THEATER REVIEW: HOLDING ON - LETTING GO

Bobby (Barry Wiggins) and Lee (Iona Morris) in Holding On - Letting Go.

End zones

By Ed Rampell

Plenty of plays die, but few focus on dying. In our culture, death is the ultimate taboo, on and offstage. But Bryan Harnetiaux is not afraid. Holding On – Letting Go is the third in his end-of-life cycle of plays -- along with Vesta and Dusk. In Holding On – Letting Go the playwright not only explores the death process, which is a universal fixture of the human condition, but also in particular how it affects those involved in a realm where peak physical condition and health are especially important: Athletics.

Bobby (the towering Barry Wiggins) and his wife, Lee (the formidable Iona Morris), are former athletes now in their fifties. Past their sporting prime, both have become NCAA basketball coaches, but as the play opens, Bobby has already been struck by cancer and walks with the help of a cane.

Produced and performed at the Fremont Center Theatre in South Pasadena, the play follows the couple as they grapple with the disease that not only consumes and ravages Bobby, but threatens to do the same to their longtime union. Wiggins does a convincing job playing a man as he physically declines and must come to grips with fatal illness, death and with a wife who must be convinced her suffering husband is not “a quitter.”

Morris -- who directed, under extremely tough circumstances, Still Standing, the musical I wrote the book for and which was produced in Switzerland -- brings the steely determination I remember to bear on her character. Imbued with the spirit of the competitive world of sports, Lee is determined to win and beat the Big C. She views Bobby’s attitude as “quitting”; to him, it’s simply “realism.” For Lee, losing is simply not an option, and when conventional Western medicine fails, she insists on playing with another team via alternative healing, and embarks on a mission impossible.

Morris delivers a nuanced, bravura performance. Underneath the iron-willed persona beats a vulnerable heart, terrified at the finality of separation from her lifelong mate. Having finally met her match – the Grim Reaper -- the fearless competitor turns from defiance to denial. I’m sure Morris' father, actor Greg Morris, would be proud of his daughter’s sterling performance, which, Iona says, was crafted in part by watching hours of NCAA championship games.

In addition to Morris and Wiggens, the ensemble is deftly directed by James Reynolds. The rest of this two act drama’s cast is also up to par. As May, Amentha Dymally is poignant as Bobby’s doting mom, who comes to terms not only with her son’s demise, but with the daughter-in-law she has underestimated. As the devoted nurse Virginia, whom we’d all wish to have care for our loved ones in moments of need, Jill Remez (The Green Hornet, Lorca) excels. In addition to confronting the declining Bobby’s plague, she has to deal with the possessiveness, if not outright jealousy, of Lee, who, after years of marriage, is forced to allow another female tend to her husband’s bodily needs.

As the social worker Gabe and pastor Roger, Lamar Hughes and the appropriately named Christian Malmin round out the sympathetically drawn cast members who form Bobby’s support squad as he heads for that final round with the great scorekeeper in the sky.

Interestingly, the Fremont Center Theatre is actually a former mortuary, and I had reservations about seeing a play that revolved around the topic of death. But instead of feeling morbid, Harnetiaux’s drama is actually an enlightening, realistic look at the one fact of life none of us will ever escape, as well as at home and hospice care. The audience in the sold-out house applauded after each scene and gave a standing ovation at the end of the play, which on the night I attended was followed by a discussion with the cast and Vitas representatives. I ended up being glad I experienced this enlightening piece of live theatre, which you have a last chance to see before it fades to black next weekend. 

Holding On – Letting Go runs through June 3 at Fremont Centre Theatre, 1000 Fremont Ave. (at El Centro), South Pasadena, CA 91030. For reservations and information: (866)811-4111; www.fremontcentretheatre.com.

 

 

FILM REVIEW: MOONRISE KINGDOM

A scene from Moonrise Kingdom.

