live performance

MEMNON: THE MISSING BATTLE OF THE TROJAN WAR

Eric Berryman resurrects a Greek hero in Classical Theatre of Harlem’s Memnon (photo by Richard Termine)

UPTOWN SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK: MEMNON
Classical Theatre of Harlem
Richard Rodgers Amphitheater, Marcus Garvey Park
18 Mt. Morris Park W.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 27, free (advance RSVP recommended), 8:30
www.cthnyc.org

Writer Will Power and director Carl Cofield follow up their 2021 Richard III reimagination, Seize the King, with Memnon, a bold antiwar missive about a key battle in the legendary fight between the Achaeans and the Trojans about eight hundred years ago.

Presented by the Classical Theatre of Harlem at the Richard Rodgers Amphitheater in Marcus Garvey Park through July 27 at part of its Uptown Shakespeare in the Park series, Memnon zeroes in on the little-known title character, an Ethiopian king, in the mold of Black Panther, who appears in some ancient texts (Virgil’s Aeneid, the extant Aethiopis) and on cups, vases, and mirrors. Priam (Jesse J. Perez), the king of Troy, is mourning the death of his son Hector, a warrior who was killed by Achilles (Jesse Corbin). Priam believes that Hector was “Troy’s last hope,” while Polydamas (David Darrow), Priam’s trusted adviser, declares, “So now without him, our hero gone, our men / Soon slaves to Hades or other men / Our wives violated / And children’s bones crushed by boots.”

But then Polydamas suggests that Priam turn to his nephew, Memnon (Eric Berryman), who self-exiled to Ethiopia many years before under mysterious circumstances. “Never will I call this man of which you speak. Never, I say! / He is us only in lineage, not in spirit / No, his treacherous soul belongs to others / And he has proven that,” Priam argues vociferously. “He is nothing to me!”

Helen (Andrea Patterson), the queen of Troy, entreaties Priam to reconsider; she left her husband in Sparta, abducted or of her free will, as various tales have it, with Paris, Hector’s brother, and the Greek cuckold’s furor led to the Trojan War. “In Troy Helen is Helen at home Helen is hell / In Troy Helen has choice at home no free will / So the place that is home may be truly foreign / And the new place foreign may be true indigen,” Helen says, adding, “Caught up you are in who is foreign / And who is citizen. / Why not who is true and what false?”

Priam eventually relents, and, though hesitant at first, Memnon arrives with his army, although he first speaks of a peaceful resolution to the war. “In Ethiopia, able we are / To speak through disagreements and sidestep bloodshed,” Memnon explains. Priam wants to know how many enemies he has killed, and by what methods, but Memnon tells him, “We didn’t kill we captured to calm them. . . . Once I slaughtered two hundred men myself, in one single battle / Not proud of that.”

Soon Memnon is facing off with Antilochus (David Darrow), son of Nestor (Jesse J. Perez), the king of Pylos. “Your father Nestor, an old man in a young man’s game / He should not be here at war, and neither should you / I see through your brave mirage, men should not slay boys,” Memnon, holding a shield made by the god Hephaestus, warns Antilochus. “Vacate now as I will not attack but, if you should be so bold / To use sword, javelin, and shield against me / Young man, no choice will I have but to end you / Think on this, Antilochus, and think well.”

He doesn’t think well enough.

Next, Nestor appeals to Achilles to fight Memnon, not only to defend the Achaeans, but to seek revenge for his childhood friend Patroclus, who was killed by Hector. Achilles initially does not want to get involved. “To kill again I could easily do, summon the dark and blanket battle fields / With slumbering, lifeless men. But to what end, Nestor?” Achilles asks. “I despise not the Trojans, but gods that play chess with souls of men / These devilish immortals are set on us as their light amusements.” However, Nestor convinces Achilles to take up arms against Memnon, so the two heroic figures, neither of whom wants to shed more blood, are face-to-face in heated battle.

Memnon (Eric Berryman) and Helen (Andrea Patterson) consider their fate as battle awaits (photo by Richard Termine)

Told in iambic hexameter, Memnon is laced with references to immigrants that ring true with what is happening in America today. In response to Helen’s statement about who is foreign and who is citizen, Priam answers, “Is this a man true who loves Troy? That makes the citizen.” Polydamas notes, “Helen became not foreigner but blood to us.” And Memnon, when deciding whether to return to Troy and join his uncle’s cause, considers, “Now times there were when reminded I was / That Troy and I were not the same, that I / Was Troy but not fully Trojan, kin and / Not kin, still would I tuck feelings away. . . . I am of the east and yet / This Troy still calls. I cannot abandon her fully / Though I have tried. / It makes no sense, to fight for that which has proven / Time and time again that you will forever be other.”

