Performance

The Paper Machete – Green Mill – February 16, 2019

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It’d been a little over a year since I first went to see The Paper Machete live magazine at the Green Mill on a Saturday afternoon. I learned from that experience that seats are hard to come by (the Wednesday evening show, at least the one time I went, isn’t as crowded), and so arrived an hour and a half before show time, which was only 15 minutes earlier than necessary to avoid unintentionally making lots of new friends among a crowd of people standing around, pressing their bodies into an insufficient amount of space.

Getting there early also affords one the opportunity to watch emcee Christopher Piatt, standing behind the bar, trying to not so subtly rehearse his frenetic Danny Kaye court jester lip-synching routine.

Piatt is a constant, but the rest of the cast of The Paper Machete changes from show to show, so it was an amazing coincidence that Becca Brown, whom I saw perform there a year ago, was again on stage, showing off her strong singing voice.

The comedy also was good, as before, but I was there primarily to see Big Red, that is Meghan Murphy, do her thing, as I have done at Theater Wit, Steppenwolf, and Venus Cabaret.

She didn’t disappoint, capping off her performance by holding the last note of her set long enough that I could have read a couple chapters of a book, had I brought a book.

Piatt, in thanking Murphy and expressing his admiration of her talents, referred to her as the personification of Jessica Rabbit, which seemed to please Murphy.

Fanboy that I am, I couldn’t resist approaching Murphy after the show as she sat at the bar drinking with friends. I introduced myself and fawned over her for a respectable, but not creepy, amount of time before going on my way.

The Beatles: Love – Cirque du Soleil – Mirage Theater, Las Vegas – January 24, 2019

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All You Need is Love, and I got 90 minutes of it, attacking my visual and auditory cortices from every direction (not to mention those parts of my brain related to long-term memory, as it has been over 50 years since the Beatles first gained our attention). The problem with the show is that, if you focus too much on one thing, you don’t notice five other things that are happening at the same time. There’s no pause, rewind, or instant replay. I’m sure there must have been a kitchen sink thrown in somewhere that I missed.

The varied and spectacular exhibitions of strength, grace, and agility by the show’s performer/athletes, as they danced, twisted, stretched, and threw their bodies around, made me think of Katelyn Ohashi, the UCLA gymnast who is the current queen of YouTube because of her amazing routine at the recent Collegiate Challenge at the Anaheim Convention Center, which undoubtedly will lead her to the greatest reward a gymnast can attain, no not being awarded a gold medal at the Olympics, or getting a job with Cirque du Soleil, but rather winning the mirror ball on Dancing With the Stars.

I first saw Cirque du Soleil when it was performing Saltimbanco under a tent in the early 1990s. For some bizarre reason my most vivid memory of that show is the guy who climbed up chairs that he piled on top of each other. I always wondered what his mother thought as she grounded him, literarily and figuratively, sending him to his room, in the hopes of interrupting him as he went about wrecking furniture in pursuit of a career in the lost art of hand balancing.

In addition to the music, special effects, and huge cast, Love features hundreds of garish costumes, not unlike what you see on the street in front of the hotel.

Moby-Dick Read-a-Thon – Newberry Library – January 19-20, 2019

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The closest I had ever come before to reading past the first three words of Moby-Dick was to see the Gregory Peck movie and the Star Trek movie First Contact, wherein Captain Picard is accused of being like Captain Ahab.

In case you were wondering, Moby-Dick, the novel, is 206,052 words long. It took over 150 of us a little over 24 hours, taking turns, to read the whole thing aloud. I was assigned the last 1158 words of Chapter 134.

In case you were further wondering, the Smithsonian tells us there appears to be absolutely no good reason why the title is hyphenated (the name of the whale is not hyphenated inside the book, except, mysteriously, in one place), it possibly being a typographical error or the result of a long-obsolete custom. Melville originally titled the book simply, The Whale, but then apparently changed it for marketing purposes, which didn’t really work as it had “tepid reviews and miserable initial sales.”

Nathaniel Philbrick, author of Why Read Moby-Dick and the introductory speaker leading into the read-a-thon (or as the lead staff person for the occasion called it, the Moby-Dickapalooza), advised us that, back in the day, “if you liked Moby-Dick you had literary cred”, that Faulkner said it was the one book by another author he wish he had written, and that Hemingway, in writing The Old Man and the Sea, admitted that he was trying to best Moby-Dick.

Along with the unwashed masses, such as myself, reading from the book, there were quite a few ringers – Sara Paretsky, for one, and Dave Catlin, who directed Moby-Dick at Lookingglass Theater, for another. I mention him because he introduced himself to me in the ready room after I impressed him by knowing my left from my right.

Upon conclusion of the event, it was determined that three people (plus the staff person in charge) had stayed for the whole thing (giving more meaning to the unwashed masses). Their presence throughout made moot my intellectual curiosity as to whether, like that tree in the forest, if no one had been there to listen to the readers in the middle of the night, they would have made a sound.

