this week in theater

MARY GETS HERS

A young girl (Haley Wong) seeks out her true path in Mary Gets Hers (photo by Daniel J Vasquez)

MARY GETS HERS
MCC Theater, Susan & Ronald Frankel Theater
511 West Fifty-Second St. between Tenth & Eleventh Aves.
Tuesday – Saturday through October 14
mcctheater.org
playwrightsrealm.org

Inspired by tenth-century German feminist playwright and poet Hrosvitha of Gandersheim’s Abraham, or the Rise and Repentance of Mary, Emma Horwitz’s Mary Gets Hers at MCC Theater is a satirical take on sin and salvation that unfortunately fizzles out too soon.

It’s around 950 AD, and eight-year-old Mary (Haley Wong) has just lost her parents to a plague that turns its victims into foam. She is found by the hermit monk Abraham (Susannah Perkins), who brings her back to the monastery so he can protect her with the help of the other monks, including the ultraserious Ephraim (Octavia Chavez-Richmond), who is dedicated to prayer and wears a hairshirt she continually scratches at. Abraham prepares a cell for Mary within his own cell, where he teaches her about God’s love.

“We sing to God / to whom i am betrothed / which means we are Together Forever / even though we’ve never met,” Mary and Abraham sing. “We are all so in love with God / he’s our father and our husband / that’s what all these songs are about.”

Hermits Abraham (Susannah Perkins) and Ephraim (Octavia Chavez-Richmond) are determined to protect Mary from sin (photo by Daniel J Vasquez)

Mary does not believe in God with the conviction that Abraham and Ephraim have and yearns for something more. The morning after Abraham has a horrific dream about a dragon and a dove, Mary is gone. At first, Abraham thinks that Mary was devoured by the dragon from his nightmare, but then reconsiders and enlists his friend, a soldier (Kai Heath) covered in chainmail, to rescue her from the harsh, godless world.

Meanwhile, Mary has found a new life at a nearby inn run by a shady man (Claire Siebers) who offers her room and board, but not exactly for free. One of her many male visitors declares, “When I was younger everyone called me / little man / little man, they called me / climbing up that tree / look at our little man, they said! / but i’m not so little now, huh? / i’m a gigantic man! / the size of a mountain! / or a church! / or a monster!” As the soldier continues his search, the hermits worry about Mary, who is not necessarily sad about her current condition.

You-Shin Chen’s set is sparse and haunting, with numerous drapes and curtains, items that once upon a time were treated as women’s work. Cha See’s stark lighting and Kathy Ruvuna’s mysterious sound are appropriately creepy, especially at the monastery, while Camilla Dely’s costumes are cute and playful.

There are parts of Mary Gets Hers — which is a production of the Playwrights Realm, not MCC Theater — that soar, funny, cynical, and clever scenes that question gender roles from the birth of Jesus and humanity’s connection to God and interpretations of sin and purity. Wong’s face is wonderfully malleable as she considers Mary’s life, while Perkins is adorable as the wide-eyed hermit who wants only the best for her. All five actors either identify as women or are trans or nonbinary, adding to the feminist bent, but Siebers struggles to juggle too many hats as multiple male characters.

The world premiere, directed by Josiah Davis, is unable to sustain its wry sense of humor and poignant narrative as things flail out of control, relying on physical slapstick where smart wordplay and staging previously worked. Initially, comparisons between the Middle Ages and today, the plague and Covid-19, felt timely, but Horwitz and Davis dull their blades through too much repetition over the course of ninety minutes. Mary might get hers in the second half, but we in the audience do not get ours.

