Bar and Grill’ at Merrimack Repertory Theatre. Based on comments by colleagues and friends, Jenece Upton in the title role was this season’s not-to-be-missed performance.

“Not-to-be-missed” was an understatement. Upton brings Billie to life, plumbing every aspect of the jazz and swing singer’s difficult life with humor, charm and prodigious vocal chops. She is front and center the entire show (90 minutes, no intermission), backed by Jimmy Powers (Jorden Amir), her pianist and guardian angel.

The play takes place in South Philadelphia in March 1959, where Billie Holiday is performing in a run-down bar during one of her last performances before her death in July 1959 from complications of alcoholism. Between songs, she tells stories about her life as she becomes increasingly intoxicated and incoherent. Far from a simple songbook, the sixteen songs and narration paint a portrait of a horrifically tragic life filled with racism, abuse, and toxic relationships. Yet, what reverberates more than Billie’s tragedies are her triumphs of both spirit and artistry. She confronts her history with steadfast eyes wide open, unapologetically and honestly. “What they don’t know is you can only get to where you’re at by the way of where you been. It don’t matter if it’s good or bad, you wouldn’t be what or who you are now if you hadn’t been whatever you was way back when. See, I KNOW who I am now is because of who I was THEN,” Billie explains.

That she is not bitter may be the eighth wonder of the world.

Under Candice Handy’s direction and with Tony Hardin’s set, the production creates an immersive atmosphere of the small, intimate jazz club. Lanie Robertson’s script breaks the fourth wall, with Billie addressing the audience directly. Although visibly distressed when making her entrance, she turns on the charm and assures the audience, “It’s just like I was home and all you was my friends.” She then opens up about her life: her mom’s nickname, her father’s death, her first love, her musical influences, being a Black woman in Jim Crow America, and being arrested for her struggles with drug addiction.

Even though Billie uses laughter to deflect the pain and inhumanity at the root of many of her stories (and songs, like “Strange Fruit”), that laughter, far from infectious, instead twists the blade of our discomfort and plunges it in deeper.

Upton is a consummate actress, effortlessly offering great depth and detail into Billie’s soul. She is absolutely captivating as she performs hit after hit from Billie, capturing the plaintive sound, the eccentric phrasing and all the little vocal catches that identify Billie Holiday’s unique style.

I am very glad I heeded the advice to catch a very talented actress in a tailor-made role. I’m only sad the run has ended, so others can’t benefit too.

‘The Grove’ Continues the Ufot Family’s 9-Play Journey from Past to Present to Future

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The cast of ‘The Grove’ at the Huntington. All Photo Credits: Marc J Franklin

‘The Grove’ – Written by Mfoniso Udofia. Directed by Awoye Timpo. Scenic Design by Jason Ardizzone-West; Costume Design by Sarita Fellows; Lighting Design by Reza Behjat; Sound Design and Original Music by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen. Produced by The Huntington Calderwood at BCA Plaza Theatre at 539 Tremont Street, Boston, through March 9.

By Shelley A. Sackett

Anyone remotely interested in the Boston theater scene is aware of the city-wide, unprecedented commitment to present Mfoniso Udofia’s Ufot Family Cycle over the next couple of years. These nine plays follow a Nigerian family in America and Africa through 40 years and three generations. The first, “Sojourners,” premiered at The Huntington last fall to universal praise. In it, audiences were introduced to Adiaha, the first American-born daughter born to Nigerian immigrants Abasiama and her husband Ukpong. The setting is 1970s Houston, where Abasiama studies hard and works in a gas station to make ends meet. When Ukpong goes AWOL, Disciple Ufot befriends and eventually marries her, raising Adiaha as his own. Like Abasiama, Disciple is studious and hardworking, with a plan, like hers, to return to Nigeria upon graduation. Unlike Abasiama, he is also intensely religious.

The Huntington continues with its world premiere of ‘The Grove,’ the second play in the cycle, which picks up the Ufot family story 30 years later, in 2009 in Worcester. Family and friends have gathered to fête and honor Adiaha (a magnificent Abigail C. Onwunali) after her graduation with a master’s degree in creative writing.