Nostalgia, it is worse than ever

By Don Simpson

Benjamin Britten’s 1947 recording “The Young Person‘s Guide to the Orchestra, Op. 34 (Themes A-F)” introduces us to the two distinct family units of Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom. First up is the Bishop family. Walt (Bill Murray) and Sandy Bishop (Frances McDormand) reside in an idyllic East Coast frame house -- yes, there is even a lighthouse -- with their children. One of their kids is Suzy (Kara Hayward), a precocious 12-year-old who is perpetually outfitted in a minidress, knee socks and Sunday-school shoes. The other family is much less traditional, they are a Khaki Scouts unit led by Scoutmaster Ward (Edward Norton) stationed at Camp Ivanhoe. The scout we are most concerned with is Sam (Jared Gilman), a 12-year-old orphan.

As Britten’s song suggests, individual instruments come together to form an orchestra. Anderson’s albeit heavy-handed audio-visual metaphor expresses how his characters -- who are initially introduced each in their own private space -- will eventually need to develop into a cohesive community to succeed. The problem is, two of the instruments of this tale (Suzy and Sam) consider themselves to be outcasts of their respective communities. Like prima donna musicians, they decide to go solo for a while. Well, okay, more like a duet; because it turns out that Suzy and Sam are pen pals and have been planning to run away together.

At a fateful moment of the narrative, Sam asks Suzy what kind of bird she is. Well, Suzy is the kind of bird who totes around a portable battery-powered record player in order to listen to her seven-inch of Françoise Hardy's "Le Temps De L’amour." She has a penchant for young adult fantasy novels, especially ones with a strong female lead and she prefers to have a bird’s-eye view of the world via her ever-present binoculars.

Sam’s personality traits and skills from being a Khaki Scout prove to be much more practical than Suzy’s in terms of wilderness survival, especially his knowledge of cartography. Nonetheless, there is never any doubt that Suzy and Sam’s excursion is only temporary. They are trapped on the small New England island of New Penzance -- and according to the film’s all-knowing narrator (Bob Balaban) a nasty hurricane is heading their way. The modest utopia that Suzy and Sam create at "Mile 3.25 Tidal Inlet" will soon be washed away into oblivion. Also, it seems as though the entire population of New Penzance is on the hunt for the 12-year-old runaways. The eventual coalescence of search parties is like a tidal wave that they are unable to out maneuver.

Lovers of Anderson’s uniquely kitschy aesthetic will more than likely adore the oh-so-precious cuteness of Moonrise Kingdom. What is not to love? Well, okay, Anderson’s films may not always have strong narratives -- he also has a knack for creating one-dimensional characters -- but there is no doubt that he possesses a keen ability to create wonderfully imaginative worlds. His films are hyperstylized and hyper-nostalgic (Moonrise Kingdom is set in early September 1965) fairy tales, like children or young adult stories that are crafted in such a way to appeal to adults. The parable-like tales are filled with minutely-outfitted, doll-like people who reside in dollhouse-like structures. Their actions are choreographed to soundtracks that appeal to the likes of hipster-music geeks.

While I respect Moonrise Kingdom’s commentary on the importance of acceptance and camaraderie in developing a society, I have grown quite weary of Anderson’s tendency to rely upon a rigid three-act structure which always seems to conclude with a huge climactic event that brings all of the players together. Anderson’s unabashed love for mapping, scheming and chasing -- though quirky and entertaining -- is also beginning to frustrate me. I keep hoping that he will add more complexity and depth to his films, but I am beginning to realize that will probably never happen. While I do not hesitate to admit that Anderson is great at what he does, he is clearly operating within his comfort zone. It is very difficult to ignore that practically everything and everyone in Moonrise Kingdom is recycled from one of Anderson’s previous films.

LAAPFF 2012: PAPA MAU THE WAYFINDER

A scene from  Papa Mau: The Wayfinder.

Come sail away with me

By Ed Rampell

Hawaiian director Na’alehu Anthony’s Papa Mau: The Way Finder literally traverses two of the three Pacific Island regions that compose Oceania: Polynesia and Micronesia (the third is Melanesia). Anthony’s camera and archival footage carries us aboard the Hōkūle'a, an ancient-style Polynesian voyaging canoe, from Hawaii to Tahiti and eventually to Satawal atoll in the Caroline Islands, now part of what is called the Federated States of Micronesia.