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

SWING STATE

Peg (Mary Beth Fisher) and Ryan (Bubba Weiler) share a rare sweet moment in Swing State (photo by Liz Lauren)

SWING STATE
Audible Theater’s Minetta Lane Theatre
18 Minetta Lane between Sixth Ave. and MacDougal St.
Monday – Saturday through October 28, $47-$106
www.audible.com

Since at least 2006, white-nose syndrome (WNS), caused by a fungus known as Pseudogymnoascus destructans, or Pd, has been infecting and killing hibernating bats by the millions in North America. It was introduced from Europe, perhaps on the shoes of a traveler. According to the National Park Service, although there are no known cases of bat-to-human transmission, “Bats infected with either WNS or rabies may exhibit unusual behavior (e.g. erratic flying), which increases the risk for bat-human contact and exposure. Additionally, declines in bat populations can impact human health indirectly since humans depend on bats for important ecosystem services such as controlling pest insects.”

In Rebecca Gilman’s superb Swing State, extended at Audible’s Minetta Lane Theatre through October 28, the Pulitzer Prize finalist uses the bat disease as a metaphor for what’s ailing America. “The theory is that [WNS] stops their breathing so they’re startled awake from their torpid state and they start flying around, burning up calories that they can’t afford to lose,” sixty-five-year-old widow Peg Smith (Mary Beth Fisher) tells twenty-six-year-old Ryan Severson (Bubba Weiler), who does odd jobs for her on her forty-acre prairie farm. “You’ll see them flying around outside caves in the middle of the day, in the dead of winter, looking for food. But there’s nothing to eat — it’s winter, there aren’t any bugs — and eventually they burn up all their stored fat and they starve to death.”

Although the title refers to a battleground or purple state — as well as our state of mind as individuals and a country — Swing State avoids debating specific political issues, instead allowing them to arise organically as the plot develops. Among the topics that come up without being directly debated are gun control, the prison system, religion, the environment, alcoholism, health care, climate change, education, law enforcement, corporate control, and Covid-19, which some link to bats from China.

The 105-minute play is set in the summer of 2021 in the fictional Cardiff Township in the part of western Wisconsin known as the Driftless Area, which experienced no glacial drift during the last glaciation period. The show opens with Peg in her kitchen making zucchini bread. She takes the knife, brings it to her wrist, then drops it and says, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” It’s a feeling many Americans have every day. A moment later, she adds, “As a species, we suck.”

Former convict Ryan (Bubba Weiler) takes a liking to deputy sheriff Dani (Anne E. Thompson) in latest Audible play at the Minetta Lane (photo by Liz Lauren)

Peg is a recent widow, childless, alone except for their dog, Walleye, and Ryan, a hired man and former convict. Peg has decided to leave her land to the Prairie Protectors (Gilman herself volunteers for the Prairie Enthusiasts) and the house and barn to Ryan.

A week later, Peg has notified the local authorities of the theft of her late husband Jim’s antique tool collection as well as Jim’s father’s classic Winchester 94 rifle. Sheriff Kris Callahan Wisnefski (Kirsten Fitzgerald) arrives with Deputy Dani Wisnefski (Anne E. Thompson), her niece, new to the force. Old tensions surface: The Callahan family owns thousands of acres around Peg’s farm, but Peg has vowed never to sell her property to them. “No Callahan is ever going to own an inch of my land,” Peg declares. Dani, who does not seem to be the law-enforcement type, likes and respects Peg, who taught her health sciences in high school, “how to be healthy in mind and body.”

The sheriff is certain that Ryan pulled off the heist and is eager to arrest him. Peg refuses to believe that he is responsible, and Ryan adamantly denies it. Dani, a sweet, innocent young woman, is bullied by her aunt into withholding her opinion, which is usually the most centrist, humanistic view, neither ultra conservative nor radically liberal. As the investigation continues, the plot twists and turns, revealing both the good and the bad that are so prevalent in contemporary America.

Gilman (The Glory of Living, Spinning into Butter) was born in Alabama, lived and worked for a long time in Chicago, and moved to rural Wisconsin about four years ago. Cardiff Township and Peg’s farm are a microcosm of society, representing a purple state with a wide variety of people as well as flora and fauna. At several points in the play, Peg brings in seeds from Shooting Star wildflowers that have been on the prairie for ten thousand years; she is trying to save and protect them, prevent them from going extinct. On the kitchen counter behind her is a box that contains Jim’s ashes. Life here, death there.

