“There’s a big boat with a long rope and the tide has turned/pull the long rope to stop the big boat/and all that happens is your hands get burned.” – Collin

“The Landing” is a smart new musical that frames three short tales. Each – “Andra,” “The Brick,” and “The Landing” – has unique characters with unique conflicts; however, the three are cleverly connected thematically. They are also consociated by the powerful image introduced by Collin (Frankie Seratch) in the final tale of the three-part musical: the “big boat with a long rope” serves as a scintillating extended metaphor for the difficulty one encounters when passion runs amok and the best laid plans of women, men, and harbingers of doom “gang agley” (as they often do). Desire, love, and loss connect each tale with a sometimes humorous, sometimes chilling result.

In the first tale, “Andra,” eleven-year-old Noah (Frankie Seratch) allows himself to develop trust in Ben (Paul Anthony Stewart) the 40-something carpenter building cabinets in his family’s New England country home. Ben woos Noah’s fragile trust by opening the abused boy’s heart with stories about Andromeda – the myth and the galaxy. The burns on the back of Noah’s neck, inflicted upon him by bullies at school, begin to fade as his relationship with father-substitute Ben solidifies. Unfortunately, other wounds open when Noah’s desire for a caring father and the love he offers Ben becomes conflicted when he discovers that his Mom (Julia Murney) also desires love and has been having an affair with Ben. Frankie Seratch captures Noah’s innocence and his abrupt coming-of-age with an almost disarming aplomb. Paul Anthony Stewart skillfully traverses the fine line between love motivated by honest feelings and love motivated by deception and rapacity and Julia Murney’s Mom manages to profoundly occupy the vortex where all loss convenes. David Hyde Pierce narrates this tale with grace.

Least satisfying is the second tale “The Brick” in which the boy Darius (Frankie Seratch) visits his aunt Charl (Julia Murney) and is consumed by her passion for the genre of mob movies which satisfy her legitimate need for excitement and control in a marriage bereft of both. Charl, tired of waiting for Uncle Cliff (Paul Anthony Stewart) to extricate himself from his culinary craft, decides to succumb to the infomercial pitch and buys “an actual brick from the wall of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre” which promises to “bring the murder and mayhem right into your very own living room.” The ensemble cast does its best to make this dream-like tale (yes, there is a fantasy dance) work and often seems in the throes of discomfit as it navigates “The Brick’s” mortar. It is interesting that Kander’s music is most derivative (of his own work) in this tale of fantasy meets desperate housewife.

The final tale bears the name of the new musical’s imaginative title and is unquestionably the most powerful of the three. Jake (David Hyde Pierce) and Denny (Paul Anthony Stewart) are celebrating the arrival of their foster child Collin (Frankie Seratch) who turns out to be much more than a precocious twelve-year-old. Jake suspects Collin’s claims to be world-traveled at twelve and, in a conversation with the astute pre-adolescent, discovers that Collin has landed in their lives to escort Denny to his premature death through myocardial infarction on the landing Collin has invited Denny to visit with him. The couple’s desire to solidify their relationship with an adopted child briefly strains their bonds of love and intensifies the experience of loss. This tale is in no way maudlin but it manages to be empowering in its depiction of human weakness. The work of the ensemble cast, the book, lyrics, music, lighting (Ken Billington), set (John Lee Beatty), and direction coalesce in this tale with a spirit-filled synergy that defies precise description: prepare to be shaken to the core of being. Julia Murney as Jake’s younger sister empathically narrates this tale.

Walter Bobbie directs “The Landing” with calculated but ever so successful risks. Greg Pierce’s book and lyrics are fresh and vary appropriately between the disparateness of the tales. As always, John Kander’s music is both mesmerizing and salvific. The musicians (Paul Masse, Vincent DellaRocca, Vivian Israel, and Greg Landes) enmesh themselves in the matrix of John Kander’s music with flawless proficiency.

The three tales serve as fables, parables really, for humanity’s reach for meaning and longevity. Human beings are pretty predictable when it comes to crimes of the heart. Hoping for redemption and release, humanity has consistently challenged the direction of the “long boats” that have been launched. Longing for love, ropes have been grasped hoping to change the fickle direction of fate. Despite consistent hand burns, women and men continue to leverage the ravages of loss. “The Landing” navigates this journey with astonishing benevolence.

Channeling a more introspective and agonized June Cleaver, Sara Jane (Alexandra Silber) has an on-the-surface pleasant dialogue with all that is beyond theatre’s conventional fourth wall. In “Arlington,” currently playing at the Vineyard Theatre, that includes directly engaging the audience and the Pianist (Ben Moss) who appears behind an upstage scrim and not only accompanies Sara Jane’s non-stop singing but also succeeds in his own extrasensory skills channeling Sara Jane’s military husband Jerry. Although Sara Jane momentarily denies she is singing – “No, I’m just—I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I’m not singing” – she is immersed in a full blown operetta. And Victor Lodato’s book (libretto) and Polly Pen’s music shake the Vineyard and its inhabitants to a transformative and soul-purging existential crisis.

Sara Jane’s arias, recitatives and, occasionally her duets with the Pianist, tell the dramatic story of a young woman on the brink of a discovery about self identity, national and global identity, and the fragility of future. The delivery of these discoveries in song enables Sara Jane to distance herself from the message she delivers to the audience and enables the audience to shelter itself from the enormity of that message. In fact, Sara considers the members of the audience she addresses directly to be strangers: “Talking to strangers! I mean, who are you anyway? Good people, bad people. You never know.”

Addressing the audience is therapeutic for Sara Jane. Her sung-through psychoanalytic session strips away layers of consciousness disclosing her struggles with her mother, her struggles with success, her doubts about her husband’s commitment, and her angst over a variety of geopolitical shenanigans (including war). Sara has difficulty getting her mind around what she discovers including the images of war her husband has sent her as attachments to his email messages from battle.

A significant recitative in “Arlington” concerns these images of war. “Children running. Foreigners but, I mean they were kids. Some were bleeding, I don’t know, it was hard to… I couldn’t really get my head
around it. Some of the children were dragging other children. Trying to carry them. And someone was screaming.” Sara struggles with what is happening with the war and she is not sure it is what it is supposed to be.

Sara Jane does not like it when people change. She does not like it when her mother has plastic surgery. She does not like how her husband has changed in war (or has he?). She is not even completely comfortable with the change which her pregnancy has caused. “I want my baby!/ But what can I tell him? What kind of lullaby will do? What can I tell him? Innocent people die in a war? No—they’re killed! Why do people lie? Why do people lie? My husband killed those women/ My husband killed those children.”

Sara Jane’s virtual visit to the National Cemetery at Arlington, like her introspective journey, results in a rediscovery of self, a reaffirmation of her strength as a woman and a future mother, and her ability to navigate an unfamiliar world. She and the audience members are strangers in a strange land (literally and figuratively). Under Carolyn Cantor’s brooding and introspective direction Ms. Silber’s and Mr. Moss’ dangerous liaisons with veracity call into question all preconceived notions of love, relationships, and conflict. This brooding nature is matched perfectly by Dane Laffrey’s set, Tyler Micoleau’s lighting, and the sound design by Dan Moses Schreier.

