A.B.C...It's easy as W.A.R.H.O.R.S.E. - 'War Horse' on Broadway

The year is 1914. Amidst the panoply of war and widespread social unease, an innocent young boy forms a bond with a horse - a singular, unbreakable bond of love, trust, and kinsman ship. For a time, life is free and easy, but all good things must come to an end… The boy's father sells the horse to the wartime cavalry. Devastated, the young boy runs away from home and lies about his age, determined to join the good fight and find his horse. It's epic. It's Adventurous. It’s LIVE. Yes, Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron has come to Broadway!


Well, not really. The play is War Horse, and in its open run at Lincoln Center's Vivian Beaumont theatre, it is putting the 'sap' in 'sappy' eight times a week.


War Horse exudes, from every pore, the shameful quality of a child assuming the pretense of sickness in an attempt to lawfully ditch class.
It has a "pity me" frown to beat the band, it gets all red in the face, it chokes out a few throaty coughs, and boy does it have dimples, but, as is typically the case, there is no actual fever to be found.

There isn't any legitimate drama in War Horse (there is barely any content). What we’re left with is a hollow, empty shell of gaudy, flashy, blinding tinfoil.
Many audience members are proclaiming that their senses were so overwhelmed by War Horse's technical wizardry that they were brought to tears. You can count me among the proclaimers…but with one important amendment: Often the imagery was so guttural and so moving that my eyes would begin to water. True. Yes. But the impulse to cry would soon be stifled by a kinesthetically brought on eye-roll anytime anyone spoke any line of dialogue, all of which were offensively stupid.


War Horse is actually based on Michael Morpurgo’s 1982 children’s book of the same name, and like everything else from the early-to-mid eighties, it’s back! As performed on the Vivian Beaumont stage, War Horse is milking its Dewey Decimal classification for all it's worth. To be called a children's book or a children's play is not and should not be a point of defamation. Many works of fiction meant for children are glorious, probing pieces that do not need to resort to condescension or double entendre to ensnare an audience. I’ve got you, Babe.


But War Horse ain’t Babe, and it falls into every children’s theatre trap imaginable: fake acting, nonsensical moral lessons, and notably replacing the word “f**king” with “effing” over and over again. Plus, Lincoln Center is a super strange setting for a children’s play. Lincoln Center Plaza is THE theatrical safe-haven for drama-inclined introverts over thirty-five. Know your audience.


Although the spoken words are so simple one could swear they were translated from a cuneiform tablet, I must commend the team of puppeteers whose listening abilities as equestrian steeds eclipse that of any “human” actor onstage - most of whom are melodramatically wailing over petty, repetitive squabbles and a Lazy-Susan of underdeveloped plot lines.


But here’s the thing - the so-called groundbreaking puppetry in War Horse breaks no ground that director Julie Taymor didn’t obliterate fourteen years ago. The big difference is the approach. While The Lion King opted to take the road of overblown theatricality, War Horse (directed by Marianne Elliott and Tom Morris) seeks to present onstage cinematic realism ala Band of Brothers. Sure, there are stylistic elements abound, but what becomes pointedly irksome is the production’s attempt to hide their puppeteers.


Pay no attention to the men behind the horse-frame!


The puppeteers’ personalities take a far backseat to the puppet itself, depending on true-to-life horse quirks rather than making Joey a formidable character. And in that respect, I know that the stage version of War Horse differs from its book brother. Michael Morpurgo’s novel is told from the perspective of Joey the horse, but on stage tells the story of Albert (a tad on-the-nose to be name your main character after the seated British sovereign during World War I...), the horse’s owner. I expect that stage Joey will most likely, in time, join the ranks of Phantom’s chandelier and Miss Saigon’s helicopter. No amount of realistic horse movement, noise, OR money can compensate for the lack of a soul.

Ah yes, the acting. Wait. There were actors?!

The scenic design definitely bows down to the puppets created by the Handspring Puppet Company. They are very cool, ingeniously designed creatures, and the operation of their various joints and tick is a mystery - but a mystery, I daresay a gimmick, that falls flat far too soon. Rae Smith’s set, while spacious, never seems to fully utilize the expanse that the Vivian Beaumont has to offer. One thing I love about a well designed Lincoln Center production is the jubilant celebration of having space in a town where there is little to be found.


The lighting by Paule Constable is no-holds-barred mind-blowing. The design weaved together effortless establishment of location, mood, and character while still providing the necessary spectacle. Constable should teach a master class for the rest of the creative team.