The Nutcracker – Joffrey Ballet – Auditorium Theater – December 14, 2018

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I broke my coat’s zipper while getting ready to leave for the theater. Coincidentally, though the term zipper didn’t come into use until 1923, Whitcomb Judson, who is sometimes given credit as the inventor of the zipper, debuted his clasp locker at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, which provides the background for the Joffrey’s production.

“Mr. McGuire: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Benjamin: Yes, sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Benjamin: Yes, I am.
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
Benjamin: Exactly how do you mean?
Mr. McGuire: There’s a great future in plastics. Think about it. Will you think about it?”

How times have changed. Plastic is now the devil (subtle reference to the Devil in the White City, which also is set at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair).

Chicago voters have expressed their desire to ban plastic straws. What about plastic wrappings at cultural events? I had to give the woman behind me my best death stare during the second act of The Nutcracker to get her to stop playing with her candy packaging. I wonder how Tchaikovsky felt about people eating M&Ms and checking their cell phones (woman in front of me) during performances.

He supposedly didn’t care that much for the Nutcracker story as adapted for the ballet. Picking up on that in the biography Tchaikovsky, David Brown writes “The Nutcracker is meaningless in the profoundest sense.” Nice juxtaposition.

And, as I agree, it’s not surprising that I enjoyed the second act a lot more than the first (during which I would have rather watched a Charlie Chaplin silent film synched to the music) because the second act was almost all about the wonderful music and, at times flexibility-defying, dancing.

But enough culture for one weekend. I’m planning on spending the next two days watching the ballet that is football. Also meaningless.

Big Red and the Boys – Venus Cabaret – December 9, 2018

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Secretariat, widely considered the greatest race horse of all time, was nicknamed Big Red. He wasn’t part of the show at the Venus Cabaret.

But Meghan Murphy, also nicknamed Big Red, was. This was the first stop on what Murphy described as the act’s world tour – Chicago, Philadelphia and New York.

I love the Venus Cabaret, which opened this year adjoining the Mercury Theater (get it?). It’s an attractive space, with its own bar, and without a bad seat in the house, though there was some glare off the screens behind the stage, which I didn’t hesitate to tell management about when they sent me a survey after the show.

In honor of Big Red, the bar offered a couple of red drinks, one with vodka, one with whiskey. I wonder what they’d have at the bar if Michael Lee Aday (Meatloaf) were performing there.

Though there was some new material in this, their eighth annual show, Big Red and the Boys pleased the crowd by performing the group’s “standards”, like Get Your Holiday On, often encouraging the audience to sing along.

Big Red also broke out her holiday costume, complete with well-placed lights outlining her physical assets. The costume, along with the boys’ flashing bow ties, came in handy when Murphy occasionally had a hard time finding her spotlight, which just served as another excuse for some of her off-the-cuff, contagious humor. Murphy, whose website describes her as actor, singer, dancer, and badass, always seems to be having a good time on stage.

I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of perverse show could be created by combining Big Red’s with the play next door, Avenue Q, having Murphy as Lucy, who is described as “a vixenish vamp with a dangerous edge.”

1968: Song by Song – Chicago Humanities Festival – November 5, 2018

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The good news – the program featured great performances by the singers and musicians and, for those of us who were of a certain age in 1968, was a very nostalgic evening, complete with covers and quotes from The Chicago Seed, the underground newspaper of the day, which was edited by Abe Peck (who was in attendance), the father of Doug Peck, the musical director of the program. They even added an Aretha Franklin tribute at the end that extended the program well past its scheduled finish time, to the delight of the audience.

The bad news – what the hell were they thinking by including MacArthur Park as the song representing August, 1968?! Miami Herald readers polled by Dave Barry in 1992 voted the 1968 recording as the worst song of all time. The only redeeming thing about it is the instrumental interlude. If not for all the horrible things that happened in 1968, Richard Harris’s singing and the nonsensical lyrics of this song would take the cake, whether or not it was left out in the rain.

A much better choice would have been People Got to be Free by The Rascals, which was a chart topper that August and was a far more representative song of the feeling of the times that this program was trying to convey.

But if MacArthur Park it had to be in some fashion, why not Al Yankovic’s 1983 parody of it, with his far better lyrics, which included, “Jurassic Park is frightening in the dark/All the dinosaurs are running wild/Someone shut the fence off in the rain/I admit it’s kind of eerie/But this proves my chaos theory.”

After all, chaos abounded in 1968.

 

Chicago Magic Lounge – Al James – August 22, 2018

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Going to see a magician perform is sort of like going to the polls on election day. Both involve misdirection, but politicians don’t put out a tip jar. They get your money by other means.

The Chicago Magic Lounge, which opened about six months ago, is in a converted 1940s-era, commercial laundry building. The first trick you encounter is the lack of an obvious interior door once you’ve entered from the street. A guy who walked in the same time I did wanted to call for help, but I convinced him to let me figure it out, which wasn’t that tough, because, after all, they want your business.

I just came to sit at the bar and see some close up card tricks, remembering the days when we used to go to Schulien’s for the magician who would go from table to table performing tricks. I’ll go back to the Lounge another time for one of the shows.

Al James, who was working the bar area, promotes himself as the World’s Second Greatest Magician. When asked who’s first, he replies that he says second to avoid arguments.

