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Review of NYC Ballet Fall Gala http://www.eyeondance.org/arts/archives.cfm?id_journal_item=86A32CE2-0B32-3E74-C82408C308FD201E&category=5FA605C9-5555-46DF-992EB5F4AEACF582

The “Shaded Line” by Lauren Lovette with Georgina Pazcoguin and company. Photo by Erin Baiano.

Lights flashed, and people posed while sipping Ruinart bubbly on the night of the NYC Ballet Fall Fashion Gala. the evening included two new works by the next generation of ballet choreographers, Lauren Lovette and Edwaard Liang,(to continue: http://www.eyeondance.org/arts/archives.cfm?id_journal_item=86A32CE2-0B32-3E74-C82408C308FD201E&category=5FA605C9-5555-46DF-992EB5F4AEACF582).

Photo by Patrick Randak.

AYODELE CASEL AND ARTURO O’FARRILL MAKE SOME NOISE/REVIEW

Many artists, particularly of the solo variety, project, to varying degrees of subtlety, the will to stand out. Ayodele Casel very tangibly doesn’t. Instead, she educates us of the rich lineage of female tappers of color, at which she is currently the forefront. This generosity is not the sort with which one embarks on a career, however; it comes from an active, humbling realization along the way that one is never alone.

Catherine Gallant in “Isadora Duncan” by Jerome Bel/Crossing the Line Festival

Dressed in a black film top and pants, Catherine Gallant greets the audience...for the next 90 minutes, Gallant delivers a compelling master class in the life and dances of Duncan...to continue: http://www.eyeondance.org/arts/archives.cfm?id_journal_item=4B67522B-F1FD-2218-EA4889F4E06D28A7&category=5FA605C9-5555-46DF-992EB5F4AEACF582

Ayodele Casel at the Joyce Theater

REVIEW: UNCLE VANYA By Celia Ipiotis

Who needs another Uncle Vanya? Aren’t’ we done with this drama about a rundown estate in Russia and the depressed inhabitants? Evidently, it still thrills theater professionals and as a testament to its endurance, this year’s production of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya expertly directed by Richard Nelson, converted many more fans.

Seats on risers slide up either side of the rectangular performance area inviting audience members to walk around long wooden tables and chairs to their seats. The casual nature of the set by Jason Ardizzone-West is reflected in the overall direction of the play and for once, the compressed script translated by Nelson, Richard Pevear, and Larissa Volokhonsky flows through time without losing anything in translation.

Settled on an aging estate in the Russian countryside, the hard working family members are disrupted when sophisticated, urban relatives descend on the premises. Mundane lives are suddenly pitched into emotional extremes.

Uncle Vanya (a sensational Jay O. Sanders,) a bit of a romantic, devotes his time assisting his niece Sonya (Yvonne Woods) in the management of the family estate. Despite her outward shyness and melancholia, Sonya secretly dreams of marrying Dr. Astrov (Jesse Pennington) – a socially conscientious doctor who drinks and thinks too much. Money earned from the estate, under Vanya's and Sonya' supervision, supports the father’s and stepmother’s comparatively lavish lifestyle in the city.

When Sonya’s father the professor (John DeVries) and his elegant wife, Elena (Celeste Arias) visit for a few weeks, the household’s routine is upended. At first, the houseguests are a wonderful divergence, but their demands become suffocating. In the midst of this family conflict, love interests entangle Sonya, Elena, Vanya and the doctor—a socially conscientious man who drinks and thinks too much. Their anguished feelings soar, but never mate.

In addition to the chaotic flirtations, the elderly and unappealingly cranky professor announces his intention to sell the estate. Little thought is given to anyone other than himself. This unleashes volatile reactions that nearly destroy the family.

Evidently, Nelson takes advice from a letter to Chekhov's wife on the "theory of acting" saying, “Suffering should be expressed as in life itself.” That’s precisely the beauty of this ode to Uncle Vanya. From the organization of the stage space, to the naturalness of the actors, the audience becomes a part of the extended family. Handily aided by a strong cast, Nelson succeeds in convincing us that we are eavesdropping on a very common family of uncommon dimensions.

