Another Night Before Christmas

Title: Another Night Before Christmas
Theatre: Chanhassen Dinner Theatres
Playing Through: December 31st

Another Night Before Christmas presents itself as a kind of sequel/modernization of A Visit from St. Nicholas, the twist being that the homeowner is a lonely, alienated social worker whose malfunctioning security system has locked her in her apartment with Santa. Oh, and it’s not entirely clear whether Santa is Santa or a mentally unstable burglar.

That’s a freakin’ brilliant premise. Part of the problem is that it’s treated inconsistently. If she’s a competent social worker who truly believes that the man is delusional, she should know better than to indulge him to the degree that she does. One moment she regards him as dangerous, the next they’re laughing and sipping wine together, the next she’s afraid for her life again. I appreciate that it’s a comedy, but I don’t think I’m being excessively pedantic — it bothers me precisely because it undermines the comedy. If there’s no consistent tension, there’s nothing for his schtick to play against.

His schtick consists of — well, not really jokes, per se — mainly stream-of-consciousness impressions and pop-culture references, a la Robin Williams. It’s a style of comedy that is widely loved, but which I personally find needy and off-putting. Moreover, I found that it rendered the character actively unlikeable, to the point that the question of whether he’s Santa or not ceased to be relevant — as he breaks into the terrified girl’s apartment, and she pleads with him while he fires punchlines at her, he either doesn’t know what a frightening situation he’s creating for a single woman living alone, in which case he’s a lunatic, or he doesn’t care, in which case he’s a sociopath. Neither is one that I particularly want to spend two hours with.

And as for the ending, when the stranger is revealed as Santa (which surely can’t count as a spoiler, can it? Was there any doubt that the play would end with him performing some miracle, her abandoning all of her perfectly legitimate complaints about greed and rampant consumerism, and converting to the Sacred Text of Christmas Is Awesome?), I found myself wondering, man — wouldn’t this have been an amazing play if they actually embraced that ambiguity? If they didn’t pursue the most obvious route? If it really did turn out to be a story about love and charity, even at its most difficult?

But then — I think it goes deeper than that. None of the above points are really hugely significant. They’re the usual mental exercise of me trying to figure out why I’m sitting in the audience, surrounded by a packed house of laughing patrons, and wondering why can’t I laugh at this?

Upon reflection, I have a theory — inspired by something that didn’t take place during the performance itself, but immediately beforehand.

Fifteen minutes before the show, the greeter — both charming and charismatic — stood up to give a fairly standard curtain speech. He closed out with a popular street joke, which drew an appreciative ripple of laughter from the audience. I was seeing the show with a friend, who also happens to be a popular stand-up comedian, and watched him wince in something like physical agony. The use of street jokes onstage actively offended him.

Among comedy writers, there’s a myth of “universal comedy” — as if there was some kind of Monty Python-esque “Killer Joke” that, if it could simply be distilled and reproduced, would be equally appreciated by everyone on earth. That’s an utter myth, of course — people are complicated, comedy is complicated, and the intersection between the two is never going to be consistent.

Much of what I find appealing about comedy is surprise — the moment of mutual realization that the audience shares — when they’re shocked or stunned into laughter. I had exactly three points at which I laughed during the show, all of which because they were unexpected.

Back when I was a Renaissance Festival performer, I used to perform immediately following a trio known as the Dew Drop Jugglers. It was an education — since, hearing their act multiple times a day for weeks at a time, I quickly memorized it. And their delivery was exactly the same, without variation, day after day after day. The formula was simple enough that audiences learned the material, too, and took great delight in reciting the routines along with the performers.

And it made me wonder, man. Doing that multiple times a day, for weeks at a time, for years on end — wouldn’t you just kind of want to pierce your ears with a railroad spike? Apparently so, because every now and again, they would try to rewrite their material, introduce new jokes, mix it up a bit.

The audiences hated it. They would not allow them to change. They wanted to see the material they knew, and they wanted to bring their friends back to introduce them to exactly the thing that they’d fallen in love with. They didn’t want a new experience, but to re-experience their initial moment of surprise.

And it occurs to me that, as much as I’m annoyed with tired, obvious, hackneyed jokes — the things that I hate are precisely what constitute their appeal. The audience loves those punchlines because they’re obvious and familiar. It’s the theatrical equivalent of comfort food.

None of which necessarily increases my enjoyment. But I think I can appreciate why it was working for the crowd I was with.

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas

Title: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
Company: Stages Theatre Company
Playing Through: December 28th

Initial Thought: A Visit from St. Nicholas is a widely-adapted Christmas poem that’s kind of a really weird choice to try to adapt anything from — it’s paper-thin, almost nothing happens in it, and it’s more about evoking a sort of atmosphere than communicating much of a story.