“I mean how do you ever really know/ Another person? Really know them. Some afternoons I just sit here. I watch the light move across the wall. It moves from one side of the room to the other. You really don’t even see it move. It sort of creeps, like a clock. It moves when you turn away. And then all of a sudden it’s late. It’s dark. (Women and children. Little black bugs. All burned.) When my brother died,
My mother switched from drinking Whites to drinking reds.”

The Pianist dies not accompany the singer. The piano is as much a character as the one who plays it. At one point, Sara plays the piano in her living room and has a dialogue with the offstage piano and player. The dialogue results in terrifying realizations. “But what you have to realize is/ Innocent people/ Always die/ In a war.” “Men can’t afford to be/ Gentle, especially/ A soldier./ I mean, people are a mystery.”

“Arlington” affirms the mysteries of all things human and challenges the audience to determine how it will “switch things up” when confronted with all those things that creep across our lives and have the potential to leave us in outer darkness.

“All the world’s a stage, /And all the men and women merely players:/They have their exits and their/entrances; /And one man in his time plays many parts.” – Jacques in “As You Like It” Act II, Scene VII (William Shakespeare, 1600)

In Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” Jacques solves the eternal question of whether art imitates life or life imitates art: simply, life is art and art is life. Seasoned stage performers have discovered what acting novices will discover during their careers; namely, as Meryl Streep affirms, “Acting is not about being someone different. It’s finding the similarity in what is apparently different, then finding [oneself] in there.” Acting indeed is life’s work.

Perhaps no one knows this better in Nicky Silver’s new play “Too Much Sun” than its protagonist Audrey Langham (Linda Lavin). Just before the opening night of Euripides’ “Medea” in a theatre in Chicago, Audrey realizes that her creative team does not know what acting is: she is trying to find the similarity in what is apparently different about her and Medea so she can find herself in there but her director just wants her to “just get through it” and ‘be’ Medea. Audrey leaves the stage, abandons the production, and two days later shows up unannounced at her daughter’s summer house and takes up residence in her son-in-law’s office (actually the guest bedroom) putting an abrupt halt to his novel-writing and the charade playing out on the summer house stage. Charades become real life drama.

Currently playing at the Vineyard Theatre, “Too Much Sun” is rich in themes. Playwright Nicky Silver tackles life in the theatre, art imitating life, honesty, dishonesty, and motivation. The first act successfully develops these themes as well-rounded characters Audrey, Kitty, Dennis, Lucas, Winston, and Gil have their exits and their entrances with complicated and engaging conflicts that move all story lines forward and set the stage for the second act. Unfortunately, following the intermission and the entr’acte, the second act of “Too Much Sun” begins to unravel.

Life is often predictable; however, there are no surprises in the second act when Dennis (Ken Barnett) confirms his inability to commit to his novel or his wife by ending his summer fling with neighbor Lucas leaving the twenty-something grappling with issues of abandonment. Audrey’s plan to wed Winston (Richard Bekins) to temporarily put an end to ennui crashes on the rocks shortly after Lucas’ body is pulled from the water. And Kitty (Jennifer Westfeldt) discloses her pregnancy to unfaithful Dennis admitting to a one-time tryst with theatre agent assistant and wanna-be rabbi Gil (Matt Dellapina) who bemoans the loss of his ability to join Audrey and Winston in holy matrimony.

Except for one, none of these interesting characters experiences any growth. Any apparent growth – like Audrey’s bid at a second chance to be a good mother – is simply a shift in motivation. As she was in all of her stage roles, she is very good at her roles in life. Better for her to help her daughter raise her child in the summer house than bunk with the long-time friend she deplores. All of the other characters behave as they did during the first act and, as previously stated, do everything the audience assumed they would.

The only character who knows what he wants and knows what he does not want is Lucas (Matt Dickson). Mr. Dickson delivers a stunning performance as a young man dodging his father’s expectations (mired in indifference) and the specter of the suicide of his mother. In Matt Dickson’s nurturing hands, Lucas’ death provides the singular redemptive moment in “Too Much Sun” and brings the audience right to the edge of catharsis.

Mark Brokaw’s careful direction provides a space for the exceptional ensemble cast to display their collective craft. It is a gift to watch the remarkable and iconic Linda Lavin perform. Ms. Lavin comingles her wondrous comedic timing with her ability to bring authenticity and honesty to her characters. Her Audrey Langham is irrepressible, single-minded, and irascible. Medea is no match for an Audrey scorned. Each of Nicky Silver’s characters here have, in one way or another, had too much sun, been too much sun, or longed for more sun. This cast makes these quests believable and memorable.

Despite minor missteps, “Too Much Sun” is a worthwhile and commendable exploration of the human effort to make sense of life, to redefine the meaning of relationship, and to grapple honestly with the vicissitudes of the thing we call love.

Plays about the making of plays or the making of movies ought to adhere to the conventions of the genre being dramatized. Playwright Mike Bencivenga fails to accomplish this important writer’s task in his new “Billy and Ray” currently running at the Vineyard Theatre. This play about the collaboration between Billy Wilder (Vincent Kartheiser) and Raymond Chandler (Larry Pine) on the adaptation of James M. Cain’s 1943 novella ”Double Indemnity” for the screen portrays Wilder and Chandler as flat and static characters on the set of a television sit-com with walls that shake when windows and doors are closed. Director Garry Marshall oddly does little to animate his cast and the lot of them seems ready for the final curtain not long after it rises. This is an unfortunate circumstance for a talented cast more than capable of animating a script and for an audience more than ready to appreciate its collective craft.

What should be an interesting play about the making of the 1944 film noir classic “Double Indemnity” fails to hit the mark and lies flat for most of its two hour and ten minute duration. In Act II, Ray admonishes Billy to “treat the audience like adults.” That was good advice for Billy and it ought to have been equally good advice for Mr. Marshall who chooses to treat the audience here as pubescent star-struck interlopers.

Mr. Bencivenga includes rants about the lack of artistic freedom in the United States – freedom that Wilder hoped to find after settling in America and alludes to Wilder’s concerns about his parents in Hitler’s Austria and to Chandler’s alcoholism. Both “secrets” are used to goad one another into an artistic treasure trove. Unfortunately, none of this works. In short, “Billy and Ray” flounders in its attempt to honor the collaboration upon which it ostensibly based.

Sophie Von Haselberg is efficient as Billy Wilder’s omnipresent secretary Helen and Drew Gehling is ideal as the producer Joe Sistrom who needs to get Billy and Ray to produce a script that will pass the censorial test of “decency.” Along with Mr. Kartheiser and Mr. Pine, they do their best to enliven a troubled script under less than supportive direction. Mr. Marshall’s decision to play Billy and Ray’s collaborative scenes in the style of film noir is unnecessary and adds nothing to the development of the plot. And the ending of the play – whether the work of the playwright or the choice of the director – is puzzling and sophomoric.

If the cacophony on stage during the Vineyard Theatre’s “Dot” even remotely characterizes the “noise” inside Dotty’s head, it is easy to understand the severity of her Alzheimer’s disease and just how far it has progressed. Colman Domingo’s new play tackles the horrific details of one family’s struggle to cope with the deterioration of their mother and how her mental decline counterpoints each member’s personal struggle with reality and its disintegration.