Abigail C. Onwunali

The pre-party atmosphere is anything but festive. Her father, Disciple (Joshua Olumide), sings Ibibio praise songs while relentlessly and neurotically barking orders at Adiaha and her younger siblings, sister Toyoima (a very good Aisha Wura Akorede) and brother Ekong (Amani Kojo). Nothing is clean enough; nothing is good enough. Every minute is spiritual warfare.

Toyoima and Ekong, who still live under Disciple’s roof, tolerate his harangues, complying with just enough teen attitude to satisfy their need to feel like they are dissing him, yet not so much to risk his catching on.

Adiaha, on the other hand, is walking on eggshells. She defers to Disciple, cajoling her siblings to humor him. She is, after all, the one child Disciple trusts with his legacy. It is a great honor; it is an even greater burden. That legacy is a collectivist Nigerian culture where values of family and community eclipse the individual and her particular emotional and psychological needs. Adiaha is, and has always been, the daughter who made her family proud and internalized and externalized her Nigerian roots. Even today, as her increasingly frantic father sputters and verbally abuses his family, she is the compliant one, humoring him while urging her siblings to just play along and keep the peace in the house.

Onwunali and Patrice Johnson Chevannes

If Adiaha looks adrift and uneasy — and she does — she has every reason to. She is a lesbian, sharing her small apartment with her artist childhood best friend, Kim (Valyn Lyric Turner). She has led a closeted life as far as her family goes, that is, until her mother recently found out and was devastated. Her father remains clueless. If he finds out the truth about her queerness, his image of her will implode (as might he).

The set changes to Adiaha’s childhood bedroom, where she busies herself throwing the trophies that line her shelves into her trash basket, ridding herself of “the kid I was.” Emmy Award-winning scenic designer Jason Ardizzone-West has created a rotating set that is like a crème-filled cookie — the outsides are the family living room, Adiaha’s bedroom in Worcester, and later, her apartment in Brooklyn.

The rich middle is a grove of metal poles. Five female “Shadows,” dressed in traditional garb, live in this middle ground, dancing and chattering and chanting in Ibibio (Nigeria’s native language). They beckon to Adiaha. While they and their staging are captivating, their role is not just as artistic eye and ear candy. They are storytellers who tell their tales through choreography and language. They will show Adiaha that she can be true to herself while still being part of a rich heritage that only became patriarchal and homophobic with the advent of colonialism. They want to help her with safe passage from past to present to future, a true rebirth into a world of self-acceptance and cultural pride. (Kudos to director Awoye Timpo for her steady, light touch).

Janelle Grace and Ekemini Ekpo

Meanwhile, however, Adiaha is in a pickle. Her father has gathered Udosen (the magnetic Paul-Robert Pryce), her assimilated, “fun” uncle, and Maduka Steady (Godwin Inyang), the “stodgy” uncle who wears his Nigerian garb as if wielding a royal scepter. The conversation among the men centers on despair over the plight of their heritage at the hands of the young who have adapted in America by embracing, for example, all matters of things that involve earplugs.

“Look at our history. When did we lose our way?” Disciple and Maduka lament.

While the men try to relegate women to subservient roles, the scenes between Adiaha and her mother, Abasiama (Patrice Johnson Chevannes) and sister Toyoima are among the most poignant and revealing. Adiaha’s younger sister tries in vain to get her to confide in her as a way to ease her pain and grease the wheels to her freeing herself from her father’s yoke. Her mother admits that her father is difficult and getting worse, yet she values and, therefore, must prioritize her tribal heritage over her personal happiness.

“Continuing the line is the most important thing in life,” she admonishes. “If you are a lesbian, then you can’t have a child…Sometimes life is sacrifice. Putting aside what you feel for what is righteous.”

Act II of the 1 hour 45 minute (1 intermission) play opens with a prolonged scene that sheds light on Adiana and Kim’s relationship. Although going through a rough patch, it’s clear that the two share a bond that goes deeper than girlfriends; they truly are soulmates, able to talk and share in intimate and revealing ways. When Adiana begins speaking Ibibio in her sleep, we sense the possibility of a bridge between past and present.