Riw Rakkulchon’s set is a multilevel crumbling castle with stairs leading to platforms within scaffolding. Yee Eun Nam’s projections are primarily atmospheric abstractions that morph from black and white into color. Frederick Kennedy’s sound and music has to contend with loud noises in the park but ultimately prevails. Celeste Jennings’s costumes range from regal to battle armor to Memnon’s African-influenced garb, accompanied by white sneakers. The lighting, by Alan C. Edwards, adjusts to the setting sun and the shifts in narrative style, from extended dialogues to rousing dance interludes choreographed by Tiffany Rea-Fisher and performed by Jenna Kulacz, Madelyn LaLonde, Alyssa Manginaro, Caitlyn Morgan, Erik Penrod Osterkil, Tiffany “2Ts” Terry, and Travon M. Williams.

Berryman (Primary Trust, Get Your Ass in the Water and Swim Like Me) is captivating as Memnon, a thoughtful man, strong in mind and body, who favors peace but is thrust into war. His diction is initially heavy with broken English but becomes smoother as he spends more time with Priam and Helen. Perez (Party People, Informed Consent) moves smoothly between Priam and Nestor, both of whom speak loudly, fathers seeking revenge no matter the cost. Patterson (cullud wattah, Confederates) makes the most of her moments as Helen, while Darrow (All Is Calm, the Revival) excels as Polydamas and Antilochus, with several of his longer scenes receiving well-deserved exit applause, and artist, musician, and fitness trainer Corbin (The Lion . . . & the Wardrobe) shows off his muscles as Achilles.

The play unfurls almost too rapidly, with a few plot holes and a lot of exposition that at times makes it feel like something is missing, and some of the contemporary language sticks out like a sore thumb — for example, when Memnon says, “We will always be a nation sliced apart / Haves and have nots, belongs and kind of belongs.” But Power (Flow; Fetch Clay, Make Man) and Cofield (The Bacchae, King Lear) have done Greek tragedy a service by resurrecting a true hero with a unique understanding of glory.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

HIDDEN GEMS: BED-STUY STooPS SUMMER FESTIVAL

STooPS 2025 SUMMER FESTIVAL
Stuyvesant Ave. & Decatur St., Brooklyn
Saturday, July 26, free (advance registration recommended), 1:00 – 7:00
www.stoopsbedstuy.org
www.eventbrite.com

The twelfth annual STooPS Arts Crawl and Block Party takes place on July 26 on Decatur St. between Lewis and Stuyvesant Aves. in Brooklyn, with live music and dance, workshops, and visual art on the stoops and shared spaces of Bedford–Stuyvesant. This year’s theme is “Echoes of Greatness: Celebrating Bed-Stuy’s Hidden Gems,” honoring the lesser-known treasures in the neighborhood. The festivities begin at 1:00 with a block party lasting until 7:00, hosted by Koku with ToniBNYC, a Kiddie Korner by Bridges: A Pan-Afrikan Arts Movement, collaborative visual art by Ovila Lemon/Mut’Sun, and healing workshops by Akika Flower Essences & Apothecary and Essence of Ase. There will be art crawls at 1:30 and 4:00, led by Shanna Sabio of GrowHouse NYC, with Carmen Carriker, Courtney Cook, Ariana Carthan/Wukkout!, Brooklyn Ballet, Qu33n Louise, Nia Blue, and Púyaloahí. Kendra J. Ross Works and Soul Science Lab headline the show. This year’s awardees are Ovila Lemon, Richard Cummings, Valerie Ferguson, Monique Scott, Larry Weekes, and Damon Bolden.

“The summer festival is more than a celebration — it’s a bridge between Bed-Stuy’s past and its future,” STooPS founding director Kendra J. Ross said in a statement. “By bringing art to the stoops, we make space for neighbors to connect across generations and experiences. In a time of change, this is how we honor what’s been while shaping what’s next — together.”

