REVIEW: MargOH! Channing is Tipsy!

originally published by edgenewyork.com 4/3/12

MargOH! Channing bills herself as the most decorated extra in the history of motion pictures and television. Born to an inbred and intolerant family in Bangor, Maine, MargOH! was rescued by a "drunk slut" aunt and whisked away to be raised in the glamorous confines of a brothel.

She overcame her rather checkered past with a new name inspired by the acid-tongued Bette Davis in All About Eve and gained new confidence from picking herself up "by the bra-straps." She then obtained a measure of notoriety in Hollywood before settling here in New York to focus on inserting herself into the downtown scene as one of Manhattan’s premiere cabaret divas. "MargOH! Channing is Tipsy" is the latest installment of her ongoing serial of autobiographical shows chronicling her harrowing journey to hell and back.

In truth, MargOH! Channing is the drag persona of performance artist BT Shea. Shea has endowed MargOH! with a hilariously absurd backstory, but he draws the character with such honesty, truth, subtlety, and vulnerability, that she becomes -- if only for a couple hours -- a living, breathing person. Henceforth and therefore, this review will refer to Ms. Channing not as a character, but as the star of her own one-woman show.

Perhaps "tipsy" is in the eye of the beholder, but as far as I could tell the title of her show is a major understatement. Ms. Channing was so visibly drunk that she had to be walked out onto the stage and propped against her microphone by her gal-pal, the celebrated drag queen and gorgeous ex-con Flotilla DeBarge.

Through slurred (and sometimes inaudible) speech, Ms. Channing spoke of her life’s humble beginnings as the daughter of New England fishmongers from the "school of hard knockers." With every wrong recounted, she poured herself another drink: perhaps to keep the emotions flowing, perhaps to dull the pain.

Ms. Channing is a singer who understands her limits as a vocalist, and even warned us that her voice may be a little "scratchy." But what she lacked in pitch and tone, she sure made up for in her ability to fearlessly and shamelessly emote. It’s clear why she detests cheap sentiment: the bitch can sell a song.

She transitioned from Tom Waits’ maudlin "Shiver Me Timbers," which she imbued with heartbreaking genuineness, to "Rusty Warren’s novelty "Bounce Your Boobies," that underheard, ironic feminist anthem.

This medley illustrated for Ms. Channing’s audience the very essence of drag: the pain of leaving behind one’s family, friends, and identity in order to seek out another life where beauty, glamour, and fantasy reign supreme. Drag queens empower themselves by choosing illusion over hard truth. That’s sad, and also beautiful.

In the tradition of Victor Hugo’s "Notre-Dame de Paris" Ms. Channing marries the sublime and the grotesque in a show that transcends its comedic trappings to become the portrait of a woman whose dreams have been dashed but whose hope springs eternal.

Her whispered and wistful rendition of "Everything Changes" was devastating. I only wish it had come later in the show, because for me it was climactic.

Throw in an earnest tribute to Amy Winehouse, a couple of glitter-dipped back-up singers, and a duet with Ms. DeBarge, and "MargOH! Channing is Tipsy" became a hilarious hodgepodge of performance art, stand-up comedy, cabaret, theater, and drag. We are allowed to see MargOH! at her best and at her worst, somehow at the same time. It’s that fine-tuned duplicity that makes her so real.

Watching the performance was like seeing a cat thrown from a roof: you pity it, you fear for it, you witness its desperate flip-flopping. But then it lands on its feet, and you marvel at the grace of it all.

"MargOH! Channing is Tipsy" played on March 30 at Dixon Place, 161A Chrystie Street. For information on MargOH! Channing’s future shows, visit margohchanning.blogspot.com.

Review: The ThreePenny Opera

my review for EdgeNewYork.com published 2/13/12

Hidden inside an unassuming building on Manhattan’s west side, tucked away on its third floor, hides the TGB Theater, a small but suitable black box where Marvell Rep has assembled one of the most collectively talented casts currently performing on a midtown stage.

"The Threepenny Opera" by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht is a pioneering work of the musical comedy genre and one of those oft-produced shows that, despite its existence in several varying translations from the original German, has become a standard of the American theater. Sometimes when a show is such a steady presence on the New York scene (it has seen seven Broadway mountings since it premiered in 1933), we view each new production with a nostalgia that can temper the work’s impact.

Artistic Director Lenny Leibowitz has made sure that this production will not be viewed through that lens of nostalgia, but with a fresh and nuanced gaze. It is not simply a remounting of a treasured piece from the canon: it is a living, breathing-at times, exciting-theatrical experience.