War Horse will be a hit. Content is losing to flash more and more all the time, and only sparingly are the two working together in true artistic collaboration. The play certainly has its merits. The visual storytelling is pretty and profound, if not a little bit overworked, but the words, words, words are sadly lacking. It’s nominated for a slew of Tonys and is bound to pick up a few. After all, it’s a play that tourists actually want to see. But in reality it is just a hollow, expensive two hour forty five minute yawn. I could have called this ‘Bore Horse’... but I didn’t. -Johnny Oleksinski



War Horse runs at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theatre.

'THE NORMAL HEART' MADE ME WANT TO THROW UP -- 'The Normal Heart' on Broadway

'The Normal Heart' made me want to throw up. Vomit. Puke. Hurl. And no, that is not hyperbole. 'The Normal Heart' actually caused me to feel physically ill. Walking around with the determination and awareness of a melancholic ghost after the performance, my body, heart, and mind were all at a communicative disconnect. I couldn't hold back the occasional convulsion, the heavy inhale, or the escaped tear. What I had just been bombarded by was grotesque, squirm-inducing, disgusting, inhumane behavior that I do not understand and will likely never understand. But, by far, the most painful aspect of Larry Kramer's play, which is essentially dramatized AIDS propaganda, (albeit stripped of propaganda's typically negative connotations) is that all the bigotry and horrific murder that the play depicts is still going on, and even worse, it is accepted apathetically by people on both sides of the issue.

And that is why 'The Normal Heart' is essential to here and now. Ambivalence, misinformation, and ignorance surrounding AIDS is rampant, and unlike the 1980's when information was scarce and misguided theories ran amuck, today being uninformed is inexcusable. Larry Kramer knows this, and that is in large part why this revival is happening. To reinforce the issue's enormity to young people, Kramer and the producers even went so far as to offer discounted seating to any patron under the age of thirty for the May 26th performance.

Before this production, 'The Normal Heart' had always left a foul taste in my mouth. Textually it exudes an icy chill because the issues discussed tend to outshine the people onstage. The content is so bogged down with statistics and numbers that you'd need a treasure map to uncover the buried humanity. But what's onstage at the Golden Theatre is completely and utterly human. It breathes and feels as strongly as any audience member. This beautiful and harsh revival changed my perception of the play's structure, and really informed me of the script's inherent strength.

Let's dissect this Normal Heart. The first act, which we will call the "right atrium" is akin to an emotion-heavy Power Point presentation, complete with gratuitous and kitschy projections. The tragic backstory, facts, and numbers of the AIDS crisis are expressed using the characters as information vehicles. The first half, experienced alone, comes off as disrespectful, reducing a gargantuan epidemic to a smattering of loud statistics the same way a history book's chapter on the Bubonic Plague might. It sounds drab, and in many ways it is. But 'The Normal Heart' is very much the sum of its parts - and Act Two, the "left atrium" is nothing short of titanic in power. The play is a smidgeon like 'Erin Brockovich' or 'MILK' (however both succeeded 'The Normal Heart'). It follows a group of gay activists, advocating for AIDS money and research during a time where no one knew what it was, and the President stubbornly refused to publicly acknowledge its existence. During Act two, the issue hits home as friends die, and millions of people are infected, yet there is still no government intervention. In order for the second act to be both intrusively private and entirely universal, the first act NEEDS to be one big expositional statistic. Duh. I swear on my iPhone 4 - as the audience walked out of the theatre, it looked and felt like a funeral procession. Hell. It was a funeral procession.

'The Normal Heart' has many a strong and healthy artery among its fiery ensemble, lead by a surprisingly amiable Joe Mantello as activism leader, Ned Weeks. I only say "surprisingly" because the character's loud, 'take no prisoners' methodology might be a turn-off to some, but Mantello's quiet, fidgety Ned is consistently lovable and always understood. Mantello's work is gut-wrenchingly honest, and never more so than as his lover, Felix (played with epic bravery by John Benjamin Hickey) is rapidly weakened by AIDS, are the young people in audience completely and shockingly aware that Mantello, much of the acting company, and even many members of the audience watched their own friends and partners die that same, dehumanizing death.
Ellen Barkin, (Dr. Brookner) making her Broadway debut has arguably the strongest moment of the 'The Normal Heart'. In a speech of condemnation against government doctors, she speaks with greater conviction, charisma, and energy than Barack Obama at the height of his presidential campaign. A feat, indeed.