Dotty Shealy (Marjorie Johnson) lives in the Philadelphia home she shared with her husband and in which she raised her two daughters and her son. Her daughter Shelly (Sharon Washington) has assumed the burden of caring for Dotty and is completely overwhelmed with that undertaking. The play opens two days before Christmas as Shelly and Dotty chat with former neighbor and family friend Jackie (Finnerty Steeves) who has returned from New York to borrow some linens and share that she is pregnant and about to be a single mother. Shelly and Dotty also await the arrival of Shelly’s sister Averie (Libya V. Pugh) and her brother Donnie (Stephen Conrad Moore) and his husband Adam (Colin Hanlon).

Once everyone arrives, the bickering about what to do with Dotty begins as she seems to fade away before their eyes. She forgets Shelly went to buy the Christmas tree, what medications she is supposed to be taking, and what time it is. Moments of lucidity collide with long stretches of forgetfulness and her disease becomes ever more present. The first act of “Dot” is strong and successfully introduces each character, delineates their specific conflicts, and paves the way for discovering more about Dotty and her illness. Unfortunately, this expectation remains unsatisfied.

In the second act of Mr. Colman’s play, Dotty’s important story gets sidelined by the subplots Mr. Domingo decides to place center stage. Despite the family’s insistence on calling a meeting to discuss Dotty’s condition and care and “getting her what she needs,” the only conflicts explored are those of the family – nuclear and extended including Dotty’s caregiver Fidel. Each of these stories is interesting and engaging but none have anything to do with Dotty. And why Jackie is even in the story is baffling. The ensemble cast bravely moves through the script and does the best it can to honor the intentions of Mr. Colman’s script. Unfortunately, the script’s weakness overshadows the collective craft of the cast. Dotty’s dementia becomes lost in her extended family’s delirium.

There are puzzling choices made by the playwright and director Susan Stroman that unfortunately detract from the power the play should and could have. For example, although there is no indication in the first act that Dotty is fully aware of her diagnosis, in the second act the plot hatched with Fidel to shame her family into understanding her condition is played out in an unfortunate comedic fashion. Fidel describes the exercise as “the virtual dementia experience” he and Dotty found online. Adam suggests they should have gotten “the actual kit” and not assembled the parts themselves.

And the choice to focus on a myriad of family issues leaves Dotty’s decline a mere side issue. The play tries to be about her memories and her unreliable mind but it is more about marriage equality, unwanted pregnancy, immigration reform, and sibling rivalry. The second act regrettably is more fractured than Dotty’s mental faculties and leaves the audience wanting more about Dotty.

Created by Paula Vogel and Rebecca Taichman, “Indecent” could not have opened at the Vineyard Theatre at a more auspicious time. In the midst of an increasingly frenzied discussion about what is and what is not decent in contemporary American society and culture, this remarkable and stunning play – based on true events surrounding the 1923 Broadway debut of Sholem Asch’s “The God of Vengeance” – brings into sharp focus the importance of vigilance in the midst of intolerance and indomitability in the face of insidious censorship.

Portraying Sholem Asch, Max Gordon Moore delivers a riveting performance of a playwright who initially inspires his cast and crew as they begin to present “The God of Vengeance” but ultimately abandons them. Paula Vogel and Rebecca Taichman have created a compelling story about the power of innovation and the equally powerful effect of detachment and disinheriting oneself from the innovative process. The cast portrays the characters in three stages of their lives from the excitement of actors beginning a journey together in 1906 to their disappointments and fears that present themselves as they age and face the danger of the threat of the Nazi regime and beyond.

Mr. Moore and the other members of the stellar ensemble cast are listed as “Actors” in the program, he and all individuals – on or off stage – who take significant risks to maintain personal and professional integrity. Solem Asch’s failure to testify in court in Manhattan is a trope for the epic failure of all who shy from controversy and compromise rectitude for the assumed comfort of safety. Adina Verson and Katrina Lenk are riveting as Rifkele and Manke dance their way through life, death, and beyond death.

Rebecca Taichman directs “Indecent” with a sensitive precision. David Dorfman’s choreography is fluid with stunning lines and fresh contemporary movement. Emily Rebholz’s “dust to dust” costumes are intriguing and perfectly matched to the period. Both Christoper Akerlind’s lighting and Matt Hubbs’ sound are exquisite and create emotion-laden “pictures” that are as stunning as they are life-changing. With the assistance of “Stage Manager” Lemml (played with a self-effacing charm by Richard Topol), Tal Yarden’s projections guide the audience through language shifts, and shifts in time with ease.

Music and performances by Lisa Gutkin and Aaron Halva provide an essential emotional thread to “Indecent’s” important story.

It is difficult to rehearse here the entirety of the plot of “Indecent” driven by characters that share unimaginable conflicts that play out in a variety of settings without posting “spoiler alerts” in every paragraph. “Indecent” is a compelling piece of theatre that raises deep, enduring questions about the future of a society that refuses to accept differences and embrace those deemed to be “different.

“In the Name of God, I take you to be my husband/wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.” – From “The Book of Common Prayer”

In 1958 Martin (played with an appropriate whining weakness by Michael Crane) and Irene (played with a frivolous conflicted spirit by Holley Fain) participated in a wedding – a Jewish wedding presumably. And although there are no vows spoken at a traditional Jewish wedding (those are assumed to be implicit), playwright Nicky Silver chooses to use a phrase from “The Book of Common Prayer” as the title of his new play “This Day Forward” currently running at the Vineyard Theatre. I always encouraged my playwriting students to pay attention to titles, and it is important to pay full attention to this title because it provides a substantial clue to the meaning of this new play.

In both Acts of “This Day Forward,” as in other Nicky Silver plays, the audience experiences a motherlode of misbehaving mothers. In the first act, following Martin and Irene’s wedding, Irene confesses she really does not love Martin. Her real affections are for Emil (played with the countenance of a wounded buck by Joe Tippett) the “grease monkey” at the local filling station but her mother does not approve of Emil – she approves of Martin. Irene has a conflicted understanding of love. She tells Emil, “My mother used to punish me all the time. She locked me in dark rooms and went out for days. She said it was because she loved me.” Also in Act I, mother and son duo Melka (played with perfect comedic timing by June Gable) and Donald (played with an adorable mischievous nature by Andrew Burnap) – hotel maid and bellhop – display further the mishaps of nuclear family bonding. Melka unabashedly proclaims to the distraught bride, “Love is nothing. A word you say to yourself so you feel less frightened at night. In the dark. It is air and sound and nothing at all.”

Act II fast forwards forty-six years to 2004 in Noah’s (Michael Crane) New York City apartment where Noah – son of Martin and Irene – confronts his mother (June Gable in Act II) and sister Shelia (played with wounded commitment by Francesca Faridany) about providing care for Irene who now suffers from dementia. Noah has a rather fragile relationship with his boyfriend Leo (Andrew Burnap) and the arrival of Irene – who seems to fancy Leo – puts the relationship into ruin. One wonders just how “addled” Irene is. Sheila and Noah rehearse Noah’s abused childhood. Their father would hit Noah with a belt. And Noah gets to the underbelly of Mr. Silver’s play with this: “Shared misery doesn’t make people partners. If they showed us anything they showed us that.”