Onwunali and Valyn Lyric Turner

Eventually, Adiaha learns (with guidance and help from the Shadows) that she can indeed be the way she is and still be Nigerian. She is a tree who finds her grove and is not alone. Just like when she was a child, all will be good again.

Playwright Udofia, a Southbridge native, started writing ‘The Grove’ in 2009 but put it aside as she struggled with her own issues about being both Nigerian and queer. Luckily, she returned to the work once she realized that the collective could honestly and naturally hold everyone — including a queer Nigerian — and that there were deep roots that existed even for her. Part three of the Ufot Family Cycle, runboyrun, will be produced as an audio play adaptation by Next Chapter Podcasts in partnership with GBH with readings held at Boston Public Library – Central Library: GBH Studio & The Huntington Theatre. I, for one, can’t wait.

Note: Although the cast of 13 is a terrific ensemble, Olumide might choose to reread playwright Udofia’s character notes, which describe Disciple as “not a one-dimensional monster; he is a complex human being. He displays signs of PTSD/emotional and psychological distress, the influence of traditional Nigerian cultural norms and patriarchy, as well as bad behavior.” Olumide’s unnuanced version on opening night was frantic and loud, leaving little room for audience empathy.

For more information and to buy tickets, go to https://www.huntingtontheatre.org/

A.R.T.’s ‘The Odyssey’ Catapults Homer’s Ancient Epic Poem into the 21st Century

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Members of the cast in A.R.T.’s world-premiere production of The Odyssey.
Photo Credits: Nile Scott Studios and Maggie Hall.

‘

By Shelley A. Sackett

“If you’ve gone through something traumatic, can you ever go back to who you were? Can you ever go back home?” is the essential question American Repertory Theater’s Terrie and Bradley Bloom Artistic Director Diane Paulus asks audience members to consider as they experience the world premiere of Kate Hamill’s A.R.T.-commissioned newest work, ‘The Odyssey.’ This spectacularly produced reimagination of Homer’s 8th/7th century B.C. epic poem is the latest retelling of a classic tale by Hamill, who, once again, displays her special talent for penning plays that magically remain true to the original while interweaving parallel contemporary issues, culture and language.

Hamill’s version of The Odyssey evokes both memories of ninth-grade English class and the latest headlines. She is a true master storyteller and alchemist. For three hours (two welcomed intermissions), the audience rides shotgun as she personalizes and contextualizes the Greek epic that follows the hero and king of Ithaca, Odysseus, and his homecoming journey after the ten-year-long Trojan War. During the decades-long trip from Troy to Ithaca, he encounters many perils, and all of his crewmates are killed. During Odysseus’ inexplicably long absence (the distance from Troy to Ithaca is only 565 nautical miles), he is presumed dead, leaving his wife Penelope and son Telemachus to contend with a group of unruly suitors competing for Penelope’s hand in marriage.

Alejandra Escalante, Kate Hamill, NikeImoru and Carr

Homer’s original tale stresses ethical ambiguity and codes of heroic values and displacement. Hamill breathes contemporary life into these themes, adding her own twists that highlight the trauma of war on both those who fight and those they leave at home. Her trademark feminist lens focuses tightly on the play’s many female characters, especially Penelope and her struggles during Odysseus’ 20-year absence.

Sibyl Wickersheimer’s set is magnificent in elegance, simplicity and flexibility. Hundreds of yards of fabric shroud the stage as tasseled drapes hanging from the ceiling, geometric sculptural patterns along the back wall, and flowing, free panels. Shifting lighting and projections (Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew) change their color, mood and function. Cut-out boards and shapes shift function from ship to palace to island. The effect is dreamlike and captivating.

Act I opens on a beach with a chorus of three masked women who approach Odysseus (a credible Wayne T. Carr), as he scrubs his hands in a bowl of water. They act as narrators, dramatically bringing the audience up to speed on Odysseus’ life as king, husband, father and, above all, soldier. They are his guides and will accompany him throughout his travels.

