Seattle Blog Reviews

Whizz boom bang ba dum, chhh… bop bop! If you’re into jazz, this is for you!

Imagine walking into a forest and hearing nothing but birds, then someone else who was listening wrote all those noises down all on pages and pages of music. Now imagine an insane jazz quintet using those ideas to create amazing music! It is hard to express in words how I feel about John Hollenbeck’s music. Sophistication wrapped in harmonious sonnets.

As I left the theater after seeing The Walworth Farce, I was already sending texts. I'll be seeing this play again tonight, and I'm bringing friends.

The Walworth Farce is a story about a father haunted by his ghosts who then forces his adult sons to reenact his past as a farce. This family is held together by little more than fear, obligation, and alcohol. And as the curtain goes up this family is on the verge of snapping. When an outsider arrives, this family is sent into a psychotic tailspin. These tortured minds, and desperation along with a few bodies in the closet combine to make this play a total triumph, and a masterfully woven story of trying to rewrite our past mistakes.

“Gonna make me feel any worse?”

It was not only the question on the character Malcolm King’s lips, but the one running through my mind during the entirety of Seattle Public Theater’s current production, Broke-ology. For those not yet versed here is a definition: Broke-ology: 1. the study of being broke 2. a play by Nathan Louis Jackson detailing the lives of a poor, African American family: two brothers, their sick, aging father and his visions of their deceased mother And since I am a tenured “list-ologist,” here are the top three reasons to see this play: 1. Stubby, the “incog-negro” garden gnome. 2. The smile-inducing relationship between Ennis King (Corey Spruill) and Malcolm King (Tyler Trerise), the brothers who haul Stubby into the living room. 3. The refreshing cast of four and well-dressed set, amplified by the singular intimacy of Seattle Public's Bathhouse theatre. That being said, side effects of this play may include: 1. General melancholy. 2. Guilt, possibly echoing regret for splurging on that nice, new pair of shoes. 3. Garden gnome-induced heebie jeebies. The mood in the room at the end of Broke-ology is much akin to the Seattle weather outside. Though that isn’t to say the play isn’t funny; it is. It’s punctuated by snippets of dark and biting humor, the kind that makes you laugh really hard until your brain catches up with the speed of the dialogue to remember, “Oh no, that was a joke about lynching.” Still, somewhere in that goofy, gloomy game of survival, is an examination of illness, optimism, responsibility, dreams and sacrifice. And all of it is somehow squeezed into two hours spent in the King family’s living room. In those meager minutes, Jackson begins a discussion: How do we care for our parents as they begin to deteriorate? How do we care for our children when we are too frail to help them? What are you willing to sacrifice for those you love? On opening night, during the very last scene, when those questions breathed down the spectators’ necks, the audience’s eyes were fixated… though it varied between fighting back tears and staring vacantly at the box of Quaker Oats in the corner. If you’re looking for the answers to those immense inquiries, you won’t find them here. What you will find is a newfound appreciation for settling scores with dominoes, and another surge of musings about life, love and family as the cast returns for their bows.

Pacific Northwest Ballet has a crush on Twyla Tharp. The iconic American choreographer has spent the last year as Artist-in-Residence in PNB, and while we can’t be sure how many gushy entries PNB may have written about Twyla in their diary, their new all-Tharp production, Air Twyla, shows that Twyla is a pretty swell person to have a crush on.

Tharp’s versatility as a choreographer makes Brief Fling an impressive start to the show. Military drum rolls, classical pieces, and a fleeting moment of disco groove come in quick succession as Tharp uses the dancers to explore a hundred different moods and styles. As the piece switches wildly over and over again, it begins to feel a little like Whack-a-Mole. Then you get it: this is Twyla Tharp saying casually, “Hello. I’m Twyla Tharp, and I can do anything.” And it’s true: her choreography rings true every time. Though Kaori Nakamura and Sascha Radetsky came off a touch behind the beat, Tharp’s big finish leaves you excited for the next two acts.

Cosplayers, video games, and an 8-bit gaming soundtrack were all part of the Seattle Symphony last Thursday when they performed The Legend of Zelda, Symphony of the Goddesses to an auditorium of faithful fans, old and new.

The Legend of Zelda is a fantasy video game that was first released in 1986 and over the last 20 years has gathered a huge fan base of its roleplaying fantasy series. One of the unique things about this fun game is its beautiful soundtrack. Every Legend of Zelda fan will tell you that the orchestrations are part of what they love about the game.

We sent Monet Curnutt, a self-declared Les Mis über-fan and DeLancey Lane, who had "never seen Les Mis in any way," to review Balagan Theatre's production of Les Miserables. Here's what they each thought: Monet Curnutt, the über-fan:

Middletown, written by Will Eno and directed by John Langs, is a contemporary retelling of the American classic Our Town. Middletown is startlingly true and poignant. In keeping with the theme of the original play, Middletown has a stark set only including two outlines of houses, a sidewalk, a bench, and a rock. The lack of set is a true metaphor for the play, a wonderfully quiet work about socially awkward people. Middletown is not afraid of silence and some of the best moments on stage are without dialogue. The performances by Alex Tavares and Eric Riedmann are reserved in just the right ways.