In a letter from Larry Kramer, handed to audience members at the end of the performance, the playwright reveals that most of his original Public Theatre cast sadly died of AIDS as well. One such cast member that is still with us is this revival's director, Joel Grey (yes, that Joel Grey). Grey replaced Brad Davis as Ned Weeks during the original run, and with this new production, Grey honors the memory of those fallen actors. His direction (along with supervising direction by George C. Wolfe) is subtle, allowing the actors to act, and the words to be heard. That's all he needed to do, and he did it. Easier said than done.

The design is equally as light, with a deceptively bare, white stage. The only substantial physical elements are a plethora of three-dimensional quotes and statistics covering the walls, only visible when properly lit - a cool and cold effect.
The lively sound design employed a cacophony of abrupt club music - the production mourning what they believe gay culture has become thanks, in part, the the sexual revolution of the sixties. I, myself, am all a jumble on Kramer's and the production's dream of a unique gay identity. I am not quite sure how to feel about it, which is simultaneously unnerving and exhilarating. The entire production has that effect.

While I was meandering around post-performance, I was so scared. I thought about calling my family, my close friends, and other loved ones to warn them - make them think twice about what...or who they do, but I just couldn't bring myself to call. And it was at that moment that I wholly understood the plight of Ned Weeks, and vicariously Larry Kramer - the story is auto-biographical. In a culture so entrenched in stubbornness and individual identity, how can any one person make a positive change? I am doing my part by writing these words. Or at least I hope I am. See this play if you can; read it if you can't. And always, always, always remember the past - as painful as it might be - to ensure a brighter future for those you love.-Johnny Oleksinski


'The Normal Heart' plays Broadway's Golden Theatre.

WHY DID IT GO WEST? -- 'Priscilla, Queen of The Desert' on Broadway

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That's just what this country needs: a cock in a frock on a rock.

Spoken by Bernadette, the knife-sharp, oldest member of the traveling trio, it is the most enduring quote from the cult classic film, The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of The Desert. The joke itself is in sarcastic response to Felicia, a younger and substantially more spastic drag queen. Felicia (also knows as Adam) expresses his desire to...

"Go where no drag queen has gone before. Climb to the top of Ayers Rock in full showgirl sequins and feathers, and sing a dazzling medley of Kylie (now Madonna) classics"

"That's great. That's just what this country needs: a cock in a frock on a rock."


Since 2006, Priscilla Queen of The Desert has been playing various stages in Sydney, London, and Toronto in the form of a big budget, glitzy musical spectacular. A funny choice for a low-budget, campy film. Priscilla, which opened Sunday March 20, has only now steered its " budget Barbie camper van" toward Broadway. While watching a recent performance of Priscilla, I was more than slightly disconcerted when the audience, performers, and even the creative team seemed to collectively agree with Bernadette's bitter sentiments.


I first saw Priscilla Queen of The Desert (directed by Simon Phillips) two years ago in London, where it has been playing to enthusiastic West End crowds since March 2009. To my surprise, I was blissfully swept away (Madonna pun) by the musical. Yes, it's big and campy and unoriginal, but I felt the stage version wholly captured the heart of the movie, while still finding its own unique identity apart from the beloved film. And unlike its other jukebox musical brethren, Mamma Mia, Jersey Boys, and Rock of Ages, Priscilla is surprisingly poignant. Sure it's surface poignancy, but poignancy none the less.


But that was London. This is Broadway. While the physical production is almost entirely identical, with only minor changes made to accommodate the Palace Theatre, the emotional punch that the production packed in London has been reduced to a Roman Forum-like fragmentation.


I know. Pretty harsh words for a seemingly simple crowd-pleaser. But in London, Priscilla transcended its textual simplicity and really allowed the audience to accept these characters into their lives. It created a shared experience of palpable love and vitality. On Broadway, audiences are merely laughing at silly drag queens, and the creative team (including the original screenwriter, Stephan Elliot) is cowardly giving in to their reaction.


The most substantial change in content made to the Broadway production is the exclusion of all Kylie Minogue songs in favor of the Madonna catalogue. As I mentioned above, in the West End version of Priscilla, the character Felicia has an extreme, uncontrollable obsession with Kylie Minogue - not too far removed from the brand of fandom that Lady Gaga inspires today. Felicia's endearing little quirk gave the show a uniquely Australian flair, keeping with the spirit of the movie, while also underlining his youthfulness. Replacing Kylie with Madonna has not only stripped away one of the more off-beat elements of the show, dehumanizing the characters in the process, but is also quite condescending to its audience. And c'mon! Kylie Minogue songs are great!


