"Balls" Falls Too Short of Its Ambitious Goals

People don't usually make too big a deal about a 45th anniversary. After all, the much more impressive-sounding 50th is so close. But the 1973 match between Billie Jean King, a 29-year-old tennis star and pioneering feminist; and Bobby Riggs, a 55-year-old tennis has-been and misogynistic prankster, has been getting all kinds of attention lately. 

The movie "Battle of the Sexes," as their match was billed, came out in September with last year's Oscar winner Emma Stone as King and the popular actor Steve Carell as Riggs. And now Balls, a new play running at the 59E59 Theaters through Feb. 25, is offering a highly-stylized stage version of the event.

Created by One Year Lease Theater, a company known for its physical productions, Balls goes to great lengths to recreate the King-Riggs match. The theater has been decked out by scenic designer Kristen Robinson to resemble the Houston Astrodome where the televised match took place, with covered chairs for audience members, a big, brightly lit scoreboard and the stage serving as the green-lawned center court.

Two slump-shouldered clowns greet theatergoers as they take their seats, an overt allusion to the circus-like event that surrounded the affair. Budget constraints apparently prevented the show from reproducing the players' entry onto the court in which King arrived on a litter carried by four brawny men and Riggs in a rickshaw pulled by barely-dressed women.

But the actual game is replicated almost minute by minute as Ellen Tamaki and Donald Corren, convincingly costumed and wigged by Kenisha Kelly, mimic each shot King and Riggs hit during the course of their three-set showdown.

Company member Richard Saudek served as the tennis coach and Natalie Lomonte choreographed the realistic movement. No balls are lobbed in the volleys but sound designer Brendan Aanes deserves a special shout out for matching the sound of a ball bouncing on the ground and whooshing over the net to each specific action.

Always confused by tennis scoring, I had a hard time following who was up and who was down but I was thoroughly engaged by the theatricality of it all. One moment that focuses solely on a ball moving across the court is sublime.

However, the show has more on its mind than being a live version of a YouTube experience. Like the match itself, it seeks to work on a metaphorical level and to make points about the gender politics of the past four decades.

At various points, the game fades into the background and attention is focused on a series of couples: Billie Jean's husband and her female lover, a twin brother and sister who share a mania for tennis and a disdain for homosexuality and the ball boy and girl whose 30-year relationship is anachronistically tracked from flirtation through divorce.

Each pair gets the chance to take center stage and comment on relations between the sexes. An unseen announcer throws in additional gender-related factoids that range from the birth of Bill Clinton's future paramour Monica Lewinsky in 1973 to the Supreme Court's upholding of the right to abortion with its Roe v. Wade decision that same year.

And I haven't even mentioned the appearances of athletes Chris Evert and Jim Brown or the references to the transgender pioneer Renèe Richards, although it's not clear why she's been invoked since she didn't make her transition until two years after the match.

That's a lot of stuff to cram into 85 minutes and, alas, none of the revelations are particularly fresh or insightful. And although the diverse company of actors, cast at times confusingly without regard for race, is energetic, it's also uneven.

There are too many moments when Balls resembles one of those school plays where the teacher insists that everyone has to have a part and get a chance to show off his or her skill whether it helps the production or not. In this case, one of the clowns juggles for no reason at all and another cast member leads a shaky version of the feminist anthem "I Am Woman."

Perhaps the problem may be that there were too many hands involved in the creation of so small a show (click here to read about the making of it).  Balls was directed by Ianthe Demos and Nick Flint and written by Kevin Armento and Bryony Lavery.  Doubles of this sort may work well in tennis but less so when it comes to making winning theater.

Why I Didn't Love "Stories By Heart"

When theater lovers want to express their deep devotion to an actor as formidably talented as John Lithgow, they often say they would be content to listen to him if he were just reading the phone book (not that anyone publishes those much anymore). 

I've been a big Lithgow fan too, applauding the virtuosity that ranges from his zaniness in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels to the dramatic deftness of his recent Emmy-winning performance as Winston Churchill in the Netflix series "The Crown." But I'm now not so sure about the phone book thing because I barely made it through Stories by Heart, the one-man show Lithgow is doing at the Roundabout Theatre Company's American Airlines Theatre through March 4.

