Category Archives: The Critic

I wasted four-and-a-half hours last night on the interminable swan song of the TV cult program “Lost,” and I’m trying to convince myself that I haven’t wasted an hour a week over the six years of its sporadic seasons.

The first two hours were billed as a retrospective, where we could all brush up on our understanding of the convoluted and confounding plot twists and time travel that had transpired. Instead, we were treated to the acting cast commenting on their experiences which, unfortunately, took on a pseudo-gravitas, as if they had just finished Gone With the Wind and knew it. Lost isn’t M.A.S.H., or even Law and Order. Flash Forward, which has been cancelled, has more of an intelligible plot, and Damages and Mad Men much more compelling characters (and a certain helpful feature called “good writing”). The superb Sopranos, whose ending caused great debate in its ambiguity, was downright fulfilling, specific, and unarguable after Lost got lost.

On top of that, the two producers/writers held sway during the prefatory, saccharine first two hours, giddy with happiness, sharing their self-indulgent, self-congratulatory party with us, apparently without any remorse or regrets that the series concluded on a predictable, boring, and incomplete note.

The first season of Lost was inventive and well acted, with decent writing and a plausible plot. But as the seasons wore on, the plots became conflicting and unbelievable—the best science fiction and fantasy are based on plausibility. The finale last night demonstrated that there was NO story arc, despite the claim the final episode was being considered two years ago. Short of the “it was only a dream” sequence on the grand soap opera Dallas, this was the most pathetically patched together attempt at “explanation” imaginable.
Everyone was dead. Really? I never would have thought of that.

How many deus ex machinas can one cram into one series? Apparently, an island full.

I kept hoping for the best, that the audience’s cult fascination would stimulate the early inventiveness to return. But no one here seemed to become refreshed, despite the exotic location. With the exceptions of Terry O’Quinn (Locke), Naveen Andrews (Sayid), and Henry Ian Cusick (Desmond), the acting was pedestrian, though there wasn’t much that could be done with the mediocre writing and the consistently unrealistic predicaments. (How many times can someone be shot or stabbed, even in a semi-real, half-dead, time-shifting, largely imaginary place?!)
At least women viewers could rejoice in the frighteningly good looking Sawyer (Josh Holloway) and the men in the exquisite Kate (Evangeline Lilly, who may be the most beautiful woman on television).

At the end, Vincent, the dog, lay down next to Jack on the island as Jack lay dying. There was something strange about Vincent’s face. When I rewound the tape and looked more closely, I realized—he was bored to death.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

First, the bad news.

We watched The Blind Side last night, the film based on the real story of a homeless black teenager brought into the home of an affluent white family in the south. He went on to become a football star, and the film’s star, Sandra Bullock, went on to win the Oscar and assorted other paperweights.

This is an impressive true story made unbelievable on film. The writing is cornball, the acting predicable, and the situations inflated with so much air as to achieve the quality of meringue. There are so many stereotypes, from unconsciously racist southern belles to taunting football players and misogynistic drug dealers (all of whom, of course, promptly receive their due comeuppance), that it’s hard to find even vegetation that isn’t either overacting or directed incompetently.

If you don’t think the Oscars are primarily political, remember that Sandra Bullock “beat” Helen Mirren, Gabourey Sidibe, Meryl Streep, and Carey Mulligan. In any case, keep a blind eye on The Blind Side.

Now, the good news.

We also saw A Behanding in Spokane last night on Broadway with Christopher Walken, Sam Rockwell, Anthony Mackie, and Zoe Kazan (written by Martin McDonagh).

Terry Teachout, an insanely tough critic at the Wall Street Journal, loved this play, and small wonder. Christopher Walken’s character lost one of his hands nearly a half century ago, and he’s intent on finding it. In the course of his quest, one notices that he’s become a homicidal maniac, surrounded by a very strange lot of people. I won’t reveal some of the lunatic twists and turns.

Fair warning: I can’t begin to imagine this without Mr. Walken in the title role, because I did find myself enjoying him playing the character, and not the character per se. Mr. Walken has the ability to crack me up without moving a muscle (watch his guest host spots on Saturday Night Live) and when he does move a muscle or two, I fall on the floor.

Let’s just say that it’s a bizarre night (following a new and greatly appreciated trend of 90-minute plays without intermissions which start only four minutes late), and that you’ll walk out onto 45th Street with a dopey smile as if you just learned some small secret.

The secret, of course, is managing to find that still-occurring magical night in the theater.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

We saw A Little Night Music last night on Broadway, and it was the right music. We attended the original over 35 years ago, and we realized that this was our last chance to see Angela Lansbury on stage, and our first chance to see Catherine Zeta-Jones on stage.

Stephen Sondheim is, like a very old Macallan, an acquired taste. (If you don’t believe that, then throw away two hours of your life watching Sunday in the Park With George.) He is too clever by half, and I’m sometimes wondering if I’m watching David Mamet put to music or Gilbert and Sullivan at the wrong speed. In Night Music, he begins with the equivalent of a Greek Chorus, and the proceedings are thereafter like a dance, in waltz tempo.

On top of that, the setting is Sweden a century ago. Not exactly scintillating material. (One throw-away line involved Malmo.)

