Blogging the Fringe

Wednesday 15 August 2007

THEATER REVIEW- Tara Flynn: Not Now

Tara Flynn is part of a rare breed of comedians. Her jokes, like her tone, are warm, friendly, are NOT MEAN-SPIRITED. The routine is conversational story-telling and draws liberally from her Irish background and family. The entire hour is shockingly devoid of cheap shots at sex, bathrooms, or how much she hates _________ (fill in the blank with blatantly offensive cultural icon).

Her stories evoked more amusement than belly-laughter and I was much more interested in her witty contrasts of the new and the old, rather than simple teary-eyed nostalgia for the past. I wanted to hear more about her experiences dating as a middle-aged woman, but that may have been more of my own curiosity for a one-woman rendition of coupling, than a true criticism of the show. She spent too much time meeting the audience and dissecting an early cracker commercial, but overall I left the show feeling as PB&J satisfied…not the most mature or complicated meal, but strangely comforting.


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The Jazz Bar

Last night we went to the The Jazz Bar on Chamber Street. The red lighting was appropriately swank, the crowd dapper (I played "I spy" for fedoras, vests, and a Spanish Nancy Sinatra). I was having a great time even before the joyful discovery of abandoned birthday cupcakes on the bar (complete with chocolate musical notes adorning their red-glazed keys).

We managed to hoard an impressive number of candles on our small table and Richard, the man behind me explained his brilliant idea of how to make a cat float,

"You know how cats always land on their feet?"

"Right?"

"And how buttered toast always lands the buttered side down?"

"Oookay..."

"Well, it's easy, see? You butter the cat on his back, attach a knife to his tail, and teach him to modify the amount of butter in order to raise or lower his position mid-air."

"That is insane."

"No. That is a great way to make him a butter hunter."

"What?"

"A better hunter."

"You said 'butter'"

"Oh."

We missed the main show of the Tony Monaco Organ Trio, but got to hear the Ohio native on his Hammond B3 in the late night jam session. Tony Monaco is a genius; the instrument wailed, moaned, and jazzed something beautiful underneath his skilled hands. Even more exciting was watching his face: mouth open, mustache dancing, skin beaming, eyes squint shut or open, winking and grinning like a kid-caught-in-the-candy-dish when he extended his solos for the pleased “ahey-yeah!” of the crowd.

Musicians are blessed with the ability to speak in universal languages no matter where they go, and the open jam featured among others Italian Giuseppe on the guitar, Scottish Alan on the slide-trombone, another American, Willy, on vocals…an entire UN convention of jazz. “You understand me man!” Willy nodded, smiling across all his 32, at Tony.


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THEATER REVIEW- Man Across the Way


Man Across the Way is a tense drama about two police officers conducting surveillance of the nameless “man across the way.” When Fraser’s wife is hospitalized after a London bus is bombed, he becomes inexplicably convinced that the man they have been watching is responsible---and subsequently both he and his partner decide to take matters into their own hands. The most frightening character in the play is this partner, Dougie, whose own violent tendencies are rationalized as a do-gooder’s-puppy-like effort to rid the world of evil. His willingness to not question the man’s guilt evokes the haunting echo of the pawn’s complicity “ours is not to wonder why.”

Though the script is excellently acted and staged by the four-person cast, it gives the impression of being incomplete. The strained relationship between husband and wife lends a good balance to the surveillance scenes and is cleverly connected by a line about staring at something until it disappears, but is unfortunately never extended. While the man-across-the-way is an understandably one-dimensional character (what do we really know about those we watch at a distance?), it is Fraser himself who is an inexcusable emotional blackbox (his wife puts up with it, the audience should not be similarly treated). I understand the stylistic choices to be sparse, but the holes in rising action were products of underwritten intentions and desires.


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