It may be sacrilege to say that because Lithgow is performing short stories written by Ring Lardner and P.G. Wodehouse, masters of the form and beloved by generations of readers for both their genial humor and their shrewd insights into what high school English teachers like to call the human condition.

The first act of Stories by Heart is devoted to Lardner's "Haircut," a monologue in which a small-town barber gossips about his neighbors as he shaves and shears a local newcomer. It starts off folksy and funny and then takes a sharp Hitchcockian turn into the darker byways of the human condition.

Wodehouse's "Uncle Fred Flits By" is a more fulsome farce about an eccentric aristocrat, his browbeaten nephew and the people they encounter during one of the uncle's free-spirited adventures. But it too makes instructive observations about the careless ways humans sometimes treat one another.

Lithgow performs both with gusto. Under Daniel Sullivan's light-handed direction, the actor uses his rubbery face, limber body and a passel of accents to impersonate all the characters from the chatty barber to a smart-alecky parrot.

Through it all, he's aided only by a handful of props that include an easy chair, a glass of water and a copy of "Tellers of Tales," a 1939 short story anthology edited by W. Somerset Maugham.

The book also provides the narrative glue for the evening. It is, Lithgow says, the actual taped-together volume that his dad Arthur, an itinerant pioneer in the regional theater movement, read to his four children when they were small and that Lithgow later read to his father toward the end of the older man's life (click here to read more about all of that).

Those reminiscences—the kids mesmerized by their father's bedtime storytelling, the old man lifted from his depression by the welcomed levity of familiar passages—are the emotional core of the evening. I wish there had been more of them.

For despite Lithgow's ebullient performance, these old-fashioned tales failed to hold my attention. I found my mind drifting off, particularly during the Wodehouse story, whose loopy characters and their bon mots proved too slight and slippery for me to grasp.

My fellow audience members were split. The man sitting next to my husband K giggled with delight at Uncle Fred's antics. The two couples in the row ahead of us left at intermission.

Still, the continuing love Lithgow feels for his father—and for the mystical power of storytelling—shines through. Seemingly unwilling to let go of his father, Lithgow has been performing various incarnations of this show across the country almost since Arthur died in 2004 at the age of 88. It's a profound tribute—and perhaps an apology—from a son who became more successful than his father in the profession they both revered.

And so despite my disappointment in Stories by Heart, its underlying story got to me. When I got home, I logged onto Amazon.com and downloaded Lithgow's 2011 memoir "Drama: An Actor's Education." 

It's a beautifully written book and, like the show, much of it is inspired by Lithgow's recollections of his father in his prime and in his decline when sharing the stories in "Tellers of Tales" helped give the old man the will to live. 

But "Drama" opens up to tell much more about these two ardent storytellers. And if you get the audiobook version, you can even hear the younger Lithgow tell it to you.

Dethroning "Farinelli and the King"

Is Mark Rylance the greatest actor of our time? Over the course of a three-decade career, he's won three Tonys, two Oliviers and an Oscar. Last year, the Queen knighted him for his service to the theater. And now, almost everyone seems to be cheering his performance as the bipolar 18th century Spanish monarch Philip V who finds his greatest solace in the singing of the titular opera singer in Farinelli and the King. Everyone that is except me.

Rylance has dazzled me before with his bravura performance in Jez Butterworth's epic Jerusalem (click here to read my review) and in the small show Nice Fish that he did two years ago at St. Ann's Warehouse (click here for my review of that). I've also liked him in movies like "Bridge of Spies" and TV series like "Wolf Hall." But this time out, Rylance relies too heavily on his bag of established tics (the eccentric line delivery, the deadpan stare) and on the tolerant affection of his audience.

Now I was charmed by Farinelli's opening scene in which the king displays his madness in a loopy conversation with a goldfish but I didn't buy Rylance's performance for one minute after that. Which meant I ended up not caring what happened to the king he was supposed to be bringing to life.

