Reviews

We Just Sorta Echo Each Other

For a time, I thought Ethan Hawke was the worst, most destructive stage actor in New York City.  Shakespeare, Chekhov, Brecht—it seemed there was no canonized playwright he was unwilling to defile, no production safe from his histrionics, his loud, heavily gestural, and self-absorbed brand of performance.  So it is with great delight and more […]

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Reviews

Recognizing the Bones Underneath

Dodge (Ed Harris) sits in his living room, smoking cigarettes, sneaking whiskey, and violently emptying his lungs into a handkerchief.  From upstairs, his wife Halie (Amy Madigan) shouts down to him: about the rain, the religious implications of taking medication (“There’s some things the ministers can’t even answer”), and whether they ever raced thoroughbreds on Sunday.  She […]

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Reviews

None of the Horses Are Loose

You didn’t have to see Sam Shepard’s last play, A Particle of Dread (Oedipus Variations), to know his theatrical roots stretch back to the Greeks.  Fool for Love, which first opened in 1983, unfolds as two half-siblings, Eddie (Sam Rockwell) and May (Nina Arianda), spend seventy-five minutes in a motel trying to break an attraction that has plagued them […]

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Reviews

A Glimmer of Guts

In Sam Shepard’s A Particle of Dread (Oedipus Variations), Sophocles’ tragedy has been rewritten (with Irish accents) and then paired with a modern variation set in California, where the past is reconstructed through forensic evidence and kingdoms are measured in Chevy dealerships.  Stephen Rea plays both Oedipus and Otto, the latter an elderly amateur crime […]

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Reviews

Bring Some Extra Blankets

David Auburn won the Pulitzer Prize in 2001 for his play Proof, which is probably the only reason that Lost Lake is being produced now by the Manhattan Theatre Club.  This is a textbook mediocre American play: Veronica (Tracie Thoms) is a nurse practitioner and a single mom who is looking to rent a cabin for a […]

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Reviews

Who Killed David Mamet? It Was You and Me.

Critics are having a blast beating David Mamet’s newest play, The Anarchist, to a pulp, but something about this strikes me as culturally self-mutilating.  Of course, we have a history of snubbing our greatest playwrights.  How often do we see a Broadway revival of Williams that is not Streetcar or Cat on a Hot Tin […]

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