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Little Shop of Horrors (& Sanspointe Practice)

Friday, June 18th, 2010

“Believe it, baby.  It talks.”

The Magic City Actors Theatre is currently putting on a very good performance of Little Shop of Horrors.  And it made me figure out that I don’t know how to categorize a musical (or an opera, for that matter) on this blog.   It obviously fits in my “Birmingham” section.  And it’s obviously “Theatre”.  But can it also be “Music”?  Or do I have to reserve the category for things that are just music?  Then there’s my troublesome “Dance” category.  More on that in a minute.

There are different levels of music in theatre.  When the Park Players did Much Ado About Nothing, there was some singing.  And some dancing.  But I wouldn’t have classified it as “Music” or “Dance”.  But Little Shop of Horrors is a more straightforward musical.  So it was mostly singing, though there was some speaking.  And it had a five-piece orchestra.  So it has to count as “Music”, right?

Here’s the philosophical question: How much music can a play have before it becomes a musical?  Two songs?  Four?  Half and half?  Or does it have to be mostly music?  I don’t know.

And then, what if I broaden my definition of music?  I have absolutely no doubt that a charismatic, powerful, and persuasive speaking voice has strong musical and melodic overtones.  Actors know that.  When I watched auditions, I was forced to admit to being surprised at how essential a good voice is for an actor.  I’d think some study of singing – even if you’re not a “singer” – would be very helpful.  Even, perhaps, if you’re in some other career where you talk to people during part of your day.  It can’t hurt.

This Little Shop of Horrors cast offers several examples, but most notably, Kyle Holman as the dentist boyfriend is instantly brilliant and hilarious from the moment he appears onstage.  He also shines as several other smaller characters.  At least some part of his charisma comes from his vocal inflection and talent.  Direct from his bio: Kyle “is a full time Voice Actor and has been featured in numerous radio and TV commercials and video games . . . .”  Also, any production of Little Shop has to give the plant a personality, and one of the ways is to give it a big, memorable voice.

The Audrey II plant also has to move – which leads me to my next point.  Yes, they do some actual choreography and dancing in Little Shop of Horrors, but a big part of the plant’s character and personality comes from the puppetry and planning of its movement.  Making the mouth sync with the voice is part of the magic.  It’s also got to feel sinister.  This trick falls to Seymour (Edward “Dane” Peterson) when Audrey II is just a little bud, then to an actor/dancer inside the Audrey II (Dallas Taylor) once it gets bigger.

All of the other characters likewise have a distinct personality in their movement.  You could “mute” the whole show, watch it in pantomime, and I think it would still be pretty entertaining.  It’s got to be difficult for a seasoned performer/dancer to fill Seymour with such a sweet, nerdy clumsiness.  Audrey (Tawny Stephens) has a prissy, feminine, and gentle movement and a wiggly, staccato walk that I’d really like to teach to all my future girlfriends.  The urchins (Shekinah Lampkin, Cristi Strickland, and Ashley Guin) – spectacular as a group – are full of loose, streetwise attitude. Finally, the dentist moves in a way that you know he’s both unpredictable and full of menace.  Chaotic evil.

So here’s my trouble.  Since it’s got so much important, expressive movement, does this performance of Little Shop of Horrors qualify as “Dance”?  I don’t know.

So I’ll tie it into something else.  I got invited the other day to come watch Alabama School for the Fine Arts graduate Margi Cole work through some choreography with the Sanspointe Dance Company.  She established a few ground rules for the dancers and then let ‘em pretty much improvise their own movement, subject to editing and tinkering.  But even for something that’s pure dance, a lot of the fun comes from watching and discovering the character of a dancer – as expressed through their movement.

In other words, I think I could tell something about each dancer’s personality by watching them move.  Especially considering they created a lot of their own motion.  But I think you can still tell a lot about a dancer, even in something highly stylized like ballet.  Isn’t that the whole point of dance?  Expression – literally?  So when Sanspointe dancers move, they’re moving to express personality or emotion of some sort.  And when the Little Shop actors move, they’re also moving to express personality or emotion of some sort.  And when I’m doing the pimp roll down Fifth Avenue, the point is expression.