The sprawling plot line begins with Peachum, an entrepreneur in Victorian London whose business is to demand a tax from all the street beggars in town, finding out that his daughter has spent the night with Macheath, a dastardly criminal known colloquially as Mack the Knife.  We have previously been introduced to Macheath during the prologue by one of the beggars, the delightful (and delightfully pants-less) Stephen Sheffer singing the show’s most famous song, "Mack the Knife," which chronicles Macheath’s history of murder, larceny, rape, and general heartlessness.

In the second scene, the pathetic wedding of Macheath and Polly Peachum, we finally meet our antihero. Cruel and thoughtless he may be, but there’s no question why Polly would fall for such a bad boy: as played by Matt Faucher, Macheath is also strong, sexy, and charismatic.  Emma Ronsenthal’s Polly is no shrinking violet in the shadow of Macheath’s muscle. She brings a fearless, devil-may-care quality to the naïve Polly, and her renditions of "Pirate Jenny" and "Barbara Song" are feats of musicality and acting, respectively. Her name could be above the title.

Other stand-out performers include Joy Franz, deftly navigating a rather pronounced vocal break as the sneering, conniving Mrs. Peachum; Chad Jennings, who brings character-actor competence and leading-man charm to corrupt cop Tiger Brown, and the wonderful Ariela Morgenstern, whose bribe-taking prostitute Jenny Diver looks like a jaded, unbowed Natalie Wood.


As it is the benchmark of Brecht’s Epic Theatre movement, "The Threepenny Opera" should, in production, continually remind the audience that they are viewing a play. Rather than be caught up in the action and transported to an alternate reality a la Stanislavski, we are aware of the artifice.


To act as aides memoires, the ensemble of beggars and whores introduce each scene and song with a hand-painted sign suggestive of those carried by Peachum’s beggars. They draw a patch-worked set of red satin curtains, every swing of which evokes the billowing scarlet from Macheath’s bloody past.


Brecht’s London is a town populated by beggars, thieves, and whores. Corruption is the standard. It’s kill or be killed in this Marxist send-up of Capitalism gone haywire. Macheath gets double-crossed by just about everyone he knows but still doesn’t have the good sense to get out of town. He uses his every opportunity for escape instead as a time to go and have sex with prostitutes. This is what happens when lust for hedonism precludes the anticipation of its consequences.


Brecht did not want to be preachy and pious in this cautionary tale, but in the end (somehow) Macheath gets what’s coming to him. The show may be close to a hundred years old, but I’m still not going to tell you the ending. Go see it.


"The Threepenny Opera" plays in repertory through February 28 at TGB Theater located at 312 W. 36th St, just west of 8th Ave. for more information, visit www.marvellrep.com

Brazil! Brazil!

a review of mine for EdgeNewYork.com published 2/15/12

The New Victory Theater is a microcosm of Times Square’s transformation through the end of the last century. In the 1940s it was home to Minsky’s Burlesque. Throughout the 1970s and 80s it was a porn cinema. Today it is the city’s only theater devoted to performances geared exclusively toward children and family audiences. My, how things have changed!

But its current show "Brazil! Brazil!" is probably not what comes to mind when you think of Children’s Theater: "Hansel and Gretel" this ain’t. It is a love song to -- you guessed it -- all things Brazil. It is a plotless, hour-long, fast-paced celebration of the music, culture, and global influence of the Brazilian people. And it’s actually pretty sexy.

Throughout, there are video projections of a soccer ball (canary yellow and Kelly green, the Brazilian National football team’s colors, naturally) bouncing its way through the streets and beaches of Rio de Janeiro, past street artists, footballers, children, and adults.

Co-Creators/Co-Directors Toby Gough and Dr. Hana Al Hadad have produced a show that takes us on that same journey, catching glimpses of Brazilian life and customs, from the point-of-view of a wandering, run-away soccer ball.

"Brazil! Brazil!" is part concert, part circus, and part dance theater. A five-piece band remains onstage throughout the performance, providing the soundtrack for all the festivities. With its two electric guitars and drum set, it is more of a rock-n-roll band than a traditionally Brazilian one, though it does feature heavy on Brazilian rhythms and percussion.

One of the first vignettes is a showcase of Capoeira, an Afro-Brazilian martial art that incorporates dance and music. Here we are introduced to the show’s five strapping dancing men who will go on to dominate the bulk of the performance. This Capoeira is a tightly choreographed pseudo-battle with rapid high-kicks and quick spins that leave the audience dizzier than the shirtless heartthrobs onstage. It is interesting to note that the Capoeira is performed to up-tempo samba music rather than a traditional capoeira bateria.

