Roman Coppola: Directors Cut (VIDEO)

May 2, 2014, 3:46 am

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In a list of the worst things you could possibly wake up next to in the morning, a severed horse's head would probably feature highly.

Roman Coppola's memory of one of the most well-known scenes in movie history is vivid. Unsurprising given he was in the room during the filming of the rude awakening. He and his sister Sophia accompanied their director father, Ford Coppola, on the set of The Godfather (1972) until it wrapped, each walking away from the experience having played their own tiny cameo roles in the film.

The Godfather went on to win three Oscars, including best picture. With such pedigree, it seems only natural that both Coppola and his sister have forged successful careers in film.



Coppola made a conscious choice to venture down a slightly different path to his family -- his early work was predominantly music videos. According to Coppola, this is where his eyes were opened as the music industry allows a film director much more creative freedom than the corporate clamps of Hollywood's movie business.



Of course, Coppola freely admits that you can't flex your creative muscles and get your own way on every project. Although he is renowned for his work in commercials, and generally within the advertising sphere, sometimes despite being a respected name in the business, what a client wants, a client must get -- even if it compromises your license for creativity.



Experiences, such as the one with Coca-Cola, inspired him to set up The Director's Bureau. Coppola, who also writes and has produced films for the likes of Wes Anderson and Walter Salles, wanted to establish a platform for film directors who are also interested in other creative outlets that can be incoporated into their work in film.



Of course every creative person has to accept that their ideas, once out, are vulnerable and open to judgement. The critics can be brutal, Coppola's first feature film CQ opened to a barrage of negative feedback. So how does the director cope with this side of the business?



Despite the critics, the clients and the corporate restraints that are rife in the movie business, Coppola's passion for his craft remains resolute. His father may have introduced him to the world of film, but it takes more than an initial spark to keep the fire burning.



Text by Leila De Vito for Crane.tv

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April Gornik: Recent Paintings and Drawings at Danese/Corey

May 2, 2014, 8:33 am

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The paintings and drawings on view in April Gornik's current show at Danese/Corey -- roiling seas, active skies, and serenely lit forests -- come across as truthful. Gornik believes that "truth should involve complication" and the apparent beauty of her paintings is heightened by the artist's awareness of the circumstances and forces surrounding them.

Just as John Constable's paintings of the English countryside hinted that the Industrial Revolution was bringing change to the landscape, Gornik's world is permeated by her wistful recognition of environmental forces. She loves the scenery she paints and her work doesn't have the requisite ironic distance of true postmodernism: Gornik is too much in touch with the way she feels about the landscape, and in its spiritual potential, to let a cerebral approach dominate.

I recently interviewed April and asked her about her work, her methods and her personal concerns and interests.

John Seed Interviews April Gornik:



April Gornik: Photo by Ralph Gibson

Tell me a bit about your early life and education. When did you know that you were an artist?

I was raised by my well-read but stay-at-home mom and my jazz trombone-playing tax accountant dad in a suburb on the east side of Cleveland. I have a younger brother who is seven years my junior. I went to parochial schools, first attended the Cleveland Institute of Art and then transferred to the Nova Scotia College of Art & Design for my BFA.

My first realization of my commitment to art was when a guidance counselor I had for my senior year of high school said she couldn't fit my art class in that year's curriculum and I insisted pretty aggressively that it was my most important class because I was going to be an artist, so she had to make room for it, which surprised me as much as it did her. I did take that art class.



Light After the Storm, 2012, oil on linen, 78 x 104 inches


For more than 30 years you have consistently created beautiful images of the landscape and defied a cultural tendency towards being ironic. How did you find the guts to do that?

I have to mention that I was lauded at first for making ironic paintings referencing the history of landscape painting, and I just kept my mouth shut. Eventually people's inherent need for meaning and being moved took over, I guess, and I've been generally accepted as an eccentric. I don't think it's guts, it's some kind of necessity in myself.



Snowfall, 2014, oil on linen, 72 x 108 inches


Tell me about your working methods and places. Do you work outdoors, in the studio, or both?

I work only in the studio. I get completely overwhelmed when I try to work directly from nature. An image usually strikes me because it has an eerie familiarity, like something I already know or feel deeply. Then the trick is to get the scale right, so I typically order a canvas or cut paper after I've worked the image out compositionally for the scale I imagine will suit it.

Composition is where my work gets its power, and the work gets reordered all along the process of its making, from the initial sketch -- which is usually worked out in Photoshop -- to the drawing on the canvas or paper, to the actual painting or drawing, all of which have lives of their own and changes and adjustments -- sometimes radical -- that necessarily occur.



Radiant Light, 2013, oil on linen, 78 x 90 inches

I know from social media that you have some personal interests in environmental and social issues. Tell me about some of the causes that interest you.

Oh man: I have a lot of causes. I'm very concerned about climate change and preserving wilderness. I was asked long ago if my work were meant to be "ecological," and I always said "no," since it comes from a more inner, psychological place and I don't feel political about it, but now frankly if it inspires people to in some way care about the world and what a mess we've made of it, I'm thrilled.

I'm a big animal rights person. I think factory farming is one of the greatest examples of mass sociopathology ever. The ocean is a mess. Need I go on? I'm proud to be a treehugger. And I am very involved in local organizations out in Sag Harbor where I've been living. It's easy to go nuts if you try to actually take on the global scope of all these problems.



Storm, Rain, Light, 2013, oil on linen, 68 x 72 inches


On your website you present some thoughts about "Visual Literacy" and lament the fact that we are "bombarded" with images. Can you say a few things about how you became interested in this predicament, and how you are pushing back against it?

I'm not against the fact that we're bombarded with images, it's just a fact. I prefer it to being starved for them, but I worry about people not being able to experience the physicality of art because of it, and that's really the way that art works. There's nothing like a painting, in its scale and physicality, to connect to another person through the hand, decisions, and imagination expressed there by the artist.

Paintings to me are machines that generate emotion, thought, and real experience through what's been embedded there by the artist. If a person is inured to that from image overkill, they'll just see a painting as an image and not go into the hand within the work. It's a loss I'm trying to push against.

I think people need to be taught how to look at art just like they need to learn to read literature. And the best way by far to ensure that is if a person has had art classes and understands the mind-hand connection that way.

Tell me a bit about one or two of the works on view at Danese...

Well let's look at two tree works.

One of the paintings is called Green Shade, which is a reference to that great Andrew Marvell poem. It was an image I came up with by collaging, in Photoshop, various photos I had of the woods out back behind our house. I wanted to do a painting that had a kind of midsummer feeling, ripe and full but with a certain amount of stirring in the leaves & the light. I wanted dappled light, which turned out to be pretty daunting to paint, and I wanted an almost vertiginous sense of entry into the painting, so there's a kind of tipping of some of the trunks of the trees, the ground, etc.



Green Shade, 2012, oil on linen, 72 x 108 inches


I start with a sketch, then work it out compositionally, then get the canvas -- and in this case I'd done another painting that was fall-like for my last show and have the intention to eventually make four seasons with the canvases the same size: 6 x 9 feet. Then I draw out the painting from the sketch, marking particular points from the sketch which are proportionate to the canvas exactly -- like where the fattest tree meets the top -- but then drawing in most of it freehand, then underpainting with colors that will I hope give some dimensionality to the top surface colors. I need to actually have a dimensional plane on the surface to work from: you can see that pretty clearly in the other paintings as well; vestiges of the underpainting coming through in spots.

Then comes a loooong time of just painting away, and watching the painting move in a direction I hadn't anticipated, which almost always happens, adjusting for that, adding and subtracting whole areas, etc. This is finally followed by the long dance to the end of the painting where at that point it looks like a painting should fundamentally, but isn't good enough. So that entails endless small adjustments and occasionally major changes. In the case of Green Shade the streaky lights and shadows of the forest floor were endlessly reworked. The color of the trunks of the trees kept changing: and then there's a point at which the painting just kind of closed up and was finished, and I couldn't get back into it.



Light Falling Through Trees, 2014, charcoal on paper, 36.25 x 50 inches

I approach the drawings the same way, with a sketch, and again make adjustments as I work. Light Falling Through Trees made the most radical shift from the Photoshop sketch I started with, as I opened up that sketch enormously in the drawing, taking out trees, changing the weight of the shadows, etc. In the case of the drawings I can't underpaint of course, but I do start with a lighter, harder charcoal and then work up to a much blacker one to activate the light that's inherent in the paper.



Water World, 2013, oil on linen, 78 x 70 inches


What are the emotions you hope people will feel standing in front of your paintings?

I like to think of the paintings as having the potential to generate different emotions in different people. I hope I build them well enough to do that, so that someone might feel a soaring, happy feeling looking at, say, Radiant Light and someone else might feel a kind of vertigo and uneasiness at the way it shifts in front of you. Landscape for me is a complicated attempt to locate myself in the world spiritually and emotionally and there's never one single feeling I have looking at something that feels true -- as opposed to real -- although many people just see that they're "realistic."

Truth should involve complication.

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April Gornik Recent Paintings and Drawings
April 25 - May 31, 2014
Danese/Corey
511 West 22 Street
New York, NY 10011

Note: A new book, April Gornik: Drawings is being released this month by FigureGround Press and distributed by D.A.P. The book includes essays by Steve Martin and Archie Rand, an interview conducted by Lawrence Weschler, and a composition for piano and cello by Bruce Wolosoff. A book signing will be held at Danese/Corey on May 29 from 5 to 7 p.m.

The catalog for Recent Paintings and Drawings can be purchased on blurb.com (see below):

April Gornik by Danese Corey |

James Chance: A Super Bad Fellow With Swagger

May 2, 2014, 9:02 am

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You won't ever find James Chance out of his suit, neckwear or pompadour. And what may read a bit antsy on the outside is the opposite on the inside, for James is focused within the realm of his radical energy. Attracted to film noir, James is as retro as any movie from the 30s and 40s. But Chance was and is progressive. He has been around the block a few times, starting his musical career in the early 70s playing free-style jazz, and then moving on to Ethiopian jazz, funk, punk, disco, but James always did his music differently. While most musicians concentrated on building up chords, Chance was known to construct and interlock melodies.

Originally from Milwaukee then settling in New York City, he was known to have his thumbs in two pies: the black soul of jazz/funk and the white soul of rock/punk. But more importantly, James was not in need of an audience to like his music so long as they reacted to it. Earlier in his career, passive audiences would make him mad enough to start a fight with whoever listened flaccidly.

James Brown's "Super Bad" was a blueprint for Chance's music. And like the Godfather of Soul, Chance believes when musicians walk onto the stage they should be dressed to perform, look sharp and be theatrical: hence the suit, tie and hairdo. Just as important for him, is reaching the highest level of musicianship. And although he is an untrained singer, his awesome sax and stage presence places him amongst the finest.

It all began at his Catholic school when the nuns taught him piano. Next, a man from a local record store taught him a few jazz standards. Chance always liked music created before 1975 and the snake charming Ethiopian jazz percussions of 1972. He was sure that he never wanted to play music in a normal cocktail way, and this is why he arranged his compositions through melodies and not chord progressions.

