Capital Stage opens second season on J Street

Review: Laugh and learn, ENRON exasperates as it entertains

2012-09-25T19:59:17Z

“That was wild—and I learned a lot!”

That was just one of many comments being bantered about by an audience clearly still engaged by what they had just seen, even as they exited the theater. The crowd was abuzz as they exited the opening night performance of ENRON at Capital Stage, a few younger members openly agitated by what they had learned about the nefarious dealings and demise of the energy giant.

“[News Report] ‘California’s power supply came up short today, and the lights went out. Rolling blackouts have hit the sixth largest economy in the world. For the first time in sixty-five years, the electric power market is in chaos. Electricity rates are climbing and California has gone into meltdown.’

[Jeff Skilling, President, ENRON] ‘You know the difference between the state of California and the Titanic? At least when the Titanic went down the lights were on.’”

If it were my production, I would consider it an ideal audience reaction.

The script, written by Lucy Prebble, and first performed in Chichester—who, after all, knows Texas big business like a British chick—is exceedingly clever and well put together. It relies on a few pivotal actors and a small company of well-utilized support players. The set is minimal as well, a rolling desk, and stools, but uses music and graphics, along with timely news footage to move the story forward. What might be a very dry—albeit infuriating—story, is anything but.

At Capital Stage, director Stephanie Gularte and choreographer Shannon Mahoney (who also performed as Claudia Roe) made good use of the space and created a well choreographed impressively staged work of art about business.

Choreography? Indeed. This is not a typical commentary on greed and loathing in Texas.

There are dance numbers, singing, and four-part harmonies.

There are strange things that have to be worn on one’s head, and a lot of running about.

This is not a play for the weak of cardiovascular!

All of the players entered and exited and spun furniture, performing transitions that were at times like nothing so much as a macabre homage to Rowan & Martin’s Laugh In.

The ensemble, with standout performances by Lucinda Hitchcock Cone and Michael Stevenson—were exceedingly energetic and consistent on opening night, not to mention versatile. Mahoney made savvy sexy as Claudia Roe, and Jonathon Rhys Williams as Jeffrey Skilling, was adept at never quite owning the charisma the media wanted to assign him, remaining at heart the brilliant but bullied strategist, the nihilistic nerd.

“[Skilling] If you have an idea, if you sign a deal, say that we’re gonna provide someone with a supply of champagne for the next few years at a set price, every month or whatever—Then that definite future income can be valued, at market prices today, and written down as earnings the moment the deal is signed. We don’t have to wait for the grapes to be grown and squashed.”

Sound familiar?

“That was wild-- and I learned a lot!”

This is a very strong beginning to the second season for Capital Stage in the new venue on J Street.

If only the financial industry had had the same reaction to ENRON the Event that theater-goers had to ENRON the play!

ENRON will be performed Wednesday through Saturday evenings, with Sunday matinees, through October 21st. Capital Stage is located at 2215 J Street. ENRON contains adult themes and content. Tickets and more information at www.capstage.org.

Editor's note: This article has been updated with additional show information after publishing.

MidLife GridLife - Getting Schooled

2012-06-16T17:57:44Z

Some weeks I don’t know how I’m going to keep up with the homework.

I have kind of a crush on one of my teachers this term—not naming names!

I haven’t been on a decent date in ages, let alone had a boyfriend.

And I’ve turned in a million applications, but no one seems to be hiring.

When I said, “47 is the new 17,” I’m pretty sure this is not what I meant.

It’s actually kind of creepy. And yet, never dull!

When I was a teenager the first time, pre-teen, probably, I was almost terrified by the idea of growing up. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like. It was unfathomable, like the idea that we were all floating on a big hunk of Earth in space (which I also obsessed about), and I worried about how it would play out.

Eventually I realized that it never felt any different from one day to the next.

Eventually I realized that:

Dressing down for P.E. was not the traumatic event I feared it would be.

I should have waited longer to have sex.

The attention I was looking (begging) for needed to come from me, before I could appreciate it from anyone else.

Turn off the TV when you do your homework.

Do your homework.

School does matter.

Shoes really should have arch support.

Miniature golf is underrated.

Making out in the car never loses its heat.

I learned most of this in my 40’s. It’s the perfect time for a do-over.