While the Capoeiristas catch their breath and change costumes in the wings, a trio of "freestyle footballers" who have seemingly magical powers over their respective balls entertains us. These three have pretty impressive resumes when it comes to freestyle footballing. One of them (John Farnworth) participated in the 26-mile London Marathon all the while keeping a ball in the air. (Incidentally, during the marathon he was representing and raising funds for HIV charity Kick4Life.)

The children in the audience are particularly impressed by these gravity-defying soccer stunts. Judging by the "ooh’s" and "aah’s" coming from the crowd, I imagine they were all practicing with their own soccer balls the next morning.

The extravaganza is peppered with appearances by two beautiful women (for which Brazil also happens to be well known). Paloma Gomes sings a few traditional sambas, occasionally duetting with Mickey Beigi, who, in addition to being a dancer, is essentially the evening’s emcee.

But it is Gianne Abbott, lead dancer, who tries with lightning-fast gyrating and soulful dance moves to steal the show. Occasionally, she succeeds. Even after she leaves the stage at the show’s conclusion, one gets the impression that she continues dancing right into the elevator of her hotel.

"Brazil! Brazil!" arrives in New York after touring Europe, UK, and Australia as a show that could be Brazil’s theatrical ambassador to the world. Even if the families in the audience don’t understand every reference to lambada or samba or Carnival, the cast’s love and devotion to their own culture is obvious and infectious.

"Brazil! Brazil!" runs through February 26 at the New Victory Theater, 209 W. 42nd St. For information on tickets or attending a Capoeira workshop, visit newvictory.org.

Theater Review: Coffee House, Greenwich Village

published 16 January 2012... and by the way, the first time I ever panned an actor's performance.  At first I was racked with guilt. But I'm a performer's critic: I not only criticized her performance, I offered her a suggestion (and remarked on her beauty).  

The Manhattan Repertory Theatre’s Winter One-Act Competition continues this weekend featuring, among others, “Coffee House, Greenwich Village” written by John Doble and directed by Olivia Harris. 

Two nervous strangers are set to meet for a blind date, premeditated via internet dating site, those modern matchmaking means now ubiquitous as Greenwich Village coffee houses.  Jack, played with anxious appeal by the likeable Nicholas J. Pearson, arrives first, with flowers and sweaty brow, hopeful he will soon find a soul mate.  Enter Pamela, played by Elizabeth Dilley, radiant as a young Bette Davis, but tentative here in her role as temptress. 

The playwright has woven a web of dialogue in which the characters appear by turns to fiercely dominate and then submit to one another through light, impersonal small-talk.  Pamela, in what at first seems like a bad joke by a jumpy girl on a first date, notes that women are like cats.  “We’re feline,” she says.  But as the story unfolds, we realize that men are not, in turn, canine: in Pamela’s world, they’re the mice.

Mr. Doble has constructed a story of Hitchcockian scope that in the one-act format feels rushed.  He has endowed the role of Jack with a range of comedic and emotional depth for the actor, which Mr. Pearson takes full advantage of.  However the role of Pamela still seems to be a mystery to both Mr. Doble and Ms. Dilley.  To be fair, she’s a mysterious character.  Still, I wish the actress had grounded herself more emphatically in Pamela’s sexual energy, since the only concrete thing we know of her is that sex is, quite literally, her weapon.

Alex Engquist (handsome, underused) plays the small but pivotal role of waiter in the coffee house who inexplicably never delivers the second round of espressos the couple asks for. 

What’s exciting about the transaction between Jack and Pamela is how quickly fantasy can turn to cold, cruel reality.  Also, the way their internet hook-up plays out like so many others in the Village everyday: foreplay, climax, followed by a hurried goodbye.

“Coffee House, Greenwich Village” by John Doble plays at 2pm today at the Manhattan Repertory Theatre located at 303 W. 42^nd St on the 6^th floor.  For more info visit www.manhattanrep.com

Theater Review: Righteou$ Money

published 16 January 2012

One-person plays present a unique level of responsibility for the featured performer.  To carry a play without the benefit of a supporting cast is a test of endurance, focus, and chops for the actor.  Ditto the playwright.  When there is no foil, no sidekick, no comic relief, no straight man-- no gay neighbor--you’ve only got one character: so he had better be an interesting one.  Wolf 359’s production of “Righteous Money” is an example of that sublime and uncommon marriage of good acting with good material. 

Written and performed by the excellent Michael Yates Crawley, “Righteous Money” is an acerbic social commentary and dark comedy that details the psychological undoing of its hero CJ, a television personality and Wall Street power player.