Andrus Nichols and Carr

We learn that Odysseus is the only man who has not yet returned to Ithaca from the war in Troy. Shadow puppets (which appear throughout the play in various forms) illustrate his tale. The effect is Shakespearean, the triad reminiscent of the three witches, and Odysseus’ frantic hand-scrubbing is a hat tip to Lady Macbeth’s obsessive hand-washing in her effort to rid herself of feelings of shame and guilt.

“Your hands are clean,” the women croon, but Odysseus only revs up the pace in response.

In a flash, the language shifts from classical to contemporary vernacular and the beached ship morphs into a disco-like scene, complete with music, sexual innuendos and lots of swearing. We are in Ithaca, where Queen Penelope’s home has been besieged by rough-neck “suitors” intent on becoming the next king.

Flash again, and we are back with Odysseus, docked on an island inhabited by Titans. He and his men encounter the Cyclops, Polyphemus, when they search for food in a cave. Clever staging simultaneously evokes the giant and the cave through projections, puppetry and shadows. The three women (who also play different supporting characters in each scene) are charming as the mouth-watering lambs the men follow into the cave.

Act II is devoted to the cunning sea-witch goddess, Circe (played with impeccable timing, intonation and physicality by a scene-stealing Kate Hamill), and her island Aeaea, where Odysseus and his men almost meet their match. Circe agrees to let the men live if Odysseus stays with her. Finally, he snaps out of his drugged state of no man’s land when one of his men reminds him that, painful as it might be, he needs to confront himself, deal with his sins and pain, and return to his family.

“You can’t forget everything, or you forget what’s worth living for. Don’t you want to go home?” he is asked.

Hamill and Carr

Meanwhile, back in Ithaca, Penelope’s (lithe and elegant Andrus Nichols) outer resolve begins to falter as Amphinomus (Keshav Moodliar) begins to chip away at it with seductive, honey-tongued persistence. The deliciously hung fabric is an exquisite setting in pastel hues of mauve and pink. Penelope admits she is tired of being afraid and alone. “I am worn out by memories,” she says. “I’m not free to choose, but I can touch.”

Act III is the longest and most lively, as Odysseus makes his way home (after a couple more stops) and eventually wins back his throne and family. There are bloody battles, disco galore and plenty of irreverent language. The play may be long, but the pace and production values keep it rolling and engaging.

Carr, Hamill, Escalante, Imoru

Director Shana Cooper has an excellent ensemble assembled, and her pacing, transitions and seamless blocking are all spot-on. Hamill’s script, as always, is a mashup of the classic and contemporary, fiercely loyal to the underlying ancient tale, yet spinning an exciting, smart and thought-provoking contemporary cocoon around it. The result is an adaptation that is accessible to all and explores big-ticket concepts.

What are the relationships between trauma, memory and violence, for example? Who are our heroes and what are their values? In this era of migration and displacement physically, emotionally and politically, what does “home” mean and how secure is it?

Hamill’s works are always something to look forward to. The curtain call at ‘The Odyssey’ left me eager to see what she will tackle next.

The Odyssey’ – Written by Kate Hamill. Based on the epic poem by Homer. Scenic Design by Sibyl Wickersheimer; Costume Design by An-Lin Dauber; Lighting Design and Projection Design by Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew; Sound Design and Music Composition by Paul James Prendergast. Presented by American Repertory Theater at Loeb Drama Center, 64 Brattle St., Cambridge, MA, through March 16.

The Odyssey’ – Written by Kate Hamill. Based on the epic poem by Homer. Scenic Design by Sibyl Wickersheimer; Costume Design by An-Lin Dauber; Lighting Design and Projection Design by Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew; Sound Design and Music Composition by Paul James Prendergast. Presented by American Repertory Theater at Loeb Drama Center, 64 Brattle St., Cambridge, MA, through March 16.

Tap and Piano Fuse Magically in the Unique ‘Counterpoint’

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Conrad Tao (L) and Caleb Teicher in ‘Counterpoint, presented by Celebrity Series of Boston. Photo by Richard Termine

By Shelley A. Sackett

Counterpoint, the 75-minute collaboration between pianist and composer Conrad Tao and choreographer and dancer Caleb Teicher, is a magical journey that explores the interplays between two seemingly divergent art forms — tap and solo piano.