So why isn’t everything “Dance”?  It is, isn’t it?  Or – to flip it around – why isn’t dance an essential skill to learn (or to teach our children), once you start to think of it as expressing personality and emotion through movement?  It’s very important both to be able to move in a way that is an accurate reflection of yourself and also to be able to accurately read others’ movement.  I might put that up there with essential life skills.  At the very least, actors should study a little dance – and dancers could probably benefit from studying a little theatre.

So that’s that – everything’s dance.  And music.  And art.  But we gotta draw lines somewhere.

Thanks to Natalie Valentine and the Magic City Actors Theatre for putting on a “Birmingham”, “Music”, “Theatre” experience and to the Sanspointe Dance Company for giving me a “Birmingham”, “Dance” experience.

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Spring Dances by Southern Danceworks

Wednesday, May 26th, 2010

As proof that art is open to interpretation, one man in the audience behind me at the Southern Danceworks performance (Spring Dances) commented at halftime how much he preferred the first piece (Quips and Cranks) to the second (Make Like a Tree).  That was just moments after I wrote down that I preferred the second to the first.

I am just one guy.  And I fully admit that I know next-to-nothing about dance.  But I am trying my best to try.  Because I recognize that when it’s good, it can be extremely worthwhile.

Maybe I only thought I preferred the second because I was so drawn in by the excellent and engaging live music of the first piece (by violinist Karen Bentley Pollick and percussionist John Scalici).  Attention dance world: Live music makes everything better.  It would be true even if the music hadn’t been excellent.  Hire struggling piano players.  Amateur guitarists.  Surely there are plenty of musicians who are competent, would work cheapish or free, and would love an opportunity to collaborate with a bunch of dancers.  Any dance performance I’ve seen with live music has been preferable to just about any with canned music.  I’d have to guess, too, that the dancers like it better.

For me, the same pattern held true after intermission.  I’d say I enjoyed the fourth piece (Distinct Destiny With an Open Fist) more than the third piece (Quixotic).  But my hunch is that the man behind me would’ve preferred the third to the fourth.  Who can tell?

The point is that I’m no expert.  I’m just a dude with a keyboard.  I enjoy getting out to see stuff.  And I’m not too shy to write about it.  Everybody else’s thoughts are just as important as mine.  I love hearing the wide range of opinions.  And at the same time, I’m always amazed that these same people, with all these varied opinions, all seem to intuitively know when they’ve seen something amazing.

What I miss is having somebody else to discuss these shows with.  Sometimes this just means taking a friend with me.  But sometimes it means running into a friend in another venue, mentioning Southern Danceworks, and having that person say, “Yeah, I saw them too.”  Or talking to someone else who had a similar wow experience about Susanna Phillips at Opera Birmingham.  Which is the kind of moment that – repeated over time – takes a limited, personal experience and alchemizes it into culture.

Think about that.  No one knows my music.  But if a thousand people included it in a conversation next month, I’d become culture.  For years, The Mountain Goats were under the radar, but now they’re culture.  (Kind-of.)  Bo Bice 2004?  Limited.  Bo Bice 2006?  Culture.  So You Think You Can Dance?  Culture.

Which is one reason I push for bigger, fuller audiences.  For goodness sakes, if you’ve got a good product, don’t be afraid to give away tickets.  Especially if you know you’re going to have empty seats.  Don’t play to an empty room.  One of my favorite books is Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer and a good quote from it is: “What’s the point of giving an extremely subtle performance if basically no one is watching?”  It’s not enough for an arts organization to get grants and find corporate sponsors without spending equal time cultivating its audience.  The audience – culture – is the whole point.  What would the point be of failing to gather a crowd for Svetlana Zakharova?

Back to this performance… I thought the dancers did very well (Gauen Alexander, David Bauser, Jon Caspian, Lisa Gibbs, Jordan Mercer, Chinatsu Owada, Mary Margaret Scalici, and Roger Van Fleteren) and deserve praise for clearly working their toes off, though the choreography in these four pieces rarely singled out any dancer in particular.

