Pass Over at The New Orleans African American Museum
The NOLA Project recently presented the regional premier of Antoinette Chinonye Nwandu’s Pass Over at The New Orleans African American Museum (NOAAM). I was out of town during its first two weekends but caught it during its last week. I’m happy I did.
In Pass Over, Nwandu riffs on Waiting for Godot, the Book of Exodus, and current (and not-so-current) headlines as two young Black men, Moses (Martin “Bats” Bradford) and Kitch (DC PauL), “now, right now; but also 1855; but also 13th century BCE” pass time on “a ghetto street; but also a plantation; but also Egypt, a city built by slaves”.
When I saw the play on Broadway in 2021, I found parts of Moses’ and Kitch’s plight involving, but there seemed to be a good deal of filler, like an overly long passage featuring the song What a Wonderful World.
For The NOLA Project, Nwandu insisted that they use an earlier version of the script. This was a wise choice as it turned out to be tighter and more focused; gone was the extended back’n’forth about Wonderful World plus some over-the-top metaphysical stuff. Even the time and place descriptions were less pretentious.
This version thus allowed an audience to more fully appreciate the play’s depiction of both existential futility, as the two pals hope to get off the “block” they seem moored to, as well as existential sadness, as a Top Ten list of wishes includes “a drawerful of clean socks” and “a brother back from the dead”, and we hear a roll call of Moses and Kitch’s dead friends.
If Pass Over never quite reaches Godot-like profundity, it touches us as we observe the fraternal tenderness (and playfulness) between Moses and Kitch as they navigate a world that can explode in police brutality and intimidation. It’s also terribly sad as we see what they aspire to and realize that they are not likely to ever get what they desire.
Director Tenaj Wallace set her production in NOAAM’s courtyard; seeing it performed in the oldest African-American neighborhood in America added another layer of depth. She paced it with expert precision and did so without Broadway’s flourishes, which enabled an audience to more fully concentrate on the urgent words themselves.
Bradford and PauL both navigated Nwandu’s oftentimes tricky dialog with ease and, even more importantly, infused the script with heart and soul. I’d be interested in seeing them as Vladimir and Estragon in Waiting for Godot itself.
Keith Claverie, DC PauL, and Martin “Bats” Bradford in Pass Over (photo by Megan Whittle)
In two smaller, yet pivotal, roles, Keith Claverie gave a beautifully calibrated performance, first as a seemingly obliging white guy (emphasis on “seemingly”) who shares a meal with the hungry Moses and Kitch, and then, later, as a vicious cop (tho, admittedly, Claverie’s innate niceness took a certain edge off the viciousness). If I admired Gabriel Ebert on Broadway in these roles, Claverie was even better, parsing sentences into individual, telling words, every tilt of his head adding something to the overall characterization.
Khiry Armstead’s fine sound design brought an extra dimension to the show’s heightened atmosphere. At one point, I wasn’t sure if a siren came from the speakers or a passing cop car in Treme; I think it was the former but still amn’t sure. As fight choreographer, Alex Martinez Wallace did his usual outstanding work.
Apparently, rain caused the cancellation of some of the production’s final performances. While that might be tragic, even more tragic are the circumstances that Moses and Kitch and so many others like them find themselves in. Let’s hope that will no longer be the case when Pass Over is revived for future generations.
A Christmas Carol at Loyola’s Marquette Theater December 4-15
[Crescent City Stage’s production of A Christmas Carol returns for a limited run. Here are excerpts from my December 2023 review of it.]
Crescent City Stage is presenting Patrick Barlow’s adaptation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol at Loyola’s Marquette Theater. In the spirit of the season, let’s do a “Naughty” and “Nice” review–
Nice
–James Lanius III’s projections take us outside to the cobblestone streets of Victorian England and inside to dwellings both sumptuous and simple. With cinematic fluidity, using rear screen projection (or some other technological wizardry), Lanius whisks us from Ebeneezer Scrooge’s cramped office to his bedroom where it looks like real snow is falling outside the window to the Fezziwig ballroom and the Cratchits’ warm abode. I don’t know how Lanius does this, but it’s a wonder.
