Sunday, November 18, 2007

Theater Review: Our Lady of 121st Street

By Alexandra Bonifield of North Dallas Gazette

Photo by Matt Mrozek

I hate being negative about a stage show. I know too well how hard actors and production companies work to mount plays and aspire to create “art”, how expensive it can be, how ephemeral and puny its returns.

I also know how frustrating bad reviews can be.

But, I have to be honest. Good live theatre should carry me far beyond, or deeper within, my own world. If it fails to transport or enlighten me, it should at least provide outstanding entertainment. If not, to be frank, I can sleep more comfortably at home.

That said, Alan Guirgis’ Our Lady of 121st Street opened Friday the 16th with Kitchen Dog Theater and SMU at The MAC to a near capacity crowd of animated, hip, well-heeled, youngish patrons. Named as one of the Ten Best Plays of 2003 by presumably respectable entities, the play makes 2003 appear to be a creative playwriting season of depressing decrepitude. Much ado about very little, this play features: gimmickry, contrived conflict, implausible plot elements, predictable outcomes, worn out shtick, blatant stereotypes, raw dialogue and an overweening sappy malaise slung together in dreary, linear, now it’s time for a TV commercial, melodramatic, worst of the sitcom genre fashion. Is there any doubt how I feel about it?

What audience was it written for? Curiously dated in its treatment of African-American lifestyles (it might have been greeted as “trend-setting and cool” circa polyester 1975), I found myself cringing and embarrassed. Friday night’s Dallas audience tittered. The word f**k is uttered (loudly) at least 50 times in Act 1 but only by the African Americans in the show. So drunken, down and WHITE New York cops don’t cuss? The one African American couple I spied in the audience sat off by themselves at intermission and looked uncomfortable. I refrained from asking them their opinions.

And homosexuality? This play isn’t a light farce. A swishy blade named Gale, hand firmly planted at waist and flamingly lisped words dripping from his pouty mouth every time he opened it to whine or hit on someone, presented this play’s peculiar gay perspective. Gratuitous and demeaning? Definitely. It’s the sort of phony stereotype rightwing radio relishes ranting about routinely. “It is the mission of Kitchen Dog Theater to provide a place where questions of justice, morality, and human freedom can be explored.” Uh-huh. Get out your prospecting pick and dig deep.

Moving on, requisite, gritty New York style and characterization must carry this play for it to succeed. The musical scoring by John M. Flores set the scene beautifully; the vertical, revolving set by SMU’s MFA Design Class under the supervision of Scenic Coordinator Russell Parkman effectively mixed elements of Basquiat and Frank Lloyd Wright with imagination and edgy elegance.

There were some fine actors in the cast, sadly not all included in the program. There was a "dialogue coach" listed in the program, so why did the actors speak in flat no-drawl Texan-ese, with only one or two lonely exceptions? Cat on A Hot Tin Roof without the Southern patois would make for oddly strained listening. The New York cop’s character reminded me of the role Harvey Keitel has made a career of portraying in film; he needs a macho swagger, a Sam Spade look -you-in-the-eye toughness. The stale stench of unfiltered cigarettes and bad booze should ooze out of his pores. This production’s actor, Christopher Carlos, clean-cut and natty, mumbled and seemed to sleepwalk through this role. He’s apparently never been really drunk, himself, nor observed anyone closely who was…. I’ve seen novice high school student actors portray better drunks. Very disappointing.

Oi. Trying to focus on the good, the scenes featuring Bill Lengfelder as embittered, paraplegic Catholic priest Father Lux, brought welcome relief. His fascinating stillness and controlled intensity of delivery showed him to be an actor of depth and imagination, no matter how illogical his lines of dialogue. Jamal Gibran Sterling was a one-man show of energy and versatility, a definite asset to any cast; unfortunately, he wasn’t convincing as the NY homeboy gone big-time LA crook. He had way too much of a clean-cut preacher man about his portrayal, excessive cussing notwithstanding. Dark sunglasses, a big shiny earring and a black beret do not make a believable character, alone. Show me the fire in your belly, Mr. Sterling! I suspect you have it in you. Overall, the acting reminded me of some of my college acting classes (modern scenes: comedy and drama since 1940), where nobody dared crawl too far out that creative tightrope for fear of “looking weird.”

Aside from everything else, how did you enjoy the play? It’s been excruciating to write this, but it’s done. I know Kitchen Dog Theater has produced some terrific art over the years, and I hope they will welcome me back to review future sterling productions. Better luck next time, to all of us.

“Talk-Backs” with the actors and director follow the Sunday matinee performances. Pay-what-you-can specials (available to the first 25 patrons nightly) are on Wednesdays (November 21 and 28 and December 12) and Thursdays (November 29 and December 6 and 13). Purchase tickets online or by calling 214-953-1055.

Alexandra Bonifield, independent theatre critic and advocate

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