EYE ON THE ARTS, NY . -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: HILLARY AND BILL

Travel back to the first time Hillary Clinton vied for the presidency. After months of exhaustively campaigning, hopes fly high in New Hampshire but the coffers are drained. What to do? Oh -- sure, call Bill.

The new Broadway play Hillary and Clinton by Lucas Hnath clamps onto a very specific night when questions about “unlikeability” hover over Hillary’s unrelenting quest for the presidency. Her harried campaign manager, Mark (Zak Orth), serves as cheerleader, truth teller and man with a Dunkin' Donuts box perpetually attached to his hands.

Unable to stomach Zak’s pronouncement that the coffers are bare, Hillary (Laurie Metcalf) goes against all reason and invites Bill (who has been banned from the trail) to visit. She wants his advice, she wants his support, but mostly, she wants his foundation’s money.

Set in a sterile white room, dotted by a small frig, chair and door leading to a bedroom, set designer Chloe Lamford perfectly replicates all the anonymous motels and hotels tolerated by president-hungry candidates. Skillfully directed by Joe Mantello, Metcalf nails the plain spoken, intellectually vexed woman who’s generally smarter than everyone else but somehow, never fully appreciated. A haggard looking John Lithgow arrives still pouting about his ostracization, yet eager to get back in the game.

The dialogue between Bill and Hillary convincingly slips in and out of tricky issues that tread over the pros and cons of staying married or the dangers of accepting money from a politically tainted foundation.

When the two dissect the reasons for staying together, I was reminded of an interview on radio with Hillary Clinton about two years after President Clinton's impeachment. The interviewer posed this question: “Why don’t you divorce Bill. It would be so much easier on you?” Hillary quipped, “Because there’s no one I’d rather talk to.”

Both are political animals driven by ambition and powerful intellects yet, Bill knows how to speak to the voters’ emotions, while Hillary speaks to their reason. EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: TRUE WEST By Celia Ipiotis

When the diminutive, elderly mother (a splendidly deadpan Marylouise Burke) walks into the disaster area once known as her kitchen, she puts down her two red suitcases and greets her sons before even asking about the destruction.

That’s pretty much the logic that follows--or not – in much True West, Sam Shepard’s play on a brotherly tug-of war. At once depressing and manic, Ethan Hawke (Lee) and Paul Dano (Austin) dance their Argentinean tango of childhood jealousies and adult animosities hooking legs and chest slams.

Quietly typing at the kitchen table, next to a burning candle, Austin’s serenity is sorely challenged by his vagabond brother. Draped over the kitchen counter, with a pack of beers strung around his finger, Lee leers at his brother and demands the car keys. Clearly a person who lives on the fringes of acceptable society, Lee developed his wits and trades in minor thefts while Austin snared an Ivy League education. The good boy, bad boy syndrome takes a radical turn when a producer arrives to discuss a screen project with Austin only to reverse course and agree to produce Ethan’s clichéd cowboy film concept.

By the second act, both are in a state of agitation. Intent on proving he can buddy up with Lee and roam the desert, Austin accepts Lee’s challenge to steal toasters from all the neighborhood homes. This leads to some of the funniest scenes I’ve ever seen in a True West production. From the moment everyone witnesses a half dozen toasters parked throughout the kitchen—the ludicrousness escalates.

While Lee attempts to type his script with one finger, Austin ricochets from one toaster to another as bread pops up in time for him to catch, butter and pile it on a stack of toast resembling the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Volcanic explosions knock the two brothers throughout the house, crashing over every piece of furniture until their childish rivalry rolls right in front of ---their clueless mother.

Roundabout Theater’s production of True West excels on the strength of its casting and radiant direction by James Macdonald. EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: AMERICAN SON By Celia Ipiotis

Nothing panics parents more than the absence of a teenage son or daughter after a night on the town. Too many bad things happen between the hours of midnight and 4 am, and considering today’s instantaneous communications options, a child’s silence is devastating.<p>

That’s exactly what happens in the Broadway drama <i>An American Son</i> realistically penned by Christopher Demos-Brown and shaken alive by director Kenny Leon. When Kendra Ellis-Connor’s (Kerry Washington) son, Jamal, fails to return home, she personally reports it to the authorities in the steely lit Florida police station, then whips uncontrollably around an erupting core of anger and helplessness.

