twi-ny recommended events

NEW FILMS FROM JAPAN: YAMABUKI

Chang-su (Kang Yoon-soo) fights off loneliness and desperation in Juichiro Yamasaki’s Yamabuki

YAMABUKI (Juichiro Yamasaki, 2022)
IFC Center
323 Sixth Ave. at West Third St.
Friday, February 10, 7:00, and Saturday, February 11, 4:00
Series runs February 10-16, $17
212-924-7771
www.ifccenter.com
yamabuki-film.com/en

“You have two options. Be prepared to die for what you believe or give up on it and run from it,” widowed detective Hayakawa (Yohta Kawase) tells his teenage daughter, Yamabuki (Kilala Inori), in Juichiro Yamasaki’s Yamabuki, making its US premiere February 10-11 at IFC as part of the sixth ACA Cinema Project series, “New Films from Japan.”

The first Japanese film selected for the ACID section at Cannes, Yamasaki’s third feature follows multiple characters as they struggle through the loneliness of everyday existence, their lives intertwining primarily at a crossroad intersection in a small town. It all takes place in Maniwa, where Yamasaki’s father was born and where Yamasaki is a tomato farmer in addition to being a writer and director.

Chang-su (Kang Yoon-soo) is a former Olympic equestrian who had to quit the sport when his father’s business collapsed. The South Korean native is now working in Japan for a construction company that shatters large rock formations in a mountain quarry; the resulting gravel will be used to build infrastructure for the Tokyo Olympics. The soft-spoken Chang-su lives with his girlfriend, Minami (Misa Wada), and her six-year-old daughter, Uzuki, whose father is out of the picture.

Yamabuki is a high school student who spends much of her time “silent standing” at the crossroad with a small group, holding signs protesting the 2015 military legislation change that permitted Japan to get involved in foreign conflicts even when not for self-defense. She is joined by Yusuke (Hisao Kurozumi), a classmate who is obsessed with her; while her sign reads, “Flowers in the rifle barrel! Peace in Okinawa!,” his declares, “I’m in love with this woman!” with an arrow pointing at her.

On one of his mountain hikes, Hayakawa spots a small yamabuki plant, also known as the Japanese rose, and decides to take it home and replant it in his garden. However, while doing so, he dislodges numerous large stones of the type Chang-su smashes, and, without Hayakawa’s knowledge, they tumble down onto the mountain road where Chang-su is driving, causing him to get into an accident and break his leg. Shortly thereafter, something else falls down the mountain that leads the many subplots to intersect even further (while also offering another meaning of the word “yamabuki”).

Yamabuki (Kilala Inori) is not sure of her place in the world in Juichiro Yamasaki’s third feature

Yamabuki is shot on 16mm film stock by cinematographer Kenta Tawara, giving the movie a grainy, nostalgic feel; if it weren’t for the cars and the occasional use of cell phones, you might think it was made in the 1970s, especially when Chang-su stops twice to use public pay phones. Composer Olivier Deparis’s toy piano score adds to the film’s wistfulness while Sébastien Laudenbach’s animation of blossoming yamabukis in the opening and closing credits are charming, bookending the pervading melancholia.

The Osaka-born Yamasaki (The Sound of Light, Sanchu Uprising: Voice at Dawn) — who was inspired to make the film not only by the Olympics but because of Kang Yoon-soo’s real life as a Korean actor who moved to Maniwa with a woman and her two children — takes his time with the narrative; scenes unfold slowly, often with not much happening and explanation kept at a minimum, left to visual and aural poetry. “Di tang grows in the shade, where people don’t look,” a prostitute says to Hayakawa about a tree she spots through a window, surrounded by garbage. “Sunflowers face the sun but you don’t have to,” Yamabuki recalls her mother telling her.

The final moments of the film turn surreal and can be interpreted in several different ways. Oddly, much of the scene is used in the official trailer, so anyone wanting to see the film should avoid that at all costs.

Yamabuki is screening February 10 at 7:00 and February 11 at 4:00, with Yamasaki on hand for Q&As at each show. The series continues through February 16 with Kei Ishikawa’s A Man, Shô Miyake’s Small, Slow, and Steady, Nao Kubota’s Thousand and One Nights, and Yuji Nakae’s The Zen Diary.

LUCY

Ashling (Lynn Collins) and Mary (Brooke Bloom) share a fun moment in Lucy (photo by Joan Marcus)

LUCY
Audible Theater’s Minetta Lane Theatre
18 Minetta Lane between Sixth Ave. and MacDougal St.
Monday – Saturday through February 25, $57-$97
www.audible.com

Writer-director Erica Schmidt’s latest work, Lucy, is one of the best plays of the season, a gorgeously rendered story about a single mother, a nanny, and a young girl. Her Mac Beth, a stirring adaptation of the Shakespeare classic reimagined with an all-female cast set at a girls school, was one of the best productions of 2019, and equally feminist. Schmidt now moves from the bloody battles of medieval Scotland to twenty-first-century upscale urban domesticity, but Lucy nevertheless references classic themes.

The nanny is a staple of literature, theater, and film, from Mary Poppins, Mrs. Doubtfire, Maria Reiner (The Sound of Music), and Becky Sharp to Nanny McPhee, Nanny Schuester (The Nanny Diaries), Anna Leonowens (The King and I), and Mrs. Baylock (The Omen). In the 1965 Hammer horror flick The Nanny, Bette Davis starred as the thoroughly wicked title character who remains unnamed; just calling her Nanny is frightening enough.

Lucy, which continues through February 25 at Audible’s Minetta Lane Theatre, opens with pregnant fortysomething Mary (Brooke Bloom) interviewing Ashling (Lynn Collins) to take care of Mary’s six-year-old daughter, Lucy (Charlotte Surak), and soon-to-be-born son, Max. Mary is desperate; she’s a radiologist with a complicated work schedule and is due to give birth in a week. Mary wants to find the right fit, but she overlooks a few possible warning signs during her meeting with Ashling. Both the character and the audience do a double take at several things Ashling says, but nothing seems too ominous.

“I get it. You need a coparent,” Ashling declares after Mary describes her hours. “Someone who is here when you’re at work.” Mary responds, “Who I pay to be here. A nanny,” asserting that she is the mother.

Mary hires Ashling — who is fifty-eight but looks at least two decades younger, and acts even younger than that — and at first everything appears to be great. The nanny goes above and beyond the call of duty, especially with Lucy, who immediately adores her. At one point Ashling is swinging Lucy around as they both sing to Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero,” belting out, “I should not be left to my own devices / They come with prices and vices / I end up in crisis (tale as old as time) / I wake up screaming from dreaming / One day I’ll watch as you’re leaving / ’Cause you got tired of my scheming / (For the last time) / It’s me, hi / I’m the problem, it’s me / At teatime, everybody agrees / I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror / It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.”

Mary (Brooke Bloom) watches as Ashling (Lynn Collins) and Lucy (Charlotte Surak) dance to Taylor Swift (photo by Joan Marcus)

As time passes, there are more cracks in the mirror as Mary begins noticing some curious behavior by Ashling, who has a feasible explanation for everything. Is Ashling gaslighting Mary? Is Mary so overworked and stressed that her imagination is getting the best of her? It all comes to a head, leading to an utterly thrilling finale.