All events are free but advance registration is recommended.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

THE JOY OF RESISTANCE: RACHAEL SAGE, KRISTEN FORD, AND HANNAH JUDSON AT MERCURY LOUNGE

Who: Rachael Sage and the Sequins, Kristen Ford, Hannah Judson
What: Joy = Resistance Tour
Where: Mercury Lounge, 217 East Houston St.
When: Thursday, July 24, $15 in advance, $20 at door, 6:00
Why: The Joy = Resistance Tour pulls into Mercury Lounge on July 24, as Rachael Sage and Kristen Ford are joined by Hannah Judson for what should be a special night of music and inclusivity. MPress Records founder Sage will be performing with her longtime trio, the Sequins: Trina Hamlin on harmonica, Andy Mac on drums, and Kelly Halloran on violin; they will be celebrating the release of Sage’s latest single, “Live It Up,” while highlighting songs from her upcoming album, Canopy, along with old favorites. The L.A.-based Ford will be playing tunes from her debut full-length, Pinto, out August 22 from Righteous Babe; produced by Grammy winners Ani DiFranco and John Driskell Hopkins, it includes such tracks as “Wild Heart,” “Whiplash,” and “White Man’s Dream.” Judson, a Chicago-based French-American singer-songwriter, will be featuring tunes from her latest LP, Satellites Grace the Sky Like Tumbleweeds (Boneyard Records), which boasts such numbers as “Feather,” “Take the Angel Down,” and “Ocean Blue Eyes.”

On the gorgeously poetic “Just Enough” from Canopy, the New York City–based Sage sings, “I feel love in the morning when you wake me up / Love in the middle of the day don’t stop / I feel love in the evening, fills my cup just enough . . . shalalala. . . .” Discussing the tune, she says, “At first listen, [it] seems like a romantic love song and to some degree it started out that way when I was first writing it. But the longer I’ve played it live out on tour the more now it feels like it’s equally a mantra to oneself about being enough as you are: lovable enough, accomplished enough, attractive enough, smart enough . . . all the things that, for instance, a best friend or any loved one might acknowledge in you are truly, unconditionally, and authentically enough.”

There should be plenty of enough at Mercury on July 24 when Sage, Ford, and Judson take the stage on the Lower East Side.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

OEDIPUS REIMAGINED: THE GOSPEL AT COLONUS ON LITTLE ISLAND

Revival of The Gospel at Colonus on Little Island tells story of redemption and retribution (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

THE GOSPEL AT COLONUS
The Amph at Little Island
Pier 55, Hudson River Park at West Thirteenth St.
July 8-26, $10 standing room, $25 seats sold out, 8:30
littleisland.org

One of the grandest theatrical events of the summer is taking place on Little Island, Shayok Misha Chowdhury’s rousing, impassioned adaptation of Lee Breuer and Bob Telson’s The Gospel at Colonus, a spirited, spiritual retelling of the Oedipus and Antigone myths.

In 1983, Obie winner and Mabou Mines founding co-artistic director Breuer (Mabou Mines DollHouse, Peter and Wendy) teamed up with composer Telson (Chronicle of a Death Foretold, Bantú) to reimagine Robert Fitzgerald’s version of Sophocles’s Oedipus at Colonus as a Pentecostal revival meeting. The show debuted at BAM’s Next Wave Festival and was mounted on Broadway five years later, with Morgan Freeman as the Messenger; Oedipus was portrayed by Clarence Fountain and the Five Blind Boys of Alabama.

A tale of witness and testimony, of redemption and retribution, The Gospel at Colonus is a revelation at the Amph, where it begins each night amid the glow of sunset over the Hudson. David Zinn’s set is bathed in red; much of the action occurs in a broken circle in the center surrounding a four-step platform, in front of a yellow foot bridge running between high grass. Stacey Derosier’s lighting, switching from red to green to blue, illuminates Montana Levi Blanco’s loose-fitting purple and sackcloth gray costumes, a combination of Greek togas and Sunday finest. Garth MacAleavey’s sound design allows nature to mingle with the crisp, clear music and dialogue.

Stephanie Berry (On Sugarland, Déjà Vu) is sensational as the Preacher, serving as a kind of narrator and oracle. “Think no longer that you are in command here, / But rather think how, when you were, / You served your own destruction / Welcome, brothers and sisters, / I take as my text this evening the Book of Oedipus,” she announces at the start. “Oedipus! Damned in his birth, in his marriage damned, / Damned in the blood he shed with his own hand! / Oedipus! So pitifully ensnared in the net of his own destiny.”