My decades break down something like this:

Who am I? (Early Teens)

Do You Like Me? (Late Teens)

Please Like Me!/You like Me, Right? (20’s)

Screw You If You Don’t Like Me, I’m Fine! (30’s)

I’m A Pretty Good Person/I Like Who I Am So Far (40’s)

I have great expectations for my 50’s.

I expect not even to think about myself by the time my sixties roll around!

Thirty years ago, did I think I would be worried about boys and homework and job-hunting at this stage in my life? Um, no! And I I can tell you another thing: if you’d asked me, I’d have panicked and changed the subject.

How’s that for a learning curve?

"Where We're Born" - Solid Ensemble Brings Big Talent to Small Space

2012-02-06T03:57:09Z

Where we’re born is more than a location, it’s part of who we are.

Where We’re Born, the stage play by Lucy Thurber, is a strikingly simple and honest look at a young woman’s struggle with life change, the desire to and difficulty of leaving the comfort of your home and history—however hurtful it may have been. It is not a story, but a more like a series of snapshots taken during the course of a few days when the relationships and potentially, lives of three people are forever altered.

The catalyst for all of this is Lilly (Jessicah Neufeld), on a quasi-vacation from college. She arrives back in the small Western Massachusetts hill town she calls home just as a domestic crisis is unfolding between her cousin, Tony, (Brian Harrower) and his girlfriend, Franky (Kelley Ogden), but rather than creating a welcome diversion, she unleashes unexpected drama of her own.

The cast of five, under the direction of Lisa Thew, gives solid individual performances, as well as performing keenly and comfortably as an ensemble.

Harrower gives an especially subtle, but emotional and compelling interpretation of Tony, a guy who spends most of his time drinking beer, smoking pot, playing pool, and listening to rock and roll with his best buddies, but also has a deep-seated need to keep all of the women in his life happy.

David Chernyavsky and John Gregory Young round out the cast as Tony’s ever-present pals.

Ooley’s is a little-known theater, intimate, but more than adequate. KOLT Run Creations makes good use of the space, and there isn’t a bad seat in the house. Even the concessions are notable, provided by Num Nums, homemade for each performance and chosen specifically for each show. (Lime mini-cupcakes: To. Die. For.)

Having just seen another local show earlier in the week, it was impossible not to compare and contrast the quality of the productions. The lead actress in the previous show tripped over numerous lines (more than a week into the run) and--along with others in the cast--over the area rug that kept flipping up throughout the show.

Not fatal mistakes, but distracting flaws.

When the lights came up at the end of Where We’re Born, my guest and I turned to each other and marveled that two hours had already passed.

That’s a rare and excellent entertainment experience.

If only there’d been more people there to share it.

Where We’re Born, February 3rd-26th. Ooley Theater, 2007 28th Street (near T Street). Fridays and Saturdays at 8PM; Sundays, February 19th and 26th at 2 PM. koltruncreations.com or (916) 454-1500. This production contains adult content.

MidLife GridLife - On Broadway

2011-12-02T06:38:12Z

Occasionally it has been whispered that I complain (whine) about things in my adopted hometown, so I decided to share some of my impressions of the place I've called home for almost forty years. The writing spans a bit of time and perspective, as well.

Before I was a columnist, I was a poet...

Saturday Night SacTown (Circa 1978)

Pregnant girls with basketball bellies
and bigger bad bangs
tarantula lashes
purple lips colored inside the lines
Not dressed for the weather
Hanging out by the Discount Store
Worrying their gum
Waiting

At the bar on K Street, gay men
Sucked in by the stereotype
Puppy dog eyes
Leather baseball caps and cowboy boots
Leather vests, Pearly buff chests
Eyes lined
Outside, after hours
(they call it the ‘patio sale’)
A sauna of soured cologne, musky desperation
Leftovers leave together

Wannabe grown-ups, adolescents
Tank tops hair gel
Cherry toenails on the dash
Cruising in cars
Windows down
Way down on Broadway
Speakers and adrenaline blaring
Bottle in the backseat
No U-turn

3/23/91

Tower, Café Patio
Sunday morning late
Saccharin on the breeze, sunshine
Legs folded, entwined, swan neck
Scuffed cotton slippers, hooded
Faded black scarf
Crocheted around her neck, faceless
Sad beautiful music
Sung far away in Spanish
Sifting water
Olive and grey sweaters
Books doodled and doted on, softened
Scarred
Glass of water with no lip imprint
Light through the shrubbery behind her, a paper sack
Stage right. I read her
With my brunch, she reads
And replaces things from the paper bag

When she takes her leave
her hip sway
hints at chapters I might have missed

2008

MidLife GridLife - Altared Thinking

2011-11-04T08:29:53Z

It was supposed to be cathartic.