–Michael A. Newcomer gives us an utterly stern Scrooge who, at the start, reeks of bone deep miserliness and autocratic, humorless rule. His Scrooge is genuinely mean–no cutesy stuff here–the better for his ultimate redemption. This Scrooge is no one-note baddie, however, as Newcomer etches him with filigreed detail, making him all-too-scarily human.
–Erin Cessna, Eleanor Frederic-Humphrey, Ryan Reilly, and LeBaron Thornton play all the other characters, from Tiny Tim to doors (you read that right) with actorly panache, each shining as assorted ghosts, children, and relatives & customers of Scrooge.
–Whether using ominous music or an orange fan to stand in for a fire, Director Elizabeth Elkins Newcomer effectively conjures up the proper moods and set pieces for this oft-told tale with bounteous imagination, never permitting the pacing to flag. Jahise LeBouef’s period appropriate costumes and Liam Gardner’s lighting, both cozy and supernatural (I especially liked the coatracks that doubled as lamps), aptly enhance the production. And the Cratchit kids may be mere puppets but they’re highly individualized ones.
Michael A. Newcomer and the cast of A Christmas Carol (photo by Brittney Werner)
Naughty
–Barlow’s adaptation is quite good, but I wish it went by just a smidge faster or was a bit tighter; scenes tend to go on a minute or two too long despite E. Newcomer’s and the cast’s fine work. Ten minutes less, trimmed with scalpel-like precision, would’ve made this Carol sing with even more flair.
–I can’t quite explain why, but Scrooge’s ultimate unscroogeing was not quite as affecting as in some other Carols. Ironically, given my previous comment, it may be because his transformation came too quickly, but no lump rose in my throat as has happened when other Scrooges have redeemed themselves. Still, Dickens’ classic remains as worthy today, with its humanist sentiment, as it was when it first appeared in 1843.
–The “meta” stuff, in which some of the actors refer to the audience (and which I usually enjoy), here comes so late in the show that it takes us out of Dickens’ world unnecessarily and could be done without. Still, this is a minor quibble.
So, no matter how many Christmas Carols may have been in your past, if you’re looking for something to do in the present, hie thee to Loyola’s Marquette Theater for this new version. In the future, you’ll be happy you did.
[For more information and tickets, go to https://www.crescentcitystage.com/]
New in New York
Currently, in NYC’s theaters and museums, there are numerous examples of the sacred and profane.
On Broadway, at the newly renovated Palace Theatre, by the middle of the second act of Tammy Faye, I had a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.
That is not meant as criticism or complaint, but rather to convey how effective bookwriter James Graham is in dramatizing the rise of the Christian right during the Reagan era. That I was seeing the show a few days before the Presidential election only heightened how far that movement has come in the last 40+ years.
If Jimmy Swaggart, Pat Robertson and, especially, Jerry Falwell, as well as other such conniving sharks, turn up along the way, the focus is on Tammy Faye Bakker and her husband Jim as we see them transform from puppet-using itinerant preachers to hosts of one of the first and largest televangical networks, PTL (Praise The Lord, natch). While I was familiar with the Bakkers, I had seen neither the recent documentary nor fictional film about them, and so this was an interesting refresher course on them for me.
By now, it’s no secret that Tammy Faye will be closing on December 8. It’s a shame as Jake (Scissor Sisters) Shears has provided smart, witty lyrics. Graham’s script describes, in an entertaining but almost scary way, the Bakkers’ wild ride and how revolutionary they and the PTL Network were at the time. Throughout the musical, moments of high camp intertwine with scenes of utter seriousness. Classic themes of some people’s lust for power and the gullibility of others ebb and flow throughout the show.
Director Rupert Goold creates an almost vaudeville-like atmosphere, well-suited to the shenanigans at hand. Lynne Page’s choreography resists being merely a slavish imitation of 1980s dance moves to offer something more impressionistic and imaginative. Scenic Designer Bunny Christie contributes great visuals.
