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
Beheadings– Fratricide - Infidelity - Parricide – Rebellion - The swain of Avon – And toe tapping ditties. One must admire the chutzpa Michael Shaw Fisher displays in Skullduggery for which he composed the music, provided the lyrics and wrote the book for this – wait for it! Musical prequel to Hamlet! Creatively speaking,
The intended purpose of this monthly column is to bring to the attention of cinema junkies those odd and typically genre defying films which may have slipped, justifiably or not, beneath the radar of even the most diehard film aficionados. For the offerings I shall
I really love theatre that boldly goes where no ensemble has gone before. In the past William A. Reilly and Gary Lamb of Crown City Theatre Company have proven that they are capable of pushing the envelope with firm resolve. Whenever speaking of the best of L.A. stage,
A lot of attention is being given to that first basket, the “basket of deplorables,” as Mrs. Clinton called it and, in so doing, started a small fire storm.
Ivo Van Hove’s production now at the Ahmanson has worked through both London and New York with great triumph.
Full disclosure: I am not a fan of the shows of playwright Peter Lefcourt and director Terri Hanauer. Their prior productions, such as The Assassination of Leon Trotsky: A Comedy and Café Society, have struck me as style blatantly masquerading as substance, with more money than
It was rather fitting that on the night of the first presidential debate I found myself sitting in the audience, lean as it was, for The Echo Theater Company’s staging of Mary Laws’ Blueberry Toast. Like The China Syndrome—the 1979 Jane Fonda thriller about corruption and
