Keith Carradine to Star in `Paint Your Wagon` at City Center

February 22, 2015
Keith Carradine to Star in ‘Paint Your Wagon’ at City Center
By Lori Holcomb-Holland
Keith Carradine, a two-time Tony nominee for his roles in “The Will Rogers Follies” (1991) and “Hands on a
Hardbody” (2013), will star in “Paint Your Wagon” next month at New York City Center, the organization
announced on Sunday.
The musical comedy, written by Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe, is about a prospector (Mr. Carradine)
and his daughter (Alexandra Socha), who find love and gold in a small California mining town during the gold
rush era. The original production of “Paint Your Wagon” opened on Broadway in 1951, and was adapted into a
movie in 1969 starring Clint Eastwood – a role that inspired the comedian Billy Crystal to publicly ask Mr.
Eastwood to “please don’t sing no more.”
Mr. Carradine has more than four decades of experience in Broadway and has recently had recurring roles in the
television series “Madam Secretary” and “Fargo.” Other “Paint Your Wagon” cast members include Jenni
Barber (“The Nance”) as Elizabeth Woodling and Justin Guarini (“Wicked”) as Julio Valveras.
The musical runs March 18 through 22 as part of City Center’s Encores! series. It is directed by Marc Bruni and
choreographed by Denis Jones, with Rob Berman as musical director. More information is at nycitycenter.org.
Total Daily Circulation – 1,897,890
Total Sunday Circulation – 2,391,986
Monthly Online Readership – 30,000,000
February 22, 2015
Review: ‘The Absolute Brightness of Leonard Pelkey,’ James
Lecesne’s One-Man Play
By Charles Isherwood
A show about the brutal murder of a 14-year-old boy should not, logically speaking, leave you beaming with
joy. And yet that’s the paradoxical effect of “The Absolute Brightness of Leonard Pelkey,” a superlative solo
show at Dixon Place written and performed by James Lecesne, himself a pretty darn dazzling beacon of
theatrical talent.
Please, one-person-show haters — you know who you are, and you are legion — don’t stop reading. Mr.
Lecesne, a young-looking 60, who has been “telling stories for over 25 years,” as his bio modestly puts it, ranks
among the most talented solo performers of his (or any) generation. His is not one of those here’s-whathappened-to-me-and-isn’t-it-fascinating feasts of oversharing that proliferate on small stages.
Mr. Lecesne has the channel-changing virtuosity to portray a hardened New Jersey detective; a withdrawn
teenage girl; her abrasive but warmhearted hairdresser mom; the British proprietor of a dance-and-drama
school; and at least half a dozen equally distinctive characters. Each is drawn with the precision of a fine
engraving and a dollop of a great cartoonist’s comic expressionism. But Mr. Lecesne is also a writer of wit and
keen observational skills, who here unfolds a dark tale that shimmers with the needling suspense you associate
with the best police procedurals, or the likes of “Gone Girl.”
Perhaps most remarkably, he’s the rare artist who doesn’t shy away from sentimentality. It may or may not be
an in-joke that Mr. Lecesne’s show includes a brief reference to Charles Dickens, but even before the moment
arrived I’d made the comparison myself. Like that great storyteller, Mr. Lecesne evokes a grittily specific
world, but one in which good and evil are real presences. (Given the appalling state of international affairs, it’s
a notion that feels grimly in sync with the zeitgeist.)
Mr. Lecesne’s short film “Trevor,” which won an Oscar for live-action short in 1995, was about a gay teenager
who attempted suicide, based on a character from his solo show “Word of Mouth.” Mr. Lecesne subsequently
co-founded the Trevor Project, a nationwide suicide prevention and crisis intervention program for gay youth.
(“Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered and questioning youth,” to use his words.) The new show, adapted from
his 2008 young adult novel “Absolute Brightness” and sharply directed by Tony Speciale, also concerns the fate
of a gay teenager harassed by his peers. But I should emphasize that Mr. Lecesne is an entertainer down to his
fingertips. A soapbox is not among the minimal props used here.