Rebecca Gilman takes a hard look at America in Swing State (photo by Liz Lauren)

Todd Rosenthal’s homey kitchen/dining room set is relatably old-fashioned, with a microwave, birdhouses atop a shelf, various pots, bowls, and jars, and books overflowing a bookcase. Evelyn M. Danner’s costumes have a timeless quality as well, Kris and Dani in brown uniforms, Ryan wearing a work shirt with a name badge, and Peg dressed primarily in pants and an unbuttoned shirt over a dark tee. Peg is not attached to her cell phone, which she regularly leaves on the table when she goes out. Kris is not fond of the tablet she now has to use while on the job. “I hate this fucking thing,” the ever-angry sheriff complains. There is never talk of modern-day equipment, only outmoded hand tools and an ancient tractor.

It could be 1971 instead of 2021. One of the only present-day references occurs when Peg explains why she no longer reads the local newspaper. “I canceled my subscription when they endorsed Trump,” she tells Kris and Dani. Peg might be clearly blue and Kris obviously red, but Dani and Ryan, the future, are more purple, not caught up in identity politics as much as struggling to make it through every day.

Each of the characters has suffered a loss of some kind, and they each have reacted differently to the sadness in their lives. Gilman’s dialogue has a poetic flavor to it, no matter what side of the fence you might be on; none of the characters are purely black and white but filled with complexity.

Gilman’s longtime collaborator, Tony winner Robert Falls (The Iceman Cometh, Shining City), directs his Goodman Theatre production with a constant tension buzzing just below the surface, ready to explode at any moment, just like America. Fisher (Frank’s Home, Boy Gets Girl) is mesmerizing as Peg; you feel her anguish in her every move as she strives to save a damaged planet while caring little about her own existence. Fitzgerald (Clybourne Park, A Moon for the Misbegotten) is staunch as the blunt sheriff, a role that could have been a stereotypical villain but is more than that here. Thompson (Gilman’s Twilight Bowl, Boy Gets Girl, and Spinning into Butter) makes a strong off-Broadway debut as Dani, an ingénue who grows up fast. And Weiler is arresting as Ryan, an enraged and exasperated young man who doubts that he will be given a second chance.

Besides bats, another flying creature that figures prominently in Swing State is the Henslow’s Sparrow, which All About Birds describes as “an easy-to-overlook bird with an almost nonexistent song,” which is also true of too many people in today’s America, beautifully captured in this heart-tugging, deeply affecting play.

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

PROMETHEUS FIREBRINGER

Annie Dorsen pits herself against ChatGPT in Prometheus Firebringer (photo by Maria Baranova)

PROMETHEUS FIREBRINGER
Theatre for a New Audience, Polonsky Shakespeare Center
262 Ashland Pl. between Lafayette Ave. & Fulton St.
Through October 1, $50
866-811-4111
www.tfana.org

As the audience enters Theatre for a New Audience’s Polonsky Shakespeare Center for Annie Dorsen’s Prometheus Firebringer, text is being projected one letter at a time on a white screen above the stage. Below are five AI-generated mask faces on poles, while a more menacing mask hovers at the top of a wall at the center of the stage, perhaps suggesting the traditional comedy and tragedy masks that decorate so many prosceniums.

The text of the paragraph appears over and over again, each time with significant differences, but they all tell the same story, summarizing the plot of Aeschylus’s unfinished Prometheia trilogy, which began with Prometheus Bound and continued with Prometheus Unbound and Prometheus the Fire-bringer; only eleven fragments of Unbound exist, and only one line of the finale.

The recaps are being generated live by ChatGPT-3.5, scanning the internet and regurgitating the tale of Prometheus’s battle with Zeus in language that repositions key words, plot points, and themes, reminding us how many ways there are to say the same thing.

