Theater has existed as long as we have existed. From the first night when Caveperson "A" told a story to his/her fellow Cavepeople to keep their minds off of the saber tooth tigers roaming in the night - to last night's performance of Haunted Alligators by Tennessee Williams at the Manka Palace Theater [EDITOR'S NOTE: The classic film version of Haunted Alligators can be seen this month on Manka Classic Movies]. I can now say that I have been to the top of the mountain. I have seen the face of God. I wonder how I continue in a career of theatrical criticism when everything that is to come will pale in comparison to perfection. PERFECT perfection. Redundant? No. I simply try to hammer home how amazing this show is to your collective mortal minds. Better yet, make your way to the theater to see this show in person. There are some who may say that I'm going overboard (and that I've been going overboard recently) and to that I say "NAY!" Dear Reader, it is that we are living in one of the greatest eras of theater to exist since the Dawn of Man. How do I know how theater was at the Dawn of Man? I don't. I just know that I don't see too many revivals of Caveperson theater, and that is all that I need to know.
The show opened innocently enough. We find Chest (Zachary Tisdale who I had the pleasure to interview last week) and Livy (Nikki Abercrombie) sneaking toward the swamp shack, their sanctuary on the bayou. They are very much in the throes of love. And they are a comely couple. The fire between the two was apparent before they even began to speak. Sitting in the fifth row I started to sweat. The sweat of torment and lust. There was much declaiming of mutual attraction which was sadly derailed when Livy brought up her upcoming nuptials to the local plantation bigwig and patriarch of the Fatang clan, Large Willie.
The next scene opened up on the sumptuous Fatang mansion, known as Kudzu Manor. Beautiful Charlotte (a radiant Gretchen Van Winkle) childhood friend of Livy, flits about the stage preparing for a grand wedding - all while taking care of her dimwit brother, Clayton (Michael Egan - almost unrecognizable from this last role as the union rabble rouser Frank Little in the Tony Award winning drama Butte: The Story of A Hole). Here the play takes an interesting turn; instead of plowing straight into the wedding, Tennessee Williams chose to introduce us to Large Wanda, who is the mother of Large Willie. She takes the dimwit Clayton aside and in a hauntingly beautiful scene (a once if a lifetime performance by Carolly Russ who was almost as stupendous in Mother Was A Ho And Custer Is Still Dead) tells Clayton of the horrors of marriage in the South. Clayton, oblivious, drools as if lost in a dream. A dimwit dream. Mesmerizing.
Then it is time for the wedding "celebration" and we are introduced to Large Willie (played with an emotional intensity that almost knocked me to the floor by the multi-talented Leonard Menzies - Ladies and Gentlemen, we now know that he's not just a comic juggler and fire dancer!). It is quite obvious who the life force is that steers life at Kudzu Manor. Large Willie takes over the stage and lays claim to his reluctant bride, Livy, as Charlotte and Clayton watch - both in tears, but not tears of joy. No, the tears of watching a friend being sold into indentured servitude. In a horrible and soul crushing moment we see Chest looking in through the window - he howls, and then RIPS OFF HIS SHIRT revealing the pectoral muscles that I spoke of so eloquently last week. They are still delectable. His pecs, I mean. Yum.
Three years pass and Large Willie and Livy are found living in a domestic nightmare. Large Willie has learned that he is dying from a lifetime of dipsomania and he takes out his anger on Livy as well as the servants of the house. He also knows that Livy has, and will always, love Chest. Large Willie, on a downward spiral of self-pity and jealousy, prepares to leave for a weekend of whoring and debauchery in
Dear Readers, I will not tell you anymore. Just know that you will see one of the greatest plays of American Theater unfold before your eyes. Just know that Tennessee Williams is spinning in his grave - with joy! Joy! JOY!!!
I must catch my breath.
And now Dear Readers, I need your help. I am planning a tour of summer theaters across
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
This is not an easy time in my life. After spending three days in Bedlam (well, it's really a Catholic hospital in Mid-Town and I prefer not to mention its name in print) I was finally cleared by the Medieval Inquisition doctors to return to my apartment and to my real home, the theater. I want to thank everyone who came by my room and offered their prayers and support. And to dear Chet, who is putting together a benefit to pay my medical bills, I give a heartfelt "thank you... thank you, darling."