“This Day Forward” is not all about dysfunction resulting from growing up with a monster mother. “This Day Forward” challenges the core of the American value system, the epicenter of the national economy, the center of the political firestorm: the American family. Mom, Dad, and the doting kids nestled all comfortably in their suburban beds. Mr. Silver is not simply making a case for a world without punishing mothers: he is making a case for a world without punishing families.

At the end of the play, Mr. Silver makes it clear that the old family system will not work for Noah and his Mom – his new on the road to Alzheimer’s Mom. There will be no “playing with her hair.” The past is finished and gone. Everything is fresh and new. When Noah says (with kindness” “No” to Irene’s request, his refusal brings her peace and the last image the audience has of this uber-mother is a peaceful smile across her up-to-then tormented face.

Under Mark Brokaw’s steady hand, the acting is uniformly excellent and the actors manage their dual roles with authentic performances. Allen Moyer’s scenic design, Kaye Voyce’s costumes, and David Lander’s lighting are all exquisite. “This Day Forward” comes with its difficulties. The second act is not as strong as the first and the magical realism at the end of the play (after Noah Exits to chase after Sheila) is completely unnecessary and weakens the strength of the play. The dysfunction of the family system will grace the stage forever. This play pushes the argument a bit further by questioning the very future of the system itself.

After presenting a season that included the engaging “This Day Forward” by Nicky Silver and the soaring “Kid Victory” by Greg Pierce and John Kander, the iconic Vineyard Theatre has chosen to present Gina Gionfriddo’s mostly disappointing “Can You Forgive Her.” Billed as a “ferociously funny story of lost souls grappling with emotional and financial dependence, and the costs of the American Dream,” the play fails to successfully grapple with either of these important themes or deal with any of the rich and enduring questions surrounding those themes.

Tanya (Ella Dershowitz) tends bar in a New Jersey beach town and is doing her best to get her perhaps fiancée Graham (Darren Pettie) – who is twice divorced and who has not worked in six months – to transition from not being serious about his future to “having a livelihood.” Graham’s mother has just died leaving him the beach house and all her papers (memoirs, novels, etc.) and he has asked Tanya to marry him. Tanya – not the best decision maker – is reluctant to marry without seeing progress in Graham’s stability and commitment to change.

So, what does she do on this Halloween night? She sends Graham home from the bar with an unknown woman who claims her “date” has threatened to stab her. Well, he never told her that. She “learns” of his motivation from a conversation the date Sateesh (Eshan Bay) has with the “redneck couple” she and Sateesh are sitting with at the bar. Miranda (Amber Tamblyn) has a Master’s Degree, is in serious debt, and depends on David (Frank Wood) to “keep” her and provide income. And she “lets [Sateesh] buy [her] things. Why not? It’s not like he isn’t using me, too, you know? He gets to look cool in front of all the other Indians by showing up with me.”

The bulk of Ms. Gionfriddo’s improbable play centers on conversations between Graham and Miranda – most of them convoluted and improbable and not terribly engaging. Then, of course, Tanya comes home from work early, David eventually shows up (Miranda comes to the shore to “stalk him”) and adds to the improbability index. For example, why would Tanya expect that leaving Graham alone with Miranda would be a good choice? And why would an educated person like Miranda be such a racist loser? Her problems are not about bad accounting and bad choices but overall about exhibiting bad behavior and embracing questionable values.

Perhaps Allen Moyer’s set design and Russell H. Champa’s lighting design are the most interesting parts of “Can You Forgive Her.” The playing area – the interior of the beach house – is intentionally “minimized.” The audience can see the lighting grid above the set and there is a “useless” lighted space below the set. Additionally, the set is framed with illuminated light towers. It is as though what is happening on stage is meant to be far removed from the audience. It is like a mockup of a set for a mockup of a play.

“Can You Forgive Her” seems unfinished, unresolved. There is a bit of a redemptive ending but that is not enough payoff for the relentless banter that precedes it. Tanya’s self-help guru does little to persuade Graham or Miranda to conform to her understanding of having a livelihood. The characters are less than believable and less than interesting. No one really cares whether Sateesh shows up to stab Miranda or not. He does show up. At the end. For about a minute.

There’s a lot to forgive here and it might start with the playwright. There is not much director Peter DuBois and the talented cast can do to fix what ails “Can You Forgive Her.”

Created by Paula Vogel and Rebecca Taichman, “Indecent” could not have opened at the Vineyard Theatre at a more auspicious time. In the midst of an increasingly frenzied discussion about what is and what is not decent in contemporary American society and culture, this remarkable and stunning play – based on true events surrounding the 1923 Broadway debut of Sholem Asch’s “The God of Vengeance” – brings into sharp focus the importance of vigilance in the midst of intolerance and indomitability in the face of insidious censorship.

Portraying Sholem Asch, Max Gordon Moore delivers a riveting performance of a playwright who initially inspires his cast and crew as they begin to present “The God of Vengeance” but ultimately abandons them. Paula Vogel and Rebecca Taichman have created a compelling story about the power of innovation and the equally powerful effect of detachment and disinheriting oneself from the innovative process. The cast portrays the characters in three stages of their lives from the excitement of actors beginning a journey together in 1906 to their disappointments and fears that present themselves as they age and face the danger of the threat of the Nazi regime and beyond.

Mr. Moore and the other members of the stellar ensemble cast are listed as “Actors” in the program, he and all individuals – on or off stage – who take significant risks to maintain personal and professional integrity. Solem Asch’s failure to testify in court in Manhattan is a trope for the epic failure of all who shy from controversy and compromise rectitude for the assumed comfort of safety. Adina Verson and Katrina Lenk are riveting as Rifkele and Manke dance their way through life, death, and beyond death.

Rebecca Taichman directs “Indecent” with a sensitive precision. David Dorfman’s choreography is fluid with stunning lines and fresh contemporary movement. Emily Rebholz’s “dust to dust” costumes are intriguing and perfectly matched to the period. Both Christoper Akerlind’s lighting and Matt Hubbs’ sound are exquisite and create emotion-laden “pictures” that are as stunning as they are life-changing. With the assistance of “Stage Manager” Lemml (played with a self-effacing charm by Richard Topol), Tal Yarden’s projections guide the audience through language shifts, and shifts in time with ease.

Music and performances by Lisa Gutkin and Aaron Halva provide an essential emotional thread to “Indecent’s” important story.

It is difficult to rehearse here the entirety of the plot of “Indecent” driven by characters that share unimaginable conflicts that play out in a variety of settings without posting “spoiler alerts” in every paragraph. “Indecent” is a compelling piece of theatre that raises deep, enduring questions about the future of a society that refuses to accept differences and embrace those deemed to be “different.

“In the Name of God, I take you to be my husband/wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.” – From “The Book of Common Prayer”

In 1958 Martin (played with an appropriate whining weakness by Michael Crane) and Irene (played with a frivolous conflicted spirit by Holley Fain) participated in a wedding – a Jewish wedding presumably. And although there are no vows spoken at a traditional Jewish wedding (those are assumed to be implicit), playwright Nicky Silver chooses to use a phrase from “The Book of Common Prayer” as the title of his new play “This Day Forward” currently running at the Vineyard Theatre. I always encouraged my playwriting students to pay attention to titles, and it is important to pay full attention to this title because it provides a substantial clue to the meaning of this new play.