Unremittingly pinging away at her phone, Kendra gets no response from her son, his friends or mothers-of-friends. All lines of communication are stilled. Expertly compounding her frustration, the officious young police officer refuses to give-up information. Unable to restrain herself, Kendra rages around him, begging, pleading for information; while he stalls, her gut tells her that it’s “definitely not alright.”

Around this nightmare swirls a heady domestic, social and political drama. Born of a black mother who is a professor of psychology and white FBI father, the biracial Jamal (a name the father found “too black”) attends a private school. Smart as a whip, he’s got growing pains and argues with Kendra before leaving home—in part because of an incendiary bumper sticker on his car.

When the assertive, imposing father, Scott (Steven Pasquale) arrives, answers materialize. Coincidence? Perhaps the officer is impressed by Scott’s FBI badge—or his white maleness. After all, they both nod in agreement when officer Jordan whispers this despicable comment: “she goes from ghetto to nothing in zero flat.”

Soon the anger flips from the officer to the couple. She’s rightly horrified by the camaraderie between the two men. Then they begin to download their own unresolved affairs. Clearly, a sexual energy lingers between the two, but their marriage did not survive. A blame game unravels, spotlighting the domestic land mines. There’s the son who misses his father while simultaneously wanting to claim his black identity. The dynamic between Scott and Kendra is dead on. In fact, the ensemble cast delivers a potently jarring portrait of life in America.

Demos-Brown invests this nonstop, contemporary drama with an unrelenting barrage of accusations and questions. Stirred to a neat chill by Leon, the show does not resolve the conflicts, merely airs them for public contemplation. EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: CONFLICT by Celia Ipiotis

Among other things, the Mint Theater Company's wonderful production of Miles Malleson’s 1925 drama Conflict peers at women's roles in Britain after World War I, during the roaring 20’s and an economically divided country.

When “Conflict” opens, the youthful Major Sir Ronald Clive (Henry Clarke) and delightful Lady Dare Bellington (Jessie Shelton) are exchanging off-handed banter about their breezy nights swilling champagne at posh dinners and night clubs. They are sliding through life on a gilded sleigh of privilege but despite their long-term intimacy and perfect suitability, Lady Bellington still can’t commit to marriage. She’s bored -- she’s unsettled -- she wonders if she might not find something more.

After Lady Bellington retires to the bedroom, Clive and Lord Bellington (the perfectly cast Graeme Malcolm) discuss Clive’s campaign strategy for the Tory post in the upcoming elections only to be interrupted by a vagabond. Dirty and disheveled, the homeless man Tom Smith (Jeremy Beck) begs for money. Ready to call the police, Smith tells Clive they were fellow classmates at Cambridge. Smith’s family lost all their money and his musical background failed to leverage him a job. (Is this a slap at Music Majors?) Eager to be rid of this distasteful contact with reality, Lord Bellington gives Smith money and sends him away—that act throws the play into the “agitation cycle.”

Smith puts his rescue funds to good use and runs against Clive as the Labor candidate, which brings him in contact with Lady Bellington. She engages him in a conversation only to be forcefully told that she’s part of the 1% economically elite and egregiously out of touch with the rest of the struggling and starving British population.

This prompts Lady Bellington to attend his fiery rally and subsequently, visit his one room apartment. Suddenly, her mind is stimulated, and that in turn snaps her heart into a new arena of passion. Happily, Lady Bellington and Smith spark, making their attraction ring true despite their unequal social status.

Excellently cast and smoothly directed by Jenn Thompson, all the actors assume their characters with verbal and physical ease. In particular, Ms. Shelton transitions from the upbeat, glib, society girl to a woman of conscience without dropping any of her privileged demeanor. It’s an awakening to a new age—one that will demand more of women and fracture with the sound of more voices.

Regal in his bearing, Lord Bellington booms privilege and the young Major exudes the conflicted desire to be a fair and a good member of society while simultaneously preserving the status quo. On the other-hand, Lady Bellington's friend, the reconstructed Honorable Mrs. Tremayne (a wittily wise Jasmin Walker) represents the more independent woman. A widow of means, Mrs. Tremayne takes advantage of her freedom and pooh-poohs male validation.