Alexandra Tavares portrays Mary Swanson with a true and moving humor. Her character is a woman who just moved into Middletown and is waiting for her husband to arrive. She quickly develops a friendship with her neighbor, John Dodge, played by Eric Riedmann. Their relationship is masterfully developed by Eno and the performances by Tavares and Riedmann are some of the best performances I have seen all year.

If you’re not familiar with Twelfth Night, here is what you need to know: cross-dressing, hijinks, love polygons, and mistaken identities were just as funny in Shakespeare’s time as they are today. Twelfth Night is timeless. Now: imagine it as a musical with clever, wisecracking wordplay, a fantastic set of songs, and an all-star cast.

Now you have Illyria.

The results of seeing ACT Theatre's Rapture, Blister, Burn by Gina Gionfriddo:

1. My abs hurt for three days from laughing too hard.

The newest inductees to the TeenTix Press Corps saw Intiman's Trouble in Mind last week. Here are a few bits of their thoughts about the show.

Leon V:

Jackie Sumell is no stranger to making a scene – in 2001, she organized a march on Washington, carrying hundreds of women’s pubic hair in order to protest pro-life decisions made by George Bush. Long before that, she was the first girl in Long Island to play competitive tackle football. However, when she attended a conference and ended up getting in touch with Herman Wallace, a now 40-year prisoner in solitary confinement, she had no idea it would eventually become the project she is most recognized for.

Herman’s House, a film written and directed by Angad Singh Bhalla, follows the 12-year relationship between the two unlikely associates. The story begins when Sumell sends Wallace a letter consisting of pictures of what she happened to be doing every hour, so that he will know what is still happening in the world outside his 6 foot by 9 foot cell – a room smaller than the average parking space. They begin a game: if Wallace were able to have any house in the world, what would it look like? Their plans become more and more concrete, and Sumell creates a scale model of Wallace’s dream house, eventually displaying it in 12 exhibits around the world under the name The House that Herman Built. The project escalates, with the goal eventually changing into actually creating the house in New Orleans, so that it can be a community center for youth. However, the movie doesn’t try to shine a positive light on the ordeal the two have been through – it concludes with Wallace still in prison and Sumell stuck in a rut, unable to find a way to make Wallace’s dream a reality.

Sounds echo across the walls of Benaroya Hall. They bounce back and forth in the giant space, resounding in each audience’s ears. However, at Amy Tan’s Seattle Arts and Lecture visit on June 5th, 2013, there were more than just sounds echoing across Benaroya Hall: there were unbelievably inspiring, incredible ideas.

Tan has written many world-renowned novels, like the insanely popular The Joy Luck Club, which was turned into a successful movie in 1993 and has been translated in 35 languages to-date. Tan has many other popular and well-written novels, like The Kitchen God’s Wife, Saving Fish from Drowning, The Hundred Secret Senses,” and more.

PNB is closing out another season and by the looks of Director’s Choice they are quite intent on going out with a bang—a big, Balanchine-y, world-premiere-y bang. If you haven’t made it down to McCaw Hall to see Director’s Choice in years past, this is a good year to do it. The annual show of assorted pieces selected by PNB’s Artistic Director, Peter Boal, can range from feeling like Ballet Trail Mix—light, snacky, and a mix of flavors—to feeling like Very Serious Ballet With Capital Letters, Please Sit Up Straight. This year, though, PNB hits the nail on the head and has put together a show where you can feast your eyes and marvel at the crazy, beautiful things that a dancer can do.

The evening starts with Agon, a 1957 piece by American ballet great George Balanchine. As one might hope at a ballet show, it’s the dancing that’s impressive in Agon. The dancers move in strict Balanchine symmetry all over the stage—except when they don’t. The graceful, rigid ballet you’re used to suddenly becomes deliberately awkward. Limbs swing around like open doors, and the graceful music you were expecting becomes jarring and grating. As a non-old person, I can certify that the awkwardness here is the same awkwardness you felt/will feel in sophomore year of high school or at most of prom. What’s cool, though, is that the unexpected awkwardness forces you to actually focus on what the dancers are doing; when you appreciate the strength and the power there, that’s when the ballet becomes really impressive.

The blossoming musical era of Greenwich Village in the 1960s and '70s is a time long gone, before music was consumed largely by auto-tune and haphazardly recycled lyrics. Told through a series of interviews, photos, music clips, archival footage, and strung together by the narration of Susan Sarandon, in the documentary Greenwich Village: The Music That Defined a Generation, Greenwich Village’s past coalesces into a story of a time where youth and those who deviated from the mainstream could unite because they truly believed that they could change the world through a passion for music.