Stephanie Berry, Davóne Tines, and Frank Senior portray different aspects of Oedipus (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

Oedipus — portrayed as a group by blind jazz vocalist Frank Senior, opera bass-baritone Davóne Tines, and Berry — has already blinded himself for having unknowingly killed his father and married his mother, Jocasta, who then hanged herself, and fathered four children with her, two sons, Eteocles and Polyneices, and two daughters, Antigone (Samantha Howard) and Ismene (Ayana George Jackson). Eteocles is a traitor and Polyneices (Jon-Michael Reese) a usurper, taking opposite sides in an upcoming battle, while Antigone and Ismene seek peace.

“Let every man in mankind’s frailty / Consider his last day; and let none / Presume on his good fortune until he find / Life, at his death, a memory without pain. / Amen,” Evangelist Antigone says.

On his journey, Oedipus encounters Jocasta’s brother, Deacon Creon (Dr. Kevin Bond), the former king, who has been tasked with returning Oedipus to Thebes; a friend (falsetto Serpentwithfeet), who welcomes him to Colonus; Pastor Theseus (Kim Burrell), who vows never to drive him away; and the Balladeer (Brandon Michael Nase), who initially refuses Oedipus and Antigone entry into his church and later questions Testifier Polyneices’s attempt to get back in his father’s good graces.

Kim Burrell rips the roof off the joint several times at Little Island (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

Pulitzer finalist Chowdhury (Public Obscenities, Rheology) beautifully flows Breuer’s poetic dialogue (his book earned him a Tony nomination) into Telson’s gospel, blues, and R&B score, featuring Breuer’s potent, emotional lyrics. (Breuer, who died in January 2021 at the age of eighty-three, and Telson, who at seventy-six is still making music, also collaborated on such other projects as Sister Suzie Cinema, The Warrior Ant, and Bagdad Cafe — The Musical.) “Who is this man? What is his name? Where does he come from?” a choragos (Brandon Michael Nase) demands, as if he could be addressing any of us. “Child, I’m so glad you’re here / There’s hope for me / There’s a prophecy . . . I’ve been waiting for a sign / to ease my troubled mind,” Oedipus (Senior and Tines) sings in “Through My Tears.” Oedipus (Tines) later tells Polyneices, “Once you held the power / And when you did you drove me out / Made me a homeless man / You are no son of mine.” But soon Serpentwithfeet is praying, “Let not our friend go down / In grief and weariness / Let some just God spare him / Any more distress” in “Eternal Sleep.”

Burrell tears the roof off the joint — or she would have if the Amph had a roof — in a pair of rip-roaring numbers, “Jubilee (Never Drive You Away)” and “Lift Him Up,” that gets the crowd moving and grooving, hooting and hollering. Among the other notable songs are “Live Where You Can,” “You’d Take Him Away,” and “Evil,” although the finale, “Let the Weeping Cease,” feels unnecessary. Music directors Dionne McClain-Freeney and James Hall lead a terrific band, consisting of McClain-Freeney on piano, Butch Heyward on organ, Bobby Bryan on guitar, Booker King on bass, Jackie Coleman on trumpet, Taja Graves-Parker on trombone, Jason Marshall and Isaiah Johnson on baritone sax, Kevin Walters on alto sax, and Clayton Craddock on drums; the horns perform on high scaffolds at the corners of the stage nearest the river; the superb James Hall Worship & Praise choir includes Pastor Charles, Schanel Crawford, Jaqwanna Crawford, Jacquetta Fayton, Angie Goshea, Robyn McLeod, TJ Reddick, Teddy Reid, Vischon Robinson, Lenny Vancooten, Eugene Marcus Walker, and Darlene Nikki Washington.

In the closing hymn, Serpentwithfeet declares, “There is no end.” That statement is certainly true of the Greek myth of Oedipus; there is no end to the myriad ways this twisted, heart-wrenching can be told, and The Gospel at Colonus on Little Island is among the most inventive, nourishing the soul for ninety glorious minutes.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

SCARY STORIES IN THE DARK: THE WEIR RETURNS TO IRISH REP

Jack (Dan Butler) shares a ghost story as Jim (John Keating), Finbar (Sean Gormley), Brendan (Johnny Hopkins), and Valerie (Sarah Street) listen intently in The Weir (photo by Carol Rosegg)

THE WEIR
Irish Repertory Theatre, Francis J. Greenburger Mainstage
132 West Twenty-Second St. between Sixth & Seventh Aves.
Wednesday – Sunday through August 31, $60-$125
212-727-2737
irishrep.org

There’s a reason why the Irish Rep keeps returning to Conor McPherson’s The Weir: It’s a marvelous play, and a marvelous adaptation.