Set designer John McDermott’s baronial front doors and plentiful wood paneling as well as Chris Field’s posh furniture and dishware add considerably to the colorful picture of society at the turn of a new world order. Despite the predictability of many scenes, Conflict packages its lessons in a glittering box of eloquent dialogue and candid insights. EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: CHOIR BOY by Celia Ipiotis

Respectability is paramount at this school, so any suggestions of impropriety results in expulsion. There's very little wriggle room. Although there is no hard evidence, the angel-voiced Pharus inspires whispers of homosexual proclivities. Refusing to confirm or deny his sexual leanings, Pharus spars with Headmaster Marrow (Chuck Cooper) about his behavior and determination to lead the choir.

Choreographer Camille A. Brown employs step dancing, that percussive form of dance that piles rhythmic structures one on top of the other to drive the emotional undercurrents. The complex layers mirror the psychological mine-field experienced by teenage boys.

This team of men forge a powerful unit of youthful questioning. When the group begins to unravel, an old civil rights activist and friend of Headmaster Marrow comes in as mediator. Ostensibly, the respected Mr. Pendleton (Austin Pendleton) is popped into the script to teach “creative thinking” – but it feels like he's there to represent America's liberal white, racial conscience.

Midway through the human chess match a discussion ensues about the role of spirituals in the black community. Are coded messages woven throughout the spirituals; do they warn about cruel slave owners, daily inequities, escape routes or other guideposts? Regardless, the spirituals fulfill in a way that other songs do not. Through the spirituals and dance, blood memories surface.

One of Ms. Brown’s inherent talents is allowing actors to find a way to make the movement ooze out of their skin and become an organic extension of their personalities. Step dancing snakes throughout the piece -- feet pound out catchy beats syncopated against the voice. Even when sections of the choreography align the actors in synchronized steps, each person moves in his own distinct way. These vulnerable young mens' narratives are writ large through personalized movements that tap into the collective unconscious of the African diaspora.

Intersecting storylines punch through the fragility of young men desperate to conform yet yearning to find an individual path. There’s much to ponder in this scrum for acknowledgement and echoes Pete Townshend’s lament “see me, feel me, touch me, heal me.” EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: KISS ME KATE by Celia Ipiotis

A single ghost light announces the beginning of a rough-and-tumble comedy that pits immovable wills against implacable egos in the marvelous Broadway revival of “Kiss Me Kate.”

Cole Porter’s play within a play, based on Shakespeare’s “Taming of the Shrew” debuted in 1948 and featured choreography by one of America’s modern dance pioneers, Hanya Holm. Because the musical thrives on a physicality that borders on a “West Side Story” rumble, the choreographer, Warren Carlyle is of central importance.

Embittered by a short-lived marriage, two musical theater actors – Fred Graham (a delightful Will Chase) and Lilli Vanessi (the sublime Kelli O’Hara) – star in Graham’s Broadway-bound musical. But trouble brews when Graham’s wandering eye and hands rout Vanessi’s amorous memories. Intent on seducing Graham, the hip-swinging, chest-thrusting ingénue Lois Lane (I saw the understudy Christine Cornish Smith) kicks the sand that ultimately produces the pearl between Graham and Vanessi.

High points primarily surround Ms. O’Hara’s crystal clear, soprano voice. There’s a halo of perfection that settles over every single note and syllable projected by Ms. O’Hara from the romantically lush ”Wunderbar” to the gutsy “I Hate Men” and heart-wrenching “So In Love.”

Besides the consistently hummable score, director Scott Ellis and Carlyle animate every scene with uninterrupted movement sequences that enlarge the characters. Dance fills much of the action, fusing ballet beats and leg extensions to Fosse-style hunches over tight prances, tap extravaganzas and acrobatics seamlessly integrated into the choreographic language. Most Importantly, the choreography does not rely on “tricks” for applause; it trades in Inventive recreations of traditional chorus line kicks, tap routines and intimate duets.