Life, however, isn't always bad. Sometimes it is magnificent. Like earlier this evening. I went to see another preview of Haunted Alligators (I remember very little of the last preview that I saw, as my fainting was so traumatic). I must say that the world has been robbed until now. Robbed of the greatness that is Tennessee Williams' most momentous work. [EDITOR'S NOTE: The classic film version of Haunted Alligators can be seen this month on Manka Classic Movies]. Some say that it is derivative of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. Well, poo to that! I say that Cat On A Hot Tin Roof is derivative of Haunted Alligators! In the coming weeks the world will know exactly what I am talking about.
Next week, I will review the opening of this brilliant show. This week I will give you an interview with the amazing actor Zachary Tisdale. Zachary is not only a towering monument to his craft, he has sculpted his body into something that would make Michelangelo proud. He is the epitome of the concept that an actor's body is his only tool. Oh, and what a tool does Tisdale yield. I spoke to him last night in his dressing room.
Kyrle Lendhoffer: Zachary, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.
Zachary Tisdale: No problem, Mr. Lendhoffer.
KL: Kyrle, please.
ZT: All right.
KL: And may I call you Zach?
ZT: Sure. Why not...
KL: How about Zachie?
ZT: I don't think so.
KL: First, uh, Zach, I must say that you are amazing. Can you walk me through your process?
ZT: Sure. First we get the script.
KL: Amazing.
ZT: Uh huh. Then we have a read through on the first day of rehearsal.
KL: Fantastic.
ZT: And at the end of the read through, we get our schedule for the week from the stage manager.
KL: That is SO important.
ZT: And then I go home and start to memorize my lines for the scenes that we'll be rehearsing the next day.
KL: Yes, remembering all of those words must be a chore.
ZT: It gets easier as you go along. I remember-
KL: Oh yes! You make it look effortless on stage.
ZT: What?
KL: On stage. Your work is effortless. And that means that you've been putting in the ultimate effort off stage.
ZT: Well, we all work very hard. I'm sorry, where were we?
KL: You learn your lines...
ZT: Oh, yeah. And I think of the through line of the play, and start tracking my character's arc-
KL: Oh! The arc! Tell me about that.
ZT: Uh, the character starts at a certain point - emotionally, mentally, whatever. And things happen that change the character and then you arrive at a new point. It's important to keep that arc specific.
KL: And what about your immaculate pectoral muscles?
ZT: Excuse me?
KL: Your pecs. A woman next to me said they were lickable.
ZT: That's flattering.
KL: I agreed.
ZT: Whoa... Awkward.
KL: You should be very proud of your pecs. I am.
ZT: I, uh, well yes, I am. I work out a lot and eat right. It isn't easy.
KL: May I see them?
ZT: Excuse me?
KL: Right now. Can I see your pecs?
ZT: Come on - really?
KL: I've been ill. They would certainly perk me up.
ZT: Huh. Oh, look. I've got to head backstage for notes. It was great talking to you. Maybe we can do it again. Maybe.
KL: It has been a pleasure, Zachary, I mean, Zach. You have no idea how much of a pleasure it has been.
With that, the exquisite Mr. Tisdale left to receive his notes - and I can already tell you what his notes will be:
- "Your work is brilliant Zachary, keep it up."
- -"Do more interviews to promote the show - you're the reason that people are here to see it."
- "Find more moments to take off your shirt. Those pectorals need to be exposed to the widest audience possible."
Next week, I will grace these pages with my review of the lost Tennessee Williams play Haunted Alligators. Will words fail me? Will I collapse from mental fatigue once again? Will they create a special Tony category for Pectoral Muscles? We shall see, dear readers. We shall see.
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
Editor's Note:
Kyrle Lendhoffer's column Behind The Proscenium will not appear this week. Mr. Lendhoffer took ill at a preview of
Thank you, dear readers, for your kind words in my hour (hours, more like it) of need. It is when things are darkest that one can truly appreciate the brilliance of light. And it was very dark for me. But you - all of you - came through for me and filled my hospital room (which was very Dickensian by the way... Manka's insurance coverage leaves much to be desired) with an illumination that filled my soul with song. A song that sounded like it was performed by a younger Len Cariou. And for that I was very happy. Len Cariou's voice is delicious.