Lucy takes place in Mary’s kitchen/dining room/living room, with shelves filled with books, cabinets with dishes and bottles of wine, and a comfy couch and chair. There is no television anywhere — “I don’t do screens,” Mary tells Ashling. Mary’s bedroom is off stage right, while a hallway at the center back leads to Lucy’s and Max’s rooms. (The clean, mostly white, instantly Instagrammable set is by Amy Rubin.) Mary primarily wears tastefully minimal but obviously expensive black and cream outfits, while the tattooed Ashling is draped in layers of swirly boho prints, every arm and finger sporting inexpensive arty silver jewelry, courtesy costume designer Kaye Voyce.

The creepier the plot gets, the more Cha See’s lighting casts long, eerie shadows, while Justin Ellington’s sound includes plenty of crying and screaming.

(photo by Joan Marcus)

Mary (Brooke Bloom) and Ashling (Lynn Collins) face off in Audible production at the Minetta Lane (photo by Joan Marcus)

Schmidt (Cyrano, All the Fine Boys) has her finger on the pulse of the relationships between Ashling and Mary, Mary and Lucy, and Lucy and Ashling, letting each play out in its own way. The underlying fear Mary has about having hired the wrong nanny is palpable; at least at the start, most mothers are terrified of leaving their children with a complete stranger, references or not.

Bloom (Everybody, Cloud Nine) embodies that fear, evoking the young mother in Rosemary’s Baby, who thinks the devil is after her infant. Collins (Hamlet, The Merchant of Venice) exquisitely captures the many mysteries of Ashling, who harbors plenty of secrets. Schmidt exploits our misgivings by imbuing Ashling with some tantalizing witchlike tendencies. When Mary asks her what she likes most about child care, Ashling proclaims, “It keeps me young!” and it’s an easy leap to the age-old idea that she is somehow sucking the youth from her charges. (Mary responds, “That’s funny. My daughter is definitely making me old. Fast.”)

When Mary asks if she ever wanted her own kids, Ashling replies, “I have kids!” There’s also a perfume that could be a magic potion, a curious substance around Max’s crib, and other subtle touches that make us question whether Ashling is really up to something or if it’s Mary’s paranoia. Mary might be a radiologist who peers inside people’s bodies, but that doesn’t mean she can assess what’s going on in Ashling’s head.

Most of Schmidt’s work has a strong feminist undercurrent, and Lucy is no exception, with Mary a doctor who cannot easily afford a nanny and who gets only four weeks’ maternity leave, which she has chosen not to fight in order to keep her job.

Finally, it’s intriguing that the play is named after the six-year-old girl, who is splendidly portrayed by Surak (Waitress) but has the least amount of stage time. It’s as if Schmidt is telling us that Lucy is the future while also hearkening back to the first fossil skeleton of a human ancestor ever discovered, which archaeologists named Lucy.

In the five years it has been producing plays at the Minetta Lane, Audible has concentrated primarily on one-person shows starring women, including Carey Mulligan in Dennis Kelly’s Girls & Boys, Lili Taylor in Wallace Shawn’s The Fever, Jade Anouka’s Heart, Faith Salie’s Approval Junkie, and DeLanna Studi’s And So We Walked: An Artist’s Journey Along the Trail of Tears. (Men have been represented by Aasif Mandvi’s Sakina’s Restaurant and Billy Crudup in David Cale’s Harry Clarke.) In addition, Laurie Gunderson’s two-character The Half-Life of Marie Curie told the inspiring story of Madame Curie and her friendship with fellow physicist Hertha Ayrton.

Lucy, which passes the Bechdel test with flying colors, follows in that tradition while also reaching the next level. As Swift sings in “Midnights”: “Ladies always rise above.”

GABE MOLLICA — SOLO: A SHOW ABOUT FRIENDSHIP / COLIN QUINN: SMALL TALK

Gabe Mollica shares his difficulty in making friends in one-man show (photo by Mindy Tucker)

GABE MOLLICA: SOLO: A SHOW ABOUT FRIENDSHIP
Soho Playhouse
15 Vandam St. between Varick St. & Sixth Ave.
Wednesday – Saturday through February 25, $36, 9:00
Extension: Connelly Theater Upstairs
220 East Fourth St. between Aves. A & B
Tuesday – Saturday through November 18, $40
www.sohoplayhouse.com
www.gabemollica.com

Having earned multiple extensions since opening at Soho Playhouse on November 2, comedian Gabe Mollica and his one-man Solo: A Show About Friendship are hard not to love. Yet the night I went, there were fewer than twenty people in the audience, several of whom Mollica knew, referring to them by name as they nodded in agreement with something he said onstage. In his easygoing, not-quite-self-deprecating demeanor, Mollica started the sixty-minute confessional pointing out that he has performed Solo for three people at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival — “the same three people that an hour earlier I had had dinner with” — and for a packed Soho Playhouse on a Saturday night, so he was not bothered by such a sparse turnout on a cold Thursday. In fact, it fit the theme of the evening, which he explains early on: “This is a show about how I don’t have friends.”

Mollica, who recently turned thirty, hails from Garden City, and lives in Astoria, spends an hour detailing his lifetime of seeking male companionship that goes beyond mere camaraderie. He provides a spot-on description of his “six bros,” complete with their going-out and staying-home rituals. One of the bros, Nick, makes ranked lists, from types of music and wood to Adam Sandler flicks. (Yo, Nick, how is Uncut Gems not in the top ten?). Mollica also reveals that his mother, who is named Joy, is sick. (“She’s feeling a lot better now. Thank you for asking.”)

Obsessed in high school with Stephen Sondheim and terrible at sports, Mollica found himself trapped in the middle, “too straight for the gay kids but too gay for the straight kids.” At college he meets Tom, and they hit it off right away, becoming inseparable. Mollica is thrilled beyond belief that he finally has someone he can say anything to, can receive unconditional support from, and is able to be completely honest with.

Gabe Mollica admits to being “too straight for the gay kids but too gay for the straight kids” in Solo (photo by Mindy Tucker)

Mollica relates his and Tom’s adventures and misadventures, but because he’s already told us that today he has no friends, there’s some well-executed narrative tension as we await the inevitable funny/not-funny punchline. Before he gets to that, Mollica discusses his origins as a stand-up comic, his relationships with a few women, and his job working at a summer camp, occasionally supplemented with photos projected on a screen at the back of the stage, which otherwise features only a small stool and a carpet.

Smoothly directed by comedian and monologist Greg Walloch (Hasan Minhaj: Homecoming King, F**k the Disabled), Solo is an engaging and heartfelt look at male bonding and the need to have friends, regardless of gender. The show is smartly written, with a finale that circles back to the beginning and results in a poignant conclusion that makes you want to immediately get in touch with your best friend(s). Mollica has a natural charm that, well, will compel you to want to be his friend. After the show, he greeted audience members outside the theater, shaking hands, hugging, and posing for photos. We invited him to an upcoming tribute to Stephen Sondheim; we don’t know whether he’ll be coming solo.