In the production’s now-famous number “It’s Too Darn Hot” (made famous in the 1953 film version by Bob Fosse) the racially mixed cast members mingle outside in the alley designed by David Rockwell. Action heats up when the multi-talented Corbin Bleu starts to click his heels against a wood crate. That blows up into a dynamic tap dance with James T. Lane -- reminiscent of the Nicholas Brothers’ renowned splits and sophisticated footwork. Impressively, percussive taps build on each other until they split apart into multiple syncopated rhythms.

Meanwhile, back in Padua, the viciously temperamental Kate is eligible and rich but unmarried because no man dares to tame her—that is until the mercenary Petruchio arrives to claim a bride. Their hilariously bitter battle for supremacy is evoked through overhead lifts that dodged Jeff Mahshie’s overflowing Shakespearean gowns, body flips and rough lindy hop maneuvers. There may be no rear-end paddling in this version, but by golly, the singing and acting never waivers under the pressure of the show’s acrobatics.

Not surprisingly, John Pankow and Lance Coadie Williams (the two thugs intent on reclaiming cash for a bad bet) grab the spotlight in “Brush Up Your Shakespeare.” Replete with canes, striped suits and straw hats, they happily milk the audience’s applause with every soft shoe strut and false exit.

What’s particularly pleasing, in a show replete with pleasing moments, is the chemistry between Kelli O’Hara and Will Chase. Not the most bombastic Petruchio, Chase establishes his male privilege in a quieter, more believable manner. Under Ellis’ keen eye, the dramatic arc builds into a tower of animosity that melts into a touching moment of loving, mutual recognition.

There is not downside to the Roundabout Theatre Company’s rousing revival of “Kiss Me Kate” at Studio 54. EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW: Oklahoma! By Celia Ipiotis

Produced in 1943 (during World War II) to a score by Richard Rogers and libretto by Oscar Hammerstein, the legendary Oklahoma! team was joined by the equally formidable choreographer Agnes deMille. Together they fashioned a wildly successful show that became an equally successful 1955 film. For many, Oklahoma! is a musical staple about the great American pioneering spirit. Before its move to Broadway, Daniel Fish’s vision of Oklahoma! appeared at St. Anne’s Warehouse in Brooklyn, a theater known for producing spine-tingling, avant-garde productions.

In Fish’s refashioning of Oklahoma! at Circle in the Square, the audience sits amphitheater style on three sides of the stage. Actors and musicians travel up and down the long rectangular performance space, entering and exiting from theater aisles.

A down-home casualness draws the audience into the lives of folks at the turn of the 20th century eagerly establishing their lives in a territory about to become a new state. An outstanding, racially and mixed-ability cast exudes a naturalness and genuineness that immediately draws everyone into the sweeping story of young lovers and sinister antagonists.

The switch from an orchestral performance of the much-loved score to the simpler folk tune arrangements produce a very intimate musical experience -- more aligned with the actual musical sounds of the era. Scattered throughout are casually organized wooden chairs, tables, crockery, window frames and a rocker for the boisterous Aunt Eller (Mary Testa). Dressed in western garb including overalls, gallon hats, chaps and full skirts with petticoats, the cast looks mighty comfortable in Terese Wadden’s costumes.

One by one, the main characters are introduced: the handsome and goodhearted Curly (Damon Daunno), his love interest Laurey (Rebecca Naomi Jones), Laurey’s girlfriend and powerhouse actor Ado Annie (Ali Stroker), Annie’s witles lover Will Parker (James Davis), the slippery traveling salesman Ali Hakim (Will Brill) and menacing Jud Fry (Patrick Vaill).

There’s the usual tug-of-wits between Curly and his hard-headed heart-throb Laurey; but the real eye-opener hits when the captivating Ado Annie comes wheeling through the audience, radiating a fierce independence and unabashed sexuality. Ripping around the stage in a hand-manipulated wheel chair, more than anyone, Annie personifies the pioneering American spirit.

The close knit, quarrelsome Oklahoma families join in a number of festivities and hoedowns jauntily choreographed by John Heginbotham. Guys and gals kick up their boots, do-si- do, fling their gals to and fro so petticoats go high and low, then round-and-round in a promenade. All the dance sequences lighten the air with well deserved frivolity and intimacy, except for the famous “dream sequence.”