Tony Sheldon has played Bernadette in Sydney, London, and Toronto before coming to Broadway, and his performance, while still relatively fresh, could make proficient use of a supermarket produce mister. He has the all the right vulnerability, character, and movement qualities - but his Achille's heel comes in the form of jokes. The timing of that humor is embedded in his DNA at this point, and he left us with the more-than-occasional awkward pause. But regardless, his is the strongest of the three leading performances.


I have yet to mention Tony nominee Will Swenson, who in his role of Tick/Mitsy, seems a tick bit confused. The story revolves around Tick's journey to see his son from a previous marriage. When the boy finally starts asking questions about his Dad, a drag queen by profession, his mother (and Tick's secret ex-wife) decides that the two should meet. She suggests that Tick should resurrect his old drag show for a two-month run in her casino. He gathers up his pals Bernadette and Felicia, they hop in Priscilla, a worn out old camper, and journey across Australia. That's a pretty risky and potentially emotional situation, if you ask me. Not so much for Swenson. His Tick wades through shallow waters with no discernible personality or feeling. I certainly he hope he gains some necessary empathy during the show's run.

And then there was Nick. Nick Adams has been playing mid-sized roles on Broadway for several years in shows like A Chorus Line, The Pirate Queen, and most recently as a cagelle in La Cage Aux Folles. His casting is nothing short of perfect, but his delivery sure is. Like Swenson, he whitewashes his character to such an extent that he becomes quite boring. His signature sparring with Bernadette comes off as tame, and his implied romantic chemistry with Tick is removed altogether. I was very disappointed as Adams was without a doubt the standout ensemble member of La Cage.


Speaking of which, the ensemble (thankfully) is crammed full of energy, fun, and enthusiasm. A variety of body types and sizes also makes them particularly interesting to watch and tremendously likeable. Apart from a purposeless, audience-involving Act Two opening song, they are always warmly welcomed.


Bryan Thompson's set is just about pixel for pixel the same as it was in the West End, although in the Palace Theatre, it feels slightly crowded. The completely realized, rotating camper, is astoundingly well crafted, and Nick Schlieper's ability to light it is nothing short of awesome. Jonathan Deans' sound design intelligently knows when we are experiencing a concert and when we are watching a play. But with all this technical wizardry at work, no one even approaches the brilliance of Tim Chappel and Lizzy Gardiner's costumes. The duo won an Academy Award for designing the film's costumes in the early 90's and they are sure to bring home a Tony for the stage adaptation. Just imagine a stage full of life-sized, rotating, decorative green cupcakes spinning during a rousing 'MacArthur Park'. Yeah, I know.


If what you are looking for is no-strings-attached fun, then you should have vacationed in Times Square twenty years ago. But prostitution jokes aside, Priscilla offers plenty of fun, but it could offer so much more - a true affecting experience that stays with you beyond the doors of the theatre. All theatre should strive to do that, but Priscilla falls way short in this effort.


Who is the blame? The creative team or the audience? To borrow a phrase, it takes two to tango. The producers surely thought mainstream American audiences would not welcome three drag queens into their hearts, so they imposed changes that make it impossible for us to try. But even in the few moments of honesty that this production has to offer, those sitting around me just laughed in discomfort. Sadly, the whole situation speaks volumes about where American culture currently stands, and where together we must go.


Which is why I ask...
Priscilla Queen of The Desert, why did you 'Go West'?
You were safer back east.




Priscilla Queen of The Desert plays at The Palace Theatre on Broadway

'ARCADIA' - TOM STOPPARD AT HIS FINEST

The plays of Tom Stoppard are extremely divisive. When it comes to his work, the masses tend to either collectively adore it or abhor it .

There is no middle ground.

But how, with a playwright having as diverse a canon as Tom Stoppard, can one deride his entire repetoire as "good" or "bad"?

Usually the reasoning lies with Stoppard's intellectual potency. The typical American playwright will craft a story of emotion-based conflict and situation, borrowing from their great predecessors like Eugene O'Neill and Tennessee Williams. In Stoppardland, the emotions certainly come fast and furious, but mostly  stem from knowledgeable debate.