But, he found most of the punk bands of the 70s a little too normal for his liking, their sound just wasn't radical enough. In fact, he was a key figure in the No Wave movement, appearing on Brian Eno's compilation No New York, who believed that musicians should be held to high standards while they entertained: technique before vision. Ironically, he didn't want to hate disco although he thought it was bleached-out. Appreciating the hypnotic affect disco had on the audience and to embrace the genre, he slowed down his pace and added more percussion.

Chance was off the scene for the first part of the 1990s. The departure was mostly due to his discomfort playing under so many different names and sounds. To name a few, there was The Contortions, James White & The Blacks, The Flaming Demonics, Teenage Jesus & The Jerks, all reflecting different soundscapes. When he returned he was just James Chance, who has been greatly influenced by James Brown's rhythms and Thelonious Monk's melodies.

Recently, Chance has signed with Tomás Doncker's True Groove label and to celebrate this union a cover of James Brown's "I Don't Want Nobody" has been released. And at a ripe age, he still has that uncompromising energy in him, appearing on stage with his suit, formal neckwear, pompadour and swagger as he soulfully grooves without limitations.

James Chance & The True Groove All Stars Live At Cutting Room, NYC 2014

Our Night Watch: Liberal Education, the Humanities, and Earnings

May 2, 2014, 9:05 am

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Co-authored with Molly Nesbit, Professor of Art and Chair of Art, Vassar College

The Obama administration's proposal to include some measure of graduates' earnings in a rating of higher education has ignited a heated debate about the purpose of an education, and in particular the value of a liberal education.

The two extreme positions on the purpose of a liberal education that have been articulated miss a common middle ground that many would support. At one extreme, education is seen as a financial investment, larger than almost any other a family will make, and as such must earn a positive return in terms of increased earnings to justify it, and the bigger the better. Some of the earnings anxiety surrounding higher education arises from concerns about the growth of student debt burdens. The College Board, however, reports the average total loan burden for those who borrow is $26,500 ($15,800 for all graduates), and the higher expected earnings from a B.A. more than justify this investment. At the other extreme, education has nothing to do with getting a job, but is only about learning to think and being prepared to lead a life of meaning and inquiry.

Neither of these positions is defensible. Let's start with the easier one: Earnings and a job don't matter. This is of course silly, unless you are of some order or community committed to a life of poverty, or independently wealthy. In our society, basic needs such as food, shelter, clothing, and health care are not necessarily guaranteed, despite a significant social safety net. No one should suggest that these things do not matter to people's well-being.

This doesn't mean that our well-being always improves as our earnings go up, or that the value of an education can be measured only by money. While earnings matter, they are not everything or even most important. One of the real benefits of higher education is its rich curriculum: It gives one options to find the human reward in one's chosen path, in work that brings satisfaction and self-worth. A former colleague, Professor Henry Bruton, one of the first development economists and one of the first to focus on the importance of work to well-being, criticized fellow economists for how they talked about work as purely a means to an end (either buying goods and services or leisure). He instead argued that it was the source of well-being, and that a major role of government was to help create the conditions in society that let people find satisfying life work.

A major in art history has, somewhat ironically or simplistically, become the "poster child" for both sides of this debate. President Obama's comments and subsequent apology about the value of an art history major, plus his recent statements on Crimea -- staged in the Rijksmuseum with Rembrandt's The Night Watch in the background -- are examples. The ownership of art has become a flashy sign of power, understood as financial success; at the same time, art's masterpieces and geniuses mark the very pinnacle of creativity and human achievement.

Art history has long been a point of contact between many fields: social and political history, linguistics, literary theory, ancient and modern languages, sociology, anthropology, philosophy, religion, biology, chemistry, economics and physics. The student of art history can take these subjects in many directions and toward many career paths, intellectual and commercial. But this kind of knowledge is actually that which is pursued by all the humanities, by the study of literature, music, philosophy, history and religion. It is the kind of knowledge that a college education seeks to integrate into ways of thinking that will bring, in a word, progress. The wealth of knowledge that one sees in art history is the very definition of the benefits that come with a degree in the liberal arts.

If none of a school's graduates can find jobs in the fields that they hope to pursue, students and families deserve to know that before making a decision about where to go to college. The data need to be detailed enough not to be misleading, including clarifying at what point in a person's career you are measuring earnings; how allowances for time at graduate school and a variety of career choices are made; how family choices about such things as child-rearing are accounted for, etc. Also, we have to be careful not to suggest that earnings, just because we can measure and report them, are all that matters, because not many of us believe that to be true.

We need to be more measured, not less, as we take stock of the current debates over the use of an education. And let us test our conclusions and perspectives as we proceed. Let us develop pictures that bring vision. As an example of the benefits of continual inquiry, "The Night Watch," we have recently learned, was mistitled. It actually shows the militia company of Captain Frans Banninck Cock getting ready, one by one, to march into the day.

Going forward, we will always need graduates who can think broadly and creatively. We will need standards of measurement that can account for all the returns of an education. Dollars count, yes, but education also has contributed many other tangibles and intangibles to human progress and well-being. We will need to support those kinds of achievements in the future.

WATCH: Mind-Blowing Images Show What's Right In Front Of You Each Day... But You Never See

May 2, 2014, 9:09 am

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Life goes by too fast. Or is it actually too slow? Filmmaker Louie Schwartzberg uses time-lapse technology to show us unseen dimensions of life as we know it, from ocean currents to dragonfly wings. You'll never look at the world the same way again.

We want to know what you think. Join the discussion by posting a comment below or tweeting #TEDWeekends. Interested in blogging for a future edition of TED Weekends? Email us at tedweekends@huffingtonpost.com.

Hidden Wonders: What Nature Teaches Us About Ourselves

May 2, 2014, 9:20 am

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Click here to watch the TEDTalk that inspired this post.

Few among us do not find awe and wonder in nature's magnificence and complexity. But in spite of that commonality among folks from all walks of life, an important divide quickly reveals itself when we seek to interpret the significance of nature's many miracles. Some see causality, believing that only an invisible controlling agent could explain such wonders. Others see randomness, with no direction, purpose or meaning.

In the face of nature we reveal to ourselves two very different world views, one with god, one without. Perhaps this grand divide is a consequence of humanity's insignificance as we orbit in the enormity of space on our tiny "pale blue dot." How so? Humans can see only a small fraction of the natural world both grand and microscopic. The limitless cosmos is almost entirely beyond the reach of our narrow vision. Even if we could somehow see all of the visible universe, we would still miss the 94% hidden from us as dark matter. We cannot see atoms, DNA or viruses. We miss the colorful world seen through the filter of ultraviolet light. Unassisted by technology, the five senses with which human beings are endowed are woefully inadequate to the task of seeing anything but the smallest fraction of reality. But we have evolved a cruel paradox; our brains can imagine an infinite world far beyond the severe limits of our senses. This combination of endless thought constrained by the restricted reach of perception is fertile ground for fantasy and easy explanation for that we cannot see or readily understand.

Philosopher David Hume noted long ago: "We hang in perpetual suspense between life and death, health and sickness, plenty and want; which are distributed amongst the human species by secret and unknown causes, whose operation is oft unexpected, and always unaccountable. These unknown causes, then, become the constant object of our hope and fear."

Hume suggests that the first ideas of religion likely derive from mundane concerns for the events of everyday life and how the vast unknown of nature affected daily existence. The human brain is extraordinarily adept at posing questions, but simply abhors the concept of leaving any unanswered. We are unable to accept "I don't know," so when the miracles of nature remain mysterious, we fabricate explanations for that which we cannot grasp. In a world largely opaque to our senses, almost entirely veiled by our limited reach, we develop elaborate creation myths, sun gods, rain gods, war gods, and gods of the ocean. To allay fears of disease, death, starvation, cold, injury and pain, we solicit the aid of greater powers. We communicate with our gods and influence their behavior to impose some order on the chaotic mysteries of the hidden world. By making up answers to dull the sting of ignorance and limitation of our senses, we fool ourselves into thinking we explain the world. Hope and fear combine powerfully in a frightening world of unknowns to stimulate comforting fantasies and myths about nature's plans. Religion was our first attempt at physics and astronomy.

Which brings us to a second paradox. With advances in science and technology, we peer ever deeper into the secret world of nature; yet the more we know the better we understand how limited is our ability to lift the curtain on nature's hidden miracles. Greater knowledge leads to a grander sense of the vastness of the unknown. But instead of despair we embrace a mounting optimism that what we do not know now we might in the future, with no appeal to any divine oversight. But, but... religion robustly endures. Why?

Probably because we have a short evolutionary history, which has endowed us with a large brain that for most of our existence struggled with the mysteries of a hidden world we are only now beginning to glimpse with the application of reason rather than faith. We are early in our journey to accommodate the uncomfortable reality that we know that we don't know much, but know enough that we should not create myths to fill in the gaps. As those gaps diminish with growing insights into the hidden world we simultaneously become more comfortable with what we still cannot yet see. Becoming comfortable with the unknown is a process, and we are not done. Religion hangs on as a transitional state between a primitive mind seeking to explain the mysterious and a more enlightened insight that nature's grandeur is even more awesome in the absence of any guiding hand. Carl Sagan said in 1994, "A religion old or new, that stressed the magnificence of the universe as revealed by modern science, might be able to draw forth reserves of reverence and awe hardly tapped by the conventional faiths. Sooner or later, such a religion will emerge." Sagan contemplated the idea of religion replaced eventually by a deep awe of the natural world revealed through processes guided by nothing but beautiful undirected randomness. Certainly, such a future is by no means ensured because religion holds a mighty and tenacious grip on the human psyche. How this battle between faith and reason eventually plays out depends much on our endless quest to witness nature's many hidden miracles.

We want to know what you think. Join the discussion by posting a comment below or tweeting #TEDWeekends. Interested in blogging for a future edition of TED Weekends? Email us at tedweekends@huffingtonpost.com.

Dreams of Calatrava Fading Into the Distance

May 2, 2014, 9:38 am

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When I was doing some consulting work for a Finnish Audio Company, my Finnish partner needed an office to set up shop on the cheap. He ended up renting a cubicle in a large converted loft in the industrial part of West Berkeley. The office was mostly occupied by architects and oddball professionals. There was one receptionist that served the entire loft taking messages, making appointments, and doing some rudimentary paperwork. She turned out to be an acquaintance of mine through a friend.

One day I was there to meet my partner for an appointment, and he was late. I ended up chatting with the receptionist while browsing through some architecture magazines. One cover in particular stopped me dead in my tracks: there was a very eye-catching, audaciously designed, ultra-modern with a hint of deco, Saarinen inspired photo of a building that looked somewhat avian in form. The building was reminiscent of a Brancusi sculpture done in a very avant-garde style, and fashioned from panes of glass glommed on a steel skeleton. The effect was geometrically exquisite, ultra-modern, and quite sublime.

I quickly rifled through the pages to find the cover article: it was a feature on the newly designed Lyon-Saint Exupery terminal in Lyon France by (none other than) Santiago Calatrava. The detail of the interior was just as impressive, with dizzying array of beams laid out geometrically with clean lines that had just the right amount of organic form to render the design modern without being angularly brusque. The spaces encapsulated by the interior had a linear expansiveness that seemed to fade into the distance rather elegantly. His arrangements of the beams that continued into the ceilings in a stylized letter C-form reminded me of piscine skeletons. The manifold beams merging on a single point were reminiscent of his other famous countryman: Gaudi -- a trait best demonstrated in his design of "Gare do Oriente' in Lisbon or 'Allen Lambert Galleria' in Toronto.