The film is presented like a series of vignettes interspersed with a mishmash of photos, videos, and music. It captures the feeling of the era and also allows the audience to experience the individual stories as told by musicians such as Pete Seeger, Judy Collins, and Oscar Brand. The grainy music videos are themselves a testament to the musical energy of the 20th century—the songs are performed with vivacity, the strings attacked with such ferocity that they produce a soul-shaking cacophony of sounds, yet are beautiful at the same time. In a way, the film romanticizes the decade, not often referring to important political issues or cultural changes the young musicians of Greenwich Village may have influenced, but focusing more on the nostalgic undertones.

Would you risk your life and freedom for a $100 bill? Probably not, but that is exactly what Victor, a 17-year old wheelbarrow porter in a busy Paraguayan market, does in the film 7 Cajas, or 7 Boxes. An entertaining comedy-thriller, 7 Boxes is well worth a watch. This South American film is a refreshing change of scenery and pace from typical thrillers.

The suspenseful mystery of the boxes’ contents consistently captures the audience’s attention while not slipping into an overly serious narrative. Instead, the film is a witty mix of miscommunications and dramatic irony that certainly provide an artistic escape from cookie-cutter Hollywood action films with predictable plotlines.

Ali is a grocery bagger who lives with her mother. She sells stolen booze to fat kids. Her best friend claims to have a gorgeous spouse from India. She is afraid of driving cars and falling in love with boys.

In other words, she is the average teenage girl. For those who watch Arrested Development, Ali is a lot like Maeby Bluth: often in rebellion simply for the sake of revolt. When fellow bagger and love interest Julio comes on the scene, she has to deal with all the classic dilemmas of young romance. The story is simple, but the script is witty enough to make the ride worthwhile.

Blackbird tells the story of a bullied, teenage, Goth outcast who is wrongly accused of planning a school shooting in a small, Canadian town. I enjoyed this film and the concept overall, but there are pieces that felt a little tired and unnecessary. For one, the film presents polarized cliques and stereotyped teenagers that are often seen in classic teen movies, but are, to me, completely inaccurate. Rarely will you find the letterman jacket jock group facing off against the extreme Goth kid in high school, nor will you see teens throwing food from across the room at their enemies. At points it feels like the story line clunks along in a very monotonous way, but the end result is slightly more satisfying.

The film presents hyper-sensitivity within our society and our tendency to blame the victim and ostracize the “other”. The main character is forced to conform, change his personality, and denounce his interests. He is pushed into a corner, and is forced to admit to a crime that he didn’t commit.

At some point, you’ve been introduced to the man in the moon. Perhaps a parent pointed out his face on a late-night drive, or a friend described his massive grin during a lull in a sleepover. Perhaps you discovered him yourself, making out his cheery face while lying in your backyard.

As it turns out, it’s lonely being the only man on the moon. The Moon Man of Stephen Shesch’s animated film certainly is. Though the children of the world bellow rely on the Moon Man for comfort and reassurance, he grows increasingly agitated in his rocky home. So when a meteor passes by one day on its way to Earth, the Moon Man doesn’t hesitate to climb aboard.

Many American teenagers these days have it easy. Apart from the grueling hours spent sleepwalking around our high schools, we lead cushy lives with video games, junk food, and (if it’s your thing) friends. We take for granted our families, the work that goes in to buying our food, and even how the food is prepared. Our biggest worry in life is not when we are going to next be fed.

If only Jin’s problems were this mundane.

What is dance really? Not Dance Moms or what you do at prom, but the real physicality of it. African Cypher completely answers this question; not through a highbrow analysis of each component, but with just plain movement. The documentary is about isiPantsula and sBhujwaI, two young dancers from South Africa. But even though the focus is on these two and their journey, there’s so much more. The story explores South African Street dance, and the explosion of culture that comes with it. There’s a sense of respect and honor in the dance that is called a complex, convoluted underworld. The movement is all about ritual, celebration, counsel, and storytelling, and the group that is created over dance is a true community. The extraordinary duo of isiPantsula and sBhujwaI leads the viewer throughout the documentary. But on the way we meet different dancers, people, and styles, a mass of diversity in a somewhat small group. Director Bryan Little builds up to the final performance by the duo, but integrates this taste of differences and styles in an amazing way.

One of my favorite aspects of the dancing was the freshness and creativity involved. They use each other as props and foundations, rocks as balances, and anything else they can get their hands on. The movement never gets old or bland because each time the duo manages to make it new and exciting. You don’t have to appreciate a deep concept or subplot to enjoy this documentary, because the dance in itself is thrilling. You get to watch performances of strength and creativity but also get the story of the dancers and their culture. They dance to move and in the words of Mada Sthembiso, “I dance as if I have a gun to my head.” This documentary really should not be missed. It’s the ultimate cinematic experience and depicts at least one side of dance, portraying the real physicality involved in movement.