Part of the blame has to rest with the play itself, which was written by Claire van Kampen, who also happens to be Rylance's wife. In various interviews, van Kampen has talked about her delight in coming across the true tale of how Philip's queen brokered the therapeutic relationship between the king and the singer, a then-celebrated castrato who was mutilated before puberty to maintain the sweet high-pitched sound of his voice (click here to read more about the backstory).

But van Kampen's version of their story lacks tension or even heart. She makes a few faint attempts at the former, with the suggestion of a romantic connection between the queen and Farinelli (yes, it seems that castrati could have sex) but neither she nor director John Dove find a way to develop that storyline.

Nor do they dig into why Farinelli, who never again performed in public after singing for the king, would give up his career to become a courtier. And although they use the very smart conceit of having two actors play Farinelli, who in the play says he feels as though man and voice are separate entities, that too is left unexplored. The show is all tell and too little show.

Instead, van Kampen, a trained musician, focuses on creating opportunities for songs, primarily by Handel, to be sung throughout the performance. The result is kind of a high-class jukebox musical. And it comes with the same problems so many of them have: the narrative doesn't match up to the music.

The saving grace here is that the songs are sung by the countertenor Iestyn Davies. I'm nowhere near an expert on opera but even I could appreciate the beauty of Davies' falsetto voice (click here to read an interview with him and Sam Crane, the actor who plays the non-singing Farinelli).

And there were also other things to appreciate in Farinelli and The King. The production, which is scheduled to run at the Belasco Theatre through March 25, originated at Shakespeare's Globe in London and subscribes to that theater's dedication to using techniques from the Bard's time.

Most of the lighting, artfully designed by Paul Russell, is achieved by candle light (click here to read more about that). I got a particular kick out of watching stagehands, dressed in period garb, as they tended to the candles during the intermission. The sumptuously-painted backdrops are gorgeous, And the costumes by Jonathan Fensom and wigs by Campbell Young Associates delight the eye too.

But as beautiful as all of that is, that's not the primary reason I go to the theater. And I felt let down by the performances. They aren't bad. They're just blah. And I expect more from the greatest actor of our time.

Some of My Favorite Theater Things in 2017

As usual, I'm late to the party of 10 Bests Lists. All the others began going up the moment Christmas trees started sprouting on New York City street corners. But my tardiness matters even less this year because I've decided not to do a 10 Bests list. Instead, I'm celebrating the theatrical experiences that gave me the most pleasure in 2017. I didn't set a limit. I just wrote down all the things that left a smile on my face and they added up to 15. So I'm going with that and here, in no order at all, are 15 of my favorite theater things in 2017:

Seeing Jitney on Broadway: This was the last of the late great August Wilson's 10-play survey of African-American life in the 20th century to make it to Broadway, which is strange because its story, set during the '70s in the office of a gypsy cab company, may be Wilson's most accessible and it was great to see it getting the production it deserved with every single cast member rocking it hard.

Significant Other: Joshua Harmon's play about a guy watching all his best friends couple up and drift away while he's left still longing for a love of his own didn't work for a lot of people and its Broadway run closed after just 61 performances but it moved me, reminded me of my own days in the wilderness of loneliness and made me even more grateful than I already was that I found my beloved husband K.

A newfound appreciation for one-person shows: For years I've harbored a knee-jerk aversion to solo shows but the virtuoso performances of Marin Ireland in Roundabout Underground's production of On the Exhale and Billy Crudup in the Vineyard Theatre's Harry Clarke reminded me that it's not the format that counts but the artistry of an actor at the top of his or her game.

Danny DeVito in The Price: I'm not sure what I was expecting but Danny DeVito's Broadway debut as the wily antique dealer in Arthur Miller's spin on the Cain and Abel story was not only totally assured but scene-stealingly hysterical.

The stunning set for The Hairy Ape: Designer Stewart Laing created a cascade of deceptively bright yellow chairs inside the 55,000-square-foot drill hall at the Park Avenue Armory and then built a massive turntable around them so that the scenes for this timely revival of Eugene O'Neill's jeremiad about class division engulfed us viewers and left me gobsmacked.