Plot Summary: So this production takes a sort of metafictional twist — it’s about the composition of the poem by Clement Clarke Moore on Christmas Eve. His family continually distracts him from the task. Then fairies show up.

Apparently Tangential Thought That I Totally Swear I’m Going Somewhere With: It occurred to me recently that I haven’t really seen most of the major Biblical epics, so I’ve been binging on them over the past couple of weeks. Most telling are the adaptations of the Gospels. The most effective are at their core conversion stories: witnessing the people around Jesus gradually realizing that, whoa, the things this guy is saying are actually pretty bold. By far the least effective are those that presuppose that Jesus Is Awesome: he opens his mouth and people start immediately falling all over each other to get to him; he’s always framed in magnificent, sweeping shots; delivers all of his lines with a booming solemnity and everything short of a Golden-Age-Superman knowing wink at the audience.

The Point I’m Trying To Make: Is that this is kind of the secular equivalent of that.

No, Wait, Let Me Elaborate: The core idea of this show is that Christmas Is Awesome. That is its Sacred Text, its unblinking, unquestioned assumption. Which makes any kind of rational criticism kind of difficult, since just about every decision the production makes is based on that.

By which I mean, there’s a lot of observations that could be made: that the plot is paper-thin; that most of the pleasures come from visual stimulation and stagecraft that don’t do much to advance said plot; that it’s peppered with songs that don’t really contribute much of anything beyond atmosphere. These observations would be technically correct, but missing the point, because the point of this production is atmosphere. The cheery family and obedient children with their stilted, polite dialogue don’t resemble any family that I’m familiar with — but they’re not supposed to: they’re an idealized family, one that can be the way they are because they’ll never have to confront any serious problem. I think I grasp the appeal of that kind of fantasy, but not enough to share it.

Sugar-plum fairies show up: not because they have much of anything to do with the source text (beyond that line about “visions of sugar-plums”), but because they appear in the Nutcracker Suite and they’re now associated with Christmas in the popular consciousness. Likewise, toys dance because they do it in the Nutcracker and it’s Christmassy. Every aspect of the script is a celebration of the images and traditions we’ve come to associate with the holiday, so how much you enjoy the show will likely be directly proportionate to how much value you place on that kind of nostalgia.

A Personal Prejudice: I think I’m prepared to add the word “magical” to my short list of misused or vaguely-defined words (along with “quantum”) whose misuse bothers me, because I have the sense that they represent powerful or beautiful concepts — particularly as someone with an interest in the construction of fantasy, for children or otherwise. The fairies represent an entirely benevolent disruption of the natural order. There are no rules governing their behavior. They seem to exist solely to provide a line-by-line inspiration for the writer’s creation of the poem, as though it existed as something before him and he simply needed to call it into existence — as though the writer were completely irrelevant to the process of creation.

No, Wait: I’m going to return to that point later.

A Quick Note on the Acting (particularly since I tend to be very text-oriented): Some of the performers are quite good, but it’s difficult to tell, because their performances are put at the service of that excessively stagey, cartoonishly broad style that is currently very popular in children’s theatre: one that eschews subtlety, seemingly under the assumption that children won’t be able to appreciate it. I find this assumption objectionable.

Which is why I also find it ironic that the child actors were by far the best performers in the show. The adults’ singing was shaky — not even slightly so for the younger ones. Several of the young dancers were impressively strong. In nearly every scene, the children acted around their elders in circles — while I found the adults grating, the children committed to their parts with a total intensity that made me wish I could see what they could do in another production.

The Defining Quote of the Show: “Maybe being a serious writer is just writing about what you feel and see…and not being so…serious!”

The Point I Said That I Was Going To Return To Later: I imagine that your response to the above quote is likely to be your response to the show itself. If you find that to be a romantic, liberating sentiment, this is probably the show for you — and the size of the audience suggests that this is the vast majority, who I cheerfully hope have a wonderful time.

Alas, I’m among those who find its implications objectionable: the claim that emotion is more important than thought; that your nostalgia for symbols and rituals is more important than a consideration of what they represent. I don’t think I’m asking too much from an all-ages Christmas show; and I don’t have any objection to milk for babes, and meat for men.

The Verdict: For those who love those symbols and rituals with a fervor bordering on the religious, this show was made for you. For the rest of us, it’s syrupy enough that it may leave you feeling kind of sticky and gross afterwards.