Considered one of Agnes deMille’s masterpieces, Fish and Heginbotham descend into a dance nightmare trading out deMille’s "dream sequence" ballet dancers for one lone performer, Gabrielle Hamilton. Alternately running around and galloping on an imaginary horse, she flings herself from one end of the space to the other, slamming against a wall, falling, rolling, vertically splitting her legs and heaving from the exertion. The choreographically set and improvisatory sections are harsh and at times disorienting. Most disturbing is the ending of Oklahoma! DeMille’s ballet scenario is pretty much eliminated in the actual dance, but many of the narrative elements are dropped into the show’s ending.

And in a homey touch, everyone is invited to eat some home-cooked vittles during intermission. Now you can’t beat that! EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEW

AIN’T TOO PROUD: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE TEMPTATIONS

“Anything goes” – that was the motto for the drug induced, sex-soaked, ribald 1970's. Point of contact for much of this decadence was the midtown Studio 54. “This Ain’t No Disco” at the Atlantic Theater exploits this fevered center of sex, drugs and punk howls. Assembling a dead-on cast, the new rock opera by Stephen Trask and Peter Yanowitz zooms-in on Studio 54 and to a lesser extent the downtown Mudd Club.

Band members are split between two sides on the third tier of an iron platform that wraps around the stage. Disco cages house dancers writhing and contracting around the bars while the hordes multiply on the ground, desperate for access behind the proverbial velvet rope. An energetic production, the show benefits mightily by the combined talents of director Darko Tresnjak and choreographer Camille A. Brown.

The story of eccentric egos flushed through dark clubs and “15 minutes of fame” revolves around the sensational punk musician Sammy (Samantha Marie Ware), her sweet, dear friend and failed artist Chad (Peter Laprade) along with a PR/agent gab-about Binkey (Chilina Kennedy), The Artist—better known as Warhol (Will Connolly) and the infamous Steve Rubell (Theo Stockman).

At his point in cultural history, young, undiscovered artists were becoming a commodity, and it took people like The Artist or Binkey to sell them. A club employee, Chad blows off college for some free time that can only be funded through “tricks” until his father dies bequeathing him an unexpected stack of money.

At Rubell’s urgings and Binkey’s manipulations, Chad tries to transfer his T-shirt drawing talents to a professional plateau. But the critics don’t buy it and after another disastrous “marriage stunt” Chad tumbles back into the street. Running parallel to Chad’s story, Sammy, the “girl with the hat,” frets over caring for her son, finding herself and navigating a punk music career on the arm of The Artist.

These multiple threads of drug induced dreams crash into an unquenched greed for fame, fortune and fun. The score features several songs that could stand-alone, including The Artist’s final aria, but several numbers blur into one another adding unnecessary weight to the much longer first half.

Brown’s choreography contributes to the raucous, sex-soaked atmosphere, adding back-up dancers behind the lead singers, drawing out personalities through the change of movement styles, from the more refined modern dance steps to the body rippling club dances and African based stomps. In fact, more dancing might have amped- up the first act.

Additionally, the lighting by Ben Stanton paints light throughout the show-- throwing shafts of beams inside the dark, vibrating dance club until the space separates into bright particles under the disco ball, or pushes white light on the harsh daily encounters, and darkness over glaring truths. What doesn’t work so well is the balance between the cookin’ band led by Darius Smith and the singers. Because of this imbalance, the lyrics are frequently unintelligible which is unfortunate because the lyrics tell the story.

All the performers deserve a round of applause, with some additional kudos going to the slimy, snarky Stockman as Rubell, the booming voiced Eddie Cooper as the D.A. who finally brings down Rubell and The Artist who weightlessly floats through the crowds that ultimately disperse as the 1980’s and the Age of AIDS rips apart New York City’s unsuspecting arts community. EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

REVIEWS

Oklahoma! by Celia Ipiotis/EYE ON THE ARTS

OKLAHOMA!