The delicious silliness of The Play That Goes Wrong: Comedy is often a tough sell for me but the unabashed loopiness of this farce about an amateur theater group takes slapstick to dizzying heights and totally tickled my funny bone.

The pies at the Tooting Arts Club production of Sweeney Todd: This version of the Stephen Sondheim-Hugh Wheeler masterpiece originated in an actual London pie shop that has been recreated at the Barrow Street Theatre and features a pre-show dinner with pot pies made by the former executive pastry chef for the Obama White House that were almost as lip-smackingly delicious as your favorite Sondheim lyric.

The Profane: It was great to see a play about Muslims that didn't revolve around the subject of terrorism but I also loved the fact that Zayd Dohrn's dramedy about the daughter of a secular Muslim family who wants to marry the son of devout parents continued Playwrights Horizons' commitment to exploring America's new immigrant experience that began in 2016 with Julia Cho's Aubergine and Danai Gurira's Familiar.

Indecent: I was happy to see the great Paula Vogel finally get her Broadway debut with this form-shattering play about the power of art, delighted that Rebecca Taichman won the Tony for Best Director of a Play for her inventive staging of it and grateful that lead producer Daryl Roth not only kept the show running for four months even when it failed to hit at the box office but had it filmed so that theater lovers across the country could have the chance to see it on public television.

The Boy Who Danced on Air: The contemporary romance between an older Afghan man and the young boy he literally buys is an unlikely and uncomfortable subject for a musical but sensitive staging, artful choreography and fine acting made the Abingdon Theatre Company's production of Tim Rosser and Charlie Sohne's show one that lingered in my mind for weeks.

The Cost of Living: Two disabled characters played central roles in this Manhattan Theatre Club production but playwright Martyna Majok's refusal to define them solely in terms of their physical limitations and the unsentimental performances of her actors made for a powerful meditation on the need we all have to love and be loved.

Ghost Light: Combining ghost stories about the theater with a terrific backstage tour, this immersive production by Third Rail Projects used every part of the Claire Tow Theater atop Lincoln Center, from the dressing rooms and stairways to the lobby and its main stage, and provided me with a glimpse behind-the-scenes that makes me grin very time I even walk by the theater.

Jesus Hopped the 'A' Train: Both Sean Carvajal and Edi Gathegi were last minute replacements when actors with bigger names dropped out of this revival of Stephen Adley Guirgis' 2000 play about inmates in a prison grappling with the life-and-death issues of sin and redemption but their performances were sensational and I'm hoping to see these two talented actors in many more shows.

Jake Gyllenhaal's "Finishing the Hat" video: The Hollywood star was winning when I saw his portrayal of the 19th century artist Georges Seurat in the revival of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's Sunday in the Park with George at City Center's Encores! series, but I was even more knocked out by the video in which Gyllenhaal moves around backstage at Broadway's newly restored Hudson Theatre singing the show's signature number, which you can see by clicking here. 

Theater Podcasts: When I'm not seeing theater, I'm often listening to shows about it. Among my favorites this year have been "The Ensemblist," interviews with the actors who make up Broadway's ensembles; "Broadway Backstory," oral histories of recent hit musicals from In the Heights to Come From Away and "Maxamoo," reviews of off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway shows by a revolving panel of theater insiders and avid fans.  Plus, I can't resist a shout-out to "Today on Broadway," the daily news show hosted by my pals James Marino and Matt Tamanini and giving a small log-rolling plug for my own podcast, "Stagecraft," which has given me the chance to talk with some terrific playwrights and book writers for musicals and which you can find by clicking here.

Now, here's hoping that 2018 brings us all theater memories as good as these are for me.  In the meantime, Happy New Year!  

Wishing You a Very Merry Christmas...

...a belated Happy Chanukah, a tardy Good Winter Solstice, a slightly premature Joyous Kwaanza and the all-pervasive hope that however you celebrate it, your holiday season will sparkle with the many joys that come at this time of year—plus the continuing cheer of good theater.