The tiny Red Room Theater has been made over as a soundstage, and we are the studio audience in this live broadcast of CJ’s nationally syndicated financial advice show.  As CJ holds court over his audience of minions, all the while insulting and belittling their very worth as human beings, we learn that he long ago gave up kindness, humility, and all traces of political correctness during his ascent to financial success-- and a TriBeCa penthouse. 

In one brilliantly absurd and telling moment he says to his followers, “When I look into your souls, I see a bunch of (expletive) idiots.”  CJ is so forthright and full of himself, he can without irony claim to look into people’s souls.  And when he then calls those people idiots, it is not so much an affront as it is a warning.  CJ is Ebenezer Scrooge but with mad charisma.

Today has just not been CJ’s day.  Not only was he awoken from sleep by the Occupy Wall Street protests outside his (floor-to-ceiling, soundproof) windows, but his assistant Nathan has also decided not to show up for work, and his guest for the evening, financial guru Suze Orman, is missing in action.  CJ is able to hold it together on the air, though, spouting his appalling financial guidance, and trying during commercial breaks to keep the show afloat.

He admits to sacrificing all emotions and the hope of ever finding love in order to focus all his energies on mounting his wealth.  This is not a fact he mourns; to the contrary, he advises that his audience follow suit.  Why waste time building relationships, after all, when time is money?  Why even bother with conversation when “words only matter if they’re spoken to a broker during trading hours?”

As he is a larger-than-life television personality, CJ tends to speak in hyperbole (“I am God, you barnacle.”).  But as he descends into madness, we see that he has taken every piece of his own callous advice and turned it into this rigid, heartless reality.  However, disclosures about his sex life, the intricacies of his relationship with Nathan, and his recurring Macbethian hallucinations in the teleprompter reveal that there is still at least a modicum of human feeling beneath the façade. 

“Righteous Money” lampoons consumer culture, greed, and lust for the material while showcasing a layered, tragic anti-hero.  It re-casts the American dream as a waking nightmare.  There’s even self-flagellation.  

Having toured several cities around the globe, Crowley and director Michael Rau bring it to New York with polish and style.  It is funny, engaging, and right on the money.  

Theater Review: Helen Keller on Vaudeville

published 10 January 2012

Helen Keller’s legend is part of the American consciousness.  Famously deaf and blind by her nineteenth month, she overcame the silent darkness that could have cursed her to a lifetime of lonesome misery and in the process became a global symbol of triumph over devastating circumstances.  Today, what most of us know about her is summed up in “The Miracle Worker,” that oft-produced play and film which ends with teacher Annie Sullivan’s breakthrough and little six-year old Helen speaking her first word. 

Michele-Leona Godin has written “The Star of Happiness:Helen Keller on Vaudeville?!” as an examination and celebration of Helen’s life beyond that childhood moment.  Godin employs the use of video and image projections (expertly curated and designed by David Lowe), her own vocal recordings, and thoughtful research to bring Helen to life not only as that icon of survival against the odds, but also as a real human being.

As Godin is a regular adjunct and occasional faculty at NYU, the evening aptly begins as an informative and engaging lecture on Keller’s personal history and significance in shaping modern society’s view of the disabled.  Suddenly, the mean and careless voice of what sounds like a hateful playground bully booms from the speaker, interrupting the talk with crass, malicious, and ,to say the least, politically incorrect jokes aimed at blind people, deaf people, and Helen Keller herself (of the Why-did-Helen-Keller-cross-the-road variety). 

The lone spotlight darkens.  An awkward discomfort descends upon the house as Godin appears to fluster and become frustrated at having to defend her subject against the cruel jeering.  (Awkward, too, because the audience was populated by a number of blind people on the night I attended.)  In the small, black box style Kraine Theater, in total darkness, hearing loudly and clearly these fragmented, hate-filled ramblings, one is transported into the experience of the disabled and victimized, the blind spectacle.  In that moment dripping with pathos Godin reveals her lecture as true performance art.

In the second act (there are three), Godin emerges in a shimmering gown and recreates Keller’s appearances on the Vaudeville circuit.  She answers the questions of curious onlookers and defends Keller’s detractors who call her a sell-out or a side-show.  Practicality, Godin reminds us, is the reason Keller took to the Vaudeville stage: “There weren’t many jobs available in 1920 to a deaf, blind woman.”  She goes on to further humanize her subject with clues about Keller’s sex life and reports of her rather voluptuous figure and how Vaudeville audiences responded to it.  One of the evening’s most revealing moments is the reading of a letter that Keller wrote at age forty-two to a would-be suitor.