Colin Quinn offers more than just small talk in Small Talk (photo by Monique Carboni)

COLIN QUINN: SMALL TALK
Lucille Lortel Theatre
121 Christopher St.
Monday – Saturday through February 11, $49-$59
Greenwich House
27 Barrow St. at Seventh Ave. South
Tuesday, Saturday, Sunday, March 30 – May 6, $49-$79
www.colinquinnshow.com

There’s a fine line between thematic stand-up comedy and a one-person theatrical show. Recent presentations such as Mike Birbiglia’s The Old Man & the Pool, Alex Edelman’s Just for Us, and Ryan J. Haddad’s Hi, Are You Single? qualify as the latter, as does Gabe Mollica’s aptly titled Solo.

Brooklyn-born actor and comedian Colin Quinn is a master of the one-man show, having explored the history of New York, America, and the world in such highly praised works as Long Story Short, Unconstitutional, The New York Story, and Red State Blue State.

His latest solo foray is Colin Quinn: Small Talk, continuing at the Lucille Lortel Theatre through February 11 (and now extended March 30 to May 6 at Greenwich House). The seventy-five-minute show explores how strangers connect, or don’t, by taking part in brief, generally inconsequential face-to-face conversations in elevators, at stores, at work, or on the street, chatting about the weather, sports, what day of the week it is, and other minor tidbits. “Small talk is intimate. It’s an acknowledgment,” he explains. “It’s like two ships that signal each other in the ocean. . . . It’s how we unite by common experience in under a paragraph.”

He worries that the way kids today are being raised, the end of small talk, which began with cavemen and reached new levels with Socrates, is fast approaching, since it depends on one of humankind’s most important inventions, “citizen personality,” which we no longer teach or value. “Personality is who the people that know you think you are. Your reputation is who the people who don’t know you think you are. Your social media profile is who you think you are, and your browser history is who you are,” he says.

Colin Quinn discusses banter, personality, and the history of small talk in latest solo performance (photo by Monique Carboni)

Walking around the stage in a black tee, unbuttoned black shirt, black pants, and white sneakers, Quinn, in his familiar gravelly voice, fills the show with pop-culture references, controversial political issues, and the top five “last words.” Individual jokes can be incisive, immediately relatable, and very funny, but the show, directed by James Fauvell, feels at times like it’s still a work-in-progress. Several tangents and digressions don’t seem to arise naturally from the narrative.

Quinn, who had a heart attack on Valentine’s Day in 2018 when he was fifty-eight, scans the audience for reactions as if he’s testing out new material. After seeing him look up numerous times at a spot in the back of the theater, I turned around and noticed a monitor where the text was scrolling by. He also uses a handheld microphone, which is more associated with stand-up than theatrical productions. Zoë Hurvitz’s set consists of ten blackboards with chalk drawings on them, linking images of hands and faces with Ancient Greek words and modern emojis, but they are never incorporated into the show or identified, which left me scratching my head.

From his days on MTV’s Remote Control and Comedy Central’s Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn through his solo presentations and film and television appearances (Girls, Trainwreck), Quinn has demonstrated his unique personality along with his hilarious and all-too-real take on society at large. “Some people don’t like small talk,” Quinn says in the show. I liked Small Talk, but I wanted to love it. Quinn’s response might be, as he says about one friend’s thoughts on sausage and peppers, “Nobody gives a shit and nobody asked you.” To which I might respond, “Hey, how ’bout this weather?”

THE COLLABORATION

Andy Warhol (Paul Bettany) and Jean-Michel Basquiat (Jeremy Pope) collaborate in new Broadway play (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

THE COLLABORATION
Samuel J. Friedman Theatre
261 West Forty-Seventh St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through February 11, 474-$318
www.manhattantheatreclub.com

In the fall of 1985, gallerist Tony Shafrazi and art dealer Bruno Bischofberger presented “Warhol Basquiat: Paintings” on Mercer St., an exhibition of works made in tandem by Pop Art maestro Andy Warhol, looking to restore himself to relevance, and rising street-art superstar Jean-Michel Basquiat, who wanted to reach the next level of fame and fortune. The story of this unusual alliance is told in Anthony McCarten’s boldly titled The Collaboration, extended through February 11 at Manhattan Theatre Club’s Samuel J. Friedman Theatre.

While Basquiat and Warhol’s teaming up might have been a lightning strike of an idea in the art world, it’s more than a bit presumptuous to declare that it was the collaboration; if you didn’t know what the play was about, the title wouldn’t make you first think of this unexpected partnership. That aside, it was a fascinating moment in art history, and just as the collaboration was not wholly successful, so goes The Collaboration on Broadway.

In September 1985, Vivian Raynor wrote about the exhibit in the New York Times, “It’s a version of the Oedipus story: Warhol, one of Pop’s pops, paints, say, General Electric’s logo, a New York Post headline, or his own image of dentures; his twenty-five-year-old protege adds to or subtracts from it with his more or less expressionistic imagery. The sixteen results — all ‘Untitleds,’ of course — are large, bright, messy, full of private jokes, and inconclusive.” The same can be said of the play itself.

Alternatively, artist Keith Haring wrote in “Painting the Third Man” in 1988, “Jean-Michel and Andy achieved a healthy balance. Jean respected Andy’s philosophy and was in awe of his accomplishments and mastery of color and images. Andy was amazed by the ease with which Jean composed and constructed his paintings and was constantly surprised by the never-ending flow of new ideas. Each one inspired the other to outdo the next. The collaborations were seemingly effortless. It was a physical conversation happening in paint instead of words. . . . For me, the paintings which resulted from this collaboration are the perfect testimony to the depth and importance of their friendship. The quality of the painting mirrors the quality of the relationship. The sense of humor which permeates all of the works recalls the laughter which surrounded them while they were being made.”

Meanwhile, poet, songwriter, and playwright Ishmael Reed offered little love for Warhol in his recent show, The Slave Who Loved Caviar, feeling that Warhol treated Basquiat like a mascot; Reed wrote, “As Basquiat, the Radiant Child of the downtown art scene of the 1980s, was sacrificed to sustain the dying career of a fading Super Star, Antonius was sacrificed so that Hadrian would recover from a mysterious illness.”

Andy Warhol (Paul Bettany) films Jean-Michel Basquiat (Jeremy Pope) in The Collaboration (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

Part of McCarten’s Worship Trilogy, which also includes The Two Popes and Wednesday at Warren’s, Friday at Bill’s, The Collaboration takes place alternately in Bischofberger’s (Erik Jensen) Manhattan gallery, Warhol’s (Paul Bettany) studio near Union Square, and Basquiat’s (Jeremy Pope) loft apartment and studio on Great Jones St. At first both artists are hesitant to work together; being shown Basquiat’s paintings for the first time by Bischofberger, Warhol, referring to them as “art therapy things,” says, “They’re so . . . busy. Is it too much? Or am I getting old? And so much anger. All these skulls and gravestones everywhere. I thought I was bleak. And all these words and symbols, what’s it all mean? What’s he trying to say? Bruno? Do you know? And why do they have to be so ugly? Did he tell you? Does he talk about that? They’re so ugly and angry and yeah, well, they’re kinda violent. I’d be careful; he’s really in trouble, I think.”