Writer-director Dorsen enters stage left and sits at a plain wooden desk with paper, a water bottle, and a microphone. When GPT-3.5 is done, she begins a unique kind of lecture. “I am going to try to talk to you about the individual in the contemporary age,” she says. “I suppose this piece is an essay, maybe, a think piece. It doesn’t really matter what it is, I call it an ‘essay’ because it is not anything more.”

A Greek chorus of masks shares the story of Prometheus in TFANA production (photo by Maria Baranova)

From this point on, the lecture-performance alternates between Dorsen’s “essay” and the masks performing parts of Aeschylus’s conclusion to the Prometheus trilogy, in which the five masks — a chorus of orphaned children — sing and the larger mask narrates the tale. The fight between Zeus and Prometheus over power and control mimics that between AI and human writers and philosophers.

As with GPT-3.5, nothing Dorsen is saying is original; every single word and phrase has come from sources she carefully researched. As she speaks, those sources are cited via projections on a screen behind her. The sources range from Bernard Stiegler’s Symbolic Misery Vol. I: The Hyperindustrial Epoch, Ted Berrigan’s On the Level Everyday: Selected Talks on Poetry and the Art of Living, The Twilight Zone, Jakob Norberg’s Tragedy of the Commonplace, Gregg Lambert’s The Elements of Foucault, and Simon Critchley’s Tragedy, the Greeks, and Us to Susan Sontag’s Regarding the Pain of Others, Mark Grabowski and Eric P. Robinson’s Cyber Law and Ethics: Regulation of the Connected, E. A. Havelock’s The Crucifixion of Intellectual Man, Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, Ted Chiang’s “ChatGPT Is a Blurry JPEG of the Web” in the New Yorker, and Noam Chomsky’s “The False Promise of ChatGPT” in the New York Times.

Whereas GPT-3.5 produces comprehensible strings of words by searching archives and databases for expected patterns, Dorsen works in the opposite direction; she knows what she wants to say and then finds the word strings through her research. She pulls both important phrases and more mundane thoughts and sentences from books and articles that don’t always have anything to do with her topic. For example, when she greets the audience, saying, “Hi. Thanks for coming,” she cites R. H. Wood’s Lightning Crashes. When she notes, “We are together in time,” her source is Christina Baldwin’s Our Turn Our Time: Women Truly Coming of Age. GPT-3.5 seems to act more randomly, while Dorsen is building a coherent argument.

Talking about language, Dorsen explains, “It is a shared resource, it belongs to us all, and words are never consumed, no matter how often we use them. I chose these words carefully. I chose these words carefully, because they resonate with my experiences. But what do I mean by experience? And whose??? Mine or theirs? In other words, who is speaking?”

Artificial intelligence investigates Aeschylus’s unfinished play in Prometheus Firebringer (photo by Maria Baranova)

Dorsen and the play-within-a-play explore tragedy, choices, coding, fate, recombining, and the past. The most effective section is when Dorsen describes how Irish artist Matt Loughrey used AI to colorize black-and-white photos of victims of the Khmer Rouge, but he also gave them all smiles. “If these photos are part of current AI models that’ll represent a total rewrite of history, in an absolutely frightening way,” Dorsen points out. “How can you change hell to happiness?”

Prometheus Firebringer concludes Dorsen’s algorithmic theater trilogy, which began with 2010’s Hello Hi There, followed by last year’s A Piece of Work. As clever as it is, there is also an overwhelming dryness to it. The interplay between the AI and Dorsen never, well, ignites. The excerpts “performed” by the masks, whose eyes are like video screens, are dull and lifeless; Dorsen’s lecture is much more fun and interesting, but there is not enough of it. The entire production, previously seen at the Chocolate Factory in Queens, is extremely slight at a mere forty-five minutes.

Earlier this month I saw Tjaša Ferme’s Bioadapted at CultureLab LIC, which was more successful in dramatizing a narrative involving AI and GPT-3. Of course, Dorsen (The Great Outdoors, Magical) is showing us that human activity is more viable and entertaining than that created by AI, but the proceedings lag too much. Prometheus needs to bring some fire.