The work debuted in England in 1997 and on Broadway two years later; Ciarán O’Reilly first staged it at the Irish Rep in 2013 and again in 2015 by popular demand. The company presented a livestreamed version in July 2020, and now it’s back in person for another engagement through August 31. As in all previous iterations, Sean Gormley is Finbar Mack, John Keating is Jim Curran, and Dan Butler is Jack Mullen; this time around Johnny Hopkins is Brendan Byrne and Sarah Street is Valerie.

The hundred-minute show is set in 1998 in a rustic pub in a rural town near Carrick in the north of Ireland. On a night with a raging wind that sounds like banshees are prowling the weir and pushing against the door, the characters share stories of the supernatural that chill the bone, especially as real life seeps into the tales — part Edgar Allan Poe, part Twilight Zone, part Oscar Wilde.

You know it’s going to be an unusual evening when Jack discovers that the Guinness tap is out of order; he’s not about to have a Harp, the only other draft option. “Well, would you not switch them around and let a man have a pint of stout, no?” Jack asks. Brendan replies, “What about the Harp drinkers?” Jack answers derisively, “‘The Harp drinkers.’” Brendan: “Your man’s coming in to do it in the morning. Have a bottle.” Jack: “I’m having a bottle. I’m not happy about it, now mind, right? But, like.” I understand that exchange all too well.

Finbar is a proudly successful businessman who left for nearby Carrick but is now back for a visit, accompanied by the younger, single Valerie, to whom he has rented an old house once owned by Maura Nealon. Jack is a lifelong bachelor who runs a local garage where Jim occasionally works when not caring for his elderly mother. Brendan has taken over the bar and connected farm from his father and lives upstairs. Jack doesn’t trust the married Finbar, thinking that he has ulterior motives in shepherding around the inquisitive, personable Valerie.

Upon arriving, Finbar orders a Harp, eliciting a chuckle from Jack and Brendan; Valerie asks for white wine, sending Brendan on a hunt to try to find a bottle he received as a Christmas present. What each person drinks — beer, wine, or “small ones,” meaning shots of whiskey — and smokes helps define how they are viewed by the others and lead to playful blarney.

Valerie is interested in the many photos that line one of the walls, and the men start filling her in on the history of the region and the roles their families played in it. Looking at a picture of the weir, Finbar tells her, “Nineteen fifty-one. The weir, the river, the weir, em, is to regulate the water for generating power for the area and for Carrick as well.” A moment later, examining a photo of a scenic field, Finbar asks Jack to tell the story of the fairy road (based on something that actually happened to McPherson’s grandfather). Jack is hesitant, but Finbar insists, even though the events take place in the Nealon house where Valerie is now staying. The ninety-year-old tale involves a widow, a young prankster, and mysterious knocks at the door.

While Finbar dismisses the story as “only old cod,” Valerie notes, “Well. I think there’s probably something in them. No, I do.” Finbar shares a yarn about a spectral figure on the stairs, then Jim relates a frightening event that occurred in a church graveyard. After, the men want to stop telling these tales, but Valerie has one of her own that explains her situation all too well. She says, “No, see, something happened to me. That just hearing you talk about it tonight. It’s important to me. That I’m not . . . bananas.” It’s a devastating narrative, one that the men don’t want to believe is true. The evening concludes with Jack recalling the most critical moment of his life, free of supernatural elements but no less haunting.

The Weir opened at London’s Royal Court Upstairs to an audience of sixty; McPherson (Shining City, Girl from the North Country) wasn’t expecting much from his fourth play, which was directed by Ian Rickson, but it was an instant hit, transferring to the Duke of York’s for a two-year run and earning McPherson an Olivier. It’s been revived around the world over the years, including a new production directed by McPherson this summer and fall in Dublin and London, starring Brendan Gleeson as Jack, a part previously played by Jim Norton, Sean McGinley, Brendan Coyle, and Brian Cox.

The Irish Rep production is exemplary in every way. Charlie Corcoran’s set is wonderfully detailed and inviting, a comforting respite from the threatening winds, expertly captured by Drew Levy’s sound design. Leon Dobkowski’s costumes are naturalistic, from Jack’s black-and-white suit and Jim’s old-fashioned cardigan to Finbar’s persnickety ensemble and Valerie’s purple sweater and knee-high boots; Michael Gottlieb’s lighting keeps it all appropriately shadowy, while Deirdre Brennan’s props add to the believability of the constructed environment.