According to my doctors, I am physically fine. Apparently I am suffering from mental exhaustion. I didn't realize how frail I was until Zachary Tisdale took the stage as Chest. It took my breath away. Then Zachary/Chest took off his shirt. The last thing I heard as I fainted was the collective gasp of the audience. I don't think that Tennessee Williams could have dreamed of such pectoral muscles.
So, to make a long story longer (my sense of humor is intact! Huzzah!) I will be posting my review of Haunted Alligators, along with interviews with cast and crew, next week. I continue to regain my strength and look forward to watching another preview of this amazing show this weekend.
Until then, dear readers.
Kyrle Lendhoffer
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
This is an apology. An online mea culpa. I take the proverbial cat o'nine tails and self flagellate. This is an open apology to the great Zenobia Lassiter.
Last week, I posted an interview and diatribe against her brilliant new work, Pussy. Yes, I said brilliant. I've now had time to process what I saw on stage. I saw her put a fish in her "V" word and felt its power. I saw her put on a Hitler moustache and read excerpts from Mao's Little Red Book and now understand what it is to be forced to work retail in a strip mall. I now know that as I listened to her describe her last colonoscopy that she was in fact talking about our need to vote on a regular basis if we ever hope to sustain democracy. I had the nerve to say that performance art is neither! I was a Philistine. An ignorant man, who although he lives in a metropolis, has the mind of a plastic suburbanite. If I could find a way to spit on myself, I would.
So, dear Zenobia, here is what I have to say: I couldn't possibly be more sorry. You are a genius. You are a colossus, and we peep about your feet like insects (I paraphrase my Shakespeare, but you know what I mean).
Zenobia, can you ever forgive me? Will you ever allow me to speak to you again, to sit in your angelic presence and absorb your unabashed brilliance? To be a mortal in the aura of a goddess? Please? Pretty please?
Ha!
The day that I apologize to the likes of you is the day that I buy season tickets to the barbaric New Jersey Devils and their hyper-man-beast NHL. YOU MAKE ME SICK!
Faithful readers, I hope you had a little chortle at my innocent prank.
Next week I will be interviewing some of the artistic minds involved with the Manka Center Stage World Premiere of
Happy April Fools Day to you, my dear readers.
Yours, In Art,
Kyrle Lendhoffer
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
I remember living in the "80s". It was the time of Wham! and Careless Whisper. It was the time of Broadway's Les Miserables and
Kyrle Lendhoffer: I don't know what to say...
Zenobia Lassiter: There is no correct response. When everything is deconstructed to its most base level, there is really nothing left to say.
KL: No, that's not it. At times I thought I was going to be sick. You call that "theater"?
ZL: Of course I do. It's the only kind of theater that matters. Think about what made you sick.
KL: All right, I'm thinking about it. Oh, god...
ZL: And it makes you sick again! My work has power! You will remember this forever! You can't say the same about Rent.
KL: I thought Rent was very powerful. And I'll remember it forever because it was INCREDIBLE. Because it had artistic integrity. Because it had a beginning, middle and end.
ZL: Those things are over rated. You long for the theater of your grandfather. I'm giving you the theater of your unborn great grandson.
We bickered for a moment about whether or not I'd have a great grandson and how that really mattered in the grand scheme of things.
KL: Zenobia, what the hell was your piece about?
ZL: You tell me, Mr. Lendhoffer. What did you think it was about?
KL: (thinking for a few moments) I think you were trying to explore your own sexuality and the tenuous relationship between man and woman. I think.
ZL: Wrong! Try again.
KL: Really? I mean, it must have had something to do with your sexuality in some way. There is no way that it wasn't.
ZL: You're not setting your mind free. Why would you say something like that?
KL: Well, that thing with the fish.
ZL: What about the fish?
KL: Madam, you put a fish into your vagina. How the hell does that not relate to your sexuality in some way?
ZL: Your mind is trapped. Ossified by the world. Let me help you out.
KL: Oh, please do.
ZL: My piece was a scathing indictment of our consumer culture. It's about everything that is wrong with the media turning us into "sheeple", making us follow every fad, making us buy every product, making us into automatons that will buy everything - from Coke Zero to the war in
KL: Putting a fish in your vagina is an indictment of the war in
ZL: Fool! The fish represented Big Media's message! We were my vagina. You, me, everyone! The message was being crammed down our throat. Our collective throat was my vagina! It's so obvious!
KL: Ms. Lassiter, I am NOT your vagina! I will never BE your vagina!