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

JOHN CAGE’S JAPAN

John Cage’s unique relationship with Japan and Japanese culture will be celebrated in Japan Society series (photo by Yasuhiro Yoshioka / courtesy of Sogetsu Foundation)

JOHN CAGE’S JAPAN
Japan Society
333 East 47th St. at First Ave.
Thursday, September 28, and Friday, September 29, $28-$35, 7:30
Saturday, October 21, Thursday, November 16, Thursday, December 7, $32-$40
212-715-1258
www.japansociety.org

“If John Cage had not encountered Japanese culture, there would have been no John Cage!” Japan Society artistic director Yoko Shioya recently declared.

In 1989, experimental composer John Cage was awarded the Kyoto Prize in the category of Creative Arts and Moral Sciences; the citation, presented in Kyoto, Japan, noted that he was “a rebel against Western music. . . . His creative activities and philosophy of art have truly constituted a revolution in culture. . . . Mr. John Cage has stood in the vanguard of change in the postwar Western musical world, and has continually demonstrated his leadership among the most avant-garde group of composers.” Cage, who was born in Los Angeles in 1912, first visited Japan in 1962; he returned in 1964, 1976, and several times in the 1980s. Not only was Cage impacted by Japanese art and culture — he was particularly interested in Zen Buddhism — but he was a major influence on such Japanese composers as Tōru Takemitsu, Toshiro Mayuzumi, Yoko Ono, and Yuji Takahashi, in what was called “Jon Kēji shokku,” or John Cage Shock.

Japan Society pays tribute to the relationship between Cage and Japan in the series “John Cage’s Japan,” which kicks off September 28-29 with Paul Lazar’s Cage Shuffle. From 1958 to 1960, Cage wrote and recorded a series of sixty-second real-life anecdotes called Indeterminacy. At Japan Society, Lazar, the cofounder of Big Dance Theater, will perform pieces related to Japan and the East; using an iPhone — “a device that John Cage invented,” Lazar jokes in the above video — Lazar will have Cage’s recordings of the stories piped into his earbuds and will repeat them out loud, along with quotes from such Cage contemporaries as D. T. Suzuki, Isamu Noguchi, and Hidekazu Yoshida. Meanwhile, Lazar will be moving to choreography by BDT cofounder and Tony winner Annie-B Parson. The movement is fixed but the text is random, creating the kind of chance Cage was celebrated for. The September 29 show will be followed by an artist Q&A.

On October 21, “John Cage’s Ryoanji” features the composer’s 1983 work, inspired by the Zen rock garden at Kyoto’s Ryoanji Temple. Directed by Tomomi Adachi, it will be performed by International Contemporary Ensemble in New York City (with Michael Lormand on trombone, Lizzie Burns on double bass, and Clara Warnaar on percussion), joined virtually from a teahouse in Kanazawa City by Hitomi Nakamura on the ancient hichiriki woodwind and Maki Ota on vocals. The multimedia concert, with 3D projections by Dr. Tsutomu Fujinami, will be preceded by a lecture from Cage scholar James Pritchett at 7:30.

Adachi’s “Noh-opera / Noh-tation: Decoding John Cage’s Unrealized Project” takes place on November 16 at 7:30, for which Adachi used AI to compose music and lyrics based on Buddhist koans for Cage’s unrealized Noh-opera: Or the Complete Musical Works of Marcel Duchamp. The work will be performed by vocalist Gelsey Bell, noh actor Wakako Matsuda, and Adachi with ICE’s Alice Teyssier on flute, James Austin Smith on oboe, Campbell MacDonald on clarinet, Rebekah Heller on bassoon, and Lormand on trombone and will be followed by an artist Q&A.