As Katie Brayben’s Tammy Faye fights for her place in the male-dominated world of evangelicals, we come to realize that she’s much smarter than she may seem. Brayben sings and acts her heart out, and we come to empathize and feel sorry for her…but only up to a point as we watch Tammy Faye contribute to her own downfall.
Christian Borle’s Jim Bakker may be a bit of a doofus but he’s not a bad guy. Still, like Tammy, it’s hard to entirely root for him as he stupidly falls into traps that Falwell & Co. lay for him in their maneuvering to take the Bakkers down. As Falwell, an old schooly, wizard of evil, Michael Cerveris so inhabits the character that he conjures up a soul coated with raw sewerage that, like Lady Macbeth’s blood-soaked hands, can never be washed clean.
Michael Cerveris and the cast of Tammy Faye (photo by Matthew Murphy)
You may have noticed I’ve not yet mentioned Elton John’s music; alas, it’s the only disappointing part of the show. His tunes, pop-country ballads and upbeat numbers, always feel right for this story and its times. I just wish they were more memorable, less generic; there’s not a single song you emerge from the theater humming. Perhaps it’s unfair, but I expect more from the composer of The Lion King, Billy Elliot, and countless pop hits.
If you’re a member of the PTL (“passionate theater lover”) Club, I would encourage you to see Tammy Faye before it shutters. I suspect you could probably get a ticket for less than what Falwell or Swaggart would expect you to drop in their collection plates. (https://tammyfayebway.com)
Another based-on-a-true-story show has just extended until December 29 so if you’re in the mood for silly bromantic fun, head to Asylum NYC on East 24th Street for Cellino V. Barnes.
Apparently, Cellino & Barnes was a law firm as ubiquitous in the New York area in the first two decades of this century as Dudley DeBosier is here; their ad jingle featuring their phone number (800-888-8888) caused ear worms and inspired viral challenges. Most New Yorkers approach this show knowing of the lawyers’ rise and fall.
I was not familiar with Cellino & Barnes or their jingle but still enjoyed Cellino V. Barnes. Mike B. Breen & David Rafailedes’ 75-minute script shows how to tell a story without exposition or, rather, how to layer in the exposition in subtle ways. As it goes along, the plot spins merrily out of control according to its own logic; as crazy as this tale is, stranger things have happened as headlines seem to remind us daily.
Eric William Morris portrays Ross Cellino as brash, lazy, and with a huge ego substituting for brains; he also has daddy issues. Noah Weisberg’s Steve Barnes comes off as a little nebbishy at first but soon evolves into Chevy Chase-ish idiocy. How these two dunderheads made millions stretches credulity (tho one can assume some (a lot of?) dramatic license was taken by the playwrights).
Noah Weisberg and Eric William Morris in Cellino v. Barnes (photo by Marc J. Franklin)
Directors Wesley Taylor & Alex Wyse get every bit of the script’s broad humor out of it without allowing it to get stupidly so. If Cellino and Barnes’ falling apart is not quite as much fun as their coming together, I suppose that’s the nature of things. Perhaps wisely, the authors don’t end with the tragedy that befell Barnes (he and a niece were killed in the crash of a private airplane he was piloting), but the finale, while touching, does arrive somewhat abruptly.
Unlike the evangelicals of Tammy Faye, I can understand how Cellino and Barnes earned so much money. And at least their clients got something out of it. You may not get a hefty settlement from Cellino V. Barnes, but you’re likely to get lotsa laughs. (https://www.cellino-v-barnes.com)
If you’re more inclined to appreciate the sublime than the ridiculous, take a trip to The Metropolitan Museum for “Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300–1350″ (through Jan. 26) which examines the dawn of the Italian Renaissance and the role of Sienese artists in defining Western painting. In the decades leading up to the onset of the plague around 1350, Siena was the site of artistic innovation and phenomenal activity, and more than 100 paintings, sculptures, metalwork, and textiles demonstrate the talents that were concentrated in that area then.