The show features the song “Star of Happiness” (newly recorded by Christina B.) that was written for Keller’s Vaudeville act, and where the show gets its title.  (In one of many humorous moments, Godin does acknowledge how cheesy the title is.)  She also uses what she calls an avant-accordion, a device used to record elements of a song, loop them, and layer them right there on stage.  Though she had technical difficulties during the recording, the song nonetheless served as a reverberating and poignant soundtrack to the show’s final moments. 

By introducing elements of her own life into the story, Godin--who herself has a degenerative eye disease--has given the show a presence and urgency without which it could have descended into mere idol worship.  She channels Keller not through impersonation, but through her own experience, which forces the observer to confront his own ideas and perceptions of blindness, deafness, and what it means to fully live a life. 

  

My Fist-- uh, First-- Published Theater Review

published 8 January 2012 

Matt Wilson’s “The Ventriloquist Circle” is a camp surrealist murder mystery set in the world of fetish porn.  (That a play with this title is not a tale of madcap puppeteers and their voice-throwing hijinks will only be the first shock of the evening.)  Turns out, a ventriloquist circle is three or more fisters/fistees each performing that act on the next in a great big circle of transitive fisting.   Are you getting the image?

The play opens with porn star and impresario Cox The Milk Man (a handsome, near-nude Daniel Piper Kublick) phoning in a confession to his priest during a break from the filming of one such ventriloquist circle.  “How far can the arm be inserted before fisting becomes a crime against God?” he asks.  The play will go on to raise many more (and answer very few) outrageous questions about power, control, morality, lust and the ongoing fight for freedom from social constructs.

Both Wilson and director Kathryn Hamilton have structured the work as a send-up of the very industry it portrays.  The play is populated by caricatures, cardboard cut-outs of iconic American characters: the Lonely Housewife (a charming, funny Christine Bullen), the Milk Man, The Girl Next Door, and The Lumberjack.  Two police officers investigating the murder speak robotically, facing out into the audience as though reading from cue cards.  All the bad acting, strange dialogue and ludicrous plotlines that pornographic films are notorious for are on display here, except without the promised money shot to look forward to. 

The Milk Man turns up dead after a spontaneous threesome with The Lonely Housewife and The Girl Next Door.  The Lonely Housewife is questioned, and we find that she’s been making movies for some time with The Milk Man.  Somewhere along the way they decided that using cameras to record their “films” was a minor and unnecessary detail in production.  The detectives go on to learn that rather than producing real films, The Milk Man had simply been staging fetish sex scenes in random places and calling it a movie. 

Early in the investigation a horse (in bondage-style leather bridle and boxing gloves-cum-hooves) is introduced as a suspect.   It is presumed that the Horse is actually a person who has fetishized the animal to the point of living as a horse, at least in films.  But maybe they meant it to be a real horse.  Why Not?  In fact, that seemed to be a question the playwright must have continually asked himself throughout the creation of his play.  Why don’t we throw in a lumberjack and have him get mustard squirted all over his face.  Why Not?  Why don’t we write in an aerobic dance number with an instructor who’s physically incapable of removing his fuchsia unitard.  Why Not?  Why don’t we have the Milk Man return from the grave with a sausage pizza? Why Not?  Attempted Rape? Why Not? Gratuitous Nudity? Why Not?

As with porn, the plot is not really the point here.   "The Ventriloquist Circle" is an exercise in shock theatre that, at every turn (and lighting change), has its audience cringing at the thought of what could possibly happen next.  It is funny, silly and totally absurd.  Just sit back.  Relax.  Release your inhibitions.  You’re in for a total mind-fisting.

“The Ventriloquist Circle” plays Friday and Saturday nights in January at 9:30 at Dixon Place located at 161A Chrystie St. between Rivington and DeLancey on the Lower East Side.  www.dixonplace.org

Just Judy

You only have 9 days left to catch The Judy Show off-Broadway at the DR2 Theatre (15th St at Union Square East).  Judy Gold is one of those television people whose name you may not recognize, but whose face you definitely will.  She takes you on a hilarious 90-minute journey through her life from awkward childhood to awkward adolescence to poised and fabulous (and mildly awkward) adult Jewish lesbian mother of two.
Gold employs references to the best of the American sitcom canon to ground her story.  Like it or not, she's right in her claim that TV sitcoms taught several generations of Americans a lot about life.  Way beyond just entertainment, Sitcoms were windows in to how other families lived, communicated, expressed love, resolved problems. (And I don't know if that's still true today.)

HIGHLIGHTS from the show include

• Judy summarizing of The Facts of Life
• Judy at summer camp
• Judy singing and playing the piano
• Judy impersonating her mother
• the story of Judy's father

The show is closing on Nov 27. So go if you can before time runs out. You WILL love it. Scout's honor.