I like to think of a Tom Stoppard play as a turbulent Thanksgiving dinner discussion on religion and politics...only the table is surrounded by seasoned theologians and political scientists. People whose intelligence and passion are so great that their hearts and minds are of one existence. Broadway is a mighty frustrating place for Stoppard-haters. Mr. Stoppard has won the coveted Best Play Tony Award four times, with a career total of seven nominations.

One such play that received only a nomination was Arcadia, a hit in London whose 1995 Lincoln Centre production was evenly rejected and praised.

Mr. Stoppard's Arcadia is currently receiving a fiery, enlightening, and often enthralling first revival at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre on Broadway, and I imagine that the response will be no different. Widespread critical praise with a sprinkle of audience resentment.

Arcadia, simply stated, takes place on the large English estate of Sidley Park in both the present day and Regency eras. In the present, writer Hannah Jarvis comes to research the little-known hermit of Sidley Park, while Bernard Nightingale, a fame hunting fellow researcher butts in to prove his theory that Lord Byron had personal connections to the estate. They end up combining resources, and have many a wordy argument in the process.

Meanwhile, two hundred years earlier, we are treated to the day-to-day lives of the earlier inhabitants of Sidley Park, the very people that Jarvis and Nightingale are simultaneously researching. Although equally as intelligent and engaging, their banter hits us in a very different way. We wonder why that is, but can't quite put our finger on it...

As the play progresses, the two time periods become more and more intertwined, with scenes in both eras taking place onstage at the same time, drawing attention to our human behavioral constants.

Arcadia is a fine example of what Mr. Stoppard does best - personifying his own ideas. Hannah is very much a writer. She thinks in the mindset of history, primary sources, and art. Valentine Coverly, an ancestor of the original Sidley Park residents, is a mathematician, and wraps his head around the same thoughts through his own left-brain methodology.

In this production, directed with a loose grip by David Leveaux, I saw something in Arcadia that I had never seen before - Mr. Stoppard's love of education. Now, it may seem rather obvious that someone so smart would actively endorse education, but what I saw him doing was mourning the death of the liberal arts education.

The 1800's Sidley Park scenes are woven together by Thomasina Coverly's lessons with her eccentric tutor, Septimus Hodge. During their tutoring sessions they cover topics as broad as Latin, mathematics, politics, and even sex. And that is what catches us off guard. They speak in an informed way about a variety of subjects, effectively saying that intellectual disciplines are not mutually exclusive but rather craving thoughtful companionship.

Rigidly sticking to one discipline is what causes the majority of the disagreements for the modern day Sidley Park characters. In this lovely Arcadia, I heard Stoppard's voice, hovering above all of the actors, loudly proclaiming that society has lost the true spirit of education. Where once we grasped at all things mathematic, musical, artistic, literary, and political - we are now passively absorbing factoids as a means to a job.

Set designer Hildegard Bechtler has made the enlightened choice of leaving the walls a splotchy white, blending the two time periods visually into one, and allowing the audience to mentally color the walls to their liking.

Gregory Gale's costumes work with equal effectiveness, being true to the two time periods while never drawing too much attention to them. Donald Holder's lighting creates many marvelous moments of serenity among the prevailing chaos.

This new production is acted with the finesse and passionate focus that the play desperately crys out for. Lia Williams as Hannah Jarvis has an incredible grasp on the pacing of Stoppard's language, and shows how truly gutteral and human his characters can be when played properly. Billy Crudup, Broadway's original Septimus Hodge, returns in this revival, only this time as Bernard Nightingale. Crudup's portrayl of Nightingale exudes a certain professorial swagger that only the cockiest of collegiate academics are permitted to carry.

The sizeable company, which also includes Tony Award nominee Raúl Esparza, is uniformly fine, with the one exception being Bel Powley as Thomasina Coverly. Thomasina ages three years in the span of the play, beginning at age fourteen and ending at age seventeen. As any one knows, there is a substantial shift in maturity during that timespan, but Powley doesn't really change at all. And in the context of this play, that can be super creepy

Without a doubt, Arcadia can be a daunting play to experience. Just as in Shakespeare, you will not catch every allusion and clever quip that is presented to you. But this play, and more specifically this production, has so much beauty and an extraordinary amount of universal truth that makes the occasional frustration entirely worthwhile. For those of you who do not know Arcadia, I will not reveal even a smidge of the ending, but I can guarantee you that there is no more moving ten minutes currently on Broadway.

Et in Arcadia ego. "and in Arcadia I am," and there are few places where I would rather be.-Johnny Oleksinski

Arcadia is currently playing at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre on Broadway.