ZL: It's too late, Mr. Lendhoffer. You are already my vagina.
KL: Can we stop using the "V" word? I'm getting sick again.
ZL: Your sickness is your subconscious mind actually getting my show. Deep down inside you know what I'm saying and you agree with it. Admit it.
KL: I will admit nothing of the sort. You have problems.
ZL: Oh, really...
KL: Yes! And I find it insulting that I had to watch you go through your own psychotherapy on stage. See a psychiatrist! Get some help! But in private! Theater goers do not want to see you solve your psychosis - especially when they have to pay for it!
ZL: Let's hear you say that when I win another "Obie."
KL: Good God...
With that I got up and ran from the room. What is theater becoming? It's bad enough when I have to sit through "monologists" like Spalding Gray (may he rest in peace) and Eric Bogosian. But now I have to watch a woman put a fish into her "V" and be impressed? It's only impressive when it's part of a show for sailors in
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
I must admit that I was appalled. Appalled, and then fascinated. I was thumbing through Backstage West while sipping a Green Tea Frappuccino at Starbucks (oh, this is a horrid vice, but the Green Tea is so good - except I find that I'm getting a little belly, cute on the young and hairless but not so much on the middle aged) and in the back I saw an ad. It was an ad for the "Straight Male Theater Group." "Oh my God!" I thought, "the most entitled group in the history of theater needs a group?" I couldn't believe my eyes. Then I thought it must be a comedy group. Then I thought I should just call their number and arrange an interview with their "leader." I called, and two days later had set up an interview with Robert Blanton. We met at a local coffee shop (not Starbucks - no Green Tea Frappuccino, sob) and we discussed Mr. Blanton's little group.
Kyrle Lendhoffer: Mr. Blanton, why a "Straight Male Theater Group"?
Robert Blanton: Well, Mr. Lendhoffer, like any other minority group we felt that we needed a support group. A place we could go to and share our feelings of isolation.
KL: You've got to be kidding me.
RB: It's exactly that kind of attitude that makes the SMTG necessary.
KL: SMTG?
RB: The "Straight Male-
KL: Yes, of course, I've got it.
RB: You have no idea what it's like. Say you're doing summer stock. You show up for the first read-through of Annie Get Your Gun and your gay-dar is screaming like a fire alarm. You realize that out of twenty-five men in the company that only five of you are straight.
KL: But Mr. Blanton, that sounds like heaven.
RB: How is that?
KL: Five straight men and at least twenty straight chorus girls, not including the leads. I would think that you would be happy as a little clam.
RB: Oh, yeah, that part is fantastic. Not at first... the women always think they can straighten out the gay ones. Then after a week or so they realize that they're banging their heads against a pink wall. That's when things get awesome.
KL: I still don't get it. What is there for you to complain about?
RB: Well, there is the social aspect. Yes, we're part of the company, but no one ever asks us what we think about their clothes or where there's a great place to dance or if we're having a good day.
KL: Maybe they could ask you about NASCAR.
RB: There you go again. Just because I'm straight doesn't mean I like NASCAR.
KL: Yes, it does.
RB: No, it doesn't.
KL: But you like football.
RB: Well, yes, I do. But I know lots of gay men who like football.
KL: But for different reasons.
RB: What?
KL: I digress. So you think you're being discriminated against?
RB: Absolutely. But it's very subtle. Let me give you an example. Just last year I was in a production of Urinetown. One night I overhear a conversation and my fellow cast members are talking about an American Idol viewing party that they're all going to. Have I heard about this viewing party? No. Were any of the straight guys invited to the viewing party? No.
KL: It's common knowledge that straight men only mock American Idol. You wouldn't have been any fun at a party.
RB: That's exactly what I'm talking about! That's bullsh!t! I love American Idol! I just happen to like sex with women! What's wrong with that?
KL: Some people find that icky. And I don't believe you.
RB: Oh yeah? Season one winner, Kelly Clarkson. Season two, Rueben Studdard. Season three, Fantasia...
KL: Wow, you memorized a list.
RB: Season four, Carrie Underwood... What?
KL: You memorized a list. Nothing more, nothing less.
RB: You're an asshole, Mr. Lendhoffer.
KL: And you're a whiney little suck-tit, Mr. Bender.