Animal Cracker Genocide

I’ve been following Ben’s work since he first started doing stand-up. Seriously. As someone who frequents open-mics, I think I was in the audience as far back as his first time onstage. I don’t follow the local stand-up scene closely, although I do have some awareness of it; and he stood out immediately as an appealing, self-deprecating newcomer with an unusually cerebral streak. While his material was golden from the get-go, his stage presence could be stiff and off-putting.

Three years have passed, and while in this show his tics haven’t vanished — he still mumbles, he’s still furtive — he’s now taken those liabilities and turned them into assets. His persona is relaxed and polished, and the night I was there he shone.

Of course, that may not be a fair assessment — it was a sold-out house, and it’s hard not to give a great performance with an audience like that. Not that you’ll likely find out otherwise, since he’s sold out his first two performances, including a Monday night slot(!).

His material’s as strong as it ever was — indeed, much of it is maintained from previous shows, albeit tightened up considerably. The difference now is that he’s developed a sufficiently approachable stage presence that everyone can reach that material. It was one hell of an hour of entertainment, and I’m honored to have the opportunity to work with him.

My Sinking Ship

Well, I loved it. I don’t know why more people aren’t seeing it.

Her first show, All the Things I Never Told My Mother, will always have a special place in my heart. And her last show, I’ll Marry You For Health Insurance, remains by far her best-written script to date (albeit one that I struggled with). But this one? Definitely her most entertaining.

Basically, it’s not much more than a collection of goofy recollections of drunken (and otherwise) debauchery. These are punctuated by a series of crappy, amateurish, kindergarten-theatre-style transitions that I found hysterical. (In particular, the line “Oh, look, everybody — a music stand!” is a standout.)

There’s really not much to say that the show description doesn’t make abundantly clear. This is one Fringe show that is exactly what it looks like: the best spoken-word in a raft…ever. Nothing more. And nothing less.

Alice Unwrapped

Urg. Another one that I’m in complete disagreement with the majority on. This is one that I’ve been hearing a lot about through the grapevine, to the point that at last one person teared up while he was recommending it to me. The show concluded in a nearly unanimous standing ovation. I say nearly unanimous, because I didn’t join in on account of apparently having a stunted sense of empathy.

I’ve seen Nautilus Music-Theater on and off for the past several years. They frequently take some very literate texts and set them to music. My impression is generally that these are incredibly technically proficient, but gain very little by being shifted to another medium.

This was, essentially, a one-woman show, a story told from the point of view of a teenager whose father is MIA in Iraq, and her attempts to hold her family together. Compelling stuff, and I suspect that I would have been riveted had the material been spoken. I also suspect that much of my hostility comes from a profound dislike for many of the conventions of musical theater: I found her performance excessively mannered, compounded by a series of exaggerated tics and mannerisms that made me want to say stop stop stop and just tell me what you have to say. This is less of a reflection on her as an actress — indeed, she found several moments of genuine emotion through the music — than it is on a style of performance that I’ve always found grating and jarring. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to overcome this sufficiently to reach the character behind it, so I found much of the hour tortuous.

Mansion of Dust

Note that I arrived nearly a full ten minutes late for this one. I’m reasonably confident that I didn’t miss much plot.

I’ll confess that I’m at a bit of a loss as to what to say about this one, since there honestly doesn’t seem to be all that much to it: it’s basically a vehicle for their considerable talents (Sara’s dance and Joe’s physical comedy), as well as their chemistry together (which is charming), as they bumble about in a haunted mansion.

I loved loved loved their collaboration last year, Dance of the Whisky Faerie, although that was a meandering show as well; perhaps I found it more enjoyable because the frame story immediately established an episodic structure, whereas this one really kind of felt like stuff happening and then more stuff happening and then some more stuff happens and then it’s over. So while it’s chock-full of some entertaining moments — not least of which is a lightning-lit bunny attack — I couldn’t really find the meticulous attention to structure that their last show bore. Enjoyed sitting through it, just found myself moving on with a bit of a befuddled shrug.

Sideways Stories From Wayside School

Before entering the theatre, my companion asked me to tell her about the books: I replied that, while I’d read them when I was a child, I sustained hardly any memory of them. So, truth be told, I can’t approach anything like an objective analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of this show: because my experience of seeing it was being hit by wave after wave of nostalgia as I went “Oh, yeah — I remember that!” What I can tell you is that it’s bright and colorful and fast-moving and has a ridiculously talented cast and that this could be the role that Courtney McLean was born to play.

(And also that, every Fringe, I tend to find one line or one moment that I find completely, irrationally, disproportionately hilarious. Thus, I have spent the intervening time resisting the urge to suddenly shriek “Ahh! Rattlesnakes!” and instead find myself bursting out into sudden fits of helpless giggling. I have no idea why I’m wired this way.)