Basquiat is also unsure of the potential partnership, telling Bischofberger, “I’m better than Andy. I don’t need this. . . . And how come he doesn’t paint anymore, you know? Just mechanically reproduces all these prints? There’s no soul. I’m Dizzy Gillespie, blowing a riff, he’s one of those pianos that plays all by itself. The same tune. Over and over. You seen those things? Pink, pink plonk, pinkety pinkety pink.”

Bischofberger, who represents both artists, promises Warhol, “It will be the greatest exhibition ever in the history of art.” Warhol says, “Please don’t exaggerate.” The dealer boasts, “Warhol versus Basquiat.” The Pop maestro wonders, “Oh, versus? Gee, you make it sound so macho, like a contest. I don’t know. I thought you said it would be a collaboration?” Bischofberger answers, “Painters are like boxers; both smear their blood on the canvas.” The promotional posters for the exhibition — which eventually will become more famous than the actual works (one of the original posters hangs in my apartment) — feature Warhol and Basquiat wearing boxing gloves, ready to do battle.

But soon the soft-spoken Warhol, who hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in more than twenty years but has amassed a fortune through his silkscreens, photography, films, and business savvy, is creating canvases with Basquiat, who is far more spontaneous and unpredictable, taking drugs, sleeping around (Krysta Rodriguez plays Maya, a fictionalized version of Basquiat’s girlfriend Suzanne Mallouk), and keeping his cash in the refrigerator.

Once the playwright finally gets Andy and Jean putting paint to canvas, their debates about the purpose of art sound a bit sanctimonious. No one knows what their conversation was really like: Within three years, they would both be dead, Basquiat in 1987 at the age of twenty-seven, Warhol in 1988 at the age of fifty-eight.

Directed by Kwame Kwei-Armah (Things of Dry Hours, One Night in Miami), The Collaboration works best when Warhol and Basquiat get down to brass tacks, exploring what they might do together, each suspicious of the other’s motives and abilities. In roles previously played by David Bowie and Jeffrey Wright, respectively, in Julian Schnabel’s 1996 film, Basquiat (Dennis Hopper was Bischofberger), Bettany (Love and Understanding, WandaVision) and Tony nominee Pope (Choir Boy, Ain’t Too Proud) are phenomenal. Pope embodies Basquiat’s untethered energy, his lust for life, and his social conscience, particularly when learning that his friend, graffiti artist Michael Stewart, is in the hospital after an altercation with the police. Bettany not only looks great in Warhol’s trademark white fright wig and black turtleneck and sneakers (the wigs are by Karicean “Karen” Dick and Carol Robinson, with sets and costumes by Anna Fleischle) but captures his awkward, strange public persona.

Rodriguez (Into the Woods, Seared) does what she can as the underwritten Maya, an amalgamation that stretches the truth of Basquiat’s relationships with women, and Jensen (Disgraced, How to Be a Rock Critic) provides a solid middle ground to highlight the disparity between his two artists.

Andy Warhol (Paul Bettany) watches Jean-Michel Basquiat (Jeremy Pope) paint in The Collaboration (photo by Jeremy Daniel)

The narrative takes a sharp turn beginning at intermission, when large monitors just outside both sides of the stage show footage of Bettany’s Warhol and Pope’s Basquiat collaborating, painting on transparent glass, mimicking the style Warhol uses when filming Basquiat on his 16mm spring-wound Bolex movie camera. As they did prior to the beginning of the show, DJ theoretic spins thumping 1980s music from a booth on the stage as the prerecorded film plays.

During the second act, Kwei-Armah and McCarten, who has written such fact-based films as The Theory of Everything, Darkest Hour, and Bohemian Rhapsody and the book for the current Neil Diamond musical A Beautiful Noise, become obsessed with Warhol’s live footage of Basquiat (the projections are by Duncan McLean), so it’s hard to know where to look. (Oh, what Ivo van Hove has wrought.) A notoriously private person despite his fondness for late-night celebrity-studded parties, Warhol wants to capture the real Basquiat on film, but Basquiat doesn’t want to be seen as a commodity. This dichotomy further emphasizes the difference, and psychological distance, between Basquiat and Warhol, whose shows are still blockbusters today. (For example, Basquiat’s biographical “King Pleasure” in Chelsea last year and the Whitney’s 2018-19 “Andy Warhol — From A to Be and Back Again.”

None of Warhol’s footage exists today, so we don’t know what really happened, but what McCarten and Kwei-Armah depict grows more confusing and annoying by the second. We also don’t see enough of the artists’ collaboration itself, but that output is not considered among either one’s most well regarded works. Alas, the same can be said of the creators of the play. But as Warhol explains to Basquiat, “I don’t think there’s going to be a revolution, but if there is it will be televised, with commercial breaks, cause it’s all about brands now. Even us, we’re not painters, we’re brands. Jean. We’re brands. Well, you’re almost a giant brand, and after this exhibition with me you will be too. Then just watch the language change, Jean.”

The Collaboration concludes on the same note as Eduardo Kobra’s large-scale 2018 mural in Chelsea above the Empire Diner, a reimagined Mount Rushmore with the faces of Andy Warhol, Frida Kahlo, Keith Haring, and Jean-Michel Basquiat, all of whom remain brands to this day.

DENNY LAINE: ACOUSTIC SONGS & STORIES

Denny Laine returns to numerous City Winery venues with “Acoustic Songs & Stories” in February

DENNY LAINE: ACOUSTIC SONGS & STORIES
City Winery New York
25 Eleventh Ave. at Fifteenth St.
Tuesday, February 7, $25-$45, 8:00
City Winery Hudson Valley
Wednesday, February 8, $25-$35, 8:00
citywinery.com
facebook.com/DBFLaine

Anybody who’s listened to British rock in the past six decades has heard Denny Laine’s songs and his guitar playing, but they may not recognize his name. That’s about to change as he begins a solo tour of City Wineries across the USA this month, including a stop February 7 at the City Winery next to Little Island. (He’ll also be at the Hudson Valley City Winery on February 8 and My Father’s Place at the Metropolitan in Glen Cove on February 23.)

Born Brian Frederick Hines in Birmingham, England, Laine is an acclaimed musician and songwriter who has been performing solo and in bands since the late 1950s. He is a founding member of the Moody Blues (1964–66), singing lead vocals on their number one hit “Go Now,” and Wings (1971–81), which he formed with Paul and Linda McCartney. Among the other groups he played in and/or started were Balls, the Electric String Band, and Ginger Baker’s Air Force, and he’s released a dozen solo records.

Prior to the pandemic, he began putting together “Acoustic Songs & Stories,” an evening of music and anecdotes from throughout his life and career, during which he has played and toured with an inordinate amount of remarkable colleagues. He recently spoke with me over the phone from his home in Florida, where he was preparing to hit the road.

Laine, who is seventy-eight, has an easygoing, casual way about him, sharing jaw-dropping tales that he recounts as if it were just another day, which for him it was. He talks about being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and hanging out with the Beatles, the Moodies, Jeff Beck and Rod Stewart, Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce, and Jimi Hendrix like it’s no big deal. He’s a musician’s musician, quintessentially British, equally comfortable in the background or center stage. What follows is a kind of prelude to Laine’s upcoming one-man concerts as he discusses getting his first guitar, playing football in the hallway with Jeff and Rod before a gig, writing with Paul McCartney, the unusual genesis of a Beatles classic, and his philosophy of life.