Healing.

To bring a sense of peace and closure to a difficult experience.

Instead it was like opening the wound all over again.

Grief is complicated.

Father/daughter relationships are complicated.

At least mine is.

Was.

Is.

See what I mean?

When I saw the announcement for this year’s Panteón Sacramento, put on by La Raza Galería Posada, I saw it as an opportunity for my sister and my son and me to do something that we hadn’t been allowed to do properly: memorialize my father.

He died unexpectedly over just a couple of days in May of 2010. He was 68.

His third wife took charge of the memorial, which was a sort of open house, and the obituary, which said little more than who his parents had been and named his surviving relatives; we were happy to be included.

The following March, we were given access to some of his things. There may have been a will; we never asked. He would have left her everything, so to see it would have been a pointless exercise in frustration.

Daughters were difficult, but wives he’s seem to have come up with a reliable formula for. He was disappointing in that way, but predictable.

Am I cynical? Absolutely.

Bitter? You bet.

If only it were that simple.

Much of the person I am is a result of being my father’s daughter.

That’s the first time I’ve formulated the thought in that way, and it isn’t entirely comfortable.

But it’s my truth.

When I was fourteen, my father took me to work in our upholstery shop on Saturdays and showed me how to keep books. He made feel welcome with the employees, and competent. I get my work ethic from him.

He never encouraged me to write per se, but we share a love of the same kinds of pop culture, so after years of writing film and book reviews, he is still the person I think of first when an interesting thriller or series debuts.

He never so much as fried an egg when I lived at home, but later he became my go-to for how long to cook a roast or how to season a chicken.

I, on the other hand, used to help him with his spelling when he wrote speeches when he worked for Caltrans under Reagan.

But my dad and I didn’t talk.

When I was young, I was simply too intimidated to speak to him about anything important; I would begin, begin again, and then generally run out of the room sobbing.

When I was older, we had teary drunken dinners and champagne challenged conversations in the corner at parties where we reassured each other that everything was fine.

I confronted him when things weren’t. He liked to play martyr and I was a bit of a shrew.

I can clearly remember one afternoon in my apartment—I was probably 21—when I went after him over his drinking.

“Okay,” he said, turning around—we were both on our feet and he was across the room near the sliding door—“I’m an alcoholic. Do you feel better now that you’ve heard me say it?”

“Yes,” I said smugly, “I do!”

“Good,” he continued, ”But I hope you know I have no intention of doing anything about it.”

Actually, it turned out he wasn’t really an alcoholic. It was a realization that swept through us all. Bipolar Disorder. None of us have difficulty abstaining when we choose to, and typically take prescribed medication once the diagnosis is in. Dad, however, decided to continue to use alcohol as his treatment of choice, on and off through the years, even after he knew there were healthier options.

Complicated.

I could say that he never told me he loved me.

But he did.

Or that he never said he was proud of me.

But he did.

When I complained that he didn’t support me as much as I wanted him to, he said he knew that was true, because I “didn’t need it as much.” I was “the strong one.”

I told him sometimes it sucked to be the strong one, and he just shrugged, and said I’d be fine.

He put everything he couldn’t give me into my son.

I had to watch that. It stung.

I got to see that. It was…a gift.

Complicated.

So when the opportunity to honor him on Día de los Muertos came this year, I thought it would be a powerful experience for us to share; to put him to rest together, and to remember him, too.

I considered backing out.

I did.

I was already overwhelmed by the idea the night before.

My son talked me out of it.

He talked me into going to Wal-Mart at 9:30 at night to buy face paint.

He’s a really cool kid.

Turns out, after six or seven years of Spanish classes, he knew something about altars, too.

We are not of Latin heritage, so we did not really concern ourselves with pure tradition, but were content to blend some of the cultural aspects with our own personal forms of tribute.

My sister ended up being too busy to join in.
.
I let my son roll it out and then I put my own marks on it, moving a few things here and there.

I was as proud of my boy that morning as I’ve ever been, as his Poppa would have been.

I was proud of myself for not sitting down on the ground in front of his beautiful display and sobbing, which is what I really wanted to do.