Thanks to Gauen Alexander and the rest of the Southern Danceworks crew for the invitation.

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Primary Subject by Sanspointe Dance Company

Monday, May 17th, 2010

On Thursday night, I went to see the Sanspointe Dance Company for the third time.  This performance was “Primary Subject” and featured six new pieces.  My favorites were “Measuring the Marigolds” (choreographed by Taryn Lavery and performed by Shellie Chambers, Noel Pollard, and Anna Walker) and “I made something for you” (created and performed by Rhea Speights and Justin Wallace).

I have a theory that all art can be analyzed as an amalgam of three things: an idea, execution of that idea, and charisma/personality.  But these things don’t interact with any easy mathematical precision.  If there’s a genius idea, you might not really need much execution or charm.  Similarly, a mediocre idea might can be turned into something worth seeing just through brilliant execution and high-wattage charisma.  If a girl’s got enough charisma, I might could watch her just stand there for half-an-hour.  But when you’ve got all three, you’ve got yourself a winner.

There are several things that Sanspointe does very well.  When they’re at their best, the Sanspointe dancers look like they’re having a good time and effectively convey this to the audience.  Even professional dancers often don’t do this well and can end up looking bored or disengaged.  For whatever reason, the Sanspointe dancers almost always make it look like fun.

I’ve said a lot that I love to see and hear dancers panting, sweating, and out-of-breath.  The cozy quarters of the Children’s Dance Foundation are ideal for that.  Being this close to your performers lets you see how thoroughly they’re enjoying themselves and the simple and intrinsic joy of movement.

Likewise, the choreography for Sanspointe can be gleefully fun.  I’ve laughed out loud at all three of the shows.  Which I assume is unusual for dance.  Maybe I’ve just got bad manners.  Or maybe I’m the only one who thinks it’s all so funny.  But I can’t help but think that the Sanspointe choreographers had humor in mind when they created certain moves or certain dances.

I’m sure there are as many different choreography styles as there are people.  Accordingly, the Sanspointe playfulness comes in many different flavors.  It might be spending several minutes between pieces preparing an aerial swing for “Deluge” – establishing the dramatic arc and tension for the audience – and then, after the music starts, refusing for the first few minutes to let the performer touch it in any meaningful way.  Or the good-natured act of putting a swing onstage in the first place.  It might be cursing the dancers with an “evil” hand in “Mind Over Me” – like Evil Dead 2 – to pass around and react to.  It might be making me focus on the dancers’ blue socks/shoes in “Measuring the Marigolds”.  And, of course, the obvious and laugh-out-loud humor of vibraphonist-dancer interaction in “I made something for you”.  Rhea Speights – a possible nominee for coolest person in town.

Also, some of the ideas were clear and good.  There was a place in “There was Morning and Evening, Another Day” where there was one dancer onstage with three chairs and I could follow the artistic idea of “How many ways can one dancer move with three chairs?”  Or in “Deluge”: “How can a dancer play with a swing – without swinging?”  Or in “I made something for you” when I grasped the idea, “What if the dancer interrupts and brats up the musician?”  These are themes – and an audience needs one to be able to follow along.  When it’s not going well, it’s usually because I don’t understand what’s happening, why it’s happening, and why I don’t get it.

As long as Sanspointe follows the general format of idea (give your audience a theme), execution (provide a few flashy, “hook-y”, or interesting moves), and personality (look like you’re having fun in a way that remembers and engages the audience), I’m always open to seeing modern dance.  It only starts to lose me when there’s a bunch of dance-y dance happening without an obvious or coherent idea involved.  Or if there’s movement that starts to look similar, but without repeating anything in a way that provides a coherent theme.  Or if the dancers look bored or flat.  As an aside, I may be uncivilized, but I have an easier time appreciating dance that’s backed by a strong, organized beat (mum (or Star Dot Star?)) over something more noisy and dissonant (Kronos Quartet).  When they’ve got the good mojo going, there’s nothing stopping me from recommending Sanspointe shows to just about anybody.