In both Acts of “This Day Forward,” as in other Nicky Silver plays, the audience experiences a motherlode of misbehaving mothers. In the first act, following Martin and Irene’s wedding, Irene confesses she really does not love Martin. Her real affections are for Emil (played with the countenance of a wounded buck by Joe Tippett) the “grease monkey” at the local filling station but her mother does not approve of Emil – she approves of Martin. Irene has a conflicted understanding of love. She tells Emil, “My mother used to punish me all the time. She locked me in dark rooms and went out for days. She said it was because she loved me.” Also in Act I, mother and son duo Melka (played with perfect comedic timing by June Gable) and Donald (played with an adorable mischievous nature by Andrew Burnap) – hotel maid and bellhop – display further the mishaps of nuclear family bonding. Melka unabashedly proclaims to the distraught bride, “Love is nothing. A word you say to yourself so you feel less frightened at night. In the dark. It is air and sound and nothing at all.”

Act II fast forwards forty-six years to 2004 in Noah’s (Michael Crane) New York City apartment where Noah – son of Martin and Irene – confronts his mother (June Gable in Act II) and sister Shelia (played with wounded commitment by Francesca Faridany) about providing care for Irene who now suffers from dementia. Noah has a rather fragile relationship with his boyfriend Leo (Andrew Burnap) and the arrival of Irene – who seems to fancy Leo – puts the relationship into ruin. One wonders just how “addled” Irene is. Sheila and Noah rehearse Noah’s abused childhood. Their father would hit Noah with a belt. And Noah gets to the underbelly of Mr. Silver’s play with this: “Shared misery doesn’t make people partners. If they showed us anything they showed us that.”

“This Day Forward” is not all about dysfunction resulting from growing up with a monster mother. “This Day Forward” challenges the core of the American value system, the epicenter of the national economy, the center of the political firestorm: the American family. Mom, Dad, and the doting kids nestled all comfortably in their suburban beds. Mr. Silver is not simply making a case for a world without punishing mothers: he is making a case for a world without punishing families.

At the end of the play, Mr. Silver makes it clear that the old family system will not work for Noah and his Mom – his new on the road to Alzheimer’s Mom. There will be no “playing with her hair.” The past is finished and gone. Everything is fresh and new. When Noah says (with kindness” “No” to Irene’s request, his refusal brings her peace and the last image the audience has of this uber-mother is a peaceful smile across her up-to-then tormented face.

Under Mark Brokaw’s steady hand, the acting is uniformly excellent and the actors manage their dual roles with authentic performances. Allen Moyer’s scenic design, Kaye Voyce’s costumes, and David Lander’s lighting are all exquisite. “This Day Forward” comes with its difficulties. The second act is not as strong as the first and the magical realism at the end of the play (after Noah Exits to chase after Sheila) is completely unnecessary and weakens the strength of the play. The dysfunction of the family system will grace the stage forever. This play pushes the argument a bit further by questioning the very future of the system itself.

After presenting a season that included the engaging “This Day Forward” by Nicky Silver and the soaring “Kid Victory” by Greg Pierce and John Kander, the iconic Vineyard Theatre has chosen to present Gina Gionfriddo’s mostly disappointing “Can You Forgive Her.” Billed as a “ferociously funny story of lost souls grappling with emotional and financial dependence, and the costs of the American Dream,” the play fails to successfully grapple with either of these important themes or deal with any of the rich and enduring questions surrounding those themes.

Tanya (Ella Dershowitz) tends bar in a New Jersey beach town and is doing her best to get her perhaps fiancée Graham (Darren Pettie) – who is twice divorced and who has not worked in six months – to transition from not being serious about his future to “having a livelihood.” Graham’s mother has just died leaving him the beach house and all her papers (memoirs, novels, etc.) and he has asked Tanya to marry him. Tanya – not the best decision maker – is reluctant to marry without seeing progress in Graham’s stability and commitment to change.

So, what does she do on this Halloween night? She sends Graham home from the bar with an unknown woman who claims her “date” has threatened to stab her. Well, he never told her that. She “learns” of his motivation from a conversation the date Sateesh (Eshan Bay) has with the “redneck couple” she and Sateesh are sitting with at the bar. Miranda (Amber Tamblyn) has a Master’s Degree, is in serious debt, and depends on David (Frank Wood) to “keep” her and provide income. And she “lets [Sateesh] buy [her] things. Why not? It’s not like he isn’t using me, too, you know? He gets to look cool in front of all the other Indians by showing up with me.”

The bulk of Ms. Gionfriddo’s improbable play centers on conversations between Graham and Miranda – most of them convoluted and improbable and not terribly engaging. Then, of course, Tanya comes home from work early, David eventually shows up (Miranda comes to the shore to “stalk him”) and adds to the improbability index. For example, why would Tanya expect that leaving Graham alone with Miranda would be a good choice? And why would an educated person like Miranda be such a racist loser? Her problems are not about bad accounting and bad choices but overall about exhibiting bad behavior and embracing questionable values.

Perhaps Allen Moyer’s set design and Russell H. Champa’s lighting design are the most interesting parts of “Can You Forgive Her.” The playing area – the interior of the beach house – is intentionally “minimized.” The audience can see the lighting grid above the set and there is a “useless” lighted space below the set. Additionally, the set is framed with illuminated light towers. It is as though what is happening on stage is meant to be far removed from the audience. It is like a mockup of a set for a mockup of a play.

“Can You Forgive Her” seems unfinished, unresolved. There is a bit of a redemptive ending but that is not enough payoff for the relentless banter that precedes it. Tanya’s self-help guru does little to persuade Graham or Miranda to conform to her understanding of having a livelihood. The characters are less than believable and less than interesting. No one really cares whether Sateesh shows up to stab Miranda or not. He does show up. At the end. For about a minute.

There’s a lot to forgive here and it might start with the playwright. There is not much director Peter DuBois and the talented cast can do to fix what ails “Can You Forgive Her.”

Harry Clarke (the persona and the person) was born out of the dysfunctional matrix of paternal abuse and maternal collusion that plagued Philip Brugglestein from his childhood through his adulthood. David Cale’s play “Harry Clarke,” currently playing at the Vineyard Theatre, is a complex and engaging psychological study of dissociative identity disorder (DID) and explores the provenance of that condition from the point of view of a man (Billy Crudup) who fled one identity and was pursued by a second that alternately brought him both pleasure and pain.

Mr. Cale’s script is carefully developed: it has a well-defined dramatic arc and it features interesting and well-developed characters with engaging and believable conflicts that drive a plot rich in twists and turns that holds the audience’s interest for the entire eighty minutes when performed. Under Leigh Silverman’s astute and unobtrusive direction, Billy Crudup engages in a dramatic battle with the script and comes up the clear victor, unearthing Mr. Cale’s treasures and bringing Harry Clarke to life with inexorable energy and irrepressible wit. Alexander Dodge’s sparse set and Alan C. Edwards’s judicious lighting contribute to the success of the performance.