Denny Laine cofounded Wings with good friends Paul and Linda McCartney (photo courtesy Denny Laine)

twi-ny: My very first concert was Wings at Madison Square Garden in 1976.

denny laine: That sounds good.

twi-ny: My father took me for my thirteenth birthday. I’d never seen anything like it.

dl: Well, that was a good day, man, I’ll tell you.

twi-ny: I read that your first concert was Ella Fitzgerald and the Oscar Peterson Trio. That’s not a bad beginning either.

dl: That’s absolutely true. First time I went to see anybody in a theater. It was at Birmingham Hippodrome, I believe.

twi-ny: You must have been a kid, right?

dl: Well, I was working as a trainee buyer for musical instruments, can you believe? That was the only job I ever had, a real job where you had to get up in the morning. So a friend of mine who worked in the record department was a big fan of Ella Fitzgerald, and I was sort of a Django Reinhardt fan at the time.

twi-ny: And Stéphane Grappelli, I understand.

dl: Right. All of that gypsy jazz stuff. He got some tickets, and I went with him. I loved that music. That trio was unbelievable. And Ella was just great. That’s where I started really listening to music, because I’ve now been to see it, you know, it’s like, you listen to bits here and bits there, but it was the first time I ever got to see it and appreciate the professionalism and the talent. So that was it, really.

twi-ny: When did you get your first guitar?

dl: Around that time, I would think. No, probably a year before that or so, when I was in school. And skiffle was around. Actually, when I was twelve, I played my first live show. It was a cheap old guitar, really a cheap guitar. And I played at the Birmingham Institute. I don’t know how I got on it, but I did. I did some Lonnie Donegan song and really didn’t get it properly until later on. But I started being in bands at school and stuff like that. So, I’d say I got the guitar when I was twelve, but I didn’t take it seriously. I went in for competitions; once I got to the finals and then chickened out. But I was starting to plonk around on it. I didn’t know how to tune it in those days. And then a friend at school — his brother was a jazz guitarist — taught me to tune it. It was just a four-dollar job, a cheap old job. But it worked.

twi-ny: So I remember very well at the Garden that night that it was a big deal because McCartney hadn’t played a lot of his Beatles songs since they had broken up. But one of the songs that stood out for me was “Time to Hide.” It was a thrill for me to see that, because here’s this superstar — I knew who the band was because I was listening to all the records and studying the covers. But here’s the sideman jumping to the front of the stage.

dl: [laughs] Well, I was encouraged to do that by Paul all the time. He was trying to drag that out of me, to get me to write more. He didn’t want the full profile all the time. Of course, it was impossible for him because of how famous he was. I know that he got me into that band because I had already been in the Moody Blues, and I’d got to know him years before, in the Birmingham days. I got to know the Beatles a little bit. So then when we moved to London, we really got friendly with him. So I think he got me into that band because he wanted me to be more of a band member, because he used to be in a band, like me. So he didn’t want to be the front man all the time. But of course, he couldn’t help it, you know? But anyway, I started with that song, it was one I wrote, and he dragged it out of me. He wanted me to play “Go Now” onstage as well.

twi-ny: I remember that from the live album and the concert film.

dl: Yes. Because the idea was that we weren’t gonna go on there and have him do Beatles songs and me do Moody Blue songs. We didn’t put Wings together for that reason. We wanted to do something new.

twi-ny: You also were cowriting a lot of songs with Paul. You wrote about half of London Town, and cowrote “Mull of Kintyre.” I still have the 45 for that. Obviously, Paul was famous for collaborating with John. What were your collaborations with Paul like?

dl: Well, again, I knew him and we all grew up on the same music, in a sense, American music. But before that it was all British folk. And skiffle; skiffle was a sort of a mixture of American stuff and English folk. That’s really what it was.

twi-ny: Did you write both the lyrics and the music together?

dl: In the case of “Mull of Kintyre,” he had the chorus. So I went over to his house up in Scotland. I was living over the hill on the same land. I went over for breakfast one morning. He had the chorus, and that to me was the song. So I encouraged him to go and finish it off. He wasn’t too sure about it because he thought, well, you know, I might be assassinated doing a Scottish song; it might not go down too well.

twi-ny: They might call that cultural appropriation today.

dl: [laughs] I ended up doing quite a lot of the lyrics on that song. We recorded it up there and it was a huge hit. It was easy. I never had a hard time writing with him at all. We had the same ideas. We were trying to do something new and it was all something current, based on what we were going through or who, where we were, and who we were hanging out with and whatever. So we all did everything together a lot. We even lived together on the same farm. We would go up there every year to rehearse and get away from everything. For the privacy and stuff. Sometimes we’d go to another country just to take a week to go and write, get influenced by wherever we were.

twi-ny: You mentioned “Go Now” before. People forget that you were a founding member of the Moody Blues, and you are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a Moody Blues founder.

dl: That’s because of “Go Now.” The thing is that Paul used to stand at the side of the stage and watch me do that every night because we toured with the Beatles, the second British tour. So he encouraged me and wanted me to do that live again because, again, he’s trying to tell the public who I was. And even to this day, believe it or not, [Moody Blues cofounder] Ray Thomas’s wife, who we are still in touch with, she was trying to convince all the Moody Blues fans who didn’t even know I was in the band. But there was another Moody Blues before them. And some of them don’t even accept it. A lot of people didn’t know Paul was in the Beatles, how ’bout that?

twi-ny: Right! When Paul plays at awards shows, the Twitterites don’t know who he is or say, Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings? If they even know who Wings are.

dl: You gotta laugh.

twi-ny: It’s very funny.

dl: That’s the way it goes; young people coming along, what’re you gonna do.

twi-ny: Another early group of yours was the Electric String Band, which opened for Procol Harum and Jimi Hendrix in ’67. I believe that there was a show in ’67 where Jimi played a Beatles song from Sgt. Pepper and Paul was in the audience, not expecting it because the record had only just been released. Was that the show?

dl: Yeah. He used to always do that. Anytime there was a Beatle in the audience, he’d play, “It was twenty years ago today.” Jimi was just as excited about the Beatles and that era as anybody else. And the fact that he got to come to England, and as Eric Burdon puts it, he became one of us. A lot of the American bands used to come over to London, and me and Paul would go and see them all, me and George [Harrison] or all of us would go and see some of the bands that came over. The Byrds. Talk about David Crosby and all. I met all these people in those days through the Beatles, going out with the Beatles, and the Moodies had parties and all stuff like that.

Denny Laine (2nd from l.) cofounded the Moody Blues with Mike Pinder, Ray Thomas, Graeme Edge, and Clint Warwick in 1964

twi-ny: I mean, that’s quite a historic night. Procol Harum, your band, Pete Townshend, Eric Clapton, and McCartney in the house, Jimi Hendrix playing a Beatles song. Was that just another night for you guys?

dl: Well, no, it was pretty big for me. It was big for me for two reasons. The first reason being is I was supposed to do it two weekends. And the first one I was supposed to be on, my bass player got sick and there’s no way I was gonna go up there. I practiced with the drummer from the Pretty Things, and he got the bass player from that band to come down and rehearse and he couldn’t cut it. So I canceled that particular night. And I heard later on that John [Lennon] had said, “Where’s Denny? We only came to see him.”

