Review: 'Andromeda’s Sisters' speaks up for the underrepresented and unappreciated

Mia Funk's In My Dreams

What did Erin think?

Women dance like primal, animalistic spirits. A female dog reminisces about life before COVID-19. A woman mourns her lover, knowing she will not be invited to the funeral. A wife seeks pleasure elsewhere when her husband turns a cold shoulder to her. A woman accused of witchcraft in 17th century dishes on what she'd do if she really was a witch.

By turns hilarious, clever, poetic, and thought-provoking, this series of monologues and performance pieces gives a voice to the underrepresented, the unappreciated, and the oppressed. Focusing on women's experiences, Andromeda's Sisters: An Arts and Advocacy Forum is the annual gala event of the Neo-Political Cowgirls, an organization created to amplify women's voices in theatre.

With one performance via Zoom on August 14 and another on September 3, the first part of this two-evening forum presents monologues, dance pieces, video, and poetry written by, about, and for women. Brave, bold, and empowering, it gives an intriguing glimpse into the kind of work supported and created by the Neo-Political Cowgirls.

A singular piece is Mia Funk's In My Dreams, a short film acted with poetic movement and diction by Funk herself. Exploring a woman's vision of the ideal romance, it incorporates black and white footage of Funk moving gracefully and slowly, along with images and superimposed narration. In gentle yet longing tones, the speaker yearns for a deep romance, not a cheap fantasy.

Another relationship-focused piece is Joy Behar's "Where Are You At?" performed with both hilarity and gravity by Catherine Curtin. 9-months pregnant, a popular actress discovers her husband has been cheating on her. She's outraged, but instead of starting a scandal that could backfire, she'll just channel the anger into her next audition. As her pregnancy continues, as she gives birth, as she cares for their newborn, her husband is repeatedly absent, leading her to ask "where are you at?" Cleverly written and shrewdly performed, this woman's attempt to reclaim her rights—or at least explain her reaction—is laugh-out-loud funny, without robbing the situation of its gravity.

In "Goody Garlick," written by Lucy Boyle and performed by Tony Award-winner Blythe Danner, a woman accused of witchcraft in 1658 chats with her neighbor about why the accusation outrages her. It's not so much the assumption that she's a witch as it is the idea that she'd waste such incredible, soul-destroying powers on getting back at her neighbors. Danner embodies this clever, passionate woman with sensitivity and range, brilliantly poised as she delivers a rant about everything from close-minded villagers to the endless drudgery of housework and the perils of childbearing.

The final performance, a reading of June Jordan's "Poem About My Rights" by Portia, embodies a common theme tying all these works together. The speaker does not consent to othering, to oppression, to rape, whether it's sexual, personal, or political. "I am not wrong," she declares. "Wrong is not my name. My name is my own."

What else do I need to know?

You can catch part two of the forum on September 3rd at 5 pm EST. Buy tickets here. 

And while you're at it, learn more about the Neo-Political Cowgirls.

Your obedient servant,

EJK

Review: The Bathroom Plays show the many sides of quarantine loneliness

"Loneliness...is that a sin? It feels like one."

- PIDGEONs, The Bathroom Plays

Amberlin McCormick in Mary, part of The Bathroom Plays

What did Erin think?

Eden Theater Company's third and final installment of The Room Plays, titled The Bathroom Plays, takes a penetrating look at the seclusion and loss inherent in quarantine. With clever scripts and honest acting that hits home, these three one-acts somehow manage to be both fun and tragic, playful and serious.

Nearly six months into this pandemic, most of us can probably relate to what the characters in these pieces experience: needing to get away from partners or family members, losing and grieving in a topsy-turvy world, and questioning reality in an effort to find meaning.

Can external events destroy relationships? Or does constant togetherness simply reveal the problems that were there all along? In Monogamous Animals, written by Brennan Vickery and directed by Alex Pepperman, two friends, video chatting from their bathrooms, find themselves in a paradoxical dilemma. Being trapped at home with their significant others has somehow made them lonelier than ever. Superb acting from Cassandra Paras and Niccolo Walsh make this honest conversation between two friends engaging and emotionally accessible.

Amy Berryman's PIDGEONs, directed by Amber Calderon, also hones in on the breakdown of a relationship. A woman who's recently lost her husband to coronavirus confesses her sins over zoom, but when she starts talking about conspiracy theories (the virus isn't real, and neither are birds), things take a drastic turn. LeeAnn Hutchison performs with a sensitivity that mines the full depths of Berryman's script, switching from humor to horror in a seamless second. It's funny until it's not. Eventually it becomes clear that this woman's deranged thoughts and actions are simply her response to a loss she can't conceive of, which begs the questions: what does grieving look like in quarantine? and what happens when we refuse to let go?