O’Reilly’s (Molly Sweeney, The Emperor Jones) direction is impeccable, every detail, every movement, every pause accounted for, fully immersing the audience in the play’s magic. At times I felt like bellying up to the bar, grabbing a pint and a small one, and regaling the denizens with one of my own ghost stories, of which I have quite a few.

Butler (Travesties, The Lisbon Traviata), New York City treasure Keating (Autumn Royal, Two by Singe), and Gormley (Jonah and Otto, A Day by the Sea) are such old hands at The Weir that they are like three friends out for yet another evening of drinking, smoking, and talking about life. Hopkins (The Home Place, Rock Doves) fits right in as the publican — the only one who doesn’t impart his own anecdote — while the exquisite Street (Aristocrats, Belfast Girls) has a constant glow around her, giving Valerie a saintlike quality; you want to be in her presence and bask in that radiance.

“There’s no dark like a winter night in the country,” Jack says during his first tale. “And there was a wind like this one tonight, howling and whistling in off the sea. You hear it under the door and it’s like someone singing. Singing in under the door at you. It was this type of night now. Am I setting the scene for you?”

That’s exactly the scene O’Reilly and McPherson set for us with The Weir, which is so much more than a series of eerie saws; it is a play about the stories we tell others, and ourselves, and what we believe and don’t, as we search for our place in an ever-complicated world.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC? OPEN OPENS AT WP THEATER

Megan Hill reprises her role as a magician in Crystal Skillman’s Open (photos by Jeremy Varner)

OPEN
WP Theater
2162 Broadway at 76th St.
Tuesday – Sunday through July 27, $65.79
wptheater.org

In the off-Broadway premiere of Crystal Skillman’s 2019 Open, Kristen (Megan Hill), a queer magician and writer, uses her talent as an amateur prestidigitator in telling her heart-wrenching story of true love, relating specific sleight-of-hand acts to events in her life, believing that she might be able to affect the outcome.

In The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion’s memoir of personal tragedy that was adapted into a solo play, the National Book Award winner writes, “I was thinking as small children think, as if my thoughts or wishes had the power to reverse the narrative.”

Psychology Today defines magical thinking as “the need to believe that one’s hopes and desires can have an effect on how the world turns. . . . Spirits, ghosts, patterns, and signs seem to be everywhere, especially if you look for them. People tend to make connections between mystical thinking and real-life events, even when it’s not rational.”

The seventy-five-minute play is divided into three sections and a bonus: “First Love,” “Commitment,” “Sacrifice,” and “Promise.” It takes place on a spare black set designed and lit by Sarah Johnston. Kristen is already onstage as the audience enters, doing a small, slow dance, in her own world. Once everyone is seated, she addresses the audience directly: “I’m here. I’m here. I am here. Your magician,” she begins, as if trying to convince herself. “Here you are. An audience. A kind of audience. Thank you for joining me. It’s incredible. Imagining you here.”

Of course, she is here, and we are here, but Open is about, as Kristen declares, “the power of the imagination!” There are no props; Kristen mimics all the magic — pulling flowers out of a hat, shuffling a deck of cards, levitating, linking metal rings — with just her body, Johnston’s lighting (which casts dramatic shadows), and Emma Wilk’s sound effects, so we can hear the specific tricks if not actually see them happening in front of us. It’s all connected to her relationship with Jenny, a woman she meet-cutes at the Strand, then goes to Marie’s Crisis with on a date.

Kristen pantomimes handing an audience member an egg covered by a red scarf, and the person obliges; she shares the background of the scarf, which had been handed down from her grandmother to her mother to her, and then she gave it to Jenny. The tale delves into love, birth, and homophobia, ending with the squawks of a parrot flying away. The scene prepares us for what is to follow, memories initiated by imaginary magic tricks that drive a nonlinear narrative in which Kristen attempts to come to terms with a tragedy that she considers herself significantly responsible for.

Kristen has written a YA romantasy about two boys who use magic and fall in love. Jenny asks what the first line is, and Kristen tells her: “Magician! Are you a coward? Don’t you want to live?” Fear and apprehension are themes Skillman keeps returning to. For example, when Kristen mimes juggling, she says, “Secrets are the balls we keep in the air. Ours will come crashing down this evening.”

