In Austin theatre, women are never far from center stage. The pool of
talented
female artists in our town is so incredibly rich that producers,
directors, and
playwrights of both genders are perpetually cooking up projects to
showcase
them. The past year is perfect proof, with its bounty of shows
featuring
all-female ensembles (Torque, The Cow Pattys, Alabama
Rain, Beehive, and lovve/rituals and rage), women
flying solo
(Anne Sexton: The Excitable Gift, Black Velvet
Bernhardt), and
women in the major roles (Becoming Bront�, Keely and
Du,
Ellen Foster, The Triumph of Love, Sabbath Days in a
Hot
Pick-Up, Blinded by the Lights, and Goodnight Desdemona
(Good
Morning Juliet), et al.). From this and from the nominations
for
this year’s Austin Theatre Critics’ Table Awards nominations (elsewhere
on this
page), you can see why it’s easy for folks to get giddy over this
city’s female
performers, directors, designers, playwrights, and other theatre
artists. Right now is a splendid time to relish some of those outstanding
talents. Both
Blinded by the Lights and Goodnight Desdemona… are
still
running, and Sabbath Days…, which closed its world premiere
run at
ArtSpace two weeks ago, is being revived at Chicago House for three
more weeks.
And there are two other shows with a female focus at the Zachary Scott
Theatre
Center and Frontera/Hyde Park Theatre, both, coincidentally, with
“girl” in
their title: the musical Dreamgirls by Tom Eyens and Henry
Krieger, and
the smoky mystery Girl Gone by Jacquelyn Reingold.
The moods and styles of these last two works are very different, as
the
reviews below by Barry Pineo and myself attest, but they do share more
than a
word in their title: Both deal in the world of performance, in
obsessive
pursuits and loss of identity, and, of course, with the unique prices
women pay
for the dreams they pursue in our society. See both and what you may
find is
that they are surprisingly complementary to each other. What you will
assuredly
find is that the breadth of female talent on Austin’s stages is
breathtaking.
– Robert Faires
When we first meet Tish, she’s carefully walking along an imaginary
sidewalk,
doing the best she can to avoid stepping on the cracks. She does this
because
she knows that a stepped-on crack can turn into a hole, the hole can
swallow
you, and you will be gone. Like her best friend Jean is gone. In
flashbacks, we
learn that Tish met Jean when she got a job as a topless dancer. Tish
needed a
teacher, and Jean was everything Tish was not: confident, assertive, in
control. Then, suddenly, Jean was murdered, her body cut into pieces.
She’s
gone, but Tish can’t let her go. Tish wants Jean back – however she can
get
her.
Director Vicky Boone and her collaborators do surprising, inspired
things in
Girl Gone, this latest Frontera/Hyde Park produc-tion. Images of
sexuality and violence dominate. Set designer Christopher McCollum
creates a
nightmare world cut through by a thin, black thrust stage stained with
blood-like smears of white paint. He also dissects the dark space with
red
clothesline, from which hang female body parts scissored from
newsprint,
dangling on hangers, and wrapped in plastic. Tiny shards of mirror are
suspended from the ceiling, slowly rotating, catching and reflecting
Robert
Whyburn’s lights: flickering fluorescents to banks of colored
downlights to
tiny spots that pick actors out of the blackness. Esther Marquis
reveals the
dancers with lingerie, colorful synthetics, fishnet, and high heels –
with one
exception: Instead of dancing topless, the women wear breastplates,
accent on
“breast.” The men are more conventionally attired – the only thing
conventional
about the production, including Andrea Ariel’s slash-and-burn
choreography and
Jason Phelps’ brooding, booming, aggressive, and frightening sound
design that
sets the mood and bridges the gap.
Boone’s actors are strong as a group. Virginia Jenkins’ Tish makes
a very
believable transition from callow fragility to experienced
manipulation.
Patricia Wappner’s Jean is friendly in a narcissistic way, teaching
while
seducing. The other dancers succeed as well: Maggie Bridges’ hardened
professional, Aimee McCormick’s living pelvic thrust, and Amy Lee
Pearsall’s
Mame dreamer are coolly realized characters that sometimes provide
comic
relief. Though in less flamboyant roles, the men do equally well: Ron
Reeder as
Tish’s geeky boyfriend, Michael David as the best gigolo around, and
Chamblee
Furguson as a sax player who seems far too charming to shed blood.