The series concludes on December 7 with “Cage Shock: Homage to His First Japan Visit,” consisting of a lecture by Dr. Pritchett, live performances of 1951’s Haiku, 1958’s Aria and Solo for Piano with Fontana Mix, and 1962’s 0’00” by Cage, Toshi Ichiyanagi’s 1962 Sapporo, which Cage conducted, and soundscapes by Tania Caroline Chen and Victoria Shen, with ICE’s Kyle Armburst on viola, Wendy Richman on viola, and Katinka Kleijn and Michael Nicolason on cello.

“I must express my deep and sincere gratitude to John Cage,” Takemitsu wrote. “The reason for this is that in my own life, in my own development, for a long period I struggled to avoid being ‘Japanese,’ to avoid ‘Japanese’ qualities. It was largely through my contact with John Cage that I came to recognize the value of my own tradition.” At Japan Society this fall, we can all express our deep and sincere gratitude to John Cage.

THEATER OF WAR: FDR FOUR FREEDOMS PARK

Who: Ato Blankson-Wood, Jesse Eisenberg, Amy Ryan, Bill Camp, Marjolaine Goldsmith, Eduardo Jany, Latoya Lucas, Craig Manbauman, Bryan Doerries
What: Live dramatic reading and discussion from Theater of War Productions
Where: FDR Four Freedoms Park, Roosevelt Island
When: Wednesday, September 27, free with RSVP, 5:00
Why: On January 6, 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt said, in his annual speech to Congress, “In the future days, which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms. The first is freedom of speech and expression — everywhere in the world. The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way — everywhere in the world. The third is freedom from want . . . everywhere in the world. The fourth is freedom from fear . . . anywhere in the world. That is no vision of a distant millennium. It is a definite basis for a kind of world attainable in our own time and generation.”

That quote is embedded in s block of marble in FDR Four Freedoms Park on Roosevelt Island. On September 27 at 5:00, Theater of War will present its latest production, performing scenes from Sophocles’s Ajax, a fifth-century BCE Greek tragedy about the warrior who played a key role in Homer’s Iliad and the Trojan War. The event is free; audiences can watch the show in the park or virtually as a Zoom webinar. The impressive cast features actors Ato Blankson-Wood, Jesse Eisenberg, Amy Ryan, and Bill Camp, company manager Marjolaine Goldsmith, and retired military veterans Eduardo Jany, Latoya Lucas, and Craig Manbauman, with Theater of War artistic director and translator Bryan Doerries serving as facilitator of a panel discussion and open dialogue exploring the physical and psychological wounds of war on individuals, families, and the community.

“I pity him in his misery for all that he is my foe, because he is bound fast to a dread doom,” Ajax says in the play. “I think of my own lot no less than his. For I see that we are phantoms, all we who live, or fleeting shadows.”

THE CREEPS

Catherine Waller plays multiple roles in creepy one-person off-Broadway show (photo by Andrew Patino)

THE CREEPS
Playhouse 46 at St. Luke’s
308 West Forty-Sixth St. between Eighth & Ninth Aves.
Thursday – Monday through November 5, $49-$79
thecreepsoffbroadway.com
playhouse46.org

It you’re going to name a show The Creeps, you better make sure it’s plenty creepy. Catherine Waller’s one-woman show, The Creeps, is indeed plenty creepy. It’s also intimate, funny, and welcoming.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Waller asks as Lizardman, one of four characters she portrays over eighty minutes. And Lizardman is not going to proceed until he gets an answer, eventually engaging in brief chats with several willing audience members.

Serving as a kind of host to the eerie proceedings, Lizardman moves awkwardly across the floor, more insect than amphibian. “We’re like a family in here, you understand me? We’re all connected,” he says. “Here for an experience, and we will not disappoint. But you gotta pay attention. . . . Pay attention. Coz the devil’s in the details.” Lizardman promises a good time while laying out the rules, which advises no photos after the introduction and encourages the audience, seated on all four sides of a fog-laden black space in the center, to talk — not so much amongst themselves but to the characters.