April 15, 2019

Produced in 1943 (during World War II) to a score by Richard Rogers and libretto by Oscar Hammerstein, the legendary Oklahoma team was joined by the equally formidable choreographer Agnes deMille. Together they fashioned a wildly successful show that became an equally successful film in 1955. For many, Oklahoma! is a musical staple about the great American pioneering spirit.

Before its move to Broadway, Daniel Fish’s vision of Oklahoma! appeared at St. Anne’s Warehouse in Brooklyn, a theater known for producing spine-tingling, avant-garde productions.

In Fish’s refashioning of Oklahoma!at Circle in the Square, the audience sits amphitheater style on three sides of the stage. Actors and musicians travel up and down the performance space, entering and exiting from theater aisles while traveling throughout the long, rectangular performing space.

A down-home casualness draws the audience into the lives of folks at the turn of the 20th century eagerly establishing their lives in a territory about to become a new state. A racially and ably mixed cast, the outstanding performers exude naturalness and genuiness that immediately draws the viewer into the sweeping story of young lovers and sinister antagonists.

The switch from an orchestral reading of the much loved music to the simpler, folk arrangements produce a very intimate musical experience -- more aligned with the actual musical sounds of the era. Scattered throughout are casually organized wooden chairs, tables, crockery, window frames and a rocker for the boisterous Aunt Eller (Mary Testa). Dressed in western garb including overalls, gallon hats, chaps and full skirts with petticoats, the cast looks mighty comfortable in Terese Wadden’s costumes.

One by one, the main characters are introduced: the handsome and goodhearted Curly (Damon Daunno), his love interest Laurey (Rebecca Naomi Jones), Laurey’s girlfriend and powerhouse actor Ado Annie (Ali Stroker), Annie’s witless lover Will Parker (James Davis), the slippery traveling salesman Ali Hakim (Will Brill) and ever sinister Jud Fry (Patrick Vaill).

There’s the usual tug-of-wits between Curly and his hard-headed, heart-throb Laurey; but the real eye-opener hits when the captivating Ado Annie comes wheeling through the audience, radiating a fierce independence and unabashed sexuality. Ripping around the stage in a wheel chair, more than anyone, Annie personifies the pioneering American spirit.

The close knit, quarrelsome Oklahoma families join in a number of festivities and hoedowns jauntily choreographed by John Heginbotham. Guys and gals kick up their boots, do-si- do, fling the gals to and fro so petticoats go high and low, then round-and-round in a Promenade. All the dance sequences lighten the air with well deserved frivolity and intimacy, except for the famous “dream sequence.”

Considered one of Agnes deMille’s masterpieces, Fish and Heginbotham descend into a dance nightmare trading out deMille’s ballet dancer for one lone dancer, Gabrielle Hamilton. Alternately running and galloping around on an imaginary horse, she flings herself from one end of the space to the other, slamming against a wall, falling, rolling, vertically splitting her legs and heaving from the exertion. The set and improvisatory sections are harsh and at times disorienting.

Most disturbing is the ending of Oklahoma! DeMille’s ballet scenario is pretty much eliminated in the actual dance, but many of the narrative elements are dropped into the show’s ending.

Despite the number of adjustments, Oklahoma! is not radically altered. Jud still terrifies Laurey, Curly touchingly donates all his possessions for Laurey’s picnic basket, Aunt Eller referees the cowboys and the farmers, and Ado Annie just can’t stop having the time of her life. Everyone delivers a heartfelt performance soaked in Scott Zielinksi’s bright morning sunlight, and fading evening dusk.

And in a homey touch, everyone is invited to eat some home-cooked vittles during intermission. Now you can’t beat that! EYE ON THE ARTS, NY -- Celia Ipiotis

JULIUS CAESAR: Public Theater’s Shakespeare in the Park Production: Calpurnia, Caesar, Cassius, Marc Antony photo credit Joan Marcus.

Disturbed by bloody dreams, Calpurnia intuits danger, and pleads for Caesar to miss the senate meeting on March 15—the Ides of March. He refuses and in the penultimate scene, when all the senators converge, circling their prey, red blood spouts from Caesar’s body in unison with the senators’ screaming recriminations. To read the review go to: EYE ON THE ARTS.

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