The evening’s primary narrator, recollecting events from a decade before, is Chuck DeSantis, a thickly accented
detective in the classic gumshoe mold, working in “some godforsaken precinct down the Jersey Shore,” as he
puts it. Storming into his office one day is Ellen Hertle, described by her embarrassed 16-year-old daughter
Phoebe as “just a local beauty-stylist slash control freak.”
Total Daily Circulation – 1,897,890 Total Sunday Circulation – 2,391,986 Monthly Online Readership –
30,000,000
Total Daily Circulation – 1,897,890
Total Sunday Circulation – 2,391,986
Monthly Online Readership – 30,000,000
Ellen has come to report the disappearance of the title character, whom she describes as her nephew, although
the connection is technically more tenuous. Anyway, he’s been missing for 24 hours — well, O.K., 19 hours
and 47 minutes — and what is Chuck going to do about it? And why isn’t he writing all this down?
The details surrounding Leonard’s disappearance come into focus as Chuck begins his investigation. He learns
off the bat that Leonard was no average boy from a Jersey burg. As that pompous British owner of the drama
school Leonard attended colorfully puts it, in a tone of deep seriousness, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a child
who could express himself so thoroughly with jazz hands.”
Ellen suddenly remembers that when he disappeared Leonard was wearing a pair of rainbow-colored platform
sneakers that he’d made himself by gluing half a dozen flip-flops to the bottom of Converse high-tops. The case
takes a dark turn when Gloria Salzano, a mob widow living on the edge of a local lake, sees one of Leonard’s
unmistakable shoes floating in the water.
As gabby as the rest of the show’s characters, Gloria waylays Chuck with her musings on matters of deep faith.
“Do you believe in hell?” she asks. “I’m just asking because not too long ago, the pope did away with limbo. So
I’m thinking hell can’t be far behind. But then what’s gonna happen to all those evildoers who’ve been down
there since God knows when? And that’s a lot of people.”
Although the story of Leonard’s killing is of course a sad one, Mr. Lecesne’s multihued performance glows
with such humanity (and robust humor) that while you may find yourself choking back a tear or two, the overall
effect is hardly lugubrious. Mr. Lecesne’s compassionate portraits of the men and women who came into
contact with Leonard underscore overall trends in American culture, which point toward a much greater
acceptance of gay men and women, even in pockets of the country where prejudice still holds strong sway.
Yet that’s hardly the whole story, either, as Marion, a patron of Ellen’s salon, knows. “I tried to warn him,” she
says in a Winstons-by-the-carton croak. “Tone it down honey, I said to him. The nail polish, the mascara —
maybe not so much. He claimed he was just being himself. All right, fine, but do you have to be so much
yourself? He told me if he stopped being himself the terrorists would win. How do you argue with a kid like
that?”
Among the most remarkable — and moving — aspects of Mr. Lecesne’s show is how vividly Leonard himself
is evoked, although he is not a character in it, just a blurred image seen on a screen. We come away sharing
Marion’s feeling of loss, Ellen’s feeling of indignation, but mostly the admiration all of Leonard’s friends share
for his tenacious belief in being true to himself in a world that was often hostile, and ultimately fatal.
“The Absolute Brightness of Leonard Pelkey” runs through March 28 at Dixon Place at Vineyard 26, 309 East
26th Street, Manhattan; dixonplace.org.
The Absolute Brightness of Leonard Pelkey
Written and performed by James Lecesne; directed by Tony Speciale; music by Duncan Sheik; visuals by
Matthew Sandager. Presented by Dixon Place, Ellie Covan, artistic director; and Mr. Lecesne. At Dixon Place,
161A Chrystie Street, Lower East Side, 866-811-4111, dixonplace.org. Through March 28. Running time: 1
hour 20 minutes.
February 19, 2015
Review: ‘The Winter’s Tale’ and Its Wronged Queen, via the
Pearl Theater Company
By Alexis Soloski
Sommeliers, please advise: Which wine pairs best with simmering sexual jealousy? What digestif should you
serve to a romantic rival? Vinous questions bubble up during Michael Sexton’s production of “The Winter’s
Tale” at the Pearl Theater. The first three acts play out at a tipsy dinner party that could rival “Disgraced” for
discomfiture. At least these Shakespeareans make it to the dessert course before things go seriously awry.