Upon observing my enthusiasm, the receptionist told me that I could keep the magazine as it was an old issue. I was overjoyed, and I was eager to learn more about this amazing Spanish born architect. After I looked into his work, I came to find out he was already well known in Europe: he had done more than a few buildings and designs in Zurich, Switzerland: his firms headquarter at the time. I began to follow Calatrava's career and became an avid fan of his work.

During a café outing, I was perusing the Oakland Tribune and Calatrava was in the news: I read the article eagerly. According to the article, the Cathedral of 'Christ The Light' had been looking for space to build their new congregation (the old building was condemned after Loma Prieta quake) and they had settled on a place right next to Lake Merritt near the Kaiser building. The diocese had commissioned designs for the new cathedral from several architectural firms and Calatrava's firm was one of them. The Cathedral officials had supposedly related that the winning design will be built.

I followed this story from the Tribune with restrained excitement. I finally did visit Calatrava's website and much to my astonishment discovered that he had already designed a bridge (of all the wayward places) in Redding California. I didn't get to visit this famed Sundial Bridge many years later. I thought that Lyon -- and by now several other buildings and bridges in the years that followed -- would have to wait, time and funds permitting.

Calatrava had a preliminary sketch of his proposed Oakland cathedral on his website, and it was absolutely beautiful. It was designed like a half elongated eggshell: the side elevation had intricate arced embellishments and details with just a hint of art nouveau. The top/steeple had ellipsoid tiered crests from which the spires rose in a very gothic fashion. There were dissimilar shaped rows of curved windows in the upper and mid region of the church which followed the arced ellipsoid shape of the building. The front had a partially opened clam shell and within it laid a smaller structure nestled like a pistachio nut. The whole designed harked back to a Fabergѐ-like egg cut in half. A good example of a similar building is the newly designed L'agora in Valencia Spain.

The specter of a Calatrava right in our backyard was making me giddy with excitement but it turned into piqued resentment when I read that Calatrava indeed won the design challenge but the diocese thought it was too expensive to put the design into practice. Upon hearing this, I was emotionally inconsolable. The thought of missing out on a beautiful building by a groundbreaking architect was incongruous to what I had seen of his work. I thought that the church and, the City of Oakland to some extent, were being short-sighted and were oblivious to the benefit the building would bring to the city that is always playing second fiddle to San Francisco.

A few years later feeling a little less dejected about the Cathedral, I heard that new eastern Bay Bridge span designs were being considered and one of the designs was submitted by my favorite. Once again my hopes were raised when I saw the design: it looked fabulously minimalist, clean, geometric, and iconic in true Calatrava fashion -- but again my hopes were dashed as the committee shelved his design due to cost and structure concerns.

Although he sharpened his architectural acumen designing train stations and bridges, he has expanded his repertoire at a staggering pace. Calatrava whips up a signature trifecta of style that is difficult to mimic and has posterity etched all over it. He is the Eero Saarinen and Oscar Niemeyer of our times, and those styles are manifest in his designs. But Calatrava goes further, his creations are not only ultra-modern but movable (Puente de la Mujer Argentina, Milwaukee Art Museum U.S.A, and Museum of Tomorrow Brazil), and sculpturesque all at once: Saarinen, Calder, and Brancusi all wrapped in one. This unique style is no accident -- it stems from his background in civil engineering, architecture, and sculpture. He draws from the rich heritage of his country's artistic and architectural past, but then he fuses it with palpable geometric forms, clean lines that can mimic ornateness, and the orderly sensibility of the modern.

The eventual built design of the Cathedral was by Skidmore, Owings and Merill, and it looked somewhat promising when it was just being built. But then I kept looking for that design tour de force and brio that sets a building apart, and it never materialized. In fact even after the building was finished it looked unfinished and left a lot to be desired. The interior was far more interesting. Whatever the inspiration was, the shape is insipid and a bit like a giant glass boulder that was squashed down and chiseled on two sides and tapered without much thought, with no detail anywhere within the glass but grids that hold the panes. The result is a conical cylinder that looks flattened and lopped off at the top with a notched slit for entrance and the pulpit -- unresolved spines that have been left exposed on the roof appear as if someone forgot to take down part of the scaffolding. I call it the giant tepee, and my wife refers to it as the rack of lamb building.

The new eastern span too appeared quite nice and yes, very functional. I have seen the new bridge more than twice: during the day and once when it was night time but I feel it has no new story to tell. While not quite the ugly duckling of Bay Area, with Golden Gate and Bay Bride (western span) nearby, it is by no means in the same league or iconic. It ended up costing more than twice its original budget and several years late: however there are still some troublesome flaws in its design.

I am still awed by Golden Gate Bridge every time I visit it, and from certain vantage points the Bay Bridge too can be beguiling, especially at dusk. Calatrava is not without his faults, and his detractors have faulted him for budget overruns and leaky designs. But given a chance, I will still pluck that perfect rose despite its thorny secret I wasn't aware of the very first time I tried to do so.

The first time I visited Redding was to grab a quick bite to eat en route to Shasta. But a few years back I went to stay there for few days: to pay homage to my beloved architect by walking on the Sundial Bridge several times, including the famed night walk: I wasn't the only one. Redding has put itself on the map by taking the big gamble: it too doubted spending the extra money for a fancy bridge and nearly shelved the plan. The city has seen its visitation increase by nearly forty percent since the bridge was opened!

When many cities are clamoring to get a Calatrava in their backyard, we here in the Bay Area, the high-tech hub of the world, home of the Transamerica, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Paramount, have already missed two chances. There are several cities in the U.S. that have seen the Valencian's vision and have taken to him.

We are very fortunate to witness one of the great architectural genius of our times gradually unfold his -- now ample -- portfolio of impressive and iconic creations all over the world, and he is not quite done yet. A city's skyline and buildings is its physiognomy, and without a characteristic feature, it is just another face in midst. Calatrava's creations have that transformative signature flair.

"To me the drawn language is a very revealing language: one can see in a few lines whether a man is really an architect": that is a quote from Eero Saarinen. That cover photograph back then rang true of this quote. I could instantly tell that there was something out of ordinary at work, and the lines that Calatrava had drawn within Lyon- Saint Exupery spoke a new language: a language rich with lyricism, grace, and stylistic vocabulary -- a language for the ages.

Dead Man Walking at Madison Opera

May 2, 2014, 11:32 am

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I was fortunate to see opening night of Madison Opera's too-brief run of Dead Man Walking. The next morning I posted this to my blog:

Go. You must see this opera. I never begin a review like this, but I can not lie. If you love emotionally devastating opera, go to Madison and see the second and final performance of Jake Heggie's Dead Man Walking on Sunday, April 27.

Well, the show has now closed, but I'm still reeling from it. Below is the remainder of my review:

The final walk to the death chamber Photo courtesy Madison Opera

The libretto is by Terrence McNally, based on Sister Helen Prejean's book about her experience as spiritual advisor to a man convicted of a gruesome murder. The work premiered at San Francisco Opera in 2000, and has had many successful productions in North America, Europe and Australia. It is unusual for a contemporary work, particularly one with such a sensitive subject, to become so popular. It's also unusual for the work to be successful in smaller cities such as Eugene, Tulsa, and Fort Worth. (Forth Worth Opera owns the production Madison presented.) Madison Opera is to be commended for presenting this work, and for the skillful marketing and ancillary programming campaign they have presented. I regret not being able to see any of the presentations leading up to Friday night's opening, and not being able to stay for the question and answer session after the show. (I had an early Saturday flight.)



Michael Mayes played convicted murderer Joseph De Rocher. Through his powerful performance, as well as the finely crafted libretto and score, our perception of Joseph transforms from monster to man tortured by rage and self contempt, and we feel sympathy for his suffering alongside the suffering of his victims and their families. Mr. Mayes has a beautiful instrument, which he used quite skillfully in acting the role vocally, just as skillfully as he used his huge stage presence in acting the role physically.

Daniela Mack and Michael Mayes Photo courtesy Madison Opera

Daniela Mack showed us Sister Helen's growth from a woman who isn't quite sure what she's gotten herself into to a strong and confident woman of faith. We see her initial fear of Joseph grow into both sympathy and strength, until she is able to both stand up to him and forgive him for his heinous deeds. Miss Mack has an impressive list of lyric mezzo-soprano credits and upcoming performances, and I'd love to see and hear her in any of those roles.



Susanne Mentzer's performance as Joseph's mother was heart-wrenching. Mrs. De Rocher is not an educated woman, and plainly not of the same socio-economic class as the families of the victims, but she eloquently speaks at her son's pardon hearing, wondering how his death can make anything right for anyone. She firmly wants to believe her son is not guilty, and will not listen to his apologies. And Ms. Mentzer sings the role with confidence and beauty.



Emotionally stunning scenes abound. The quintet of parents, beginning with the parents of the two murdered teenagers, then joined by Mrs. De Rocher, brings tears to the eyes in memory. Joseph's scene alone in his cell, when he is told a date has been set for his execution, is amazingly powerful. (The word powerful can not be overused in discussing Mr. Mayes as Joseph De Rocher.) The scene in which Joseph finally confesses the truth to Sister Helen took my breath away, as did the full ensemble scene singing The Lord's Prayer as he is walked to the death chamber, and his actual execution. I can write no more without sobbing.



The supporting cast is very large. I must single out Karen Slack as Sister Rose, Jeffrey Beruan (whom I've praised for his work at Caramoor) as the prison warden, Clay Hilley as the prison chaplain and Alan Dunbar as Owen Hart, father of the young girl who was murdered, for fine performances. The remaining supporting cast all deserve more praise than I have space or time to give. The choruses, both adult and children, performed with confidence and dexterity. Artistic Director John DeMain has conducted Dead Man Walking in other productions, and it showed in his shaping of the opera as a whole.



Visually, the show was stark and beautiful. Harry Frehner's sets and Marcus Dilliard's lighting effectively suggested the actual settings while also reminding one of the constant prison theme. Director Kristine McIntyre brought touching performances from major and supporting cast alike, and was very good at traffic control.



Once again, I say go. This is a must.

Prisoners on death row as Sister Helen is led to see Joseph Photo courtesy Madison Opera

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A Writer Gets a Residency

May 2, 2014, 12:04 pm

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I have passed the Point Way Inn, home of Noepe Center for Literary Arts and Martha's Vineyard Writers Residency, hundreds of times. My family vacationed on the Island for years, and now my daughter lives there, a full-time resident on the cusp of marrying a Vineyarder.

Familiarity aside, I was a total writers residency newbie, not at all sure what to expect from living in a place where writing seeps into every conversation, and stories are written in the nooks and crannies of every space. A poet laureate, a few novelists, a crime reporter, a playwright and two musical memoirists all sequestered and expected to share a home and meals for a few weeks like sleepover campers. Would I be able to focus on my writing while others inscribe to their own immersion, to the rhythm of different genres?

A kind of frozen fear hit me when I questioned how I could possibly work on my book with all the demonic electronic diversions threatening to sweep me into my "real" life of work and family.