Rather remarkably, starting in 1976 Hōkūle'a (translated as “the Glad Star”) made these seafaring odysseys of Homeric proportions minus the use of modern technology: compasses, radio transmissions, GPS, engines, even maps per se. Instead, Hōkūle'a relied solely on the age-old techniques: navigating by following the stars, winds, ocean swells, birds and the like, using dead reckoning and more.

Hōkūle'a’s success helped spurr a cultural revival and ethnic pride, a Pacific Renaissance in the world’s last region still dominated by colonialism. Nevertheless, infighting on the canoe during the 30-plus day voyage disturbed Mau, who surreptitiously left the voyagers after they safely arrived at Tahiti and returned to Satawal (mostly, presumably, via jet), leaving the Hawaiians to fend for themselves for the long return trip home with his tape-recorded voice instructions.

The documentary briefly mentions in passing the dissension among the crew, but does not go into detail about the disputes and divisions. This may be because rather than being an objective observer and outsider, director Anthony has been a crewman aboard Hōkūle'a, and may not have wanted to ruffle feathers. Fractiousness among Hawaiians, especially among those in the “movement,” can reach Shakespearean proportions -- but that’s another story.

In any case, over the years Mau was wooed back to Hawaii and, moved by a desire to perpetuate his vanishing seagoing knowledge, rejoined the Hōkūle,a. However, this time, he would not lead as its helmsman, but rather as a teacher training and imparting to Nainoa Thompson of the Polynesian Voyaging Society and company his navigational genius so others could become and continue the master navigator legacy.

I arrived in Tahiti about three months after Hōkūle'a’s first voyage there, and although I’ve never had the luck, honor and privilege to sail aboard this venerable vessel, in the late 1980s I was fortunate enough to be able to attend the canoe’s return voyage from what, until that point, had been its most epic voyage throughout the Polynesian triangle -- taking it all the way to Aotearoa/New Zealand, thousands of miles away from Hawaii.

Now, Hawaiians have been turned by the vicissitudes of a cruel history into an oppressed, landless minority in their own ancestral homeland, and are often what the French call “les miserables,” full of suffering. But I never saw masses of Hawaiians so happy as when Hōkūle'a proudly sailed into Kaneohe Bay at Oahu, and thousands of Hawaiians joyfully participated in the reenactment of ancient customs and traditions. The then-Hawaiian Gov. John Waihee declared: “In my bones, I am screaming, 'I’m proud to be Hawaiian!'” I believe it was at this joyous homecoming where I had the great luck to meet Mau himself, as well as crewman En Hunkin (who became American Samoa’s Congressman), and I subsequently interviewed the then-youthful Nainoa (OMG, he has grey hair now in this documentary!), and became pals with another Hōkūle'a crew member, Donna Wendt (whom I’d share another epic voyage with on the Aranui, from Tahiti to the Marquesas -- but that also is another story).

So this documentary has profound personal meaning for me and this Paliku production (with support from the stellar Honolulu-based Pacific Islanders in Communications, as well as the State government’s Office of Hawaiian Affairs) should be experienced by anyone interested in sailing, Oceania, cultural rebirth, etc., – and in karma. The documentary follows what could be called the further adventures of the Hōkūle'a, its subsequent voyages since I left Hawaii, and reveals the fate of Mau. In what could be called cultural turn about fair play, the Hawaiians whom Mau taught to be master navigators return the favor in a very moving, meaningful way.

LAAPFF 2012: YES, WE'RE OPEN

A scene from Yes, We're Open.

Closed for good

By Miranda Inganni

Monogamy is overrated. At least according to self-proclaimed “modern” couple Sylvia (Lynn Chen) and her boyfriend, Luke (Parry Shen), in director Richard Wong’s new film Yes, We’re Open.

Mistaking pseudo rebellion for radical social awareness, when not professing their love for each other, Sylvia and Luke contemplate the potential realities of what polygamy would actually mean to them in terms of being modern. (For the record, only hipsters of the silliest sort would be this obsessed with portraying the modern lifestyle.)

