With Black History Month you hear accounts of Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Cyrus Attucks and other historical black figures in America’s past. I would like to call attention to another hero of our past, but this one is a “Lost American.” FRANK WILLS: A Lost American In
Going into South Coast Repertory’s production of adapter/director David Catlin’s Moby Dick, based on the novel by Herman Melville, I immediately encountered a red flag in the program notes by Kat Zukatis with the opening line: “Let’s all agree: Moby-Dick is a terrible novel.” My lovely
What strikes one—when inspecting television’s hugest failures—is the large percentage of those which are remakes and retooling’s. Now with the right amount or effort applied, with minimal intelligence and imagination, “Derivation” cleans up like Cinderella bound for the ball. Comb its hair, tell it to stand
The Algerian War, 1954-1962 is a struggle, all but, forgotten today in the West. For brutality, employment of terrorism, and the pitting of Muslim against European interests, on the surface, it seems painfully familiar. But it was so much more. Algeria was “French” to France, and
You need valleys. Without valleys how can you appreciate the heights of hills? For me 2016 was a valley, 2014 and 2015 both hills. That’s not to say 2016 lacked stand-out productions and performances, however, they were fewer and farther between. So without much rhyme, but packing plenty of
For those who have not cultivated an appreciation for the theatrical craft and are unaware of the merits and delights to be derived from the stage, there are certain theaters in Los Angeles that I always try to persuade them to attend. Theaters whose productions
Irish playwright Martin McDonagh speaks fluent Grand Guinol, but speaks it with the lilt of Galway. The importance of this has more resonance than, at first, one might realize. There’s an old axiom which is presently leaving the airy realm of proverbs for the more solid firmament
For those of you unaware of the fire storm unleashed on Colin Mitchell, former editor of Bitter Lemons, L.A.’s ground zero for theatre criticism—and perhaps the city’s best scratching post for its artistic Kilkenny’s cats—here, briefly, is the tale. The Chicago Reader, the Windy City’s equivalent
The Tragedy of JFK (as told by Wm. Shakespeare) is cleverly conceived, beautifully acted and stylishly staged. (If this review is used by the producers in their press releases it’s this point at which they’ll stop.) It is also bull s**t of the highest order. What
You enter the REDCAT (Roy and Edna Disney/CaLArts Theater) to find a mass of chairs arranged seemingly haphazard in the center of the room. Running the length on the upper half of the surrounding walls are four screens