Secretly, I wondered what I was doing in this grand inn, inhabited by equally distinguished writers. Over wine the first night, I voiced my concerns. One of the novelists said, "Focus on focusing on nothing. The writing will ebb and flow."

Sigh, I was never great at meditating, and I've rarely had a moment lately to pry open the hood wide enough to find out what's bubbling up. I'm a planner, a plotter. I like to know what to expect from the inner workings of a situation, anticipating an upward trajectory.

After that first doubt-filled day, a new plan emerged, focusing on nothing but what I came to do -- write my book. Miraculously, I fell into suit, becoming wildly productive. I was completely and utterly inspired, and writing to the point of skipping my morning shower, lunch, check-in calls with my husband, kids. I had never written like this before. At the end of each day, I tallied the word count. Remarkable progress. My best writing ever. I was giddy with the belief my book would find its way out of my head, out of my computer and into the hands of adoring readers.

A few days into the euphoric rise, as if to pace myself, I tiptoed into my work email. I rationalized the reward, like I rationalize shopping for shoes at Zappos, without need. This shifted me deep into a gaping rabbit hole. Lost in the hinterlands of Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Googling the other residents. Now I was cooked.

Facing hours of internet chatter and entirely distracted, I knew I needed a self-inflicted intervention. I had to protect those intensely blank moments that cleared my mind, allowing me to focus inward and sweep out procrastination to reclaim momentum.

Knowing that I could not scale back completely from technology -- for goodness sake, I can hardly write a sentence with a pen and paper anymore -- I put myself on a diet. Turning off the dings, rings and pings that make my technological heart hum, I coaxed my jumbled thoughts out of inertia and reigned them into coherent sentences, redirecting my attention to my book.

This spring delivered on its promises. It ushered in newness, growth, the gift of unfurling warmth and the replenishing of words, filling up the pages, reminding me of what writers do best: tell stories.

Photo used with permission Ben Scott

Here's Looking at You, Kids

May 2, 2014, 12:29 pm

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Even under the best of circumstances, creating an original musical is tough sledding. But the writers of children's musicals face a special artistic challenge: To build an audience, they need to mount a production that will entertain the under-14 set and, hopefully, the parents who brought them to the show.

That ingredient is hard to come by, which is all the more reason to cheer the opening of Samantha Spade, Ace Detective: The Case of the Maltball Falcon at New York City's Drama Desk Award-Winning Tada! Youth Theater in Manhattan.

Bring the kids, pack some Twizzlers and Brush up your Bogey for a new musical that celebrates Skittles, lampoons tween-teen angst and serves up a crash course in film noir trivia. Boosted by Tada's! immensely talented kids, writer Lisa Diana Shapiro and composer George Stitt have crafted an engaging, fast-paced show that will appeal to all ages.

Under the inventive direction of Joanna Greer, who also choreographed the action, Samantha Spade begins on what seems to be a familiar note: It's the last week at Merrilee Musical Theatre Camp, and kids are struggling to put on an original production.

The cast of characters includes Jen, a snarky diva, her eye-rolling retinue (Natasha, Latisha, Natanya and Lasagna), the boys who follow them around and a misunderstood girl named Samantha who everyone blames for their failure to write a good story. A key stage prop -- a falcon filled with maltballs -- is missing, and they blame her for that, too.

But then the show pivots unexpectedly: The summer camp tableau gives way to a Big City set, where Samantha -- traveling deep into her imagination -- turns into a tough-talking, trench coat-wearing private-eye, flanked by her kid sister, Angel.

In no time, we're pulled into the opening scene of a million late-night crime-boilers. Veronica Venus, a snazzy dame, struts into Spade's office spinning a tale of heartbreaking loss that, experience tells us, is a big fat lie. But just what is Venus hiding, why does Spade keep offering her Twizzlers ("No thanks," says Veronica, "I'm a Red Vine Kind of Gal") -- and how will the whodunit rapidly unfolding in Samantha's movie-mad mind bring us back safely to Camp Merrilee in the requisite 60 minutes?

Safe to say, the story ends happily. Call it The Maltese Falcon meets Mean Girls, and give Shapiro and Stitt credit for striking a near-perfect balance between kid-friendly action and high-end satire.

It doesn't hurt that Shapiro's wise-cracking script is packed with allusions to Humphrey Bogart's 1941 film, including characters known as Greenstreet and M--a play on actors Sydney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre in the original. In one of the best numbers, "Slinging the Slang," Spade gives her sister (and the audience) a rapid-fire guide to film noir lingo:

If you're feeling Okay
Then Everything's Jake
It's eggs in the coffee
Or a big piece of cake
If you're feeling Okay
Those are things you can say
You're a Whiz-Bang, Boomerang, One of the Gang
And Now You're Slingin' the Slang

Shapiro, a multi-talented screenwriter and playwright, captures the hardboiled rat-a-tat with flair. At one point Spade confesses: "I'm just an honest jane doing a day's work for a sawbuck and a plugged nickel." Elsewhere, the teen sleuth shrugs when asked why she's come to the scene of a crime and says: "I just keep turning up, like a bad penny." Shapiro showed a wonderfully inventive touch in an earlier Tada! musical, Princess Phooey, but she's broken new ground here with her story of a gumshoe girl and the stuff that dreams are made of.

None of this would work, of course, without music that grabs you, and Stitt delivers a first-rate score that sticks in the memory long after the curtain comes down -- which is more than you can say for a lot of Broadway musicals these days. An accomplished songwriter, teacher, arranger, musician, conductor and performer, Stitt needs no introduction to New York audiences: She's written award-winning shows and recorded three highly-praised CDs, with songs performed by a who's who of Broadway talent, including Kelli O'Hara, Kate Baldwin, Matthew Morrison, Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Cheyenne Jackson and others.

In Samantha Spade she uncorks several numbers that sound like instant classics -- vintage Broadway standards you've never heard. "Slingin' the Slang," "It's Gonna Be Great" and "Shaughnessy, Brady, Kenneally, O'Hurly and Tuck," a rollicking police send-up, are standouts in a show packed with great tunes. Married to Tony-winning lyricist and composer Jason Robert Brown, Stitt is a musical theatre phenom whose star is rising fast.

But let's not forget the kids. Tada's! Resident Youth Ensemble drives the show with high-energy performances by young performers, ages 9 to 17, and some of them clearly seem destined for bigger things. Led by Janine Nina Trevens, Executive and Artistic Director, Tada! has become one of the nation's most respected children's musical theater troupes -- and "Samantha Spade, Ace Detective" is a vivid example of the work it's been producing for 30 years.

But most important, this is the kind of show that might stoke kids' interest in musicals -- and leave them wanting more. To paraphrase a great man, it could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Twizzler, anyone?

Sam Spade, Ace Detective: The Case of the Maltball Falcon is playing through May 18 at the Tada! Youth Theatre -- 15 W. 28th Street in Manhattan.

Dear Mayor Bill de Blasio: Letter From an Urban Designer in Brooklyn

May 2, 2014, 12:46 pm

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This letter is currently on exhibit with 49 other letters to mayors across 20 cities at Storefront for Art & Architecture downtown.

Dear Mayor De Blasio:

Thank you. Thank you for being you. Thank you for talking about a grassroots approach to New York City governance.

Your time is precious, so I will be brief.

Your focus on affordable housing is inspiring. You boldly include public housing in your affordable housing plan ("Safe, Affordable Homes for All New Yorkers"). The ninth point of this plan states your commendable goal to "Make Our Public Housing the Pride of Our City." The two quick paragraphs that follow mention, however, as specifics, 1) removing mold and 2) hiring tenants to make safety repairs.

These are important matters, but these improvements are not quite getting to the level of the "Pride of Our City."

For New York City to be proud of something, it better be impressive. It better have style and a story behind it. It will likely be something the rest of the country does not yet have or cannot have. New York City is proud of the Yankees and Jay-Z, skyscrapers and Fashion Week, Basquiat and the Lower East Side, downtown dance, the United Nations, the Harlem Renaissance, the art market, 24-hour transit, Puerto Rico, Museum Mile and surfing the Rockaways in the summer. (Puerto Rico is not actually in New York City, but it is very close.) Snaking the drain and cleaning out mold are a great start, but that will never be enough.

How does it happen, then? How can New York City Housing Authority housing really become the Pride of Our City?

I trust that you are already working on this, so I will be brief. My proposal is in two parts. The first part is so obvious that I will skip over it rather quickly. The second part demands some nuanced consideration, as it may be overly ambitious.

1) Build new public housing with the most forward-thinking, innovative design firms in the country. (Hint, these firms are local.)

Launch international competitions or invited competitions, or expand the DDC Design and Construction Excellence program to include even more firms with an even wider range of experiences. Whatever you do, please do not use the large corporate firms that do so much New Urbanist work in Florida because, honestly, they make New York City look like Florida.

2) Retro-fit from the ground up.

This second part of my proposal would involve some changes to the structure of NYCHA property management.

Let us look with fresh eyes at one area in Brooklyn, not so different from other neighborhoods in its layout, but famous and heralded for its location, amenities, and gentrification: Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Please see the enclosed Figure 1 as a reference.



Looking at this map, or a map of many other neighborhoods in Brooklyn, one does not need a degree in planning to notice that public housing was used in the 20th century as a buffer between industrial zoning and private residential neighborhoods. Of course, with the transition from heavy and light industrial to digital production, Etsy, and commercial design offices, what used to be a buffer now sits on prime real estate. While, in the long-term, one might consider this poetic justice for what planners certainly intended as the short end of the stick, that will be the rare response. More frequent will be calls, such as the former Mayors', to build revenue generation into the housing, integrate retail and commercial activity, plug in some market rate housing -- i.e. a slippery slope to privatization.

This is what makes your approach so bold. Rather than apologizing for public housing, asking it to pay for its accidentally prime location, you say -- What we have is not enough.

The enclosed map focuses on Fort Greene, Brooklyn, and surrounding neighborhoods, showing Farragut Houses and Walt Whitman Houses along with Brooklyn Navy Yards, Fort Greene, DUMBO and adjacent neighborhoods, up to Brooklyn Bridge Park and the East River. In a simple way, this map considers New York City parks and New York City Housing Authority open spaces together as one system of public space. What if NYCHA's public spaces were open to the public?

This leads to part 2 a) of my proposal.

a) Tear down the awful black gates. Under the authority of NYCHA, get rid of the gates and the signs that say NYCHA residents only. Why are NYCHA's ground-level landscaped areas gated off like a giant suburban front yard? The rest of New York City is comfortable with privately-owned public space. NYCHA needlessly maintains gated communities.

b) Make the "park" part of NYCHA's 20th century "towers-in-a-park" typology actual Parks. Imagine if the open space around NYCHA towers were landscaped with as much consideration as Brooklyn Bridge Park or the Highline. Both are managed by New York City Parks Department. With the design vision and political will, it is possible, no?

c) Retro-fit the architecture without removing the tenants. This can be done, as well. La Tour Bois-le-Prêtre in Paris is one of many inspiring social housing retrofit projects. The tenants of La Tour Bois-le-Prêtre gained larger, daylight-filled living rooms and the neighborhood gained a better-looking tower, through pre-fabricated modules inserted from the exterior. There are many notable examples throughout Europe, Latin America, Singapore, and elsewhere. New York City needs to lead in the United States. No other city in the country has the density of social housing, the political commitment, or the plethora of urban design and architectural talent.