So much of this production succeeds that I was surprised when it lost
my
interest. Perhaps it was the night I saw it, or perhaps it was a choice
that
Boone and her actors made, but during the final scene of the play, the
strong
tempo and timing apparent for the majority of the production
disappeared.
Shocking things were revealed, but the revelations came at such an
excruciatingly slow pace and seemed so awkwardly realized that all
tension
dissipated. This scene should have been the climax of the play, and
playwright
Jacquelyn Reingold has written what should be two surprising reversals
into it,
but when they came, they seemed obvious and not worth waiting for. The
production certainly is a treat for the senses, but the story peters
out. –
Barry Pineo
When we first see them backstage at Harlem’s Apollo Theatre,
preparing to
take part in an amateur talent show, Effie, Deena, and Lorrell are
fresh from
Chicago and fresh-faced, and their dream of hitting it big as an
R&B trio –
the Dreamettes – seems as pure and sweet as their harmonies. But as we
follow
them on the hard road to fame, through torturous tours and personal
sacrifices,
betrayals and suspicions of betrayals, and dark divisions that rise up
among
even close friends and family members, we see how hard it can be when
dreams
come true.
Tom Eyens’ book for the musical Dreamgirls takes for his
template the
saga of the Supremes: A black girl group rises from obscurity to pop
celebrity
in the Sixties; the lead singer is singled out for superstardom, which
breeds
resentment among the onetime friends and eventually leads to the group
disbanding. It is our age’s archetypal show-business tragedy, one we’ve
seen
played out again and again, most recently with Kurt Cobain, but it has
yet to
lose its mythic resonance for us.
Eyens strains to cram the whole story in here – he has to deal with
several
protagonists and events spread over a dozen years – and the result is a
series
of short scenes, almost all set either onstage or backstage at some
theatre,
that begin to look alike after awhile, like the stops on a long bus
trip. And
in the way he and composer Henry Krieger have crafted their musical,
the story
reaches its most powerful moment at the end of the first act, with a
fiery
statement of independence that nothing which follows can top.
Still, their show boasts considerable appeal. The songs handily evoke
the
sound of Sixties R&B and pop, and while you won’t mistake any of
Krieger
and Eyens’ numbers for Motown hits, you’ll likely hear in them a
pleasant echo
of those soul standards. And Dreamgirls does tap some of the
power of
the show biz tragedy on which it is based.
It’s that power that director Dave Steakley delivers nimbly and with
much
style in the Zachary Scott Theatre Center production. His sensitivity
to the
feel and look of popular music and considerable command of the pop
vocabulary –
demonstrated with flair in Beehive, Rockin’ Christmas
Party, and
Forever Plaid – create a credible atmosphere for this “period
piece”
(aided, of course, by elegant, inventive design work from Michael
Raiford and
vivid lighting by Don Day). And into this Sixties world, Steakley sets
performers with the energy and verve to send the theatre’s walls tumblin’
down. His leads are all dynamos. Ameerah Tatum has a sound as round and
rich as
fresh cream, in which she steeps deep feeling finely nuanced. Judy
Arnold has
that narrow tone as focused as a laser and as adept as cutting through
steel.
Jacqui Cross has a sound as wide as the wind and as strong, but she can
end a
phrase like the crack of a whip. Together, their sound can melt your
ears.
Supporting them is a fine ensemble, one that includes Janis Stinson
and Billy
Harden contributing sharp work and Clinton Sam, whose James Thunder
Early is a
screamin’, sweatin’, gruntin’, grinnin’, knee-jigglin’, hip-shakin’
approximation of James Brown.
But the Dreamgirls command the spotlight. Their sound as a team is
seamless –
more tribute to the wizardry of musical director Allen Robertson – and
they
seem a real unit. And that makes their break up all the more
heart-rending. We
feel a real bond being sundered. Indeed, watching the Dreams argue
bitterly, I
felt the same churning in my gut that I did when the Supremes split.
When Cross
hurls herself into the anthem “And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going,” her
raw fury
draws tears.
Steakley does much with little. He uses Raiford’s spare set pieces
minimally
and effectively, letting the performers take the focus, dress the
stage, tell
the story. It’s a winning fusion of his entertaining choreographic
style and
narrative direction, and it gives us a Dreamgirls that is in
many ways a
dazzling dream. – Robert Faires
Girl Gone runs through May 15 at Frontera/Hyde Park Theatre.
Dreamgirls
runs through May 21 at the Zachary Scott Theatre Center.
This article appears in May 12 • 1995 and May 12 • 1995 (Cover).