Billy Crudup plays twelve characters (or more) in addition to Philip Brugglestein and his cockney Doppelganger Harry Clarke, including his abusive parents and the police officer who awakened Philip to tell him of his father’s death. After Philip’s father’s death, he moves to New York City where he and Harry impose themselves upon Mark Schmidt. Mr. Crudup portrays – rather creates – Mark, Mark’s father and his Mother Ruth, Mark’s sister Stephanie, Luke (whom he meets in a bar) from Camden, and attorneys Brad Gould and Ryan.

Mr. Crudup gives each of these dynamic characters unique personalities, facial gestures, and body movements. He accomplishes this remarkable, near impossible, task with the ease of turning a page in a script and the skill of one of the stage’s most accomplished actors. One can see Crudup’s characters not only in the traditional ways outlined earlier; one can also see the actor imagining these characters “in his head.” He even sings Stephanie’s song “Wide Back Boy” with seductive charm.

Philip and Harry (one needs to mention both personas) make it to England. How and why are the resolution of the play and it would require a spoiler’s alert to provide more details. The journey from Indiana to England provides ample opportunity for Harry to regain control over Philip and place him in challenging – albeit fascinating – situations. Each requires Philip to grapple with his personality, his superego, and his tolerance of taking risks that might result in Philip losing complete control to Harry.

David Cale’s expansive character study of the young Philip Brugglestein from South Bend, Indiana and his “alter ego” Harry Clarke raises the rich and enduring question, “Are there limits to what one does to escape verbal, psychological, and – perhaps – sexual abuse to preserve one’s life?” Additionally, is one always in control of the circumstances surrounding the techniques of survival? Finally, “Harry Clarke” successfully questions all assumptions about individual identity, ego strength, and personality that leave the audience members wondering just how much they know about themselves and their choices.

Whether medieval or modern, no plague is comfortable. The first part of “The Amateurs,” currently playing at Vineyard Theatre, is uncomfortable in a different way and the audience wonders, “Can this play be as amateurish as it appears. What is the Vineyard thinking?” As it turns out, the iconic Off-Broadway theatre is thinking outside-the-box and out with the fourth wall, inviting the audience into a rigorous session of metacognition: how do theatre professionals think they make theatre successfully? Should actors be thinking about how they do what they do when they are doing it? And playwright Jordan Harrison uses the story of a medieval itinerant troupe of actors attempting to outrun the “Black Death” ravaging fourteenth-century Europe to address these essential questions.

Larking (Thomas Jay Ryan) does his best to interest his intrepid troupe to improve their craft as they rehearse their play “Noah’s Flood” for presentation before the Duke in two weeks’ time. Larking is hoping that an audience before the Duke of Travo and a successful performance by the troupe will convince the Duke to allow the actors to live within the Duke’s village and avoid death by plague. Mr. Harrison also alludes to the HIV/AIDS plague and the quest for safe spaces and cures.

In the midst of the slow-moving narrative in Act One, secrets are revealed about Rona’s (Jennifer Kim) pregnancy, assumptions are made about the possible father of the child, members of the cast die from the plague, sexual identities are revealed, and a stranger (The Psysic played by Greg Keller) enters the encampment concealing his own agenda in the quest for safety. Some of these secrets are revealed in two well-staged intercessory prayer scenes. Rona prays to St. Felicitas to make her a virgin again, or if that is “asking too much,” at least to “make him a boy.” Brom (Kyle Beltran) begs St. Theresa to help him forget Henry whom he assumes God took back to “wash him clean” of him. And Larking prays to both Saints Dominic and Cosmas to help his troupe “to act well.”

In Act Two, Jordan Harrison decides to break the fourth wall. The actor who portrays Gregory (Michael Cyril Creighton) takes center stage and launches on an extended monologue about the provenance of his fear of being gay, his fear of AIDS, the historical development of “individualism,” and assorted other topics. He ends his exposition with, “This is all to say that I didn’t sit down to write a play about Mr. Goldsworthy, or the Bubonic plague, even. No, for some reason I was interested in a small strange scene from the 14th century morality play “Noah’s Flood.”

Dissecting the scene between Noah (Brom/Kyle Beltran) and his “unnamed” wife (Hollis/Quincy Tyler Bernstine), “the director” links namelessness with powerlessness – a sort of plague of humankind. This discussion is valuable and raises the questions outlined in the first paragraph of this review; however, the need for the lengthy first act becomes questionable as does the playwright’s choice to use this vehicle to make his important arguments.

Under Oliver Butler’s direction, the actors wrestle with the plays disparate themes (perhaps too many unresolved conflicts?) with honesty. Happy Endings, guilt, fear, catharsis – all get bandied about at the play’s end with more questions raised than answers given. Whether catharsis is “innately complacent” (Playwright) or “delicious” will be up to the audience to decide. We are all, after all, amateurs at this humanity gig.

A novella by Henry James is the inspiration for the new Dance Play “The Beast in the Jungle” which marks the final mainstage production of the Vineyard Theater’s 35^th Anniversary Season. The book by David Thompson follows the escapades of John Marcher (a credible Peter Friedman) over several decades, as he battles demons and searches for the single entity that seems to elude him. The structure is that of a memory play, with the main character acting as narrator as he reveals the story of his past to his young nephew, (an outstanding Tony Yazbeck), hoping that he will heed the advice and not be intimidated by the jeopardy of love. It is a profound tale of love and passion that seems to necessitate more than spoken words to communicate the emotional content and embellish the beauty of desire, intimacy and endearment.

So, director and choreographer Susan Stroman uses the language of dance as a liaison between discourse and sentiment to reach the complex core of the characters. Joy, pain, fear, excitement, tension and angst explode in the movement, fulfilling the moment that conveys a stimulating impulse of each persona. It is so personal yet so revealing, so fluid yet so powerful and manages to provide pages of beautiful illustrations to accompany the narrative.

Mr. Yazbeck is engaging as the inquisitive and melancholy nephew but hits his stride as the evocative young John Marcher, ever so determined to escape the beast of his tortured soul. As he dances, his body intrudes the common space to sculpt images that perfectly delineate a psyche which is always compatible with his mien. Sometimes floating and at others burdened, but always on point, punctuating musical notes as if they were suspended in the air. The object of his affection is May Bertram, portrayed with distinct elegance and intrigue by the beautiful Irina Dvorovenko. Her lyrical dancing captures the essence of her character and evolves somewhere between a dream and reality. She is innocent, intelligent and insightful as she captures the heart of her paramour. Their chemistry is magical. Mr. Friedman is given a difficult task of revealing his story solely with words of David Thompson’s book, in juxtaposition to the interpretation through dance which contributes to a more linear and sequential performance. At times his anger diminishes his empathy.

Rounding out the cast are Teagle F. Bougere who turns in a solid performance as the Husband/Stranger and the Women, an ensemble of dancers who support the principals and add substance and clarity to each scene. Rather than assuming the role of a Greek Chorus, they appear as Muses and create a force on inspiration. Maira Barriga, Elizabeth Dugas, Leah Hofmann, Naomi Kakuk, Brittany Marcin Maschmeyer, and Erin N. Moore execute Ms. Stroman’s choreography to perfection.