Their presumed coolness is put to the test when they meet Elena (Sheetal Sheth) and her partner, Ronald (Kerry McCrohan), at a mutual friends’ dinner party.

This encounter leads to another meeting between the two couples, setting of a sexual experiment preoccupation for Luke and Sylvia as both individuals and as a couple. Do they fuck the couple (maybe a threesome)? Each is granting the other permission to do so, but do they mean it, and what happens if they go through with it?

Considering the film's subject matter, Wong has an opportunity to push some contemporary buttons, but holds way back. For starters, for all the sex that Yes, We’re Open seems to champion, there is barely any flesh. It is not that there has to be nudity, but the film is shot (by Seng Chen) in an extremely modest, practically prudish way. Moreover, Wong and screenwriter HP Mendoza’s narrative is strictly linear and downright bourgeois. There is nothing radical about the film’s storytelling.

Shot in San Francisco, a place sexually permissive by U.S. standards, Yes, We’re Open wants to be a flirty, fun film. And Chen and Shen do admirable jobs personifying a couple contemplating temptation, but the film doesn’t go far enough. In fact, it takes a rather conservative turn by film’s end. The institution of marriage they so bravely mock in the beginning of the film is embraced happily ever after before the final credits roll.

Sylvia and Luke (and the filmmakers) like to talk a good line or two, but they certainly don’t like crossing it.


The Los Angeles Pacific Asian Film Festival screens Yes, We're Open, tonight, 9 p.m., DGA 1; and May 19, 9:30 p.m., Art Theater of Long Beach. For more information: LAAPFF.

LAAPFF 2012: THE CRUMBLES

Elisa (Teresa Michelle Lee) in The Crumbles.

A piece of rock

By Miranda Inganni

In Akira Boch’s feature film debut, The Crumbles, the preternaturally mature and serious Darla (Katie Hipol) desperately wants her dream to succeed -- having a band that can achieve world dominance. Darla’s dreams seem like they will forever be just dreams until her friend, Elisa (Teresa Michelle Lee) suddenly appears, needing a place to stay. When none of their other friends will help out, Elisa becomes Darla’s indefinite couch-crasher yet an ideal bandmate. While Elisa has the (questionable) talent and drive to “make it big,” she also has an ego to match. The gals hatch their plan, and their fledgling band, and try to make it out of Echo Park, CA.

While Darla is perhaps overly responsible, Elisa is the exact opposite: flighty, a bit manic and fairly selfish. While she is caring and compassionate in rescuing a stray dog, it is up to Darla to pay and care for her (both the pooch and the pal). Elisa wants to party, drink, make music and have sexy times (we assume in order to forget her recent heartache). Darla is all business: work and music.

Darla is real and Hipol seems quite natural and credible in her role. Lee’s Elisa is totally without any redeeming qualities. She’s the kind of woman you think would be fun to hang out with for an hour, only to realize she won’t shut the fuck up and, oh yes, you’re paying the bill. While both young actresses have their qualities, Lee goes for an over-the-top performance where Hipol’s subtlety is more credible.

An all-too-familiar story of trying to make it, without ever really going anywhere, The Crumbles is sweet, local and refreshing -- especially due to the fact that there is no sex or violence.


The Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival screening of The Crumbles is tonight, 9:45 p.m., DGA 1. For more information: LAAPFF.

FILM REVIEW: DARK SHADOWS

Barnabas Collins (Johhny Depp) in Dark Shadows.

Sinking to Lower Depp

By Don Simpson

Way back in the mid-1770s, Barnabas Collins (Johnny Depp) -- master of Collinwood Manor -- falls in love with Josette (Bella Heathcote), thus shattering the heart of his voluptuous chambermaid, Angelique (Eva Green). Unfortunately for Barnabas, the scorned woman is a real bitch of a witch. In retaliation, Angelique turns Barnabas into a vampire and buries him alive (well, technically undead).