Waller, wearing a tight black bodysuit throughout, alternates as Lizardman; Bill, a hardworking blind man shoveling coal in this dark dungeon; Harley the Harlett, a pregnant prostitute and addict looking for her next fix; and Stumpy, a young girl who has had her hands and feet cut off.

Bill, in a black knit hat and squatting on the floor, engages with the audience in his working-man Cockney accent, interested in who they are and what they do. He discusses the love between a parent and a child and wonders whether life is random or preconceived. He might be resigned to his fate, but he also marvels at life’s possibilities.

Harley leans against a lamppost, whispering to her belly that everything’s going to be all right when clearly it isn’t.

The Creeps supplies plenty of creeps at Playhouse 46 (photo by Andrew Patino)

And Stumpy, as the comic relief, shares jokes amid the sound of crying babies. In fact, she insists that the audience tell jokes; the night I went, they came fast and furious, each more tasteless than the last but delighting Stumpy.

Hovering above it all is the Doctor, an unseen villain who appears to revel in dispensing pain.

The set is spare, but Scott Monnin’s lighting and Hidenori Nakajo’s sound are extraordinary, immersing the audience in the mysterious proceedings, from Monnin’s shifting colored spots to Nakajo’s haunting soundscape. Waller might rely a bit too much on the audience; at the show I was at, some people were getting overly involved, trying to impress their friends and Waller by asking questions that were better left for the talented performer to answer as part of the narrative; it occasionally felt like asking Orson Welles in the middle of Citizen Kane what Rosebud means.

Written and created by Waller (Hounds, The Luring), The Creeps is a beguiling exploration of the dark side, which is too often dangerously near the marginalized and the forgotten. Lizardman, Bill, and Harlett all talk about “good times,” but the meaning is different for each character. Bill, Harlett, and Stumpy might be in horrific situations, but they persevere, even if the Doctor, representing an uncaring social system, is not about to help them in any traditional or necessary way.

Another concept that comes up often is “fun” and its cost. Lizardman offers, “You can’t have too much fun for free, you know?” Harley begs, “Just for a small fee, I can show you all a real good time. Would you like some fun?” And Bill explains, “How’d you get down here, eh? Not many people come down here. Not many people find this place. The fun’s upstairs! I hear it.”

In this case, though, the fun’s downstairs.

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

DOPPELGANGER

Park Ave. Armory’s Wade Thompson Drill Hall is transformed into a WWI military hospital in Doppelganger (photo by Monika Rittershaus / courtesy of Park Avenue Armory)

DOPPELGANGER
Park Avenue Armory, Wade Thompson Drill Hall
643 Park Ave. at 67th St.
September 22-28, $54-$259
212-933-5812
www.armoryonpark.org

Park Avenue Armory once again confirms that its Wade Thompson Drill Hall is the most sensational performance space in New York City with the world premiere of Claus Guth’s bold and breathtaking Doppelganger.

In 1828, ailing Austrian composer Franz Schubert wrote “13 Lieder nach Gedichten von Rellstab und Heine,” a baker’s dozen of songs set to text by German poet, pianist, and music critic Ludwig Rellstab (originally written for Beethoven) and German poet and literary critic Heinrich Heine. Schubert died of syphilis in November of that year at the age of thirty-one; the works were published in 1829 as a fourteen-song cycle, Schwanengesang (“Swan Song”), with the addition of a song with lyrics by Austrian archaeologist and poet Johann Gabriel Seidl.

Innovative German director Guth has adapted Schwanengesang into a riveting tale of love, war, and death, set inside a military field hospital; the armory itself was built for the Seventh Regiment during the Civil War, adding a layer of reality. Michael Levine’s stunning set consists of nine rows of seven white-sheeted beds, in austere alignment, with Helmut Deutsch’s piano at the center (where one of the beds would have been, but the pianist is in no need of any kind of assistance). At the front and back are six chairs and mobile IV units for nurses. The audience sits in rising rafters on either side of the beds.