Ms. Jones is a star. From my vantage point in the eighth row, she is drop-dead gorgeous, but not one of the size 2 walking sticks who flit around the media almost intersticially. She is in command of the stage, has a fine voice, and acts superbly. Ms. Lansbury performs as one would expect, gracefully and well. But what makes this show are the marvelous singing voices of every single cast member, and brilliant direction by Trevor Nunn.

This is a story of infidelity, chauvinism, deceit, and deception. Yet the characters are, astonishingly, sympathetic, and you care what happens to them. Counterintuitively, it has a happy ending.

There isn’t a song that’s memorable except the iconic Send in the Clowns, which even Sinatra felt he had to record. That’s because this is semi-opera, not full-theater. But it’s better theater than we’re used to seeing these days, and it has stood the test of three decades (or a century from Sweden). Go see it before Ms. Jones leaves.

© Alan Weiss 2010. All rights reserved.

Island Moving Company, under the artistic direction of Miki Ohlsen, staged “Dracula” over this weekend at Belcourt Castle in Newport, and it was wonderful and outrageous art. (Disclaimer: We’re contributors to the company.)

Belcourt Castle is part Gothic, part Rococo, part silent move, and wholly eerie. Miki used it to great effect to stage a two-act “Dracula” that crept, marched, slithered, flew, and danced through a half-dozen Hearst-like mansion rooms, with the audience led by six musicians along the way. We witnessed dancers descending acrobatically from curtains during a dream sequence, fights in upstairs hallways, the good Count being raised from the dead by some striking “young vampire brides,” and a final scene where the dancers actually emerge from the audience in a hallway, and push us aside to make room for themselves.

David DuBois seemed to enjoy himself much too much playing Dracula, and danced with terrific grace and energy. Gregg Saulnier was wonderful as Jonathan Harker, dancing some of the longest, continual scenes I can imagine (though I would have happily bid on the opportunity to play the role in the dream sequence). Lilia Ortola, one of my favorites, danced a wonderful Mina, including succumbing to the Count’s charms. I always root for the underdog.

Island Moving Company combines classical dance, modern dance, and highly original production values in these venues, creating outstanding entertainment. We parked in the Belcourt Castle lot, walked the long paths into the courtyard, entered a side door, and then traveled through the huge place following the musicians, dancers, and story line. It’s unique to have the dancers emerge from the edge of the audience and create their own stage and room, often brushing you as they move, leap, and spin. These included, quoting the program, “unruly gypsies”! This kind of staging and choreography, combined with the venue, is extraordinary.

The mansion lends its own idiosyncrasies. At one point, a huge, stained-glass door wouldn’t open for Dracula, and as the audience smiled, David wound up magically entering through another door behind the set, something you’d expect Dracula to be able to manage!

The company stages “The Nutcracker” in a similar vein at Rosecliff Mansion in Newport for the holidays (http://www.islandmovingco.org.).

© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.

The Greater Providence Area is like a middleweight moving up a class to fight heavyweights in the cultural arena. Pound for pound, there are theater, dining, museums, dance, touring shows, symphony and more far beyond what a city this size ordinarily expects.

As an example, here are two performances you shouldn’t miss if you’re in the area:

Trinity Rep (disclaimer: I’m a former board member) is staging “Cabaret” based on the original Isherwood work, so that the wonderful Rachel Warren as Sally Bowles does not have to channel Liza Minnelli. The Kit Kat troupe is worth the price of admission, and Curt Columbus has directed the superficial patina of gaiety nicely over the looming Nazi menace. Stealing the show—and, frankly, too often off stage—is the emcee, Joe Wilson, who is in fine voice, fine fettle, and fine lingerie. He bears an eerie resemblance to LaToya Jackson, which threw me for a while, but he has better legs. This is a wonderful rendition of a classic work: http://www.trinityrep.com/.

A couple of miles north in Pawtucket at the GAMM Theater (disclaimer: I’m on the board), director Tony Estrella also stars in a screamingly funny “Much Ado About Nothing” that is a masterpiece. Tony is arguably the finest working actor in New England (and possibly beyond), and his Benedick is a tour de force. At times the show had to momentarily stop to allow the laughter to die down. We were lucky to see it with a large group of St. George’s School students who had just read it, so it was a more knowledgeable crowd than would ordinarily be the case. The warden (the play is set in 1945 and, unlike so much of Shakespeare that is just a conceit in modern settings, this play sizzles), played by Tom Gleadow, has evidently been given permission to eat the scenery and, quite positively, there’s little left when he’s done with it. GAMM provides great art in an intimate setting, and this is the first of a paired set, with Romeo and Juliet coming with the same cast: http://www.gammtheatre.org/.

There is far better dining in Providence than Boston (we eat out seven nights a week), so take a couple of evenings and enjoy yourselves!

(Recommended pre-Trinity: Gracie’s, right across the street; pre-GAMM: Chez Pascal, 960 Hope St., Providence, a five-minute drive from the theater.)

© Alan Weiss 2009. All rights reserved.

See my review of “A Steady Rain” a few posts ago.

Here’s what the New York Times critic said this morning:

“A Steady Rain” is probably best regarded as a small, wobbly pedestal on which two gods of the screen may stand in order to be worshiped.