Yet, these two virtuoso performers, who met as teenagers and immediately hit it off artistically and personally, perform alchemy to fuse their music and dance and conjure something unique and thrilling. Their exploration of connection rather than divergence results in a program that feels more like eavesdropping on a private performative conversation than attending a formal concert.

Being in the audience (almost) equals the fun and exuberance they exhibit on stage.

“Counterpoint,” is defined in music as the art of playing melodies in conjunction with one another according to fixed rules. In Counterpoint, it becomes a discussion or conversation between Tao and Teicher’s different art forms of music and dance, between their different instruments of piano and tap and between the different traditions that have been attached to each.

It is also an opportunity for the two to improvise, bringing fresh energy to familiar pieces that span a wide selection of musical genres. Their back-and-forth brims with theatricality, harmony and raw rhythm.

Stylistically, the program of 11 pieces meanders from J.S. Bach’s “Aria” from his Goldberg variations to Art Tatum’s “Cherokee,” a Honi Coles and Bufalino Soft Shoe, Brahms’ Intermezzo in E Major, Gershwin’s iconic “Rhapsody in Blue” and back again to Bach’s “Aria.” There is a Schoenberg, Mozart and Ravel along the way, and even two exceptional original pieces, one that changes with each performance and is titled “Improvisation.”

The set is simple: a shiny piano, tap platform, and chair. At first, Teicher just sits as Tao’s soulful rendition of the Bach aria fills the hall. When Teicher stands, his white, short-sleeved jumpsuit is mirrored in the piano’s sheen. He slowly, thoughtfully begins to drag his feet, transitioning to graceful almost slow-motion ballet moves and  eventually breaking into a whimsical introduction to the clickity-clack of the tap element. It’s a perfect way to start this quirky tête-à- tête between pianist and dancer.

“Improvisation” at Saturday’s matinée started with a slow interchange between dissonant piano chords and the soft scarping of Teicher’s shoe. Both increase in intensity almost to the breaking point, yet the two rhythms complement, rather than compete with, each other.

Teicher gives the audience a glimpse of his prodigious stage presence with the theatrical facial expressions and body languages he brings to “Cherokee.” A mere tilt of the head, the whisper of a wink and a smile, silently speak volumes. With his introduction of “Coles and Bufalino Soft Shoe,” he is also the charming emcee, genuinely interested in having the audience join in on the fun.

“Swing Two,” an excerpt from the duo’s Bessie Award-winning “More Forever,” exemplifies the concept of Counterpoint, or two melodic lines interacting. Tao’s piano is as rhythmic as Teicher’s dancing, which is as tuneful as Tao’s keyboard.

The expressive, easily accessible “Rhapsody in Blue” earns the pair an interruptive standing ovation. Its happy fusion of jazz and Broadway and the dramatic blue lighting are perfect backdrops for Tao’s vivid, emotive piano and Teicher’s expressive dancing. They both display playful attitude in this piece. When Teicher strikes a pose or seems to float on the tip of his shoe, there is an impish, elfin hammy element to him that makes his performance all the more endearing.

Both have their solo moments too, Tao in the Schoenberg and Ravel pieces and Teicher in the Bufalino soft shoe and the magnificent Mozart “Alla Turca,” where he demonstrates tap’s vocal range while exuding joy and adorability. Although there is no piano accompaniment, Teicher’s masterful dancing creates an imaginary score which he encourages the audience to try to access. “When you hear these sounds and see me gesture and dance, use your imagination to create a story and fill in the blanks,” he advises. “Watch it again and think about what you see and feel.”

The program ends with an “Aria” bookend, and we have come full circle, but so much richer for the experience.

Celebrity Series of Boston presents Caleb Teicher & Conrad Tao in ‘Counterpoint.’ At the Boston Arts Academy Theater, Feb. 7-8.

‘Life & Times of Michael K’ is ArtsEmerson’s Latest Must-See Marvel

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‘Life & Times of Michael K’ at ArtsEmerson. Photos by Fiona McPherson

By Shelley A. Sackett

In substance, Life and Times of Michael K tells the extraordinary story of an ordinary man. Adapted from the 1983 Booker Prize winner, written by South African novelist J. M. Coetzee, it details the life of the eponymous Michael K and his ailing mother during a fictional civil war in South Africa.