Before James started his act, I mentioned that I had come from the golf course. That was a mistake, as he decided to tell me, in his deadpan style, a golf joke I’d heard many times before. I restrained myself, however, not wanting to be rude by interrupting him, and so suffered through the joke. Then I told him one he didn’t know, and that made the bartender laugh. Al should stick to magic.

On the other hand, though his tricks seemed routine, Al’s sleight of hand was pretty good, at least by my standards, though I suspect Penn and Teller would not be fooled. Then the bartender tried to make my credit card disappear, but I left unscathed.

P.S. As has been requested of me, I have added a contact widget at the bottom of the page by which you can send me messages.  Figuring that out was no small trick.

 

Music and Poetry – Rush Hour Concert – July 10, 2018

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I went for the music and suffered through the poetry.

I could have just skipped the program altogether, but the scheduled gypsy music sounded promising, if unpronounceable – Hullámzó Balaton, Op. 33 (Jenő Hubay), Dža more (Sylvie Bodorová), Zigeunerweisen, Op. 20 (Pablo de Sarasate), Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G Minor (Johannes Brahms) (okay I can pronounce that one), and, in fact, was beautiful and extremely well-performed by the Civitas Ensemble.

Someone from the Poetry Foundation recited the poetry between the musical selections. The first poem was short. The second was longer and more complex. The third was much longer and dealt with the horrors of World War II, so, not really fun. I would have preferred it if at least one of them would have started with a line like “There once was a man from Nantucket.”

I took a poetry writing course in college. The best part of the class was the experiment the students conducted on the professor. The professor had a habit of wandering around the classroom as he spoke, which led us, pranksters that we were, to attempt to manipulate his behavior. So we selected a corner of the room as the spot to which we wanted to lead him and proceeded, in a noticeable way, to pay a lot more attention to him when he approached that corner than when he went anywhere else in the room. Eventually we got him to curl up like a ball by the window in the selected corner, seemingly without the slightest recognition of what we had done. So, while I may not have learned to appreciate poetry, my psychology class was fruitful.

Stories From the Beat Lounge – Second City – June 4, 2018

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Judy’s Beat Lounge is the fourth different venue where I’ve seen storytelling. The emcee proclaimed how wonderful it was to see such a good crowd at their inaugural storytelling event (promoted to occur on a Monday once a month), as I looked around and saw about 35 people, including presenters, in a half empty room. There’s a place for her estimating crowd size in Washington DC.

A local comedian, Chris Trani, led off with a few short jokes about himself before launching into a story that left me wondering how good it might have been had he taken the time to work it out. I found an online video of him doing a standup routine that showed more promise.

Then a former professor opened by saying that she forgot to tell the emcee that all her stories are tragic. She must not have taught Shakespeare. Although her story was serious, no one died (which can nevertheless be funny, as exemplified by Chuckles Bites the Dust).

A self-proclaimed comedienne followed by playing two original musical compositions, one on guitar and one on keyboard, about a failed relationship she had. Her lament may or may not have been interesting, as she had a soft voice that made it hard to hear anything she was singing over the music.

The best story of the night wasn’t really a story, as a woman (whom the emcee described as her second mother) read a long list of one liners, musing about her hair, her aging neck, her therapist and her lust for Woody Allen. I think she would be a hit at Louder Than a Mom.

The last storyteller reflected on what he did and didn’t experience in1963, including mentioning that he didn’t see Jack Ruby kill Lee Harvey Oswald in living color. Well, neither did anyone else. The broadcast was in black and white.

Louder Than a Mom (Martyr’s) and Story Lab Chicago (Mrs. Murphy’s and Sons) – April 16 and 18, 2018

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At Martyr’s, as with the last time I was there (see blog of March 19), my friend Terry and I were two of only a handful of men in the audience and again there was only one male story teller (this time Terry). Other than Terry, who is always funny, the highlights were the woman who told about giving herself a Brazilian wax and the woman who told how she cut a cast off her mother’s leg in the bathroom when she was a child. It wasn’t a show for the faint of heart.

Two days later, at Mrs. Murphy’s, it was my turn to tell a story. Nine friends came in support, one just back from a month in New Zealand. She won the hypothetical prize for farthest traveled to see the show.

I was pleased that the audience laughed at my story in all the right places. One never knows when rehearsing to an empty living room at home. I also wasn’t displeased by the compliments I received afterward from imperfect strangers (nobody’s perfect).

As for the other story tellers at Mrs. Murphy’s, one has green hair and told a story about her vaudevillian mother Topsy, which included mention of intercourse on top of a bar immediately following a bar room brawl. You have to love that.

I also took some small measure of satisfaction from the fact that one of the other story tellers adopted two minor suggestions for additional humor I gave him for his story at the prep session (perhaps my life’s dream to be a script joke doctor can still come true).

And, because I couldn’t help myself, I also had suggested at the prep session that someone else not look up at the ceiling so much while telling her story, which advice she took by instead closing her eyes for much of the time she was talking. I think she missed my point. And perhaps I should leave directing to others.