If it seems inappropriate or superficial to be talking about design when there are important safety and maintenance issues to consider, let me just emphasize in conclusion that these are not fluff issues. When NYCHA housing separates itself from the rest of the city physically and logistically, it isolates its residents and leaves itself politically prey to privatization land-grabs. As far as the significance of design and style in these considerations, let us not forget that Marcy House's most famous former resident founded a fashion label, along with a recording music empire. Through hip-hop, especially, New York City's housing projects have set style for millions, if not billions around the globe.

I hope your administration will be the first to do justice to that legacy, as well as the first to treat New York City public housing as worthy of design greatness. Make our public housing the pride of our city by building new housing projects with the most innovative design talent, converting existing NYCHA open spaces into 21st century urban parks, and retrofitting apartments with care for both existing residents and changing neighborhoods.


Sincerely,

V. Mitch McEwen
Partner, A(n) Office
Principal, McEwen Studio

European Travel: Seventeenth-Century Opera in Two European Cities

May 2, 2014, 1:44 pm

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So far in 2014, using the excellent Web resource OperaBase as a travel-planning tool, Jackie and I have built two European vacations around performances of operas by the seventeenth-century Venetian composer Francesco Cavalli (1602-1676), the first at the Bavarian State Opera in Munich and the second at the astonishing, spanking new Sam Wanamaker Playhouse at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre in London.

I still marvel at the fact that there are performances of two Cavalli operas in a single year. When I was studying music history, in the early 1970s, the composer was just being rediscovered; we found it enviable that a graduate student in our department -- Jane Glover, now a prominent conductor -- was in Italy poring over manuscript sources and researching his life and works. And around the same time, the conductor and harpsichordist Raymond Leppard was devising performing editions of a few of Cavalli's forty-odd operas, extrapolating from sometimes sketchy archival material. Scholars found these editions wanting, but they held the stage for some time.

Even in today's more authentic and interesting productions, seventeenth-century Italian/Venetian opera can be a hard sell: Where are the tunes amid all the recitative-like declamation? It is hard to credit, but the same question used occasionally to be asked about Verdi's 1893 masterpiece Falstaff, and the answer is identical: The tunes are everywhere. These works are chock full of melodies long and short, but the music often shifts seamlessly into and out of declamatory passages, springing from the logic of the words.

This means that the words are of crucial importance to full enjoyment. Happily, they're generally very good words, in turn funny, moving, poetic and down-to-earth, and one challenge facing opera companies is getting those words across. Munich and London exemplified two different approaches to this -- and yielded two different experiences for the opera-loving traveler.

The more exciting one was at London, thanks in considerable part to the venue. When the semi-outdoor Shakespeare's Globe was conceived, the plan also provided for a small indoor stage. Earlier this year, the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse -- based on mid-seventeenth-century precedents but not a copy of any particular theater -- opened, and among its first productions was a collaboration with the Royal Opera: Cavalli's l'Ormindo performed in English by a company of young singer-actors led by the conductor Christian Curnyn.

Just about every word of Christopher Cowell's elegant and witty translation was comprehensible thanks not only to the clarity of the singers' diction but also to the size and construction of the room: The two-tier candle-lit playhouse holds just 340 people, seated and standing (even fewer than the sort of theater for which the opera would have been written), and, within its brick outer walls, it is made mostly of oak -- green, not seasoned -- which in March still smelled exhilaratingly new as we entered. Every seat in the house is close enough to the performers to hear their every murmur; the small orchestra was in a gallery above the stage, and singer-instrumental balances were just about perfect.

The costumes, by Anja Vang Kragh, were of a piece with the Jacobean epoch of the theater rather than with the exotic locale of what the libretto is pleased to call ancient Mauritania Tingitana; Kaspar Holten's production, too, evoked that era in its use, but not over-use, of dance (choreographed by Signe Fabricius) and of visual symmetry -- also suggested by the pairs of lovers. But the use of every possible entrance and exit to the stage, including through the audience, not to mention the ceiling and floor, and the natural style of acting were very much of the present day.

Singing was uniformly beautiful; acting was uniformly true and free of operatic nonsense: even in broad comedy (of which there was plenty) no one crossed the line into vulgarity. It would be pointless to pick favorites; read their names on the cast list and look out for those names in the future.

Note that opera is not going to be the Playhouse's bread and butter; its cold-weather seasons will be dominated by plays, with a sprinkling of other performance pieces and concerts. In warm weather, at least for now, most plays will be given in the outdoor Globe, though the Playhouse will not be entirely idle. Clicking on its schedule would not be wasted effort.

The Munich production, of La Calisto, was of course in a typical medium-large theater (seating around 2,000), where hearing every word is probably an unattainable goal. It was sung in the original Italian and employed supertitles (German ones, so it helped that I'd familiarized myself with the libretto in advance). Calisto was a grand entertainment with a marvelous cast that included singers who by any measure -- not just that of the Baroque opera scene -- are major stars, notably Danielle de Niese in the title role of a nymph who is sworn to virginity and obsessively devoted to the goddess Diana -- and whom Jove manages to seduce by disguising himself as that same goddess. There's lots of timeless comedy here, some of it musical, with Jove (the excellent bass Luca Tittoto) disguising his voice as Diana's, sometimes in falsetto sometimes lip-syncing to the real Diana (mezzo-soprano Anna Bonitatibus, a long-time favorite of mine). David Alden's 2005 production was comical in a rather broad, shticky way and was great fun, though a more coherent concept might have given the performers more to latch on to in creating three-dimensional characters. This, plus a beautifully sung and interestingly staged performance of Wagner's The Flying Dutchman, were excellent excuses for a three-day side trip from London to Munich, where we ended up spending just about every daylight hour in the city's wonderful art museums.

And that is a fine thing about opera tourism: Even if the show disappoints (which it rarely does if you're at least minimally careful about what you book), it has brought you to a place you might not otherwise have chosen to visit. Next stop, later this month: Gothenburg, Sweden!

Stage Door: The Velocity of Autumn, Fluff

May 2, 2014, 2:36 pm

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It's great to watch an actress at the top of her game.

In the two-hander play The Velocity of Autumn at Broadway's Booth Theater, this chamber piece showcases the wonderful Estelle Parsons and Stephen Spinella as a contentious mother and son.

Parsons' Alexandra has barricaded herself inside a Brooklyn brownstone, fearful of being shipped off to a nursing home. As insurance, she's even threatened to blow it up. Like Lear on the heath, she rages against age, time and thoughtless children. Two of her three kids are eager to dislodge her from her pricey homestead. And she's not sure if they're just eager to contact the realtor, worried about her well being, or both.

An artist still passionate about beauty, she fiercely makes the case for independence. But the only one capable of hearing her pleas is rebel son Chris (Spinella), who long ago divorced himself from the family.

Now, at the end of her life -- and at a crossroads himself -- the two stage a final confrontation. The battles between children and parents are timeless, but what this intimate story captures so well is the disconnect between the two. Her more career-oriented kids can't hear her cries for self-sufficiency; she can't appreciate their concern. But the creative, wayward son, mired in his own familial issues, will act as a catalyst. Together, they must determine what constitutes an acceptable resolution.

To see Parsons, 86, struggle to rise, or raise her fist against the inequities of age, is to witness a masterful performance. And the skillful Spinella holds his own. Directed with sensitivity by Molly Smith, Eric Coble's play isn't deep, but straightforward. It understands the pain and perplexity our loved ones can evoke. Most telling is the overarching love of beauty -- which endures long after any domestic disappointment or failing health.

Conversely, on the kid front, the New Victory Theater is staging Fluff, the creation of Australian actress Christine Johnston. Her Gingham family is lovable and quirky. Johnston, a marvelous singer with a wacky beehive who can also vocalize an array of sounds, including bird calls, and Lisa O'Neill, a kooky dancer and silent partner, rescue lost, often handmade toys, like Humpty Dumpty, Floppy and Fluff. They are joined by Peter Nelson, who helms musical/multimedia duties.

In fact, the Ginghams embark on a worldwide mission. Once the toys are found, they are bathed in love, affection, even a comfy bed all their own, part of a colorful set of odd-shaped boxes. All the lost toys get a back-story and specific musical assignments, which can double as a memory game for younger children.

The funny, imaginative production offers interaction with the engaged kids. Fluff has a subtle morale -- everything needs care -- which should play well with parents. Yet it should reassure kids -- if you lose your toys, count on the Ginghams to find them.

Bringing Slavery Into the Heart of Jane Austen

May 2, 2014, 3:01 pm

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Getting a screenplay from page to screen can be a long process, and this is doubly so when the subject is so different. In 2004 I conceived a Jane Austenesque, costume-drama feature film with a black female lead that also addresses slavery. It was inspired by the painting above.

I was at university at St. Andrews when I first saw the painting. St. Andrews is a small university somewhat isolated in the cold Scottish countryside, and I saw very few other black people there. So imagine my surprise when, walking into one of the bedrooms of nearby Scone Palace, I encountered a stunning painting of a black girl, bright eyes looking out at me -- at least that's what I saw. The caption underneath said, "The Lady Elizabeth Murray." That's all.

To whoever wrote that caption, the very thing that had captivated me, this beautiful black woman, was invisible. I was a medical student at that time, and I tried to find out about her, but no information was available. The Internet was a newfangled invention! I encountered her again 10 years later, and this time I was ready to write her story. But that first encounter is to me a metaphor for why black people have to tell our own stories.

My friends the Murray Thrieplands live nearby at Fingask Castle and are friendly with the Mansfield family. Through them I met the present countess of Mansfield and gained access to the Scone Palace archives.

Research is a double-edged sword. You find out more about your subject, but you mustn't let it turn into a straitjacket. I found myself moved not just by the facts, extraordinary as they were (Dido and Elizabeth were beloved great nieces of the first earl of Mansfield and lived as sisters in his household), but by what they meant and what lay between them in the interstices of this story. And then I found the even-more-extraordinary fact that Lord Mansfield was making important judgments about slavery at the same time. At Scone I found Lord Mansfield, my pliant Dido and the rebellious Elizabeth in the notes in the margins of Lord Mansfield's law diaries and the household accounts. The story I found in myself. While based on a true character, Belle is necessarily a work of historical fiction.

From the outset, even though I was dealing with class and race and even slavery, I wanted to write a love story, not a hate story. I wanted to explore the complications of love. So the story's heart is Belle's love story at age 17. (The real Belle married at 32 after Lord Mansfield's death, and there's no evidence that John Davinier ever met him.)

For Belle this is a moment of flux, the Jane Austen moment when a girl discovers her position, her class, her worth in society and, in this case, her race. She's forced out of her childhood arcadia at Kenwood and into the outside world by the needs of love and marriage and has to grow from a child to a woman. We know almost nothing about the real Davinier, who, in real life, was probably a steward who maybe became a grocer. (Fortnum & Mason was founded this way.) But I wanted a more Byronic hero who would tie us to the Zong case. So I made him the catalyst for change as a newly returned vicar's son who is a fierce abolitionist.