Throughout my entire life, my dad would say, and again near the end of his, that we’d all be “better off without him.” It’s just how he was. It was sometimes sad, and other times aggravating to hear.

I never expected to prove him wrong this soon, though. Not really.

In the hospital they restarted his heart four or five times. Eventually they would realize he didn’t want extreme measures, and he passed away a day or so later.

But the last thing I said before they took him out of ER, the last time I spoke to him, was to tell him we’d all be okay.

Just like on television, giving the dying person permission to die, right?

Except that we’d been having versions of that same conversation for years, and it really kind of pissed me off!

Sometimes it sucks to be the strong one.

Complicated.

In memory of Charles “Chuck” Johnson 2/7/42-5/3/10
Loved
His grandson
His daughters
His wives
Ronald Reagan
Good cigars
Barbera
Vehicles made by the Ford Motor Company
…but not necessarily in that order

Día de los Muertos Festivities with La Raza Galería Posada

2011-10-30T01:51:28Z

Día de los Muertos—Day of the Dead--is a Mexican tradition that stems from
Meso-American societies, and was heavily influenced during the Spanish Conquest of Mexico in the XIV Century.

During Día de los Muertos families create ofrendas (offerings) for loved ones who have passed. Día de los Muertos is observed in various forms throughout the American Continent and is an important pillar of Mexican, Latino and Chicano culture in the United States (La Raza Galeria Posada).

Although the Day of the Dead actually falls on November 1st, festivities are being held this weekend by La Raza Galeria Posada in a special location, between J and K, 20th and 21st Streets in Midtown.

The central focus is the display of altars.

They are as diverse as the souls who inspire them; some are small and simple, others large and elaborate. Many are traditional. They include the bread, salt, foods and flowers, and many other ingredients culturally appropriate for sending someone safely into the next life. Others are less orthodox.

All are an obvious labor of love, born of loss.

For the uninitiated, the exhibit may be unique in its blend of sorrow and celebration.

It’s also an opportunity to teach children and young people about grieving and loss.

The festivities resume Sunday morning. Admission is free.

8 am: Panteón Re-opens.
12pm-6pm: DJ-Albert Garnica playing oldies, rancheras, viejitas, and other requests ($1/song)
12-2pm: Cempazuchitl Flower Making Workshop*- ($5/person)
2:30pm-4pm: Mask-painting Workshop*- ($10/person)
4:30pm-6pm: Mask-painting Workshop*- ($10/person)
7:30pm: Closing Ceremony

Rock Allegiance tour comes to Power Balance Pavilion Sunday

2011-09-24T06:31:45Z

The Rock Allegiance Tour will blow out Power Balance Pavilion this Sunday at 5 p.m. The early kickoff time is necessary to accommodate the packed lineup. Papa Roach and Buckcherry headline the lucky list of seven bands that includes Puddle of Mudd, P.O.D., Red, Crossfade and Drive A.

I talked with singer/songwriter, Jacoby Shaddix, the founder, and only remaining original member of Papa Roach about the tour, and what’s happening with the band.

Jacoby Shaddix, the founder and only remaining original member of Papa Roach, grew up in Vacaville, where the band graduated high school together before relocating to Sacramento. He says the Rock Allegiance appearance will be the last opportunity for fans to see the band perform live before they go off the radar and into the studio.

“Last chance to dance, bitches, ‘cause we’re gonna be away making a record!” he said.

Shaddix and guitarist Jerry Horton are die-hard Northern Californians, while Tobin Esperance and Tony Palermo have relocated to L.A. The band has a recording studio in downtown Sacramento where they’ll be putting together the record. While Shaddix says P. Roach (as he refers to the band) has a lucrative recording deal, the real money, he assured, is still in touring. But it isn’t the only reason they spend time on the road.

“Live shows bring people out of the woodwork and together,” he said. “It forges friendships.”

He says the Rock Allegiance Tour has significance for aspiring artists.

“All the bands on this tour are independent,” which, he says, is unusual. “It proves a (group) doesn’t always have to have major-label backing to be a success.”

Shaddix is particularly excited about the Sacramento gig — “a great way to wind up 2011” — because the band will be shooting a live music video. They teamed up with a local radio station [which one?] to provide a group of fans with video cameras. He figures the combination of live music and fan and audience participation should take things up a few notches.

“It’ll be a killer show from beginning to end!”