Thank you very much to Shellie Chambers and the women of Sanspointe for inviting me and for striving to create new and cool art.

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Thoroughly Modern Millie by Samford School of the Arts

Monday, May 3rd, 2010

Occasionally, I can’t stick to just one theme.  I’ve got show notes, memories, and impressions, but they can’t point me in one direction.  So, for the performance of Thoroughly Modern Millie by the Samford University School of the Arts, I’ve got several little things to say, rather than aiming for one big one.

(1) The performance was sponsored in honor of Jesse Bates – who directed me for at least one play back when I was in high school.  I vividly remember being about 16 and on stage rehearsing a monologue.   I hadn’t learned my lines (or at least I wasn’t confident I knew them) and I squabbled with Mr. Bates about it until he made me hurl my script across the room.  Whatever the argument, I’m sure he was right.  He’s also probably at least partly responsible for this blog, so thanks from me too, Mr. Bates.

(2) The program for Millie says “This is one of our largest productions in the last 10 years” – and I believe it.  I think it’s been almost ten full years since I saw a play produced by Samford.  So I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect.  But this Millie had lavish sets, lots of costume changes, and a live orchestra.  Whatever I was expecting, I got more – and that’s the way to do it.  My views on Theatre UAB are already in writing, but I think there may be a competition brewing.  How about getting these two groups together for a competitive-ish Festival of Ten-Minute Plays next fall?

(3) Speaking of getting more than you expected, there seems to be a lot of talent at Samford.  All of the performers in principal roles were at least good.  Chelsea Reynolds (as Millie Dillmount) deserves praise if just for being on stage almost every minute of every scene and keeping all that energy going the right direction.  Maggie Taylor (as Dorothy Brown) has a great voice and conveys a lot of subtle charm through mannerisms, squeaks, and gasps.  Hannah Seymour channels some Kristen Chenoweth in putting together an over-the-top and completely memorable Mrs. Meers (”So sad to be arr arone in the world….”).  Finally, Jordan Bondurant (as Jimmy Smith) might have been my favorite cast member.  Props to Mark Castle as Director.

(4) There were numerous photogenic moments.  That is, times when the actors (and/or chorus), lighting, costuming, and set all came together to blend into a pretty picture.  I wish directors would take note of these moments in advance, plan for them, and have someone intentionally take pictures – completely posed and not during a rehearsal – before the first performance.  Then make them available to the public.  This kind of photograph might be a great way to both sell and remember the show.

(5) The program also credits Roger Van Fleteren of the Alabama Ballet as guest choreographer.  A good choice, as I assume he’s responsible for what might have been my favorite moment of the night.  There’s a great duet between Maggie Taylor and Harrison Chambers (as Trevor Graydon) which I think was “Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life/Falling in Love with Someone”.  I’ve got almost no dance background, but I think – in the space of about two minutes – Roger combined several diverse styles and elements of dance.  I counted at least a tango, a lift, and a cool swingaround-of-some-sort, but I’m sure there were more.  I don’t know if these two had much (or any) dance experience before this, but now they definitely do.  Bravo.

(6) Another favorite was the idea of using the small, lowered screen – normally for opera subtitles – to translate the fake chinese spoken by actors Cody Hayes and Steven Rice for the audience.  These translations were so funny that the audience started laughing at first sight of the screen getting lowered.

(7) I couldn’t help but think it would’ve been cool for Shara Lewis (as Muzzy) to perform her songs as a burlesque fan dancer, but maybe that’d be a little much for a Samford production.  In that same vein, I got a kick out of a bunch of college kids doing the drinking and jail scenes.

(8) I’m not sure how they did it, but I wasn’t expecting as full of a crowd on Saturday night.  And a mess of students, I think.  I wonder how this show was advertised and sold.  If I got a birthday wish (Wednesday!), I’d make sure we all did whatever possible (even give ‘em away) to make sure there weren’t ever empty seats.