From the start I avoided all the clichés, like the black character who earns the acceptance of the white characters through superhuman feats of generosity and saintlike goodness. We first encounter Dido at age 7, brought to Kenwood by her father. She and Lord Mansfield walk along the long gallery, looking at their joint ancestors. This is where she belongs. She is there by right. It is the white characters who have to deal with it. Every conventional scenario is turned on its head. Through Belle's relationship with Elizabeth, we explore the place of women in society, but here I made Belle an heiress and Elizabeth poor. (In reality Elizabeth was the heiress.)

I surrounded Belle with the funny, witty, wise women I love and write. Yet we never make light of Belle's social isolation. My research led me to many girls who had been adopted into very white environments, from poor Welsh mining families to a duke's household! All said exactly the same thing: The first moment they understood themselves to be black and normal was the first time another black person combed their hair! That scene was beautifully acted in a multilayered performance by the luminous Gugu Mbatha Raw. Several people have told me it made them cry!

What about Lord Mansfield? I knew from the start that it would be difficult to control him as a character. He is a big historical figure who has left a big footprint, so every care was taken not to let him overwhelm the story. The triangular love story was set almost from the first draft, but tying Lord Mansfield in really came through the Zong case. I was committed from the outset to framing the story around one of Mansfield's judgments. The most obvious was the Somersett case, as it is actually more historically significant. But in the end I chose the Zong case because it happens away from the action, and that was necessary to make it Belle's story. Lord Mansfield is considering taking Daviner on as a law pupil, and their relationship, as well as John's growing love for Belle, move us to the climax.

In 2004 I sent out written pitches and pitched in person a Jane Austenesque love story that allows us to explore the black British presence in a surprising way. It was very difficult because in those days everyone I met said that no one was interested in slavery. So I went on alone.

The job of crafting such an ambitious, complex screenplay -- finding the story, then creating the characters and writing the scenes that tell that story -- is necessarily a long one. I have woven a tale of many layers: class, race, gender, belonging and, in the end, the process of choices, editing to clarify its heart.

Every one of the characters goes on a journey of self-discovery. At the start each one is chained by society's rules, restricted from loving freely -- each other and themselves -- by convention and prejudice. Any society that does not have freedom at its heart is perverted, itself chained by that sin. The film's journey is romantic, passionate and true. That's especially true of Belle's. She lived and she died silent, and we have given her a voice. That painting will never be labeled "Lady Elizabeth Murray" again!

My script found a home first with Julie Goldstein (Shakespeare in Love) at HBO. When Julie left HBO, she took this beloved project with her. I then teamed up with producer Damian Jones, who finally acquired the project, including my screenplay, in 2009. We took it together to the BFI, which came on board at this point. Several directors were approached as I continued to work on the script. In August 2010, just after I left the project with ill health, Damian brought the director Amma Asante on board. The film based on my script was announced in the press as fully financed and ready to shoot just a year later, in 2011. It was shot in 2012.

Belle is an empowering black female character who goes from caring desperately about her worth in society to discovering and asserting her worth in herself. In this drawing-room drama about the life of this young girl, I rewrite the story of that momentous change in society. We were not freed as a favor. We demanded and took our freedom as a right. Like Belle.

Tribute to a Photographer Who Rocked Our World

May 2, 2014, 3:09 pm

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I co-authored a coffee table book with a friend last year and we just found out it won the 2014 Nautilus Award. The announcement came when I was in the middle of a chapter on a new WHY-TO Creativity book. I'm trying to remind people WHY it's important that they give voice to their creative spirit -- how it heals them, causes abundance in unforeseen ways, leads to better health and greater bliss. When I thought of my own creative heroes, Dorothea Lange came to mind, so I turned off the phone, locked the door to my studio, and spent 2 days making a video tribute to her.

Dorothea contracted polio as a child. She had a serious limp and a right heel that never touched the ground. Her father abandoned the family when she was 12 and she had to figure out how to make a go of things on her own. She started out with a portrait studio in San Francisco, but sold it and joined a federal program that was documenting the story of the Dustbowl exodus. It's her image of the Migrant Mother that we all know. Her images that moved John Steinbeck to write Grapes of Wrath and John Ford to direct the movie that caused thousands of Americans to lobby Congress and stand up for the poor. Her images that are partly responsible for the institution of the Social Security program.

She never thought of herself as an artist, but her art moved mountains. Her pictures were worth millions of words. I discovered today that it's the anniversary of Jonas Salk's polio vaccine going public in 1956. And it seemed a good day to share Dorothea's brilliance with the world. This is my attempt to share her hope, and my own as well.

This is the link to my digital tribute.



http://www.janphillips.com

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Who's Really on Top?

May 3, 2014, 7:55 am

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Writers and politicians have toyed with the legendary "battle of the sexes" since men and women were first pigeonholed into hunters and gatherers. If, however, one's perspective on gender roles has automatically been predetermined by members of one gender, there's little hope for any semblance of true equality.

Sexual politics is far less about nature versus nurture than institutionalized assumptions about social structure. Whether one sees life from the perspective of medieval Europe's odious droit du seigneur or the contemporary Republican war on women (which has done a spectacular job of revealing how much Republican men don't know about women), if the field of vision is heavily contaminated by a male prerogative, women are getting less than equal treatment.

It's been fascinating to watch President Jimmy Carter as he makes the rounds publicizing his new book (A Call To Action: Women, Religion, Violence, and Power). The genial Georgian calmly and methodically lays out the facts about what's wrong with our male-dominated society to shocked interviewers and television hosts who never expected to be drawn into a conversation with him about such topics as rape on university campuses, sexual assault in the military or why Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport is a thriving gateway for the sexual slave trade in America.





Equally revealing has been how male and female pundits react to news reports which contain a clearly sexist component. Compare, if you will, the "professional tone" of Joan Walsh's article for Salon.com entitled Christie's Creepy Misogyny: Behold His Despicable "Blame Bridget" Strategy with the refreshing bluntness of The Rude Pundit's scathing assessment entitled Christie Internal Review Report: "Bitches Be Crazy."





Two new productions focus on what happens when the status quo (based on assumptions that rest on a foundation of male privilege) is undermined by women who are more intelligent, more complex, more aggressive and better at what they do than certain men in their lives (who imagine themselves to be dealing from a position of power).

• She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange is a contemporary absurdist farce by Amelia Roper which recently received its world premiere from Crowded Fire Theater under the direction of M. Graham Smith.


• Written by David Ives, the highly-acclaimed Venus In Fur received its San Francisco premiere from American Conservatory Theater in a production directed by Casey Stangl.

Each of these new works is what I like to refer to as an "onion play." Why? Because, as its plot unravels, layer after layer of each character's psyche is peeled away in order for the audience to reach greater depths of understanding about the play's perspective on gender roles.

• Each script revels in role reversals.


• In both cases, the writing is strong and highly suggestive.


• Roper's farce requires a restrained, absurd kind of clowning from its performers.


• Venus in Fur employs literary history, sadomasochistic eroticism, magical realism and an inside knowledge of the audition process in order to make its points.

What makes these productions particularly interesting to me is that each has been directed by a person whose gender is the opposite of the playwright's. Does that matter? Should it matter? In the eyes of A.C.T.'s artistic director, Carey Perloff:

The director/actor relationship is always a complex one. In trying to sculpt an actor's performance into something matching the vision for the play, the director often resorts to a certain degree of manipulation or muscle. But in the end, the actor is the instrument that matters. The actor will always know more about a role than either the director or even the writer can even know, because that role is in her own body. Venus in Fur is about that vivid embodiment, about the ways in which an actor invites another entity into her skin and relishes the discovery and power of performing that character. It is a totally present-tense play (as all great theater must be) inviting actors to commit with ferocity to a high-stakes game of love and chance.

However, Venus in Fur's director, Casey Stangl, is quick to note that:

As a female director, I'm used to being in rooms full of men. I'm used to dealing with power dynamics. In most cases, it's not blatant. In most cases it's extremely subtle and completely navigable. But I will say, as a woman, you bring a different set of life experiences into the room: what it's like to be discounted, what it's like to have to prove something, the idea that our sexuality and our personal eroticism can be threatening. That's a different perspective than men have -- not better, just different.

The Vanda part is huge. She's got big emotions. She's big, she's loud, she's broad, she's funny, and then becomes very much the opposite of that. She goes to extremes, and extremes are always easier to do than smaller, subtler shifts. Also, the female role is younger. The older the parts go, the shallower the talent pool gets. Theater is a tough business, and the older actors get, the more they drop out. They can't sustain themselves. So young women are the demographic you've got the most of. I think the reason Thomas was harder to cast is because he seems very intellectual and confident, but in fact has a lot of odd little insecurities and vulnerabilities that end up leaking out at different points of the play. His is a subtler journey. One of the things that's so great about the play is how the power dynamic is constantly shifting. You find yourself siding with one person and then you second-guess yourself. You don't know where your allegiances lie.

What happens when a person of one gender creates a work of art that is interpreted by an artist of the opposite gender? Does the interpretation of the piece change? Or does one person's experience with sexual politics (and/or sadomasochism) suggest insights and choices for the actors to consider which may not be clearly outlined in the script?

* * * * * * * * * *

Venus in Fur is written for two actors who take on a variety of personas over the course of the evening. Set in a rented rehearsal room equipped with both fluorescent and incandescent lighting fixtures, with the exception of a period divan the furniture is standard office equipment.




Brenda Meaney and Henry Clarke in Venus in Fur
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)


Thomas Novachek (Henry Clarke) is a frustrated intellectual who has adapted Venus in Furs (a novel written by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch in 1870) for the stage. Unable to find a director who can do justice to his work, Novachek has taken it upon himself to stage his own adaptation.

As the play begins, Thomas is talking to his girlfriend, Stacy, on the phone. He's late for dinner and deeply frustrated after a long day of auditioning "idiot actresses" who have no idea what is required for the role of Wanda von Dunayev. It doesn't take long for the audience to realize that Novachek is a bit of a perfectionist, a bit of a control freak and a bit of a dickhead.




Brenda Meaney and Henry Clarke in Venus in Fur
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)


Vanda (Brenda Meaney) is a late arrival, bursting into the audition room just as Novachek is getting ready to leave. Although she initially comes across as a bit of a ditz, there is plenty of intellectual heft and street smarts hidden beneath her sexy exterior.

While Vanda freely admits that her dream role is "Hedda Gobbler," she knows how to do her homework and has arrived with several period costumes that she bought at a thrift shop, a full copy of Novachek's complete script (which no one is supposed to have) and a much deeper understanding of sexual role-playing than the academic who is auditioning her. In short, she is the embodiment of the old saying "Beware your fantasy, it might just come true."

As the evening progresses, Thomas and Vanda move back and forth from audition mode (in which they read from his script) to real life (in which the power quickly shifts between the two characters). Having been around the block a few times, Vanda has no trouble picking up on Novachek's latent desire to be groomed for submission.




Henry Clarke and Brenda Meaney in Venus in Fur
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)


The bottom line is simple: Vanda and Thomas each have something the other desperately wants (whether consciously or subconsciously). The hidden power of a script, a costume, erotic literature, a change in lighting or one's knowledge of how to direct a scene keeps the power dynamic constantly shifting between the two genders.