As adapted and directed by Lara Foot in collaboration with the Tony award-winning Handspring Puppet Company, this simple tale becomes the captivating and transportive production presented by ArtsEmerson through February 9. “Must see” hardly does it justice; this is a groundbreaking pilgrimage into the multisensorial world of out-of-the-box theater.

Michael K was born with a severe cleft palate in besieged Cape Town, South Africa. Shunned his entire life, he is nonetheless resilient and good-natured. Devoted to his mother, Anna, he embarks on a journey to take her away from the destructive conflict and back to rural Prince Albert, her birthplace.

In this uninterrupted two-hour piece, Michael K. also happens to be a three-foot-tall puppet made of wood, cane, and carbon. Yet, miraculously, he is also the embodiment of grace, emotion and human interiority. He is maneuvered by three puppeteers (Craig Leo, Carlo Daniels, and Markus Schabbing) whose precision and synchronicity are impeccable and whose presence is both noticeable and integral to the play.

Life and Times of Michael K doesn’t play smoke and mirror games, camouflaging the puppeteers in black and trying to create the illusion that the puppets somehow function independently. Rather, it spotlights and celebrates the collaboration between human and puppet. Even when there are six people manipulating two puppets, the puppets are the undisputed focus and the magic spell is unbroken.

It’s hard to describe the enchantment of such artistry and skill.

The play opens with soft piano music as a performer carries an orange-shrouded Michael K. onto the stage. The shroud is lifted and a real, yet nonhuman, face is bared. With the slightest turn of the neck or tilt of the chin, that face expresses calm, pain and tears. One side emphasizes his cleft palate; the other his otherwise handsome features.

Yoav Dagan and Kirsti Cumming’s projection designs magnify Michael K.’s face, allowing the audience easier avenues of interior access and empathy. Green screen projections, a closed caption LED board and the use of rotating narrators add a multi-media excitement and emotional accessibility to the production. These elements don’t compete for our attention; rather, they complement and complete the action, conjuring something intoxicating and original.

Although there are nine people on stage — including the three puppeteers who manipulate Michael K — they are neither intrusive nor distracting. Michael K and the other five puppets (his mother, Anna, a feisty goat, and three curious children) seamlessly interact and interplay with the human beside them. They are different, but they are equals. At one point, Michael even addresses his handlers, offering them each a bite of his chicken pie even though he’s nearly dead from starvation.

The storyline is straightforward and told in linear chronology. We witness Michael’s birth (puppet Anna and her three puppeteers are amazing), his mother Anna’s rejection, and his childhood spent in institutions, where he learns gardening. When his mother falls ill and needs his help, she has him released and returned to her care. He now works as a gardener in Cape Town and tends Anna, a domestic servant to a wealthy family. The country descends into civil war and martial law is imposed. When Michael’s mother becomes very sick, he decides to quit his job and escape the city to return his mother to her birthplace, Prince Albert.

First, he jerry-rigs a wheelbarrow cart to transport his mother and their belongings. The two set off on a near-impossible trek that their banter and affection transforms into an adventure. Prone to philosophical questions and self-reflection, Michael K. frequently wonders why he had been brought into this world. His answer: to look after his mother. He never gives a second thought to the fact that his mother never looked after him.

That reason changes when his mother dies in a heartbreaking scene sensitively lit (Joshua Cutts) and soundtracked (Simon Kohler). His life takes a series of twists and turns when he encounters friends, enemies, detours, dangers, passions, hope — and one very spirited goat.

Yet, his innate ability to transcend and find the miracle in everyday life saves him from gloom and despair. He is relentlessly forgiving and accepting, unearthing solace in his life as a cultivator and eventual return to the farm where his mother was born. At last, he can let her ashes go. She is home and, he realizes, so is he.