Buyer’s Remorse

This is another show that I stumbled into purely by random chance, and I winced when I opened the programme and saw that the play was by the author of Killer Smile — a show that I found well-constructed, but ultimately hollow and a bit tedious.

Not that there was all that much to this one, either, but I found its general aesthetic to be much more to my liking. Any satirical pretensions are understated: this is a pure farce, a comedy of situations. The plot tells of a hapless bystander who finds himself embroiled in an escalating, bureaucratic war between a pair of bumbling hit men, and the increasingly ludicrous plot twists that are piled onto one another. The cast is appealing, and though it never seems to go as far as it wants to or hit the breakneck pace it needs to, it’s an adequately entertaining way to spend an hour at the Fringe.

Crescendo

All indicators suggest that Allegra Lingo has another hit on her hands: admirable numbers, glowing response. I’ve been a fan of her for years: I’m pretty sure I’ve seen every one of her previous shows, and found each one to be progressively stronger than the last. Which is why I’m a little pained to admit that this is the first one that really didn’t work for me.

I’ve been watching Allegra experiment with musical storytelling in various shows with the Rockstar Storytellers over the course of the past year, with varying results: some very successful, some less so. Here’s the thing: the strength of Allegra’s writing has always been her ability to find grand, sweeping revelations in simple observations. This is incredibly effective when it’s understated. When those revelations have grand, sweeping music underscoring them, I find that they become almost comically overwrought. Moreover, this seems to influence her performance, as well; she’s always had an appealing, laid-back, folksy style, but this is the first time that that persona has felt affected to me. So, in that respect, I have to regard the experiment as one that didn’t really work for me.

The writing fares much better, and reveals the strength of her craftsmanship again: a layered story of writer’s block, alternating with her re-invention of classical myth, containing a variety of elements that are elegantly tied together. (Although I’ll confess that I’m unconvinced by her tale of Icarus Triumphant: it seems to me that those who refuse to acknowledge their limitations are the ones most severely crippled by them. The truly mad dreamers, those who have departed from reality to the point that they fling themselves off of cliffs seeking to fly, have little to offer us. I’m also fascinated with the parallel between the act of divine creation and the act of artistic creation — Tolkien termed this subcreation — but I’m also not unaware that it can carry about it the stench of hubris if not closely examined.)

So this ended up being a show full of things I should love — proficient storytelling, ancient myth, and writerly angst — but I found myself stumbling over far too many barriers to reach the story itself. In any case, I’m thrilled that she’s found an audience, and a little sorry that I can’t be part of it this time around.

casebolt and smith: Speaking Out!

I was on the West Bank with an open slot, and I found myself drawn to this one: I’d seen a preview of their work at the Out-of-Towner’s showcase, and it had stuck in my head sufficiently for me to check them out further.

Their opening dance was simply and elegantly done, and lovely to look at; though I’ll confess there was a part of my brain going Ah. Whole show is going to be like this. Okay, and struggling to adjust to the slightly higher level of concentration that an hour of dance was going to require.

Their next two dances — and the meat of the show — were a different matter entirely: more like comedy sketches, told through and punctuated by dance. Both relied heavily on spoken-word, which tends to be a great deal more literal than movement. The second piece described the first meeting of a pair of dancers — it’s not clear whether these are intended to be them or a pair of fictional characters, and it hardly matters either way. We see what seems to be an interaction over a great period of time summarized through a series of hilariously non-sequitur conversations, and much fun is to be had from the contrast between their elegant, sweeping movements and their awkward, mumbling delivery. Their movements also shift between dance and everyday gesture, which produces a lot of fairly hilarious moments in and of itself, my favorite being a series of graceful and intimate duets which culminate in the two of them leaning in to give each other an uncomfortable tent-pole hug.

The third piece is equally entertaining — a rehearsal, again between a pair of dancers, this time growing progressively more sexually invasive with their proposals and creating progressively more ludicrous and technical rationalizations.

The fourth, concluding piece was impressive — it consisted entirely of the two of them seated at a table, and the extraordinary amount of movement that they’re able to develop using only the upper half of their bodies. I found it a bit startling after how literal the two preceding pieces were, and it took me a while to adjust again to a piece that was purely told through movement. I wonder if I would have felt differently if they had been organized differently — perhaps alternating between spoken and silent sequences, as opposed to sandwiched the way that they were.

All of the pieces were enjoyable, although I personally found the crowd-pleasing ones in the center to be most appealing. They hit such a wide range of styles that I spent a good chunk of the show being disoriented.