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The Invention of Love (c) Paul Lutvak
Theater: The Invention of Love
At TheaterLab
The Invention of Love is the late Tom Stoppard’s only play with a gay theme, and when it opened on Broadway in 2001, it got a respectable run as well as Tony Awards for the actors (Richard Easton and Robert Sean Leonard) playing the younger and older versions of its main character, poet A. E. Housman. When the play begins, Housman has died, and befitting a classicist scholar, he is traveling the river Styx towards Hades. Stoppard’s play lost the Tony Award that year to David Auburn’s Proof, which coincidentally was revived this year. So, having the chance to revisit both plays, I came to the same conclusion I had 25 years ago: The Invention of Love is the better written play while Proof is more emotionally resonant. Invention has Stoppard’s typical intellectually elliptical dialogue and themes, but it would have benefited from a demonstration of the love in its title and less of the theoretical, poetic analysis of it. In the new barebones, but very intimate, production at TheaterLab, enjoyably directed by Zachary Elkind, Stoppard’s witty conversations really take center stage, making the audience swim in early 19th century British discourse on classic literature with a good five-minutes spent on the placement of a comma.
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The Invention of Love (c) Paul Lutvak
A talented cast of nine effortlessly conveying the typical erudite Stoppard characters, but it’s the always commanding David Greenspan, as the elder Housman, who steals the spotlight whenever he speaks, as when he is horrified to hear of the newly minted term homosexual, which is an unholy mix of Greek and Latin. Housman who is now best known for his poem, A Shropshire Lad, has always had a crush on his best friend, Moses Jackson (a winsome José Espinosa), especially when he and the young Housman (the impressive Yaron Lotan) were students at Oxford. England, however, has just passed an indecency law targeting gay men, which ultimately leads to the downfall of Housman’s contemporary: the more flamboyant and outspoken Oscar Wilde (a cheeky Sam Bolen). All of this is examined as a flashback, but Stoppard doesn’t really go into how Housman’s life was affected by his decisions, instead using the investigation of which writer invented the love poem and why as its plot device. This latest revival of The Invention of Love doesn’t solve the play’s lack of emotional catharsis (the way the film version of E.M. Forster’s Maurice, which tackled similar themes, did) but it’s always nice to luxuriate in Stoppard’s words, especially when it’s tackled with the ferocity that the great David Greenspan provides here—not to be missed.
America, Who Hurt You? (c) HanJie Chow
Theater: America, Who Hurt You?
At Polonsky Shakespeare Center
Monologist and social commentator Sarah Jones’ new show starts with a very intriguing question, America, Who Hurt You? Jones worked on the show during its premiere in an Oxford University production, which may be why the therapist asking the question is Britain. Yes, the country is the therapist, with America the patient, here played as a ditzy influencer forced to recount what past trauma has led us to the nightmare that is the current administration. This is a very high concept, and while I went along with her thesis in the guise of this skit, the effect might vary, as it did with the white guy in front of me who could not sit comfortably in his seat for more than two minutes at a time. This portion of the show definitely stems from the more analytical side of her brain, and there’s a lot of well-researched historical evidence that accumulates with snapshots of America’s citizens during different periods of time that bring a moving gravitas to the evening. The show’s second thread is more personal, with an old graduation photo that hovers over the stage for many of these scenes of a young Sarah, her Caribbean father (who has liked quoting the Declaration of Independence in casual conversation) and her white, Jewish mother. This part is more in Jones’ wheelhouse, playing various members of her multicultural family tree, including black, Jewish, MAGA and Hispanic voices, which she effectively portrays, sometimes switching quickly between them within the same scene. Director Eric Ting successfully balances both narratives as they intertwine throughout the evening, but it does still feel like two awkward tales tackling the same theme. Jones tells us that the play, co-produced by the National Black Theatre and Theatre for a New Audience, is a work in progress as each new day brings crazy political headlines that boggle the mind and maybe, by the end of the run, a more cohesive vision will emerge. As it is now, America, Who Hurt You? is an enjoyable evening with serious undertones and enough twee to make the same guy in front of me, at the end of the show during an audience participation moment, outwardly reject Jones’ theories with his body language. Which means, of course, she’s doing something right.
Garry Starr: Classic Penguins (c) Austin Ruffer
Theater: Garry Starr: Classic Penguins
At Studio Seaview
There are pre-show warnings, for the prudish among us, before Garry Starr: Classic Penguins, a mostly one-man show that was a fringe hit for Australian clown Damien Warren-Smith under his acting alter ego, Garry Starr, a penguin-man hybrid who has decided to present an abridged version of all the books in the Penguin classics collection. He does all this in the nude (clutch the pearls) because penguins don’t wear clothes, although like the cartoon penguin, Opus, he does occasionally have neckwear. If you think this is the height of its low-browness, you would be wrong because there’s a lot in the show that will go slightly unspoiled. Suffice it to say, for the classic Penguin books portion of the show, Starr barely goes into the plot of most, with the majority referenced just by the title as a joke punchline. When he brings out an inflatable globe, you can predict that he will circle it 80 times; The Grapes of Wrath and Clockwork Orange include a generous helping of each fruit; and Breakfast at Tiffany’s is a musical interlude of “Moon River.” But Starr also includes audience participation, smiling innocently as he asks for volunteers to do things I can barely believe they agreed to. (Did I miss the pre-show cocktail party to loosen their inhibitions?) I don’t want to give away too much, but let’s just say the front part of Starr’s nudity gets enough laughs, until he starts to focus on the backside, especially in the Gulliver’s Travels section. What he does with one audience member and grapes really had me wincing, but fair play, he does get his comeuppance when another audience member with an orange lobbed it perfectly at Starr the night I was there. Starr seems genuinely happy when these moments work out, as when he gets a special trip through the audience for Viginia Woolf’s The Waves. All of these shenanigans are directed by Cal McCrystal like a traffic cop, making sure things don’t get overwhelming at any moment. Of course, people going into the show hoping for some literary hilarity will be disappointed, unless just hearing Amy and Jo’s names is enough for the Little Women mention. But, like Burnout Paradise from earlier this year, which also featured Australian comedians doing crazy things with the audience, the success of Classic Penguins really depends on how willing New Yorkers are to have a good time.
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