Everything Kristen does is for Jenny; she believes they were destined to be together. She explains, “Well . . . every person who has ever loved — has a magician! King Arthur had Merlin. Roy had Siegfried. Penn has Teller. Jenny has me. So we imagine.” But then she adds, “For I have to confess — this world and I . . . reality . . . we don’t really get along.”

But therein lies the problem with the play: reality and fantasy never quite mesh and too often seem forced. At one point Kristen cuts a rope in two, ties them in a knot, makes the knot disappear, then reveals to us that the rope is in one piece again; it is a too-obvious metaphor for what is happening between her and Jenny, especially when she next compares it to the boys in her novel, explaining, “They would make their own rules. They would take each other apart and put each other back together again. They were . . . safe.”

Kristen works at Staples, a company whose motto is “Worklife Solutions for All. We Inspire What Could Be, and Help Make It a Reality,” while Jenny works at an LGBT Community Center, which declares, “They can try to diminish our flame. But our flame is so strong we only grow bigger and burn brighter.”

Aptly directed without flourish by Jessi D. Hill (Surely Goodness and Mercy, Vanishing Point), Open starts slowly and does build energy; Megan Hill (Eddie and Dave, Trade Practices), who originated the role — Skillman (Wild, Geek) wrote the part with her in mind — takes a while to hit her stride. Some vignettes work better than others, and the details of the plot occasionally get confusing. But certain parts hit hard and are deeply affecting; at one shocking moment, a woman sitting behind me let out the loudest, most heartbreaking gasp I have ever heard at a show.

Continuing at the WP Theater on the Upper West Side through July 27, Open also deals with the concepts associated with the title, from being open to new challenges, new loves, and new situations (including watching a show about a magician with no actual magic in it) to being emotionally open and honest with friends and relatives to standing in front of a door and wondering whether to open it to, perhaps most critically, opening one’s eyes to reality. Early on, Kristen tells us, “Magic isn’t denial. . . . When I say ‘abracadabra’ we will accomplish our task! To bring forth the reality of the imagination. Abracadabra, did you know? Means ‘as it is spoken.’ As I have been brought here, so have you.”

Too much of Open feels like it is based on magical thinking, if not ultimately to reverse the narrative or affect the outcome but to convince oneself how to face reality, even in the most dire of circumstances, more like a dramatized therapy session than a play imbued with the intoxicating spirit of magic and imagination.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

LIVING IN A FISHBOWL: BERLINDIA! AT THE TANK

A family undergoes strange, unexpected changes in the unpredictable world of Berlindia! (photo by Maria Baranova)

BERLINDIA!
The Tank
312 West 36th St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves.
Thursday – Monday through July 27, $28-$53
thetanknyc.org

There was an infectious buzz at the Tank on July 7, opening night of the world premiere of Daniel Holzman’s surreal fantasia, Berlindia! It felt like we were all fortunate to have gotten past the velvet ropes and into a hot club, full of lively chatter and bodies moving about as if a techno dance party was about to break out, while overflow audience members sat on cushions up and down the aisle. And indeed, a kind of dance party did break out, for sixty exhilarating, hilarious, and playfully perplexing minutes.

“Do you think it’s cruel to own fish?” nose-picking eight-year-old Burger (Rosalie Neal) asks her mother (Rita Wolf). It’s more than just an innocent question but sets the stage for a wildly unpredictable show about busting out of expectations and challenging the status quo — and in this case, it’s the older generation leading the revolt.

Twenty years later, Mother has suddenly and unexpectedly taken off from their South San Francisco home for a mysterious new land called Berlindia! to immerse herself in the illegal Surf-Sun-Techno-BitchDrop-CoreCow-GrauStraßeM6-Percolan scene, which upsets Burger and her younger brother, Fuck (Arjun Biju), which he changed from the somewhat bulkier Jacob Morowitz Shpeigelman Needlework Groschheimer. “A name should be a symbol of individuality,” he says.

Meanwhile, their father (Pete Simpson) is in New York City to visit holocaust museums. “I love watching blonde women from the South cry,” he explains.