That said, and as wonderful as these objects are, after a while, a certain sameness creeps in. I mean, how many “Madonna and Child”s or “Crucifixion”s can you see, all in the same style more or less?
“Man of Sorrows” (c. 1329-32) by Tino di Camaino (c. 1280- c. 1337)
Thus, for me, the most outstanding item was Tino di Camaino’s “Man of Sorrows” (c. 1329-32), a small marble carving that could fit in the palm of your hand; it might have served for personal devotion. The carving is nuanced and exquisite, the look on Christ’s face deeply affecting: I’ve never seen anything quite like it. (https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/siena-the-rise-of-painting-1300-1350)
And I had certainly never seen anything like “Mary Sully: Native Modern” (through Jan. 12) and no wonder–this is the first solo exhibition accorded to Sully (1896–1963), a reclusive Yankton Dakota artist who created what she called “personality prints”, abstract portraits, often of celebrities from popular culture, politics, & sports, arranged as vertical triptychs.
The first two works in the exhibit dealt more with tribal life and their wall plaques were kinda wordy; I was afraid the rest would be like that as well. As I continued, however, and encountered her “portraits” of Gertrude Stein, Jane Withers and Lunt & Fontanne, I was entranced. In them, the top panel refers, directly or symbolically, to the named personality; the middle panel is a more abstract representation using a combination of Modernist and Native geometric patterns; and the bottom panel, the smallest, features a simple design informed by Native aesthetics. There are, however, no hard & fast rules when it comes to Sully’s works.
For example, Babe Ruth’s portrait employs abstracted baseballs and diamonds; Fiorella La Guardia’s has floral imagery, a reference to his first name, which translates as “little flower”; and in Walter Winchell’s, sound waves radiate outward to represent his hugely popular radio show.
“Ziegfeld” (c. 1920s-40s) by Mary Sully (1896–1963)
My favorite was of the Broadway impresario Florenz Ziegfeld in which radiating circles of women’s faces, reminiscent of a Busby Berkeley cinematic musical number, are framed by a star and flanked by stage curtains with the balding heads of male audience members along the bottom of the panel. The middle section is filled with stars and more heads of audience members but now they seem to be younger with full heads of hair.
The wall plaques throughout the exhibit offer valuable information about the works so you can decode them. You may not want to leave this relatively small exhibit and just spend time surrounded by these fabulous, unusual creations. The good news is that, for better or worse, unlike some of the Met’s blockbuster exhibits, you’re likely to have the Sully galleries almost to yourself, the better to delight in their multitudinous layers of imagery.(https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/mary-sully-native-modern)
Another fascinating woman’s legacy can be found at the Morgan Library & Museum in the exhibition “Belle da Costa Greene: A Librarian’s Legacy” (through May 4). Greene (1879–1950), an authority on illuminated manuscripts, was the daughter of the first Black graduate of Harvard College; after her parents separated in the 1890s, the family began to pass as white.
J. Pierpont Morgan hired her as his personal librarian in 1905. After Morgan’s death in 1913, Greene continued as the librarian of his son and heir, J.P. Morgan Jr., who would transform his father’s Library into a public institution in 1924 when she became the first director of the Morgan Library, a position she held for twenty-four years until her retirement in 1948.
This fascinating exhibition traces Greene’s life, from her roots in a predominantly Black community in Washington, D.C., to the conclusion of her distinguished career while examining aspects of her education, private collecting, and dense social & professional networks, and uses a wide range of objects–from medieval manuscripts and rare printed books to archival records and portraits–to illustrate her roles as librarian, scholar, curator, and cultural executive.
There’s an interesting section about passing that features clips from two movies from the 1930s, including, Imitation of Life, that dealt with that subject. Among the many items displayed that Greene added to the Library, my favorite was a 1536 letter signed by Anne Boleyn to the dean of Exeter Cathedral that Greene acquired in 1936. Unlike Boleyn, Belle da Costa Greene seemingly never ever lost her head. (https://www.themorgan.org/exhibitions/belle-da-costa-greene)
Letter signed by Anne Boleyn to the dean of Exeter Cathedral (1536)