Perhaps that's a question only a ghost can answer. In Mary, written by E. E. Adams and directed by Jordan Gemaehlich, a young Black woman, quarantined in her apartment, tries to befriend the ghost in her bathroom. But she's haunted in more ways than one, as her one-sided conversation soon shows. (Amberlin McCormick's mesmerizing interpretation may even haunt the viewer.) Though initially disturbed by the apparition in her mirror, she comes to realize that ghosts aren't all that scary. What's scary is becoming the thing to be scared of, to look in the mirror and be afraid of what you see. Finally, in what feels like a nod to BLM, she tells the phantom, "Some people will see a ghost before they will ever see me."

With a perfect balance of light and dark, some beautiful writing, and a sensitive, authentic cast, The Bathroom Plays are perhaps the most penetrating pandemic-focused art piece yet (at least that I've seen). The questions they ask are subtle but profound, perhaps unanswerable, but necessary if we want to retain our humanity in the weeks and months ahead.

Is loneliness a sin?

If it is, we're all due for confession.

What else do I need to know?

The Bathroom Plays were a one-time, site-specific (via zoom) performance. But keep an eye on Eden Theater Company--they've got lots more planned and they're worth watching.

Your obedient servant,

EJK

Review: Source Material's 'In These Uncertain Times' finds the beauty in quarantine

Grace Tiso and Chekhov in In These Uncertain Times

What did Erin think?

A digital collage of social posts, monologues, and Zoom conversations, In These Uncertain Times, devised by Source Material and directed by Samantha Shay, takes a tragicomic look at being an actor amid the COVID-19 pandemic.

Equal parts absurd and serious, jarring and lyrical, it tries to walk a fine line between quarantine style humor (off-the-wall, on the edge of insanity) and profound explorations of a changing world. If it doesn't always succeed in staying perfectly poised, its value shines through in poignant moments like when a group of friends tell each other corny jokes over Zoom or an actor walks the beach speaking a monologue from The Three Sisters.

The "setting" is a group of actors navigating a dystopian world where theatre has all but ceased to exist. Via Zoom, they discuss their emotions, expectations, fears, and hopes for the future. Some express their feelings eloquently, others fall completely apart. (Annelise Lawson's hysterical breakdown is so amusing only because it hits so close to home.) Meanwhile, one actor is hacking up a lung, and when asked if he's OK, he responds simply, "no."

Another scene touches on the seclusion of quarantine and how desperately those who are isolated crave any kind of social interaction at all: 

"One time I held my breath and stood 5 feet 11 inches away from you in line at the store, but you didn’t notice."

Later, two friends chat about what love will be like in the post-quarantine world. Cast members say the standard "curtain speech" or talk about auditions, their words falling purposefully flat in a setting with no physical stage or in-person performances. 

In between these episodic scenes, someone scrolls through Instagram, showing us humorous memes and videos about the dilemma of being an actor in quarantine. 

One of the most resonant parts of the piece is a profound monologue on love and grief accompanied by a black screen. Grief and love are twins, we're told, not adversaries. Grief is a way of loving, and love is a recognition of temporariness. In loving—not just people, but places, things, or times in your life—you recognize that everything is temporary. Paradoxically, there's something comforting in that.

Likewise, the final scene, a video of sunlight on the beach accompanied by Olga's final monologue from Chekhov's The Three Sisters, is a lovely moment, reminding us that we too will one day be gone, and our suffering will turn into joy for future generations. 

"And the music is so beautiful, so brave, it almost seems like any minute we’ll know why we live, and why we suffer."

In These Uncertain Times seems to end on a note of hope: we may not know why difficult things have to happen and we may not know how to deal with them (meditate? drink? fall apart?), but at the end of the day, like everything else in life, these uncertain times won't last forever. And there's still beauty and joy to be found amid the chaos.

How can I get tickets?

The run is over, but hints of a possible extension have been dropped. Check Source Material's website for more details.

How long is it?

Slightly less than an hour, with no intermission.

What else do I need to know?

In These Uncertain Times was digitally devised by Source Material, an adventurous, ever-evolving group of artists, specifically for Zoom amid the COVID-19 pandemic. The cast includes James Cowan, Miles Hartfelder, Annelise Lawson, Stephanie Regina, Raven Scott, Victoria Sendra, and Grace Tiso.

Is it appropriate for all ages?

There's a bit of swearing, but other than that it's fine.

Your obedient servant,

EJK