In a handsome if hodgepodge dining room (courtesy of the set designer Brett J. Banakis), the Sicilian king
Leontes (Peter Francis James) entreats his pregnant wife, Hermione (Jolly Abraham), to convince the Bohemian
king Polixenes (Bradford Cover) to stay a little longer. But jealousy, that green-eyed monster, has got Leontes
in a stranglehold. He’s convinced himself that Hermione and Polixenes have cuckolded him. So he accuses and
imprisons his wife, imperiling her and their boy, Mamillius, and their unborn daughter. Anyone for seconds?
Mr. Sexton’s production is elegant, inventive and visually interesting. Bohemia’s seacoast is conjured by
shifting and dust-sheeting most of the furniture. The famous bear is summoned in a riot of fur coats. And yet,
blame the weather, blame the title, blame the Pearl’s location on an especially frigid block on West 42nd Street,
but this staging sometimes seems chilly, too.
Mr. James is terrific at finding the excitement within a line of verse. Leontes behaves monstrously, but Mr.
James makes him somehow sympathetic, a man who, as his servant Camillo (a fine Tom Nelis) says, is “in
rebellion with himself.” (Note to the Pearl: If Mr. James hasn’t played Othello yet, he should.) But not all the
other actors can dredge up such riches in the text, so the pacing sometimes drags. The sheepshearing scenes —
despite the comic talents of Adam Green, Dominic Cuskern and Steve Cuiffo — seem studied rather than
rollicking. And everyone seems mildly embarrassed by the musical numbers.
The storytelling could perhaps be clearer. (Walking to the subway after a preview performance, I overheard a
couple of spectators explaining the plot to their companions.) But “The Winter’s Tale” is a hard story to tell, a
tragedy that takes an abrupt detour toward amnesty and grace. Mr. Sexton’s may not deliver quite the “deal of
wonder” the final act promises, but his show is a pretty good deal all the same.
“The Winter’s Tale” continues through March 15 at the Pearl Theater, 555 West 42nd Street, Clinton; 212-5639261, pearltheatre.org.)
Total Daily Circulation – 1,897,890
Total Sunday Circulation – 2,391,986
Monthly Online Readership – 30,000,000
February 20, 2015
Review: In Sheila Heti’s New Play, Canadians Lose
Themselves in Paris
By Ben Brantley
How should a person inhabit a perfectly elegant, black-and-white cartoon panel? That’s the issue faced by the cast of
“All Our Happy Days Are Stupid,” the play in pursuit of a style by Sheila Heti, best known for the identity-pursuing
novel “How Should a Person Be?” It is an issue that’s never resolved.
For this meandering tale of unworldly Canadians on vacation in Paris, which opened on Thursday night at the
Kitchen, a marvelous, fanciful set has been devised by Rae Powell. Everything onstage — which includes the Eiffel
Tower, sidewalk cafes, hotel rooms, jam jars and cigarettes — has been rendered as black-and-white cutouts that
suggest a particularly chic graphic novel.
The performers have been costumed (by Juliann Wilding) to match, right down to their fingernail polish. And when
a man dressed as a bear shows up, of course it’s as a panda, so he doesn’t upset the color scheme.
The overall effect is of witty and severe whimsy, without a disruptive pastel or primary shade in sight. I am sad to
report that the production, directed by Jordan Tannahill with Erin Brubacher, does not live up to the décor.
I took this discrepancy rather personally, as if I were watching a new friend, whom I’d been eager to know better,
embarrass herself at a party she’d invited me to. I have the feeling other audience members at this production, which
runs through next Saturday, may feel the same, though they’re likely to forgive the discomfort.
Ms. Heti, after all, became famous as a specialist in discomfort with “How Should a Person Be? A Novel From Life”
(2010), in which she subjected her fictional alter-ego and narrator, named Sheila, to extremes of unflattering
exposure. Critics have compared Ms. Heti’s willingness to get naked in print — and her confidence in displaying
insecurity — to Lena Dunham’s self-presentation on “Girls” (and elsewhere).
