A Number, presented at Writers’ Theatre and directed by Robin Witt, takes place in a world designed by Courtney O’Neill — a spare yet expensive-looking living room, eerily clean, with just a few couches and tables and sculptures. The space feels erudite and smooth, yet the slightest bit empty and creepy. The stage is illuminated by four wall lights that shine a crystal-clear white, and a big window at the back that turns blue and gray and white at key moments in the show; lighting designer Brandon Wardell does admirable work creating tension in the space. Continue reading “A Grounded, Subtle, Sci-Fi Thrill Ride in ‘A Number’ at Writers Theatre”
Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom at Writer’s Theatre vibrates violently with joy and simmering rage. Inspired by the life of the real-life black, queer, mother of the blues Ma Rainey (born Gertrude Pridgett,) August Wilson’s play tells the intimate story of a legend whose star is fading, and along with it, her ability to be seen by the larger world. Continue reading “‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom’ Vibrates with Joy and Simmering Rage”
I have long held that the most powerful art is that which is deeply personal. Vietgone by Qui Nguyen, in its current production at Writer’s Theatre, is one such piece. The latest in a long line of lovely work from local director Lavina Jadwani, Vietgone is a romp of a love story, but its real power lies not solely in the budding relationship between the two leads–but in the writer’s journey of understanding his own parents.
“I thought I was dying but I just lost my voice.” – Tilden, Sam Shepard’s Buried Child.
This line perfectly describes the devastating loneliness that reverberates throughout Sam Shephard’s Buried Child, currently playing at Writers Theatre. The large house is empty at top of show except for the elderly Dodge (Larry Yando) who is coughing and watching TV all alone as rain falls outside. Dodge looks up at the roof to listen to the rain, which is wonderful because there is no roof in the living room of Jack Magaw’s set. In fact, the entire front of the home is excavated like an ancient archaeological site, preserved so we can see the relics inside. Adding to this jagged, exposed feeling is a massive crack that runs through the middle of the floor. Largely ignored by the family that resides in the house, I could not help but notice that the two outsiders in the play either noticed or tripped over the crack. Continue reading “Nostalgia Consumes in a Fiery ‘Buried Child’”