Turning on the Ghost Light, Again

It's been a month since I've turned on the ghost light that theaters use when they're empty and that I use to signal that there will be no regular post today. And I'm not happy about doing it cause I've been going to the theater almost non-stop since then and so there's plenty to talk about. But that's part of the problem. Between running to the theater,  finishing up the school semester, preparing my Stagecraft podcast interviews with playwrights and book writers of some recent shows (you can find them by clicking here) and realizing that Christmas is (gulp!) just nine days away, I haven't been able to find the time to write a decent post for today. However, I will be talking about some of the shows I've seen when I join my pals at This Week on Broadway this Sunday. I hope you'll join us and I hope you'll return here once I've gotten my act back together.

How I Got Stranded by "Once on This Island"

It's no fun being a party-pooper. But that's the role I find myself in when it comes to the revival of Once on This Island, the Lynn Ahrens and Stephen Flahaerty musical that opened this week at Circle in the Square to rave reviews.

Based on a 1985 novel by the Trinidadian-American writer Rosa Guy (you pronounce her last name like the word key), it's a fable set on a Haiti-like island that is uneasily shared by a small set of mulatto grand hommes, a larger group of dark-skinned peasants and the gods who play with all their fates.

The show's Romeo-and-Juliet plot derives from the romance that develops when the aristocratic Daniel has an accident and is rescued and nursed back to health by the peasant girl Ti Moune, who falls in love with him so deeply at first glance that she offers the god of death her soul in exchange for sparring Daniel's life.

It was a dubious premise back in 1990 when the show debuted at Playwrights Horizons and quickly moved to Broadway. But its Calypso-inflected score and a lovely performance by LaChanze won it a run of 469 performances and eight Tony nominations.

Today, nearly 30 years later, the idea of a poor dark-skinned woman sacrificing herself so that a wealthy light-skinned guy can live annoyed me so much that I sat there during the  entire 90-minute running time asking myself the words of a famous lyric from the show "why do we tell this story"?

Yeah, I get that it's supposed to be a testament to the unconditional love that we all want.  But how come the guy doesn't have to give up anything? Some people are calling this show an example of female empowerment but the idea of a woman dying for a man is empowering primarily to men. And yeah, I know it's just a story but is this really the message that we want to tell girls?

And things only got worse for me when the production indulged itself in another of my bugaboos: the rousing gospel aria delivered by a large black woman. As usual, the number brought down the house. But I sat there with my head in my hands, wondering "Why this again?"

I suppose the creative team thought it was breaking the stereotype by having a large black gender-fluid performer (Alex Newell of "Glee" fame) sing the song.  But wouldn't it be more radical to have a thin black woman (cis or trans) do it? Or even more radical still if a large black woman (cis or trans) were allowed to do something else?

I can't complain about the performances, which were all very good, lead by the newcomers Hailey Kilgore as Ti Moune and Isaac Powell as Daniel and anchored by the stage vets Phillip Boykin and Kenita R. Miller as Ti Moune's adopted parents. 

Tony-winner Lea Salonga gets special billing (and the prettiest costumes) for playing the god of love and she sings her solo sweetly but still comes across as the least memorable of the play's four deities (although to be fair it's hard to compete with Quentin Earl Darrington's commanding physique).

Meanwhile, director Michael Arden has worked hard to add contemporary flourishes to the new production. As he notes in the Playbill, he's drawn a sharp parallel between the climate disasters of recent years and the storms in the play. 

Much of the action takes place on a sand-filled environmental set that seems barely recovered from a previous calamity, with clothes strung out to dry around the theater and livestock (including a real goat) being rounded up.

Arden has also cast two of the gods against gender (Merle Dandridge plays the god of death) and paid tribute to the narrative traditions of the islands by nearly doubling the original cast with an ensemble of storytellers. 

It's also nice to see the young African-American choreographer Camille A. Brown getting a chance to show off what she can do on Broadway (click here to read an interview with her).

And lots of people seemed to be enchanted by all of it, including my sister and the two men in the first row who waved white handkerchiefs high in the air to signal their surrender to the show's charms. 

I wish Once on This Island had charmed me too. But although I'm a theater lover, I'm thinking that something like Wonder Woman's home island of Themyscira might be more my idea of a paradise for those of us seeking powerful female role models.