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Filtering by Tag: Allison Arkell Stockman
Farrell Parker (center) is the best reason to see Constellation's The Wild Party. (AJ Guban)
A surfeit of arts coverage in last week's Washington City Paper means it took my reviews of Forum's Caryl Churchill experiment Love and Information and Constellation's Jazz Age musical The Wild Party 'til now to appear. They're in the paper this week.
For various critic-related, theater company-related, and publication-related reasons, my reviews of Studio Theatre's production of Caryl Churchill's anticolonial sex romp Cloud 9 and Constellation Theatre Company's new production of the Y2K-era Greg Kotis-Mark Hollman musical Urinetown have taken a long time to see print. But they're in this week's Washington City Paper, and online, too.
Roscoe Orman and Eddie Ray Jackson as Stephin Fetchit & Muhammad Ali in Fetch Clay, Make Man. (Round House)
My review of Round House Theatre's strong production of Will Power's Fetch Clay, Make Man, a play about the unlikely friendship of Muhammad Ali and Stephin Fetchit, is in today's Washington City Paper. I also review Constellation Theatre's update of a century-old Luigi Pirandello play, ABSOLUTELY! {perhaps}.
If you want to see if your eyes are fast enough to catch the "phantom punch" Ali used to put down Sonny Liston in the first round of their 1965 rematch -- the punch that serves as Fetch Clay's MacGuffin -- it's at about 7:20 in this video.
Matthew Schleigh, Megan Dominy, and Rena Cherry Brown in The Love of the Nightingale. (Stan Barouh)
“It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World,” is how James Brown and Betty Jean Newsome said it in 1966. (And Brown denied Newsome’s contributions to the song in court decades later, as if to prove the title correct.)
“Woman Is the Nigger of the World,” is how John Lennon and Yoko Ono said it in 1972.
“Every man has a choice to make: Commitment, or new pussy?” is how Chris Rock said it in 1996.
And The Love of the Nightingale is how Sophocles said it two-and-a-half millennia earlier, give or take, which got filtered through Ovid’s brain four centuries later, and then British playwright Timberlake Wertenbaker’s just eight years ago. In her astute update of the sad story of Philomele and Procne, Wertenbaker dares to have one of her characters, an innocent, ask what a myth is.
“The oblique image of an unwanted truth, reverberating through time,” comes the answer.
And the unwanted truth reverberating, hard, through The Love of the Nightingale is this: Men. Are. Dogs.
Woof.
My review of Constellation Theatre Company's The Love of the Nightingale -- the best thing I've seen from that group in its seven-year existence -- continues in today's Washington City Paper, available wherever finer alt-weeklies are given away for free.