This is a production that pushes boundaries of traditional musical theater relying on the melodic score by John Kander, sometimes reminiscent of his earlier work and always pleasing to the ear but void of lyrics. It serves as an underscore tempering the mood of each scene. It is not a perfect endeavor into a new genre and comes with a few misgivings that could be revised but certainly delivers a creative, entertaining evening of theater.

Artistic Directors Douglas Aibel and Sarah Stern announce casting for Vineyard Theatre’s Developmental Lab production of Tori Sampson’s THIS LAND WAS MADE, directed by Whitney White. Vineyard’s Developmental Labs allow a playwright and director to explore a work-in-progress on its feet in collaboration with a full creative team, and include staging and design elements. Presentations are Thursday, July 26 – Saturday, July 28 at Vineyard Theatre (108 East 15th Street).

Patrons who become a Vineyard Member by July 25 receive priority seating; limited seating for the general public will be available on a first-come, first-served basis by calling 212-353-0303, emailing boxoffice@vineyardtheatre.org, or at www.vineyardtheatre.org.

The cast of THIS LAND WAS MADE includes James T. Alfred (“Empire”), Lauren E. Banks (WAR), McKinley Belcher III (“Mercy Street”), Jessica Frances Dukes (IS GOD IS), Sean Patrick Higgins (A CLOCKWORK ORANGE), Julian Elijah Martinez (ALLIGATOR), Jon Orsini (FISH IN THE DARK), Carra Patterson (JITNEY), Namir Smallwood (PASS OVER), and Austin Smith (HAMILTON).

Liberation. Peace. Love. Self-Defense. Oakland in 1967 was a powder keg of social activism ready to boil over into radical action. For patrons of Miss Trish’s bar, it’s all just talking points — until the full, seductive and explosive force of revolution walks through the door. Tori is a 2017-18 Playwrights’ Center Jerome Fellow in Minneapolis and the Kennedy Center’s 2016 Paula Vogel Playwright. A recent graduate of the Yale School of Drama, THIS LAND WAS MADE marks her New York debut.

Performance schedule: Thursday, July 26 at 7:00 p.m.; Friday, July 27 at 4:00 p.m.; Saturday, July 28 at 3:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m.. A panel discussion on social justice activism with special guest Hawk Newsome, president of Black Lives Matter of Greater New York, will take place following the matinee performance on Saturday, July 28.

TORI SAMPSON (Playwright)  A native of Boston, Tori’s plays include IF PRETTY HURTS UGLY MUST BE A MUHFUCKA (Playwrights Horizons, 2019) and CADILLAC CREW (Yale Repertory Theater, 2019). Her plays have been developed at Great Plains Theatre Conference, Berkeley Repertory Theatre’s The Ground Floor residency program, Victory Garden’s IGNITION Festival of New Plays, Playwrights Foundation, and Ubuntu Festival. Tori is a 2017–18 Playwrights’ Center Jerome Fellow and a 2018-19 Mcknight Fellow. Two of her plays appeared on the 2017 Kilroys List. Her awards and honors include the 2016 Relentless Award, Honorable Mention; the 2016 Paula Vogel Award in Playwriting from The Kennedy Center; the Lorraine Hansberry Playwriting Award, Second Place; the Alliance Theatre’s 2017 Kendeda Prize, Finalist; the 2018 Susan Smith Blackburn Prize, Finalist. Tori is currently working on commissions from Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Yale Repertory Theatre, and Atlantic Theater Company. She holds a BS in sociology from Ball State University and an MFA in playwriting from Yale School of Drama.

WHITNEY WHITE (Director) is a director, musician, and actor. Recent work: OTHELLO (Trinity Rep), BLOOD WEDDING (Atlantic Theatre Co/NYU), FREEDOM RIDERS (NYMF), MACBETH IN STRIDE (Miami Theater Center). As Associate Director: MARVIN’S ROOM (Broadway), IF I FORGET (Roundabout). Upcoming: RITA TAMBIEN RITA (Julliard), Aleshea Harris’ WHAT TO SEND UP (The Movement), THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES (Atlantic Theatre, Associate Director). Whitney was the inaugural Roundabout Directing Fellow and is currently a 2050 Fellow at the New York Theatre Workshop. This year she will be in residency at Ars Nova as part of their 2018 Makers Lab, and at The Drama League as part of their Next Wave Residency where she is developing an African American production of Anton Chekhov’s THREE SISTERS set to original music. MFA Acting: Brown University/Trinity Rep, BA: Northwestern University. www.whitney-white.com

HAWK NEWSOME has engaged in protests and activities to combat injustice. Over the past few years, he has worked tirelessly leading protests and seeking justice for the families of those slain by overzealous police officers. He is the founder of Black Lives Matter Greater NY, and has not only helped victims of police brutality, but works with members of LGBT community, victims of human trafficking, the mental health community, founded Black Lives Caucus, lectured students and expanded BLM Greater NY to multiple New York City charter schools.

AVENUE Q – winner of three 2004 Tony Awards including Best Musical – is extending its previously announced closing date 4 weeks, due to popular demand, with a new end date set for May 26 at New World Stages (340 W. 50 St.), it has been announced by the show’s producers.  In December it was revealed that the 15+ year run of the musical would end on April 28.

Produced by Kevin McCollum, Robyn Goodman, Jeffrey Seller, Vineyard Theatre and The New Group, AVENUE Q will have played a total of 6569 performances upon closing:  from its first Broadway preview on July 14, 2003 to its final performance at New World Stages (340 W. 50 St.) on May 26.

Mr. McCollum and Ms. Goodman note, “The little show-that-could is still full of surprises.  When audiences clamor for more, we listen!”

Powered by its Tony for Best Musical and additional Tonys for Best Music and Lyrics to Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx, and Best Book of a Musical to Jeff Whitty, AVENUE Q’s victory at the 2004 Tony Awards was considered an historic upset and effectively redrew the landscape for innovation, originality and success on Broadway.  The musical recouped its investment in just 10 months, and with its fresh and funny tale about people and puppets just out of college looking for their purpose in life, AVENUE Q has been groundbreaking in its appeal to young theatergoers who relate to the characters and the challenges they face learning adult life lessons about racism, coming out, unemployment, dating, sex and porn.  The show has indeed captivated audiences of all generations with it singular, hilarious take on the traditional story of boy-meets-girl, boy-loses girl, boy tries to win girl back – except in AVENUE Q, the boy and girl just happen to be puppets.

The producers state, “We are incredibly proud of the fact that AVENUE Q transformed the careers of so many people in our company throughout its run.  The show gave audiences the opportunity to laugh, escape from the outside world for two hours and have tons of fun.  AVENUE Q proved to be timeless and we learned that sometimes it takes a puppet to make us realize how remarkable, complicated and messy it is to be human.”

AVENUE Q has music and lyrics by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx, book by Jeff Whitty, and is directed by Jason Moore. Based on an original concept by Robert Lopez and Jeff Marx, with puppets conceived and designed by Rick Lyon, musical supervision by Stephen Oremus, choreography by Ken Roberson, scenic design by Anna Louizos, costume design by Mirena Rada, lighting design by Howell Binkley, and sound design by Acme Sound Partners. Music director is Brian Hertz. Animation design is by Robert Lopez, incidental music is by Gary Adler, and casting is by Cindy Tolan & Adam Caldwell. Christine M. Daly is Production Stage Manager.