The interview devolved from there. I couldn't possibly feel sorry for Mr. Bender and felt nothing but contempt for the "Straight Male Theater Group." Oh, please. All I can say to Mr. Bender is you have no place in MY theater. The theater that I love. Go watch your NASCAR "buddies" drive around in circles and then beat their wives. Take that, sir! I will now retire to Starbucks for a well deserved Green Tea Frappuccino.
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
I normally attack theater from the review flank. I use my insight to take you, the possible audience member, into the "reality" of what a theatrical event may be like - without you having to actually be part of the reality. I try to express the theatricity of a theatrical event through the written word. It is my job - to bring the entire experience of sitting in a theater, marveling at what is taking place on stage, the smells of the greasepaint and the dinner that is stuck to the lapel of the patron next to you - without your ever having to enter a theater. Although entering a theater to see a play is always best.
Gina: You can't possibly imagine my God. Your mind is too small. Imagine a goat trying to drive the Batmobile. Trying to drive the Batmobile with cooking mitts. That is you - stupidly in front of my God. Only more stupid. My God would laugh at you but he/she/it is above laughter. My God is always in a state of laughter because my God is always in a state of ALL. Eons ago, my God would have bathed in the lamentations of your women and children. That was before my God evolved to a point that evolution now means nothing to he/she/it. No, back then, my God would have taken a hoof (for my God only needed ONE HOOF!) and smashed that hoof on your pathetic being. And the bodies of the weak - like the previously mentioned women and children. And to make you feel even smaller than you already would be feeling - my God would rip the viscera from the chest cavities of those you loved in front of your pathetic face. And my God would use their intestines like a gore-drenched and dread sippy straw... and my God would suck and suck and suck the life out of everything you held dear. And then, for spite, my God would spit that life right back into your face. You turn pale. I haven't really started. Then my God would smash YOU with the HOOF! And you would be dispersed into fragments no bigger than an atom. And even your smartest atom would kneel before my God in much the same way that a lichen kneels before you - if a lichen could kneel - BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I'M F-ING TALKING ABOUT! I see you. You are trying to comprehend my God. But you are like the contents of a Petrie dish trying to comprehend the scientist. The only difference is that the contents of the Petrie dish do not know to be afraid. And you should be SO afraid. Because my God no longer needs a hoof....
I have never heard the like on a stage before in my life. I could only imagine saying these beautiful words to someone who has cut me off in traffic, or to my landlord when he implies that my sub-lease may be invalid. In what situation would you use these words? And what would you do with your HOOF?!?
Kyrle Lendhoffer has been writing "Behind the Proscenium" for Broadway Manka over 20 years. In that time he has had the pleasure (and burden) of interviewing some of the most powerful visionaries of modern theater. He studied Theatrical Criticism at Cal-State Northridge and Astro-physics at MIT.
There are times when one is a witness to history. This week was such a time for me. I sat in on an early rehearsal of what is bound to become the most talked about, most loved theater experiences in the history of man. Hyperbole? I think not. Mankind will see what I caught a mere glimpse of... and mankind will be IN AWE. Yes, finally, a production of The Mahabharata that will make Peter Brook cry like a little girl. I sat down with the man who adapted this great piece of Vedic literature, Gustaff Hinter. As we talked, the genius director Jackson Nitrate joined us.
Kyrle Lendhoffer: Gustaff, how are you today?
Gustaff Hinter: A bit harried. I'm falling behind on my translations.
KL: Translations?
GH: Yes. We first took The Mahabharata and translated it from Sanskrit to German.
KL: Yes, it was shocking to see the great Indian gods talking in German. Why the change?
GH: Both Jackson and I thought that the guttural sound of the German language gives anything more emotional weight. More weight than if you could actually understand the play.
Jackson Nitrate then entered the room, and the conversation.
Jackson Nitrate: But then the f-----g producers demanded that the play be in English. I said "no"... that I would walk off of the production if it were in English. But then I had an epiphany. The theater would be filled with smoke. And then laser lights would shoot through the fog and the audience could read what each character is saying in English.
KL: You mean like Lazerium?
GH: No! That's so 1979...
JN: LaserFloyd was cool. That was 1979.
GH: Well, of course, but this is 16th century India colliding with 2007. That is not LaserFloyd. Not even LaserZeppelin! Anyway, I've now got to try to take everything that was translated from Sanskrit to German and now take it from German to English but then have the English version still be consistent with the Sanskrit.