Enhancing the script and dazzling puppetry are Patrick Curtis’ set design and Dagan and Cummings’ projection design. Curtis uses minimum props and a smoky palette to maximum effect, creating a set versatile enough to serve as delivery room, bus, school, waves, farm and work camp. Backdrop projections ensure the audience is in lockstep with Michael K and his journey with inspired and enhancing visuals.

While Life and Times of Michael K is adapted from a work of fiction written over 40 years ago, its themes of displacement, poverty, discrimination and civil unrest are still relevant and perhaps even more urgently felt today. Yet Michael K’s journey focuses more on the internal than external as he uncovers his personal philosophy of life. “A man must live so that he leaves no trace of his living,” he says, vowing to only eat food he has grown himself. “There is no shame in being simple. One spoonful of water is enough to live,” he adds.

Michael K may be a puppet, but he has more heart and soul than many people.

‘Life & Times of Michael K’ — Adapted and Directed by Lara Foot in collaboration with Handspring Puppet Company. Based on the book written by J.M Coetzee. Adaptors and Puppetry Direction by Basil J.R. Jones and Adrian P. Kohler. Puppetry Design by Adrian P. Kohler. A Baxter Theatre Centre and Düsseldorf Schauspielhaus Production. Presented by ArtsEmerson at the Emerson Paramount Center, Robert J. Orchard Stage, 559 Washington St., through February 9.For more information and to buy tickets, visit www.artemerson.org

Theater Mirror’s Shelley Sackett Interviews Modern Dance Visionary Mark Morris

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The Mark Morris Dance Company in The Look of Love. Photo: Julieta Cervantes

The Mark Morris Dance Group returns to Boston with Morris’ evening-length work, The Look of Love at Emerson Cutler Majestic Theatre from January 23 through January 26. The piece is a wistful and heartfelt homage to the chart-topping hits of Burt Bacharach, a towering figure of popular music, newly arranged by jazz pianist, composer, and MMDG musical collaborator Ethan Iverson. Bacharach’s melodies and unique orchestrations soar with influences from jazz, rock, and Brazilian music. The stage comes alive in a powerful fusion of dance and music with an exceptional ensemble of vocals, piano, trumpet, bass, and drums, led by singer, actress, and Broadway star Marcy Harriell.

SAS: Is there an overarching philosophy or spirit that you bring to your choreography?

MM: I wouldn’t know. I’m the wrong person to ask. I have no philosophy. I mean I famously answered that in Brussels. ‘I make it up. You watch it. End of Philosophy.’

I meant it. It’s not a word thing. It’s a choreo-musical thing. It’s not a philosophy. It’s been my only job, and I‘ve been doing it for nearly 50 years. So, I’m not waiting to figure out what it is. It’s music and dance; that’s what I’m about. It’s vocal music a lot, and vocal music has lyrics. Whether it’s an opera or popular songs or whatever language, the music exists because of the text.

So in the case of Hal David and Burt Bacharach meets Dionne Warwick, that’s a fabulous, brilliant combination of those things, and then I do like I would with Schumann or Handel or anything, I work with the music on its own terms. It’s always the same, in that I’m always working from music.

SAS: So what was it about the Burt Bacharach music and oeuvre that appealed to you?

MM: What happens is that good music lasts, and all good art is relevant to the people who find it appealing. The idea that it’s popular music and, therefore, not valuable is just utter nonsense. All good art is relevant to the people who find it appealing. It isn’t just written for just one person, it’s written for everybody, and it’s written from a particular point of view.

A lot of popular music fades away. So whether you know who wrote it or not, whether you know the words or not, whether you like it or not, you recognize certain bits of Burt Bacharach when you hear it. His music has endured.

He wrote from a huge range of points of view and it was all amazing music. Why Burt Bacharach? Why anybody’s music? Why would I choreograph it? I like it. I can’t work with shitty music, and I only work with live music.

In talking with Ethan Iverson about 15 years ago about music we’d been familiar with our whole lives, actively or not, music that was ‘in the air,’ Burt Bacharach’s name came up, and we thought, ‘Well, sure. Let’s do this.’

Mark Morris

SAS: He wrote so many songs, how did you decide on the ones you chose and how did you decide on the order in which they appear?