(9) All shows are definitely better with live music.  But, as I’ve said before, adding microphones doesn’t necessarily improve a show unless they’re flawless and don’t distract.  Why not just sing and speak louder?

(10) For more information, check out this article written by Tully Taylor (great name!) in The Samford Crimson.

Thanks to Lisa Gibbs and the Samford School of the Arts for letting me do a piece on their show.

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Dance Critic Wins Pulitzer

Friday, April 16th, 2010

If you’re here because you’re interested in dance, I’d like to make you aware that Sarah Kaufman – dance critic for the Washington Post – was awarded the 2010 Pulitzer for criticism.

I’ve already linked to a couple of her earlier articles here and here.  You can also find her article on Michael Jackson here.

I’m going to reprint the first part of her excellent article, “One-Man Movement”, but you can find the rest of it at this link.

***

One-Man Movement: Cary Grant Set a Pace for On-Screen Grace That’s Left His Followers Mostly in the Dust

By Sarah Kaufman
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Washington Post Staff Writer

“North by Northwest,” Alfred Hitchcock’s sprawling 1959 thriller that takes us to the top of Mount Rushmore by way of a near-miss with a killer crop-duster, begins with the basics. A man is walking down a corridor.

But because the man is Cary Grant, the moment is anything but ordinary. He has us at the first step: that long, brisk stride and its driving rhythm, a ticktock pace that telegraphs purpose, clarity and elegant efficiency. We watch him stroll out of an elevator toward the street, dictating correspondence to the secretary at his side. He’s not some stiff, starchy suit. There’s a relaxed, easy give in Grant’s body as he moves, and as he leans toward his secretary while he speaks to her — he’s so very pleased with his own labors, and yet so exquisitely courteous to his assistant. A nice guy, and smooth as whiskey, too. He’s getting further under our skin with every move.

What Grant’s character, advertising executive Roger Thornhill, is actually saying in this scene isn’t nearly as important as his movement. It’s the movement that hooks us. It always does. Intuition? Training? Astute directors? Whatever its source, Grant knew a timeless truth: There is nothing we watch so keenly as the human body in action, because the way it moves tells a story.

The art of moving well, call it kinetic acting, has nearly vanished from movies today. I don’t mean among dancers on the big screen — that’s a different subject altogether — but among actors. The attention to physical expression, to one’s carriage and gestures and their dramatic and emotional implications, has faded. I’m talking about a sense of grace. About acting that involves a meaningful motor impulse. A signature style of moving, bigger than just body language or bits of what actors call “business” — lighting a cigarette, picking up a drink. Think of Gary Cooper’s quick, impatient stride across town to the church in “High Noon,” when he thinks he’ll be able to round up a posse among the worshipers, folks to join his fight against a group of killers. And then his stiff, pained walk back to town after he fails to find help. He doesn’t say a word, but the heaviness he feels is right there in his legs. You ache watching him.

A person’s way of moving through space tells us something on a base, primitive level. It’s animal to animal. It’s something so subtle you may not consciously notice it, but when an actor moves honestly and with intention, your eye will follow him anywhere.

The trouble is, you don’t see it that much. The buzz around this year’s Oscar favorites got me thinking about how the artistic trend in acting has gone from the external to the internal. We’re in the age of the close-up. Realism and psychological truth rule, and you find them in facial expression, in the little muscles around the eyes. The focus has tightened. Sure, there’s gobs of emphasis on sexy bodies, but the body as an expressive instrument just isn’t much in the picture.

Perhaps this is because actors aren’t formally trained in dance and movement much anymore, as they were in the early years of filmmaking. There’s also the invasion of psychoanalysis, and the rise of Method acting starting about a half-century or so ago, with its emphasis on emotion, interior motives and lots of mental preparation. Actors started questioning the precise blocking of action — the choreography of the scene — that was so prized by Grant, Cooper, Carole Lombard, Katharine Hepburn and other stars going back to the 1930s and ’40s. For that era, physical elegance signaled inner elegance. Actors today seek more of a warts-and-all approach.

More at this link.

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