Anyway, the next weekend I did it, and it went down really well. And Jimi even paid me a compliment that night at the club. He said, “Oh, I liked your guitar player, man.” I said, “The guitar player, that was me.” He went, “Oh yeah. Sorry, man.” But that was a nice little backhanded compliment. I knew Jimi through Noel Redding and Mitch Mitchell; I knew them from way before. So I was part of that crowd, and especially with the String Band being a folk rock type of thing. That was obviously influenced by the Beatles and George Martin.

But having said that, I always loved classical music too. I was brought up on classical music through my parents and sisters. I was into amalgamating music and joining different styles. The drummer in my first band started ELO with Jeff Lynne, Bev Bevan. So the connection was always there. And so this folk thing was my thing. I ended up hanging around with all the folkies and in fact, on my solo record Say You Don’t Mind, I had a couple of folk players on that. I had Danny Thompson from Pentangle, and I had a couple of other people; we were folk people. Donovan was a big friend of ours as well.

So anyway, getting back to the Jimi Hendrix thing, it went down really well. It was the first time, I think, anybody used pickups on the violins and cellos. We’d already done about a year in Europe, so we were pretty good by then. Peter Asher was in the audience, who is still a friend of mine to this day. So it came back that everybody was really pleased with it. In fact, we got a standing ovation, so it was really cool.

twi-ny: You mentioned Ray Thomas, who passed away a few years ago, and then more recently some other people who you played with or opened for have left us. You brought up David Crosby, and now Jeff Beck, whose death I think was even more surprising because he was just playing on tour with Johnny Depp.

dl: I knew David in the very early days, from the Byrds days, and then I met him a couple of times in America; he was always hanging around doing different things in the same crowd, Laurel Canyon and all that crap. Jeff Beck, when he was in the Jeff Beck Group with Rod Stewart, we used to do doubles with them. I remember doing a double with them where we all got into a fight because the guy wouldn’t let us play football in the hall before the gig started. So we were all part of that London scene. And we had the same agency, Marquee Artists, who brought all the blues players over from America and Europe. And so again, we would play a lot of the same venues, and that’s how I knew them.

twi-ny: You also played in Ginger Baker’s Air Force, so your connections are extraordinary.

dl: Same thing. Ginger and Jack [Bruce] I met in the early days because we were doing the very first Moodies theater tour, it was the Chuck Berry tour. Ginger and Jack were in the opening band, actually, the Graham Bond Organisation. So that’s how I met them. It’s a long story, but it was Steve Winwood’s birthday, and I was down there with Trevor [Burton] from the Move, and Ginger and Eric were down there that same day. We all sat around and had a little bit of a jam. And next party I went to, Ginger was there, and he asked me if I wanted to join a band. So I did that with him. That’s the way it goes, you know?

twi-ny: It’s fascinating. I can listen to these stories all day.

dl: Well, that’s what I’m doing. Telling stories.

twi-ny: Oh, yes, exactly. We’re gonna get to that in just a minute. I want to first ask you about something that is going to lead into that. So you’ve got all these other bands, you’ve got Balls, the Diplomats, and the Moodies, and you’ve put out some solo records, like Japanese Tears Reborn and The Blue Musician. So all those years ago, Paul McCartney is telling you, I’m putting you front and center. You’re gonna sing a couple songs a night. Is it easy to go back and forth between leader and sideman?

dl: Well, I was used to that in the Moody Blues, don’t forget.

twi-ny: Oh, that’s true. Right.

dl: I was the front man in the Moody Blues, so I’d already had that experience. In fact, Wings was like a day off for me because I didn’t have to do it all. But no, I’d already done that. One of the reasons that I walked away from — well, not walked away from — the Wings thing . . . I mean, I was still in touch with everyone, but I just wanted to do my own thing again. That’s all. I’d already put out an album, which was called Ahh . . . Laine, and that came out during the early Wings phase. But it was actually recorded before I joined Wings. It just hadn’t come out. So I’d already done that. It was partly to do with the fact that Paul had that thing with Japan, so we couldn’t really tour for a while after that. Eventually I just said, well, I want to go out and I want to start doing some live work. And so that was it. I started making albums then in the early eighties and played a lot of the instruments myself actually. But I had friends, Rick Wakeman, Chris Slade from AC/DC, on those albums. I basically just did my own thing, thanks to Paul for encouraging me to be more of a songwriter.

Denny Laine will perform songs and tell stories from throughout his career on City Winery tour (photo courtesy Denny Laine)

twi-ny: And so now you’re coming to City Winery with “Acoustic Songs & Stories.” You’ll be playing songs from throughout your career, along with some choice cover material. How did this come about?

dl: Well, it was inevitable because of the pandemic in a way. We all went off the road, but prior to the pandemic, I had been doing some of these things. Because although I’d done the band thing, I was going out and doing a set; the first half was just a selection of songs, and then the second half was the Band on the Run album. I had my band doing all the vocals on all of that. So I changed myself with that for a while, and then I did a couple of solo things I was invited to do and it just kind of caught on. I thought, well, this is easy. This goes down. I have a lot more freedom. I was getting to play songs that I felt like playing off the top of my head or if somebody shouted out something, whatever.

So it was just a more free thing and I enjoyed it so much. And then the pandemic hit, so that’s the way it goes. And I thought, well, I’ve gotta get back out there and do it again. I hadn’t had any injections at that time; it was Paul who talked me into getting them. And so it just was that easy to decide, I’m gonna go out and do the solo thing again. Why not, you know? And that’s what I did. So we booked this especially for that. But I’m doing mainly my own stuff, I’m doing obviously my career.

twi-ny: The songs you wrote and were involved in.

dl: I actually did it not too long ago, where I got to play a lot of songs of my own. It’s sort of a rehearsal. If I do a lot of these things, I can move it around a little bit, add a few extra songs here and there that I didn’t do on the show before.

twi-ny: I noticed that one night you played “Nights in White Satin.”

dl: That was just for a laugh. I don’t know how that came about, but I think we were talking about it and I just threw in a verse of it. I didn’t even know the words.

twi-ny: During the pandemic, I followed numerous British musicians, guitarists and songwriters, who played solo concerts online from home. I’m thinking specifically of Robyn Hitchcock, Richard Thompson, and they play whatever comes to mind. Is that a thing with you guys, with you?

dl: Well, I don’t know, maybe I started it.

twi-ny: Maybe you started it.

dl: I don’t think I’m famous enough to start a trend. But yeah, I was doing it way before a lot of people were, and now everybody’s doing it. We used to do that, don’t forget, in the Wings [acoustic] set, in the middle of the show. So I suppose in some ways we did influence a lot of people in that way. It was a way that Paul could do a couple of Beatles songs without it trying to sound like the Beatles. This is the way the songs were written. You hear them just with a guitar and the voice. And that’s really what I mean. I’m not taking a piano out with me. I’ve got piano songs I could do, but I’m not going to, and it’s just gonna be me and the way the songs originated. The audience likes that kind of thing.