Under Casey Stangl's direction, Brenda Meaney and Henry Clarke prove to be an impressive pair of consenting antagonists. The playwright's use of magical realism at the end provides a stunning climax for the audience (and probably as well for the -- by then -- tightly-bound Novachek).




Brenda Meaney and Henry Clarke in Venus in Fur
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)


* * * * * * * * * *


Working on a deceptively simple yet exquisite unit set designed by Maya Linke, Crowded Fire Theater's world premiere production of She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange takes its time finding the proper tone to pierce the anguish that accompanies the fading American dream of home ownership in the 21st century. If one takes into account Matt Taibbi's infamous description of Goldman Sachs as "a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money," it becomes easier to find the bile-tinged sliver of black comedy in the greatest financial crisis since the Great Depression. As stated in the show's program notes:

In 2008 the housing market imploded, wiping out approximately $22 trillion of wealth. It has been estimated that over a million Americans lost their homes as a result. During the worst years of the crisis, 465 banks failed. To this day, no top executives of U.S. financial firms have been convicted of criminal wrongdoing relating to the 2008 housing collapse.

At the top of the evening, the audience is introduced to an attractive middle-aged couple who have come to spend their Sunday afternoon in a small park close to a lake in an upscale section of Connecticut.

• Amy (Zehra Berkman) is a hedge fund manager of keen intellect who, as she reads the newspaper, keeps telling her husband that people are losing their homes. A woman who is noticeably uncomfortable in her body, Amy is meticulous about positioning herself, her clothing, her career and the risk she is willing to take in a field dominated by men. Having managed to survive and thrive against all odds, she is quietly trying to enjoy her new wealth and new home.


• Henry (George Sellner) is a pediatric nurse who deals with death on a routine basis, finds small pleasures in life's simplest moments and, unlike his wife, is completely comfortable in his own skin. Easily satisfied, he's happy to snack on ice cream or paté.

Zehra Berkman (Amy) and George Sellner (Henry) in
She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange (Photo by: Pak Han)


Amy and Henry are eventually joined by another, far more ostentatious couple.

• Max (Kevin Clarke), until very recently, had been one of Amy's rivals at work. An intensely driven, materialistic macho fool, he sent his wife on a vacation as a way of postponing the news that he not only lost a bank but, as a result of his blustering incompetence, has simultaneously lost his job and the deed to their home. He enters the park carrying a floor lamp which he hopes he can sell to someone.


• Sara (Marilee Talkington) first appears carrying a bunch of designer label shopping bags that contain crackers, paté and what few belongings she still has. A former champion at conspicuous consumption, she has no idea how to cope with suddenly becoming homeless as a result of a foreclosure.

Marilee Talkington (Sara) and Kevin Clarke (Max) in
She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange (Photo by: Pak Han)


As the two couples engage in polite chitchat (that masks all kinds of personal resentment), it becomes apparent that Max was pretty shitty to Amy at work. After his spectacular failure as a hedge fund manager, Amy has cleverly purchased Max and Sara's foreclosed home at a bargain price in a delicious act of revenge.

A great deal of the fun in Roper's play comes from M. Graham Smith's stage direction, with each actor's body language revealing far more than is written in the script. As the playwright explains:

I like plays because two characters can say entirely contradictory things and both be right. Or the truth is somewhere in the air between the actors. Sometimes. And sometimes no one knows what the hell is going on and the play becomes about the struggle to articulate. Simplifying big ideas is something artists can do, need to do, and not because simple means stupid (simple is incredibly difficult). I love small words and the rhythm of words. I'm also interested in how limiting words can be.

George Sellner, Kevin Clarke, Marilee Talkington and Zehra Berkman
in She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange (Photo by: Pak Han)


Smith's ensemble works together with a kind of deft/daft precision reminiscent of Jeremy Aluma's monstrously hilarious Four Clowns. Amelia Roper's script, however, has the kind of acid timeliness which can easily make some audiences wonder if this piece has arrived "too soon." As Crowded Fire Theater's artistic director, Marissa Wolf, explains:

With a quick rhythmic cadence, and an unnerving humor that keeps us off balance, Roper's voice springs forth from the shoulders of absurdist writers such as Samuel Beckett and Edward Albee while undercutting (with breathtaking precision and boldness) cultural assumptions around gender and power. For me, this play feels like touching a bruise over and over again. I can't remember how I received the bruise, but the pungent ache every time I touch it makes the world come alive and snap into focus. Capturing the delicious, brutal world in which we live, She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange presses tenderly against our personal bruises and dares us to awaken.

Sara (Marilee Talkington) seems lost in Maya Linke's modern forest
in She Rode Horses Like The Stock Exchange (Photo by: Pak Han)


Roper's play can challenge audiences in some moments and leave them laughing hysterically in others. I was particularly impressed by the physical comedy of Kevin Clarke's Max and Marilee Talkington's dazed and confused Sara.



To read more of George Heymont go to My Cultural Landscape

'In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play,' Long Beach Playhouse Studio Theatre

May 3, 2014, 12:16 pm

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A playwright sets her story against a historical or otherwise significant backdrop to provide verisimilitude, credibility, and context. Sometimes the backdrop is as interesting as the story. That's the case with Sarah Ruhl's In the Next Room or The Vibrator Play. Directed by Robert Craig for the Long Beach Playhouse Studio Theatre, the production is moving and outrageous. It presents a classic tale of a wife who feels under loved and unappreciated. It also shows how electrical stimulators that achieved hysterical paroxysms over time became vibrators that enhanced orgasms.

The acting is very good. Craig's set up and resolution, especially the final moment when the naked protagonists fling open the door against a frigid winter's eve to celebrate their newly kindled warmth, is fantastic. Andrew Vonderschmitt's set establishes the living space and the doctor's operating theater. The context of the story, though, makes it memorable.



Ruhl sets the play at the dawn of the practical use of electricity. The ability of a newfangled lamp to light up a room with the flick of a switch is noted if not celebrated. She also sets the play at a time when hysteria, particularly in women, became a convenient diagnosis of a range of symptoms. Like ADD in teenagers today. The marriage of technology and psychology led to the invention of the electric stimulator. This tool proved to be an effective treatment for this disorder. Nowadays we call these things vibrators. You can find them in as many places (including the Studio Theatre's concession stand) and colors as a roll of Life Savers candy.

From what we see and hear on stage, early vibrators were, um, primitive. There was nothing in the least erotic about them. The one for women looked like a car buffer. It came with an electric cord. The one for men, yes, there was one for men, was operated with a foot pedal, like a sewing machine. Both sounded like dental drills. Despite their appearance and sounds, they worked. Boy did they work.



Craig's direction balances arousal and emotional intimacy. Calling it The Vibrator Play teases you into thinking it's only about sex toys. It's not. Calling it In The Next Room better describes the story's more serious plot line. It concerns a wife, Catherine (Kate Felton). She wants to connect with her husband, Dr. Givings (Don Schlossman). She wants to do so because she's in emotional distress. She can't lactate. She feels a physical disconnection from her newborn child. She also feels a physical connection from her husband. On paper he's adept and fastidious, a man of science. These same traits make him unaware of the needs of his passionate wife. They hire the services of Elizabeth (Liliano Carrillo), a mother who just lost her newborn son. The plot recounts the couple's journey to connection.

The humor here is of the inadvertent sort. The characters exhibit real symptoms. They aren't meant to be funny. Just the same, they are. The actors' challenges are formidable. They have to be serious about their problems. Their treatment has to arouse them. And they must not know it's coming. Sabrina Daldry (Sophie Mura), Dr. Givings' patient is, to borrow a book title by C.S. Lewis, surprised by joy. So is Scott T. Finn's (Leo Irving), an artist who treats love like a business transaction. The titillation between Annie (Stephanie Schulz), Dr. Giving's assistant, and Sabrina shows how, in certain relationship configurations, men are optional.



Schlossman's Dr. Givings is hilarious. He has no doubt about the effectiveness of his method. He's also oblivious to the effect he has on Sabrina and Irving. His straight-faced definition of the obstruction the electric stimulator clears from the womb is classic. He might as well describe how to clear a clogged sink drain.

Because it's Catherine's story, though, we watch her growth with interest. Woodruff is pitch perfect. She nails her neediness for the physical attention of her husband and child as well as her frustrated attempt to hit on Irving. She's funny when she, um, self-medicates. And she's jealous at what goes go in the next room.



Ruhl's story resonates on many levels. It shows you can have a committed if quasi-platonic relationship with your spouse. It shows that you can have shallow, bought love with a stranger. Both sorts prove unsatisfactory. The best love, as shown in the production's final scene, is love that combines commitment and intimacy. All of which confirms that that love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage. Indeed, you can't have one without the other.



Performances are 8pm, Friday and Saturday, 2pm Sunday. The play runs until May 31. Tickets are $27. The Playhouse is located at 5021 E. Anaheim Street, Long Beach, CA 90802. For information call (562) 494-1014 or visit lbplayhouse.org.

John Nava: Selected Portraits at the Vita Art Center

May 4, 2014, 11:52 am

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John Nava, one of America's pre-eminent realist artists, is the subject of a small show of twelve portraits -- paintings, monotypes and Jacquard tapestries -- now on view at the Vita Art Center in Ventura. Sober, affectionate and keenly observed, his portraits display what Nava recognizes as a "consistency of attitude" that has persisted in his work for many years.

I recently interviewed John Nava and asked him about the Vita exhibition, his politics, and his views on art and modernity.

John Seed in Conversation with John Nava




John Nava


Tell me about the works on view in Ventura: are they all relatively recent?

The show in Ventura is at the Vita Art Center which is small non-profit arts program. They work hard in a pretty tough neighborhood to serve the community with ambitious art experiences and presentations. The work I put together for Vita is a selection of pieces in different media -- all portraits -- that range from some monotypes I did in 1992 to paintings I just did this year.

In going through things to put in the show I realized that to a great degree everything I do, no matter what the project, ends up as a sort of portrait. This is true even if it's a 20 minute figure drawing.




Sarah, 1992, monotype, 25 x 33 inches

None of the works in this show were formal, commissioned portraits. Moreover, I don't think of myself as a portraitist per se. For me, rather, the business of a likeness is more the result of wanting a deep and specific engagement with the particular subject. That demands a level of serious and precise and honest observation that ends up yielding a recognizable "portrait." If it's generalized or kind of glibly stylized it lacks compression for me and even respect for the model. Almost everyone in this show are family and friends. Another big part of my motivation to paint them with care comes out of my affection for them.



Installation view with R. E. II (Rachel), 2005, Jacquard Tapestry, 82 x 77 inches


Tell me about the tapestries in the show.

Mostly I do tapestries for commissioned projects. However, this show includes some woven portraits done with different approaches. One (R.E. II) uses a sort of mosaic-like weave structure to render the face with a very strong surface "terrain." Another, (Chloe) is a purposely made fragment with unfinished edges that is mounted and framed rather than conventionally hung.



Chloe, 2007, Jacquard Tapestry, Edition of 10

Another -- Our Torture is Better Than Their Torture -- was part of a series I did starting in 2005 as a protest to Bush era interrogation and detention policies of the time. On Monday, April 28th, 2014 (last Monday!) Sarah Palin said to roaring approval in a speech "Waterboarding is the way we baptize terrorists." That disgusting, imbecilic and disgraceful "cute" remark made my seven year old piece seem relevant - unfortunately.