MM: First of all, Ethan Iverson (who was my music director for a number of years long ago and whom I’d worked with before on “Pepperland,” the evening-length choreography and arrangement of Beatles music to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the release of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band album) and I listened to Burt’s music. We each picked our favorite songs. We also knew we didn’t want a whole bunch that were similar in style, tempo, or key.

In meeting with Burt, he gave us full approval and loose reins for the arrangements. When we got the rights, Ethan started arranging and I started choreographing. The very last thing was what order they would be in, and it went almost right up to opening night before we had the exact order because of the way I choreographed and the way they fit together according to key signature or rhythm or familiarity. I didn’t want it to be just a jukebox.

That’s the fun part, but it was a lot of hard work and we have now been performing it for a few years. It lives on and it’s really great.

SAS: What is The Look of Love about?

MM: The songs are all about love. Some are terribly sad, but many are upbeat. There’s optimism, but there’s also realism. They’re very profound songs. We don’t change the show performance to performance, but there are pockets of improvisation like there is in anything live, but it’s the same text and the same piece every night.

That’s why, if you go early (in the run), you can go back and see it again. That’s the live aspect of it, and there’s nothing better than that.

We haven’t been to Boston for six years! Covid was four and a half of them, but it’s been a while and we have an audience in Boston, we just haven’t been able to go for a long time, so we’re really happy to be back.

SAS: Your designer is the great fashion guru Isaac Mizrahi. How did that work?

MM: Isaac and I work together a lot. We’re very close friends. We’re both busy and we don’t work together that often. I knew that he was the right person for this, and so did he. We start with the music, which is how I start with everyone (lighting, design, costumes and music). I send Isaac the playlist of what I think is going to be the music long before we even start. He gives me some designs, and we talk about them and change them or not. It doesn’t start with a finished dance and then we add on to it. It’s pretty organic right from the starting gate.

That’s the way I like to work. It’s more thorough and it’s a collaboration. I’m in charge ultimately, but I listen and we participate or fight and it’s good. I don’t work with a lot of different people. I have a small roster of collaborators and it’s familiar in the sense that we don’t have to lie. We might say, ‘That’s the ugliest I’ve ever seen,’ or ‘That’s boring,’ or even, ‘That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.’ That happens too sometimes, and it’s nice.

It’s friendly, but we’re pretty honest.

SAS: A lot of these songs are hits from long ago that younger audience members might be totally unfamiliar with them. Any thoughts about that?

MM: If you go see the show because you’re curious, and you can afford a ticket, that’s great. There’s no lesson to be learned from the show. It’s been very successful, and not just with seniors who, unfortunately, start singing along. The musicians start to play “Alfie,” and everyone goes, ‘Ohhh….’

This music is part of American folk ways now. Bacharach is part of the American Songbook.

SAS: Do you plan to keep doing what you’re doing? What next creative itch are you looking to scratch?

MM: I’m working on several things already. It’s been a very difficult period for everybody. I have a piece that will be premiering in early April, so I’ve been working on that all the time we’re not on the road.

This is my only skill. I’m going to do it til I can’t. One thing, I’m making up dances for after I don’t choreograph, after I’m dead or incapacitated. It’s a project called “Dances for the Future.” I have several pieces that are in the can, as they say, they’ve been choreographed, there are designs and notations and we’re going to keep them until I can’t make up dances anymore and then we’ll release them one a year for as long as we can do that. It’ll be a world premiere out of boredom, which I think is a fabulous, morbid idea.

I’m also working on a piece called “Moon” for a small festival in April commissioned by the Kennedy Center and inspired by the Golden Record on the 1977 Voyager.

SAS: Anything else you want to riff on?

MM: The Look of Love is not performed all that frequently. We don’t tour it for six weeks to five cities, it’s 3-5 shows and then it might weeks or months before we do it again. We re-rehearse it and buff it up and it’s a bit different and more confident and swings better every time we bring it back. It doesn’t change, but the tone and the ease with which we can present it is reassuring; it means we are performing it more, and we’re getting back in the hang of it.

For a YouTube preview of The Look of Love, click here. For tickets and information, go to: https://www.globalartslive.org/events/list-events