Burger and Fuck decide to track down their mother in Berlindia to find out what’s going on with her. On one of the flights, Burger is sitting behind her elementary school art teacher, Ms. M (Susannah Millonzi), who is also heavy into Surf-Sun-Techno-BitchDrop-CoreCow-GrauStraßeM6-Percolan. Ms. M tells Burger, “They say night and day don’t exist there. They say they don’t believe in it. They say they don’t believe in anything. They say everything there is cheap except water. They say they imported a piece of ozone from Antarctica to be the ceiling, which you can’t even see from the ground. They say the bouncer is half man half dog, like an Egyptian god. They say it’s two hundred degrees in a heating system no one knows the name of. They say there’s a room where you can see Chloë Sevigny fist an entire government. They say that once there was a void, and then there was a light, and then there were the plants and the oceans, and the insects, and then there was Berlindia, and then there was everything else.” That speech just about sums up the play.

Along the way, Burger and Fuck encounter a series of oddball characters, including Sexy Flight Attendant, Seven Foot Tall Swedish Woman, Asymmetrical Haircut Man, a Bouncer, Andre 3000, and a Blonde Woman from the South Named Dolly, and meet their mother’s twin brother, Uncle Mother (Mike Iveson), who is also living and thriving in Berlindia.

Berlindia! features an excellent ensemble cast at the Tank (photo by Maria Baranova)

On the surface, Berlindia! might seem like a fun but weird expanded episode of the SNL skit “Sprockets,” in which Mike Myers starred as Dieter, host of a West German talk show and dance party. But it’s much more than that; it’s about one’s identity, about what home means, about who our family is. We live in a world that is changing so fast that if you blink, you won’t know what you’ve missed, what has passed you by.

It’s also about different types of connection. Speaking in the third person, which happens often throughout the play, Burger says, “When Burger was ten years old Fuck bit her so hard that a piece of his consciousness was imbedded in her arm. Ever since then, they have been able to communicate telepathically on another plane of existence.” Dad does not resent his wife’s departure; he says to his kids, “I love your mom more than anything in the world. Why wouldn’t I want her to find some strange favorite thing? In some strange city. With some strange name.” Because cities and countries have been inexplicably moving around the globe, it takes six planes for Burger and Fuck to travel from South San Francisco to Berlindia, having to make a series of connections in order to see their mother.

At its heart, the show explores our connection with the past, with how our childhood led to becoming who we are as adults. At one point, Burger is muttering to herself; when Fuck asks what she’s doing, Burger responds, “I’m reassessing the past.” Later, when Burger is worried what will happen if and when they locate their mother, she says to her brother, “I’m scared we’ll find her. And she’ll be different. And it’ll ruin the entire past forever. Forever ever.” Fuck offers, “But what if it’s fun? What if she’s happy? What if it’s right? So don’t be scared. Or do. That’s fine. But don’t only be scared.” Burger also reassesses the past when she is with Ms. M, who is not quite how she remembers her; when they are about to land in Berlindia, Ms. M scoffs at Burger, “Good luck getting in, normie!”

The play is directed with controlled chaos by Noah Latty (Kinderkrankenhaus), where just about anything can happen in its own brand of anarchy, occasionally meandering a bit too much. Colleen Murray’s set morphs from a plain room with a kitchen table, chairs, a black-and-white tiled floor, and a flower curtain to a dark club with flashing, multicolored lights while the sound shifts from morning birds cooing to loud techno. (The lighting is by Marika Kent, with sound design by Chris Darbassie.) Sam DeBell’s costumes match the eccentric narrative. Even the script is a hoot, filled with adorable drawings of planes, soft cheese, chains, and a goldfish.

The ensemble cast looks like it could not be having more fun, featuring an endearing Neal (Holzman’s Adelia, or the Nose Play), a gentle Biju (White Bitches in Delhi), a sweet-natured Wolf (A Delicate Balance, Out of Time), a charming Simpson resembling Chevy Chase (Is This a Room, The Wind and the Rain), and a riotous Millonzi (The Crucible, New York Animals) in multiple roles.

“I started writing Berlindia! in 2019 as a tribute to my family and the way they always figure out how to be fine, no matter how absurd things get,” Holzman (Middle School Play) wrote last year. “Since then, the world has only gotten more and more absurd and we’ve faced more and more things that are so far from fine. But if anything, I think this is a play about the importance of true beautiful ambivalence. Two things can be true at once. The darker things get, the more important it is to hold on to that.”

When deciding whether to find their mother, Fuck tells Burger, “I have absolutely no way of knowing how to feel,” like he’s a fish trapped in a bowl.

As Berlindia! makes clear, it’s all fine in these changing times.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]