Just shy of two centuries later, Barnabas is freed from his tomb and unleashed upon the strange glam rock world of the 1970s. The Collinwood Manor is horribly dilapidated and the remaining Collins family have fallen into financial ruin. Barnabas makes it his primary goal to help the family matriarch, Elizabeth Collins Stoddard (Michelle Pfeiffer), restore the economic vitality of the Collins name. In the meantime, Barnabas falls in love with Victoria (Heathcote, again) -- who looks a heck of a lot like Josette -- and must once again face the jealous wrath of Angelique, who is known in this century as Angie.

Dark Shadows is director Tim Burton’s eighth collaboration with Johnny Depp (Edward Scissorhands; Sleepy Hollow; Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street; etc). While most critics cite Alice in Wonderland as their low point, I would save that distinction for the Dark Shadows because despite their supposed interest in making this film, the duo seem to have not expended any effort on the story at all. Rather than developing a more reverent film, Dark Shadows is a mockery of the source 1960s television series -- turning a serious and subtle evening soap opera into a mindless spoof. In the television series, Jonathan Frid’s restrained portrayal of Barnabas is what adds an air of creepiness to the show. Depp, however, decides to play Barnabas with a level of camp that is rivaled only by his role as Captain Jack Sparrow in The Pirates of Caribbean franchise. In Depp’s hands, Barnabas is nothing more than a buffoonish clown -- no thanks to the embarrassing immaturity of Seth Grahame-Smith’s screenplay -- who recites one ridiculous line after another. Considering the infantile intellectual level of some of the sight gags, I can only imagine that Dark Shadows was written for a pre-pubescent audience. This also explains why Burton chose to go with absolutely no plot, opting for a two-note joke: Look at the silly vampire! Listen to what the silly vampire is saying!

Despite being Barnabas’ object of desire, Victoria disappears from the story for long stretches of time, yet somehow we are supposed to accept that Barnabas loves her. Allusions of her connection to Barnabas’ first love are dropped almost immediately, as if Burton and Grahame-Smith could not wrap their heads around such a “complex” concept. As with Angie -- who is purely a sex object -- Victoria’s purpose in Dark Shadows is merely a physical one. Another example is Chloë Grace Moretz’s seductive portrayal of Carolyn Stoddard, which is nothing more than a pedophile fantasy. Then, there is the live-in psychiatrist of Collinwood, Dr. Julia Hoffman (Burton's wife and regular performer Helena Bonham Carter), who is defined only by her alcoholism and cartoonishly colored hair. In Burton and Grahame-Smith’s hands, the women of Dark Shadows have no depth. They are only objects for us to see, but never know or understand.

However, the men of Dark Shadows do not fare much better. Elizabeth’s brother, Roger (Jonny Lee Miller) and his 10-year-old son, David Collins (Gully McGrath), get so little attention that I can only assume that they were only included to fill up some space in the  mansion. Jackie Earle Haley -- who plays Willie Loomis, the caretaker of Collinwood -- is really the only actor who seems to be trying to do anything in this film.

Further exemplifying Burton’s favoritism of images over story or dialogue, he uses a vibrant 1970s color palate as a backdrop. One could only assume that Burton thought a 200-plus-year old vampire would blend in too much in any other decade, so he chose to set this story in the 1970s. This also allows Burton to pummel us into submission with a cheesy 1970s pop soundtrack, including a shameless cameo by “No More Mr. Nice Guy” himself, Alice Cooper!

FILM REVIEW: THE AVENGERS

A scene from The Avengers.

Comics con

By Don Simpson

The Avengers may not be a great film, but it is probably the best superhero film ever made -- which is not necessarily saying a lot.

Sure, there are a few exceptions, but even the best superhero films (X-Men, X2, Spider-Man, Spider-Man 2, The Dark Night) have had their fatal flaws. First and foremost, no superhero film to date has been able to maintain a strong and coherent narrative for the duration of the film. The significance of the story always plays second-fiddle to special effects, action sequences and costumes. That is just the nature of the beast. As film history informs us, superhero films are supposed to be straightforward stories of good versus evil. Sure, sometimes the definitions of good and bad are a little blurred, and good does not always prevail (at least not in the short term), but there is always a superhero (or team of superheroes) and a villain (or a group of villains), and battle they must. The villains are never all that complex; in most cases they just want to control the world or destroy it, other times they are just good old fashioned nut jobs.