Our Torture is Better, 2008, Jacquard Tapestry, 115 x 77 inches


Many people seem to still feel that there is something inherently "conservative" about representational painting, but in your case your themed works make it clear that your personal politics are left-leaning and eclectic. Do people continue to be surprised about your politics?

I haven't received a great deal of negativity about the political work. More often people are quite supportive. Maybe it's the art world or maybe it's California. Ironically I kind of consider myself as a critic of "conservative" representational painting. I'm thinking of what seems to be a vast amount of work being done that idealizes what I consider second rate 19th century art. It seems to lead to unquestioned conventionality and a general lack of imagination.

The obsession with certain kinds of technical mastery seems to eclipse everything. Bouguereau and Gerome and Alma Tadema are all quite fascinating in many ways but nothing in their work approaches Goya.



Installation view with Our Torture is Better Than Their Torture

It is just over half a mile from the "Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels" in Los Angeles -- where your 25 tapestries are on view to MOCA where the Mike Kelly show is on view: it would be quite an aesthetic experience to see your works and Mike Kelly's in one day. Have you seen the Kelly show?

I have not seen the show but I have seen Kelly's work going back many years. The work in the cathedral would contrast most significantly to your hypothetical MOCA visitor in that it lacks irony. The intentions and meaning of art within the "sacred" space are utterly sincere. Every bit of the work has unquestioned meaning and unquestioned importance to the faithful. From the sacred point of view, the modern, "profane" world suffers the crises of unreality.

The anxiety of the modern artist resides in the attempt to somehow, out of a blank canvas, invent meaning, invent something true, to speak something of import. At every step of this process we are plagued with doubt and uncertainty. This is the world I was familiar with when I first began to work at the cathedral and this drastic reversal of the dilemma of modernity was what struck me the most.



Peter with Red Shirt, 2013, oil on panel, 10 x 8 inches


What are you working on right now?

I'm working on a number of commissions all of which are in process at the moment. I just completed a great project at Princeton University for the Firestone Library.



Portrait of a Swimmer (Rebecca), 2010, oil on panel, 60 x 60 inches


Is there anything else you would like to say about this show?

It's a small show but because it covers work of different sorts from different periods it was kind of a revelation to me. I can see a certain consistency of attitude that surprised me and also a persistence in trying to find different surfaces.



T. Sitting, 2014, oil on panel, 14 x 11 inches

Have you seen any art or shows recently that you liked?

I liked the last show by my old friend Mark Stock who suddenly died very recently. It was at Lora Schlesinger Gallery. I also recently spent some time with David Jon Kassan in New York. He is doing wonderful work.

John Nava
Selected Portraits: Paintings and Tapestries
May 2 -- May 30, 2014
The Vita Art Center
432 N. Ventura Studio 30
Ventura, CA 93001

First Nighter: Alessandrini's Forbidden Broadway Comes Out Swinging! Sure Does

May 4, 2014, 6:19 pm

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Just when the 2013-14 season officially closes with the announcements of awards nominations and when audiences are feeling helplessly besieged by the unusual number of musicals -- too many of them less than hoped for -- the cavalry charges over the horizon in the persons of satirist Gerard Alessandrini, co-director (with Alessandrini) Phillip George, pianist-conductor David Caldwell and cast members Carter Calvert, Scott Richard Foster, Mia Gentile and Marcus Stevens.

Yes, tuner lovers everywhere, Forbidden Broadway Comes Out Swinging! hurtles forth in the nick of time to entertain us at the Davenport with its send-ups--this edition, as all editions, stuffed with laughs and insights into the quirks behind shows received in varying degrees of enthusiasm and regret.

(Perhaps more regrets than enthusiasm this year?)

And before we go any further in this grateful review, it must be said that in the forefront of Alessandrini's forces are costume designers Dustin Cross and Philip Heckman and wig designer Bobbie Cliffton Zlotnik. Without their keen observation and humor, it would be impossible for their fearless, peerless leader to advance.

So where to start listing the laughs that, to change metaphors, Alessandrini et al pull out of their barrel? Let's just say that since 1981 when the maestro began his spoof-y song and dance, he's often had a great time mocking Les Miserables, and producer Cameron Mackintosh has afforded him the opportunity by repeatedly reviving the warhorse.

So here it came again a few months back but with an overhaul that provides Alessandrini and group with another form of attack. This time included in the lengthy but thoroughly lovable first-act finale, the 2014 emphasis on projections is mocked mercilessly.

After those have been kidded, the players enter with large Os yoking their necks. They represent the revolving stage that's been the centerpiece of all previous Les Miz incarnations but has now been retired for those projections. The turntable's lament may the most inspired notion of this FB outing.

But choosing the best of so many belly-laugh-provoking numbers is tough, and it should be noted that they include rib-pokes at shows from previous seasons like Once, Matilda, Cinderella, Kinky Boots and Pippin.

Alessandrini also vents his barely disguised annoyance at the proliferation of jukebox musicals. Specifically, he knocks this year's Beautiful (Carole King) and holdovers Mamma Mia (Abba), Jersey Boys (Frankie Valli, et cetera) and Motown The Musical (Berry Gordy's stable, natch). The fellow also assails the inevitable revivals.

Individual recent shows he stalks mercilessly (thank providence!) are The Bridges of Madison County, Rocky, Aladdin, If/Then and Bullets Over Broadway. Curiously, although he quickly refers to A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder and Big Fish, he doesn't bruise them at length. Maybe he figures the drubbing he gives Susan Stroman in the Bullets Over Broadway scuffle suffices. Is it possible he considers Gentleman's Guide..., the year's major nominations collector, too good to chastise? And what about Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which gets short shrift during the Kinky Boots attack?

The master B'way cynic also sets his sights on specific figures. He's always had enormous fun with Liza Minnelli, and here she is joining Sally Bowles successor Michelle Williams and bemoaning her aging out of ingénue roles. Alessandrini also targets Cinderella's Fran Drescher for her boldness at taking on a musical comedy role when not entirely prepared for the rigors involved. Bridges tunesmith Jason Robert Brown gets his comeuppance for the hard-to-miss self-aggrandizing inclinations.

Then there's If/Then's Idina Menzel knocked for her vocal poundings, Carrie Underwood for her countrified Sound of Music Maria on television and -- are you ready for it? -- Mandy Patinkin for just about everything having to do with his (yuk, yuk) unique song stylings. (Is this number an oldie? It could be, but I don't remember ever having seen it.)

Then there are the one-liners Alessandrini slings in lyrics and dialogue almost before you realize he's slung them. In the Matilda sequence where he's also calling attention to the proliferation of child actors on stage, he has his Miss Trunchbull figure threaten the kiddies with "I shall make your ears bleed like a Frank Wildhorn score."

His Idina Menzel insists, frozenly, "My nodes never bothered me anyway." His Sound of Music Mother Superior Audra (for McDonald, of course) tells the worried Carrie Underwood that she has to face the cameras, because "You must ruin the role you weren't born to play." Susan Stroman assures Woody Allen, "I'll be excessive," and doesn't that get right to the core of her mistakes on both Big Fish and Bullets Over Broadway? Michelle Williams exclaims, "My talent is M. I. A."

Apologies to Gentile, Calvert, Foster and Stevens for getting to their innumerable accomplishments this late in the review. To call them hardworking is barely to suggest what joy they offer the audience.

Gentile, whose pipes seem to be constructed of the same steel as are Menzel's, knocks audience socks off with her portrayal of that same bellowing diva. She also takes care of Patina Miller and anyone who's every shown up as Fantine and Eponine. She's tall, thin, good-looking, new to town and very, very welcome.

Calvert hits her high point with one of the best Liza Minnellis ever in this age of Minnelli impersonators. She knows exactly how to pronounce the "ch" in "Cabaret"'s "Old chum" lyric, and which direction to fling her arms during the rendition. In baseball cap with ponytail swinging, she does a mean Susan Stroman.

Stevens shines throughout, but no more than as Trunchbull, as the self-impressed Jason Robert Brown imposing himself on the Bridges of Mad County scenes and especially as the bearded, vocal-range show-off Patinkin. Whether enough audience members will recognize the brilliance of this latter undertaking is uncertain, but it certainly works for those who do.

Foster, who also has a voice to reckon with, is a notable Sylvester Stallone when coaching Stevens's Andy Karl as Rocky to slur his words more effectively. He not only looks a hoot with red pastries like bruises as Alan Cumming's decadent Cabaret host, but he's got the moves down pat. His Neil Patrick Harris as Hedwig is also spot-on.

When Forbidden Broadway comes out swinging, not everything receives a knockout punch, which is more or less Alessandrini's usual result. Enough does, however, and after the kind of season we've just endured, musical lovers should bow down before him as he has Michelle Williams bow before Liza Minnelli in deference to her superior Sally.

Stage Door: Forbidden Broadway Comes Out Swinging!

May 4, 2014, 7:50 pm

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Since 1982, Gerald Alessandrini has been on a mission: to send-up Broadway musicals. His weapon of choice is the brilliantly satiric, expertly rendered Forbidden Broadway franchise, which has spawned 25 editions.

The latest, Forbidden Broadway Comes Out Swinging! at the jewel-box Davenport Theater, is an embarrassment of riches.

This is what entertainment is all about.

Each season, Alessandrini has mocked Broadway shows, or as his talented quartet croons: "lyrics perverted to put producers through hell." This round, with a mostly new lineup, he takes aim, with his singular panache, at Rocky, Bridges of Madison County, Aladdin, Les Mis, Cabaret and Pippin, among other targets.

If Broadway was as uniformly engaging and smart as Forbidden Broadway, there would be far happier theatergoers.

Part of the secret of his success is that he turns a gimlet eye on The Great White Way, coupled with a serious understanding of theatrical smarts. No one -- actors, writers, directors or producers -- escapes his scrutiny. This is a skilled satirist who knows and loves the art form. And, like any devotee, he cannot tolerate any assault on its legendary perfection.

Which is why Disney, "the grand wizard of formulaic," is zinged for Aladdin's campier aspects, much as Les Mis is gleefully hammered for being "reborn as revolution porn." From Rocky's incoherence to Cabaret's "revival of a revival of a revival" to Bullets Over Broadway's refusal to hire a composer, the current FB doesn't pull its punches.

That's part of Alessandrini's charm: He tears into sacred cows and popular shows with cynical comic abandon. Who else would have director Matthew Warchus, in the guise of Miss Trunchbull, call the kids of Matilda and Billy Elliot "vermin with Equity cards."

Of course, parody only works when it hits a bulls-eye. Award Forbidden Broadway Comes Out Swinging! a gold medal. It's hysterically funny and savvy at the same time. The trick is to find the crazy miscues in any musical, then transform it into over-the-top fare. It takes a master to craft that fine line between farce and cruelty, and Alessandrini walks that tightrope like Philippe Petit.

He's aided by an excellent ensemble: Scott Richard Foster, Carter Calvert, Marcus Stevens and Mia Gentile. They can sing, dance and act -- oft times better than those they spoof.

Photo: Carol Rosegg