twi-ny: It gets to the essence of the song. You had Springsteen on Broadway. You have Bono doing a tour right now where he’s doing solo songs and talking about his life.

dl: Really? I didn’t know that.

twi-ny: He’s got a book out. He’s doing it at the Beacon Theatre here in New York.

dl: Oh, cool. I think it’s great that people are doing that. You’ve got stories to tell, and you’ve got that connection with the audience more. You can’t have that in a big stadium. It’s like the old days when we used to do all the clubs and all the pubs, you were much more close up to the audience. Going back to roots is always good. That’s how we all started.

twi-ny: City Winery is a really good venue for this. I’ve seen Richard Thompson, Graham Parker, Ian Hunter, Eric Burdon, a lot of your contemporaries there.

dl: Oh, yeah. I’m doing all of them.

twi-ny: Right. You’re playing Nashville, Boston, Hudson Valley, Chicago, Philly.

dl: Yeah, I’m doing all of them. And that’s the point. I’d already booked to do them before the pandemic and couldn’t do them, so that’s why I’m doing them now. It’s a mixed audience, all out for a good time and something to eat, and they appreciate the music. They’re there to listen, they’re there to enjoy that instead of sitting in a crowd of thousands of people.

twi-ny: During the pandemic, I imagine you had a lot of time to think about the songs you would play and the stories you would tell.

dl: The stories, sometimes they come off the top of your head, sometimes you keep repeating yourself.

twi-ny: Are there any stories that you might have wanted to tell but might be a little naughty?

dl: Ah, that’s a bit of a leading question.

twi-ny: Yes it is.

dl: I don’t think anybody wants to hang all the dirty washing out in public. I mean, come on. But no, not really, because Wings and the Moodies, we were having fun. Nothing I’m ashamed of, you know what I mean?

twi-ny: But the Moodies were well known for their parties.

dl: They bloody were, because everybody used to come to our house out in Row Hampton and drink and chat and play music and just hang out. All the music business used to be there. If a bomb went off, there wouldn’t be any music business. I’m telling you. That’s what those parties were like. John Lennon used to be on the door.

twi-ny: Checking IDs?

dl: You know what’s a good story? He said to [Moodies founding member] Mike Pinder, we’re all standing in the doorway there. We had one of those little things you open up through the door to see, you know . . .

twi-ny: A peephole?

dl: Yeah. And John’s standing there, and he says, “Who’s this?” There’s a woman there he hadn’t let in. And Mike Pinder said, “Oh, she came in through the bathroom window.” No kidding. So that’s where that title came from. Even though Paul, I think, wrote that, but somebody climbed up the drainpipe into the bathroom window to get into the party.

twi-ny: That’s hysterical.

dl: I’m not kidding.

twi-ny: On New Year’s Day, you posted on social media the following quote: “The past is what we were; now is what we are.” How do you stay so positive in these crazy times?

dl: It’s not so much positive; it’s just being balanced. Like in the past, we did all that. Now we’re doing this. And that’s what life is. You can’t live in the past, and you certainly can’t live in the future. You live for the moment, and that way you are naturally just positive because you just gotta deal with whatever’s going on now. You talked about cell phones [before the interview officially started], whatever’s the new technology, you’ve gotta get to know, and you’ve got to deal with everybody else in the world. You’ve gotta keep up to date. That’s all I meant. A lot of people have come up with that conclusion because of the pandemic. It’s made people get up and rethink their lives. A lot of people don’t want to go back to the same old job they hated, and they’re starting their own businesses. There’s a silver lining in everything bad that happened.

twi-ny: A lot of creativity came out of the pandemic.

dl: That’s exactly what I’m saying.

twi-ny: The same thing happened in theater. And in many ways, your show is really a form of theater. It’s more than a concert.

dl: That’s the way I see it. I’m starting with the wineries, and I’m going to do the theaters after, just small theaters. It’s nice to have that sit-down thing, where everybody in the audience can hear and see and be part of it.

twi-ny: Terrific. I am so thrilled to have had the chance to speak to you. It was really a lot of fun. Good luck with the tour, with the shows. I look forward to seeing you at City Winery. You’ve entertained me endlessly over the years. I even still have my Wings T-shirt from the 1976 concert. I can’t fit into it anymore, but my wife can.

dl: You’re handing it down.

twi-ny: I’ve handed it down. She also looks a lot better in it than I ever did.

dl: [laughs] I love it.

[You can find more of the interview here.]

SEIJUN SUZUKI CENTENNIAL

Tokyo Drifter is part of six-film Japan Society tribute to master filmmaker Seijun Suzuki

SEIJUN SUZUKI CENTENNIAL
Japan Society
333 East 47th St. at First Ave.
February 3-11, $15
japansociety.org

“I am often told that a script with a dark subject always turns into a more cheerful movie in my hands,” master Japanese filmmaker Seijun Suzuki says in a brief Criterion “Suzuki on Suzuki” video interview. “Maybe it is due to my personality that I dislike dark stories. I always start by thinking about the style and design of the film. I choose the costumes and sets based on that initial image. Rather than using the same color, isn’t if more fun if each scene is a different color?”

Suzuki’s 1966 yakuza yarn, Tokyo Drifter, is a prime example of his philosophy of cinema, a berserk noir screening February 4 in the Japan Society tribute “Seijun Suzuki Centennial,” honoring the Tokyo-born director of more than fifty films between 1956 and 2005; Suzuki died in February 2017 at the age of ninety-three.

Tokyo Drifter must be seen on the big screen to be fully appreciated. Nearly every set is an eye-popping work of art, courtesy of production designer Takeo Kimura, and lushly photographed by cinematographer Shigeyoshi Mine. Black-and-white morphs into bold and brash reds, yellows, and blues for no reason. Backgrounds disappear so it looks like a shootout is taking place in a black void. A statue of a woman holding some kind of prehistoric giant donut switches hues as the action continues around it. Our hero, whose blazer goes from powder blue to yellow to cream to white, turns a corner and is suddenly running down a heavenly white German expressionist passageway. A villain uses his black gun to dial on a red phone. Hajime Kaburagi’s jazzy noir score mixes with romantic ballads, complete with a man in black playing a white piano. Red blood squirts into the air. Shinya Inoue’s editing is inconsistent and choppy, adding to the derangement, whether done on purpose or not.

Suave Tetsu “Phoenix” Hondo (Tetsuya Watari) and his boss, Kurata (Ryūji Kita), are getting out of the yakuza game, but Otsuka (Hideaki Esumi) and his gang, including Tatsu “the Viper” (Tamio Kawaji), are not going to let it be easy for them. Kurata owes an important building payment to Keiichi (Tsuyoshi Yoshida), who is willing to make a fair deal, as Kurata does not have all the money. But Otsuka sneaks in and threatens Keiichi to sell to him so Otsuka can take over the immensely valuable property. Kurata’s assistant, Mutsuko (Kaoru Hama), reads comic books and is secretly in cahoots with Otsuka, while Tetsu’s girlfriend, Chiharu (Chieko Matsubara), is a sweet-natured lounge singer who performs in a far-out nightclub. (Watari sings the song over the opening credits.) Double crosses lead to characters questioning loyalty and trust as the body count rises amid a groovy avant-garde Pop art setting unlike any other yakuza flick. (Suzuki followed it up with Tokyo Drifter 2: The Sea Is Bright Red as the Color of Love, a very different kind of film.)