“How Should a Person Be?” took this sensibility a step further than Ms. Dunham’s series. It turned its questing,
groping, self-denying outlook into its very form. The novel (or demi-novel, since much of it, including transcribed
conversations with friends, was drawn directly from Ms. Heti’s own life in Toronto), is written in a sort of stream-ofself-consciousness in search of a consciousness to call its own.
At the center of that search is a play that the narrator, Sheila, had been commissioned to write and cannot begin to
finish. That’s partly because, like many artists, she has invested her gestating project with grand parental
expectations; she wants it to change the world.
Knowing that no play is likely to accomplish this, she curses it and avoids it, procrastinating with voluble anguish
over many pages. At the novel’s end, she puts the play aside, realizing that perhaps another form is better suited to
her explorations. Like a novel. Like this very novel, in fact, which is incredibly irritating and a great read.
The discarded play that haunts “How Should a Person Be?” is the play that has now arrived at the Kitchen, courtesy
of the Suburban Beast company of Toronto. Readers of Ms. Heti’s novel will recognize details of plot that Sheila
Total Daily Circulation – 1,897,890
Total Sunday Circulation – 2,391,986
Monthly Online Readership – 30,000,000
stews over. And the more voyeuristic among them will be pleased to discover that Carl Wilson, Ms. Heti’s exhusband and a character in the novel, is onstage, playing a character called the Prince for All Seasons.
Anyone planning a thesis on Ms. Heti (though it seems early days for such a project) will presumably want to see
this production, since it would seem to represent another Hetian (though it seems early days for such a term)
intersection of art and life.
And, yes, many of the classic Hetian themes are in place in this story of dysfunctional innocents abroad: female
friendship as an elusive holy grail, adulthood as an illusion, the hunger for authenticity and the chimerical nature of
happiness.
These subjects are embodied most flamboyantly by two suburban mothers in souring marriages. They are Mrs. Oddi
(Naomi Skwarna, in a white Louise Brooks wig and white fingernail polish) and Mrs. Sing (Becky Johnson, black
Louise Brooks wig and black fingernail polish), who may or may not be destined to bond after Mrs. Sing’s 13-yearold son (the appealing Nicholas Hune-Brown) goes missing in Paris.
The characters — who also include the women’s husbands (Alexander Carson and John McCurley) and the
precocious 12-year-old Jenny Oddi (Lorna Wright) — speak in annoyed, semi-epigrammatic dialogue. (“It is so
tedious to have a family.” Or: “My first boyfriend — oh, he smoked a very big pipe — he always said, ‘Men make
the world, and women decorate it.’ ”)
Their exchanges are punctuated by bleak and ironic poetic songs from a guitar-strumming troubadour (the musician
Dan Bejar). And, oh, it all starts to feel painful very early on.
This is mostly because you sense that the performers, who use a motley mix of mismatched and undercooked
techniques, are even more uncomfortable in their skins than the characters they portray.
Generating vicarious embarrassment may well be Ms. Heti’s signature. But this style works a lot better, as it did in
“How Should a Person Be?,” when you feel that it’s a deliberate choice.
All Our Happy Days Are Stupid
By Sheila Heti; songs by Dan Bejar; directed by Jordan Tannahill and Erin Brubacher; produced by Zack Russell
and Jordan Bass; assistant production manager, Laura Hendrickson; sets by Rae Powell; lighting by Mr. Russell;
costumes by Juliann Wilding. A Suburban Beast production, presented by the Kitchen and McSweeney’s. At the
Kitchen, 512 West 19th Street, Chelsea, 212-255-5793, thekitchen.org. Through next Saturday. Running time: 2
hours.
WITH: Lorna Wright (Jenny Oddi), Naomi Skwarna (Ms. Oddi), Alexander Carson (Mr. Oddi), Nicholas HuneBrown (Daniel Sing), Becky Johnson (Mrs. Sing), Jon McCurley (Mr. Sing), Henri Faberge (Dan/Johnny Rockets),
Anne Wessels (Plurabelle/Hotelier/Constable 2), Michael McManus (the Handsome Man Who Doesn’t Know Why/
the Man in the Bear Suit), Erin Brubacher (Livinia), Carl Wilson (the Prince for All Seasons), Meghan Swaby (the
Young Bride) and Kayla Lorette (the Hobbled Man/Waiter/Constable 1).