After its 6+ year run on Broadway, on the occasion of the musical’s closing night in September 2009, AVENUE Q’s producers made the surprise announcement that the show was, in fact, not closing, but would open again three weeks later at New World Stages, where it has been playing for more than 9 years.

The current cast of AVENUE Q includes Katie Boren, Grace Choi, Matt Dengler, Jamie Glickman, Imari Hardon, Jason Jacoby, Nicholas Kohn, Veronica Kuehn, Lacretta, Michael Liscio, Jr., and Rob Morrison.

AVENUE Q’s unforgettable cast of characters include Princeton, Kate Monster, Rod, Lucy The Slut, Trekkie Monster, Gary Coleman, The Bad Idea Bears, Mrs. Thistletwat, Christmas Eve and Brian.

As Stacey Derosier’s lighting comes up on the stage of Charly Evon Simpson’s “sandblasted,” which is currently being co-presented by Vineyard Theatre and Women’s Project Theater at the Vineyard, Angela (a willful yet vulnerable Brittany Bellizeare) and Odessa (a confident and temperamental Marinda Anderson) slowly emerge from behind beach umbrellas (“where the sand is”). Both complain about the omnipresence of sand on and in their bodies and Odessa’s arm falls off, suddenly but not unexpectedly. They have embarked on an extended journey with Adah (a seemingly omniscient, yet oddly evasive Rolanda Watts) to hopefully learn how to stop falling apart.

Angela, Odessa, and all Black women are experiencing the same catastrophic loss experienced by Odessa. Angela describes this condition to her brother Jamal (Andy Lucien), “it starts off with ears and noses and then toes and fingers and then its entire fucking arms and legs and breasts and tongues and lips and butts and then there is nothing else to fall off so we start falling apart on the inside.” “sandblasted” follows Angela and Odessa’s Adah-driven quest for healing in body, mind, and spirit.

Charly Evon Simpson’s inspiration for her narrative is clearly rooted in absurdism, particularly in two works of Samuel Beckett: “Waiting for Godot” (1952) and “Happy Days” (1961). In the latter of the two, protagonist Winnie – buried up to her neck – wonders what her predicament “means? What’s it meant to mean?” Although Winnie discovers no answer to her queries, playwright Simpson attempts to provide some redemption and release for her characters who grapple with similar existential questions.

“Beckett’s distorted and dismembered bodies have become part of the global cultural imaginary of the 21st century.” (Anna McMullan, “Performing Embodiment in Samuel Beckett’s Drama” (London: Routledge, 2010), p. 1.) “In Beckett’s later plays, the distortion of the body goes from physical to metaphorical: heads float, mouths utter words in darkness, voices echo through the texts incorporeally.” (William McEvoy, “Introduction to ‘Happy Days’ (British Library, “Discovering Literature 20^th Century, September 7, 2017).

The twenty-first century, like many prior centuries, has been a difficult space for women, particularly for Black women and other women of color – from disparities in income, housing, employment, and overall opportunity to the discrimination against and murder of Black Trans women. Ms. Simpson does not provide a precise litany of those things falling apart internally and externally; however, as in Ntozake Shange’s “for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf,” the themes of identity, alienation and loneliness, race, and racism are evident.

Under Summer L. Williams’s meticulous direction, the cast portrays the characters and their conflicts with precision, honesty, and authenticity. If there is any problem with “sandblasted” it is the script itself. From the opening scene, it is obvious that the play’s action is episodic and not linear. The difficulty is that many of the scenes seem repetitive or overly written.  A few scenes even seem unnecessary.

The transition to the final scene where Angels and Odessa reunite with Adah seems contrived and the scene itself seems unnecessary. There are several places where “sandblasted” could have ended and still have been effective. Even Angela and Odessa’s important “lessons” could have been shared earlier in the play. Odessa: “I don’t want to feel like I am waiting but I also know there is waiting to do to see if there is a way to heal to see how we survive to see to learn to understand what it is to be in my body now today.” Angela: “Yeah and if while we do all of that if we can sit here there and say I’m going to be anyway I’m going to live anyway I’m going to survive and thrive and breathe anyway then waiting can just be us, living.”

How they/we will wait, can wait, remains to be seen. Meanwhile, “being” and “living” seem like admirable and, hopefully, attainable alternatives to falling apart.

There are two paths to “disappearance” in David Cale’s engaging “Sandra” currently running at the Vineyard Theatre. The audience discovers that Ethan Martin’s path has been well thought out. Sandra Jones’ (Marjan Neshat) path on the other hand is completely reactive, random, and riddled with danger. Two paths diverge in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and the choices made by both on those paths have made “all the difference.”

David Cale’s narrative begins in the present with Sandra addressing the audience “in a confiding manner, as if she’s speaking to friends.” She recounts having dinner the prior evening with her gay friend Ethan before his departure to Mexico. Sandra’s problem is that Ethan never got on the plane in Puerto Vallarta that was to bring him home and she intends to find her missing closest friend. That conflict drives the pleasingly convoluted plot that explores the deepest meanings of “disappearing from one’s life.”

As Ethan hugs Sandra goodbye, he shares, “I feel like disappearing from my life. Part of me just isn’t in the world. I’m at a remove.” Sandra replies, “Even from me?” Ethan’s answer is a foreshadowing and becomes the strong fiber that holds the storytelling together: “No, not you”, he said, “But you and I are so simpatico, if I vanish, you’d probably disappear from your life too. I love you, Sandra. I love you so much.”

The balance of the intriguing eighty-minute story ricochets between New York and Mexico as Sandra goes full in to find Ethan. David Cale knows how to tell a story and Marjan Neshat excels in delivering Sandra’s story with passion and urgency. Storytelling is theatre and theatre is storytelling. The focus is on the well-crafted tale and the troubadour delivering the narrative. “Sandra” needs no turntables, ramped up amps, technical wizardry, or multilayered sets to mesmerize its audience. That said, Rachel Hauck’s unobtrusive scenic design, Linda Cho’s one costume design, Thom Weaver’s gossamer lighting, and Kathy Ruvuna’s sound design counterpoint David Cale’s romance with perfection and collectively prove that in making successful theatre less is often preferable to more, and more satisfying.

It is impossible to say more about “Sandra” without a multitude of spoiler alerts. What can be said is that the audience will discover at the last moment that Ethan did vanish, and Sandra did disappear from her life as well. Also permissible to report is that: Sandra is estranged from her husband Richard; two detectives and an FBI Special Agent help Sandra in her quest; Sandra meets Maggie and Peter Raymond friends from her Crown Heights café; she meets Beauford in Puerto Vallarta who has “vaguely Southern accent;” Sandra finds a mysterious message in a bottle in Ethan’s handwriting; and she meets a longhaired man who was with Beauford who holds the key to understanding who Luca Messina might be.

Marjan Neshat portrays all the characters in “Sandra” with believability. The actor skillfully gives each character a distinct personality including the protagonist who receives a new name. How Sandra Jones becomes Sandra Rivers and how she ends up in coastal California is a story worth hearing. One spoiler alert: listeners are distant enough from the narrative not to get totally lost but close enough to be tempted with disappearance.