Copresented by the Japan Foundation and guest curated by University of Alberta assistant professor William Carroll, “Seijun Suzuki Centennial” runs February 3-11 and comprises imported 35mm films from throughout Suzuki’s career: the ghost story Kagero-za (1981), the second part of his Taisho Trilogy, which began with 1980’s Zigeunerweisen and concluded with 1991’s Yumeji; a double feature of the director’s first Nikkatsu yakuza thriller, Satan’s Town (1956), and the forty-minute melodrama Love Letter (1958); 1966’s Carmen from Kawachi, one of three Suzuki adaptations of novels by Tôkô Kon; and A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness (1977), about a model turned golf star who faces stress and a stalker, Suzuki’s first film in ten years following a battle with Nikkatsu, which decided it no longer liked his unpredictable work after Branded to Kill.

“As Suzuki worked in a transforming film industry, he experimented with new possibilities given by changes in technology and took up new stylistic trends as they were developed by his colleagues, but he pushed them toward more abstract ends. As a result, Suzuki’s style was a constantly shifting target,” Carroll writes in Suzuki Seijun and Postwar Japanese Cinema. “Ultimately, the Seijunesque is defined less by a singular trait or tendency than by a push-or-pull, direct juxtaposition, or synthesis between multiple tendencies that would seem to be irreconcilable.” All that and more is on view in this tribute to a film icon.

BETWEEN RIVERSIDE AND CRAZY

Stephen McKinley Henderson is unforgettable as Pops in Stephen Adly Guirgis’s Between Riverside and Crazy (photo by Joan Marcus 2022)

BETWEEN RIVERSIDE AND CRAZY
Hayes Theater
240 West 44th St. between Broadway & Eighth Ave.
Tuesday – Sunday through February 19, $68-$210 (live simulcast $68)
2st.com/shows

At the 2015 Drama Desk Awards, I had the option of being seated in the audience with the cast and crew of any nominated show; without hesitation, I chose Stephen Adly Guirgis’s searing dark comedy Between Riverside and Crazy. The Atlantic Theater production had three nominations: Best Play, Outstanding Actor in a Play for the amazing Stephen McKinley Henderson, and Outstanding Director of a Play for legendary actor, teacher, and director Austin Pendleton. The show, which had just won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, was up against such staunch competition as The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Airline Highway, and Let the Right One In; among those competing for Best Musical were An American in Paris, Hamilton, and Something Rotten!

As the evening progressed, Pendleton slumped lower and lower into his chair as he, Henderson, and Guirgis failed to take home a trophy, losing each time to Curious Incident (Simon Stephens for Best Play, Alex Sharp for actor, and Marianne Elliott for director). In January 2015, Between Riverside and Crazy received an encore run at Second Stage’s Tony Kiser Theater, with nearly the full original cast. Last month, the show opened at Second Stage’s Hayes Theater on Broadway, where it has been extended through February 19. It still packs the same punch it did almost nine years ago at the Atlantic.

The extended family of Between Riverside and Crazy makes a toast (photo by Joan Marcus 2022)

The 130-minute show (with intermission) unfolds in a cramped rent-controlled apartment and rooftop on Riverside Drive (the rotating set is by Walt Spangler), where the recently widowed Walter “Pops” Washington (Henderson) lives with a motley crew of younger folks, including his ne’er-do-well son, Junior (Common), who is on parole; Junior’s scantily clad girlfriend, Lulu (Rosal Colón); and Oswaldo (Victor Almanzar), a tough-talking young man in recovery who Pops has taken in. All three call Walter either Pop, Pops, or Dad, even though he’s hardly the loving, nurturing type. Pops spends most of his time in the kitchen, eating pie, taking swigs of alcohol, and sitting in his wife’s wheelchair, pontificating on life.

His daily reflections don’t exactly reflect popular psychology. As Oswaldo discusses his health and why he no longer eats Ring Dings and baloney, which he ate because he didn’t feel safe or cared for by his parents, Oswaldo tells Pops, “I’m not trying to get all up in your business, but maybe that’s also the reason you always be eating pie — because of, like, you got emotionalisms — ya know?” Pops replies, “Emotionalisms.” Oswaldo continues, “I know — it sounded funny at first to me too — but emotionalisms is real, and pie — don’t take this wrong, but they say pie is like poison.” To which Pops concludes, “Pie ain’t like poison, Oswaldo — pie is like pie!”

A retired cop facing eviction, Pops is in a major fight with the city and the NYPD, demanding more cash in compensation for his shooting by a white rookie officer eight years earlier. One night his former partner, Det. Audrey O’Connor (Guirgis regular Elizabeth Canavan), and her fiancée, Lieutenant Caro (originally played by Michael Rispoli, though I saw understudy J. Anthony Crane, who was excellent; the role has now been taken over by Gary Perez), come over for dinner. They try to convince him to take the deal, as time is running out, but Pops stands by his principles while also understanding Caro’s motive in urging him to sign off. “An honorable man can’t be bought off,” he previously explained to Junior. “An honorable man doesn’t just settle a lawsuit ‘No Fault’ and lend his silence to hypocrisy and racism and the grievous violation of all our civil rights.”

Pops changes some of his views on life — and death — after a visit from the new church lady (Maria-Christina Oliveras) ends up sending him to the hospital.

Pops (Stephen McKinley Henderson) and Lulu (Rosal Colón) share a moment in powerful New York play (photo by Joan Marcus 2022)

I called Between Riverside and Crazy one of the best plays of 2014, and currently it’s the best nonrevival on Broadway. (The best new musical on Broadway, Kimberly Akimbo, also got its start at the Atlantic.) Seventy-three-year-old Tony nominee Henderson (A Raisin in the Sun, Guirgis’s The Last Days of Judas Iscariot), a longtime staple in the work of August Wilson, is unforgettable as Pops, a character who’s hard not to love even as you learn some questionable things about him. Henderson has an endearingly round face, gentle eyes, and an infectious smile that makes you want to call him Pops too. The play is very much about fathers and sons: Pops’ relationship with Junior, Oswaldo’s troubles with his dad, and Pops’ feelings about his own father. Even Det. O’Connor tells Pops, “You’re like my father.”

The set includes a rooftop veranda where Henderson gets even closer to his adoring audience. The rest of the cast is terrific under Pendleton’s (Gidion’s Knot, Orson’s Shadow) expert direction. Guirgis (Our Lady of 121st Street, Jesus Hopped the “A” Train), who grew up on Riverside Drive, writes gritty, believable dialogue and creates hard-hitting situations that are quintessentially New York, mixing comedy and tragedy with subtle, and not-so-subtle, narrative shifts.

If I were going to the 2023 Tony Awards and had the choice of which show to sit with, I just might choose Between Riverside and Crazy again. In the meantime, get yourselves to the Hayes and become part of this beautiful extended family.