When the doors open about fifteen minutes prior to the official start time, nearly two dozen of the beds are already occupied by barefoot men in WWI-era brown pants and jacket, white shirt, and suspenders (the costumes are by Constance Hoffman); they shift in restless sleep as the nurses proceed in unison through the rows of beds and Deutsch waits patiently at his grand piano.

A seriously injured soldier faces heartbreak in Doppelganger (photo by Monika Rittershaus / courtesy of Park Avenue Armory)

Schubert did not intend for the fourteen songs to form a continuous, complete narrative, but Guth transforms it into a seamless, deeply compelling, and powerful story. The doors close and the show begins, soon focusing on an unnamed solitary individual (German-Austrian tenor Jonas Kaufmann). “In deep repose my comrades in arms / lie in a circle around me; / my heart is so anxious and heavy, / so ardent with longing,” he sings in Rellstab’s “Warrior’s foreboding,” continuing, “How often I have dreamt sweetly / upon her warm breast! / How cheerful the fireside glow seemed / when she lay in my arms.”

Rellstab’s words are beautiful and romantic as the man makes numerous references to nature while contemplating his bleak future. “Murmuring brook, so silver and bright, / do you hasten, so lively and swift, to my beloved?” he asks in “Love’s message.” In “Far away,” he speaks of “Whispering breezes, / gently ruffled waves, darting sunbeams, lingering nowhere.” Other stanzas refer to “snowy blossoms,” “slender treetops,” a “roaring forest,” “gardens so green.”

Heine’s lyrics cast the man as a lonely soul desperate for connection. “I, unhappy Atlas, must bear a world, / the whole world of sorrows. / I bear the unbearable, and my heart / would break within my body,” he proclaims. Tears figure prominently, appearing in four songs. “My tears, too, flowed / down my cheeks. / And oh – I cannot believe / that I have lost you!” he declares in “Her portrait.”

Kaufmann is in terrific voice; he wanders around the set seeking solace, looking for a reason to fight for a life that is draining from his body. He stops at a bedpost, lays out on the floor, and stands under falling rose petals. He makes sure to visit each part of the audience, sometimes coming within only a few feet. The other soldiers and the nurses weave in and out of the columns, sitting on beds or gathering together. (The movement is expertly choreographed by Sommer Ulrickson.)

Helmut Deutsch calmly plays at a center piano while action swirls around him (photo by Monika Rittershaus / courtesy of Park Avenue Armory)

Urs Schönebaum’s brilliant lighting is like a character unto itself; each bed has its own white spotlight, and occasionally a stand of lights bursts from one end, casting long shadows amid the nearly blinding brightness. The projections by rocafilm include bare trees and an abstract static on the floor, as if we’re inside the man’s disintegrating mind. Mathis Nitschke’s compositions feature sudden blasts of the noises of war, providing theatrical accompaniment to Deutsch’s gorgeous playing, all balanced by Mark Grey’s tantalizing sound design, which links songs that were not meant to mellifluously follow one after another to do exactly that, flowing like the brooks so often referenced in the lyrics.

Guth, who played Schubert’s Winterreise as a student and previously collaborated with Kaufmann on the composer’s Fierrabras, takes advantage of nearly everything the armory has to offer; it’s hard to imagine the ninety-minute Doppelganger being quite as successful anywhere else. Surtitles are projected in English and German above the seating. The cavernous fifty-five-thousand-square-foot hall has rarely felt so intimate despite its impressive length and vast, high ceiling. And the finale holds a powerful surprise that also explains the title of the work, and not just because the name of the song is “Der Doppelgänger.”

Incorporating dance, theater, music recital, art installation, and poetry, Doppelganger is a triumphant, site-specific marvel that is not just for classical music fans. It’s a timeless emotional treatise on the evils of war and the heartbreak of lost love as a man reflects on his life while staring death straight in the face.

It’s a harrowing and thoroughly astounding journey. Although it grew out of the European wars of the nineteenth century, it remains painfully relevant even as a twenty-first-century war rages on the borders of Eastern Europe today.

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