The Avengers plot is not much better. If anything, the plots of X-Men and X2 are stronger. Oh, no! Thor’s (Chris Hemsworth) brother, Loki (Tom Hiddleston), wants to bring the world to its knees with an alien army! Who can save the world? The Avengers! So, Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) rallies his team of misfits together...and the rest is history. Luckily for writer-director Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, Dollhouse), several of The Avengers origins stories have already been theatrically released so no backstory is necessary for the superheroes. Even the two Avengers who were deemed not worthy of origins stories -- Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) and Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) -- only get a couple lines of expository dialogue to explain their pasts.

So with a half-assed plot, and no character development, Whedon, one of the true masters of witty, snarky, self-referential dialogue, plays to his strengths and saturates the script with smart ass dialogue. In turn, there is no point in The Avengers where the film takes itself seriously -- which is not such a bad thing. Working with superheroes like Thor, who protects the world with his giant hammer (to quote Captain Hammer from Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog: “the hammer is my penis”), or Captain America (Chris Evans), who protects the world with a shield (okay, I admit it, I’m lacking a sexual metaphor for this guy), what is to be taken seriously? Then, there is Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) who is as cocksure as superheroes come and the not-so-jolly green giant with severe anger management issues, The Hulk (Mark Ruffalo). Essentially, Whedon uses The Avengers as a playground to allow the Avengers free reign to mock each other, and he does this in such a way to be humorous but not piss off loyal fans of the source material.

Speaking of fans, if you are a fan of Whedon’s television work, the Avengers are culled directly from the Whedonverse. Whedon has made a career of developing characters who must come to terms with their superhuman powers. Then they are matched up against other superhuman characters. Then Whedon lets them fight (physically or verbally) out their differences until they begrudgingly join forces in an apocalyptic battle against a seemingly undefeatable enemy. In most cases, there is a higher power who is revealed to be playing puppet master, controlling the fate of the world (usually unbeknown to the protagonists).

On a side note, there is a much stronger Whedon screenplay currently in multiplexes that is far more worthy of your attention: Cabin in the Woods. Unlike The Avengers’ watered-down plot (which we can probably chalk up to Disney keeping Whedon on a short leash), the narrative complexities of Cabin in the Woods’ plot reaches nearly inexplicable levels. Cabin in the Woods proves that genre filmmaking can push the intellectual limits of the audience, whereas The Avengers is just another Hollywood joyride.

NEWPORT BEACH 2012: THE WAR AROUND US

Sherine Tadros in The War Around Us.

There will be no shelter here

By Ed Rampell

One of the hardest hitting documentaries I’ve seen in years, Abdallah Omeish’s The War Around Us deserves not only distribution so audiences can see it, but also an Oscar nomination.

The War Around Us is the true story of the only two international journalists reporting from the war zone, as Israel bombarded and invaded Gaza in late 2008. Al Jazeera’s Cairo-born, Arab-American Ayman Mohyeldin and Arab-British Sherine Tadros were on the ground in Gaza City during the Israeli military operation that resulted, according to this gripping documentary, in the highest number of Palestinians killed in a single day since 1948.

The dynamic duo of Mohyeldin and Tadros does yeoman work reporting on the war’s consequences on a largely civilian population for the Arab network, and provide a window on the conflict to the outside world. The doc alleges that the Israeli Defense Forces committed war crimes against noncombatants, including unarmed women, children and elders, including the use of white phosphorus, which an Israeli spokesman denies, although eyewitnesses, including human rights activists, confirm it. During the conflagration, as hospitals are filled beyond the bursting point and basics such as electricity, water and even cheeseburgers, are cut off, a U.N. compound is bombarded by the IDF.

The War Around Us is a gripping reminder that war is hell, and of a specific conflict most of us have forgotten about. Of course, the poor Palestinians remember it, but this doc would have benefitted from providing more context as to why the Israelis did what they did, and the roles that the change in U.S. administrations (from the Bush to the Obama regime) and Prime Minister Ehud Olmert’s alleged corruption played in this devastation -- so heroically chronicled by Mohyeldin and Tadros.