Swing State (Play)

Subterms

    Latest story

    75 Shares119 Views

    10 Performances That Pushed Emotional Limits

    by

    For our critic-at-large, the year was marked by the Black excellence of “Purlie Victorious,” the brutality of “Bottoms” and rage of “Beef.”For me, 2023 was a year of entertainment that captured people pushed to their emotional limits, whether that was the rage of two bitter enemies, the desperation of a widow who only sees a future of annihilation or the pent-up aggression of a bunch of high school girls. But it was also a year of colorful, funny and biting Black stories on stages. Throw in a dancing goth, a freshly single New York City fashionista and a chronicle of a dying band, and you’ve got my top picks for everything that tickled my fancy in the past year across theater, film and TV.‘Swing State’Call me a masochist, but what I most loved about Rebecca Gilman’s devastating play was that it tapped into multiple registers of despair: individual, communal, ecological. Peg, a widow living on a prairie in Wisconsin, is nursing concerns about endangered animals and environmental catastrophe, and how everything is leading us to an uninhabitable planet. But alongside Peg’s global anxieties are a host of much more intimate sorrows — grief for her husband, a sense of hopelessness, and isolation — that are driving her to consider suicide. Gilman’s script offers black humor, suspense and a crushing ending. And the empathetic direction, by Robert Falls, of a stellar cast led by Mary Beth Fisher and Bubba Weiler, provides a sense of existential urgency to every minute. (Read our review of “Swing State.”)‘Purlie Victorious’From left: Billy Eugene Jones, Kara Young, Leslie Odom Jr. and Jay O. Sanders in “Purlie Victorious.” Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAt the end of this Ossie Davis play, our hero, Purlie Victorious (a larger-than-life Leslie Odom Jr.), heartily declares, “I find, in being Black, a thing of beauty: a joy, a strength, a secret cup of gladness.” I nearly cried at this ecstatic celebration of Blackness, because this Broadway production, cleverly directed by Kenny Leon, was itself a prime example of Black excellence. As hilarious as it is biting, “Purlie Victorious” follows Purlie’s scheme to reclaim the inheritance owed to his family in the Jim Crow South. Kara Young, as Purlie’s love interest — the uniquely named Lutiebelle Gussie Mae Jenkins — proves she can carry off a fearless comedic performance on par with her dramatic roles. (Read our review of “Purlie Victorious.”)‘Jaja’s African Hair Braiding’Even if the hairstyles in this play weren’t as fabulous as they were, Jocelyn Bioh’s “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding,” about a day in the life of African immigrants working in a Harlem hair-braiding shop, would still be a sparkling Broadway delight. That’s thanks to Bioh’s colorful characters and brisk, playful dialogue. Whitney White’s direction provided extra spark, and the production’s re-creation of real braid hairstyles and salon culture felt novel; it’s not often that Black spaces are so lovingly portrayed, or portrayed at all, on Broadway. (Read our review of “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding.”)‘Stereophonic’Earlier this year, after guiltily binging the soapy Amazon Prime series “Daisy Jones & the Six,” I wondered what a better version of this narrative — the band drama full of drugs, sex and music that’s kinda-but-not-really about Fleetwood Mac — would look like. I didn’t know until I saw David Adjmi’s “Stereophonic,” which kept me fully engaged through its full three-hour running time. The central band’s journey to celebrity then collapse, the addictions, the toxic relationships — the bones of the material are the same, but “Stereophonic” is unique in the way it uses music to do some of the storytelling. Entirely diegetic, the songs aren’t used for exposition or ornamentation; they exist as products in themselves, which we hear in different incarnations, in different parts, sometimes several times before we hear the final version. We learn about the characters through the parts they play in making and performing this music — which, by the way, is amazing, and written by Will Butler, formerly of Arcade Fire. The cast is flawless, and the production is so meticulously composed, including David Zinn’s stunning set and Ryan Rumery’s explosive sound design, that it feels like you’re actually being ushered into this world of Billboard hits, giant bags of cocaine and ego-driven rock stars. I can’t wait to see it again. (Read our review of “Stereophonic.”)‘Flex’There are a lot of reasons I liked this Lincoln Center Theater production about a high school basketball team, but one of them was, to my surprise, more a feat of athleticism than of drama. Throughout the performance I went to, Starra, the team’s talented, headstrong captain played by Erica Matthews, never missed a shot to the basket set above the stage at the Mitzi E. Newhouse. A story about the clash of beliefs, personalities, priorities and ambitions among these girls in lower-class, rural Arkansas, “Flex” was a win in all respects, from Candrice Jones’s engaging script to Lileana Blain-Cruz’s dynamic direction to the strong cast. I’m no fan of team sports, and in any other context would find taking the role of basketball spectator tedious; but, even if for only two hours, “Flex” transformed me into a fan. (Read our review of “Flex.”)‘Bottoms’Rachel Sennott and Ayo Edebiri in “Bottoms.”Orion PicturesI loved the chaos of this weird, perversely satisfying film about two unpopular high school students who start a girls’ fight club with the ultimate goal of losing their virginity. Rachel Sennott, who delivered a panic-inducing performance in “Shiva Baby,” plays the similarly unstable and unpredictable PJ, opposite Ayo Edebiri’s adorably dweeby Josie. “Bottoms” has a brutal sense of humor that gleefully spirals into a violent finale I won’t forget anytime soon. (Read our review of “Bottoms.”)‘Beef’The only reason I didn’t ravenously consume this phenomenal Netflix series in one go was that “Beef” was so effective in its storytelling, performances and direction that every episode felt staggering, but in the best way. It would have been so easy for this series, about the way rage rips apart and connects the lives of two unhappy strangers (played by Ali Wong and Steven Yeun), to stay in one lane and offer us 10 straight-up comedic episodes of steadily escalating acts of sabotage and retribution. But “Beef” also offers up pathos and humanity, getting to the brokenness underneath its characters’ rage without forgiving or dismissing their most heinous actions. Wong and Yeun are stellar in every scene, and beautifully navigate the chaotic turns of the script. (Read our review of “Beef.”)‘Primary Trust’A story about a grown man named Kenneth (William Jackson Harper) with no family living a quaint, routine small-town life with his imaginary best friend, “Primary Trust” was one of those shows that left me practically clutching my chest with feeling by the end. Harper delivered one of the finest, most exacting performances I saw this year; his Kenneth was delicate but not fragile. A contemporary fable about alienation, loneliness and facing the wild unknowns of adult life, “Primary Trust” felt cathartic, especially given how quarantines and six-foot distances changed many people’s understanding of isolation. (Read our review of “Primary Trust.”)‘Survival of the Thickest’The actress-comedian Michelle Buteau has so much charm that it seems to radiate from the TV. She exudes a playful energy and has a deep pocket of grand, larger-than-life facial reactions that serve punchlines without her even saying a word. So watching “Survival of the Thickest,” her bright, stylish confection of a sitcom on Netflix, feels like a soul-affirming treat. Buteau stars as Mavis Beaumont, a personal stylist forced to re-evaluate her relationship, home and career when she catches her longtime boyfriend cheating. Mavis starts at square one, moving into a tiny apartment with an eccentric New York City roommate and building her brand from the ground up. A little awkward, a bit misguided but full of heart, brains, talent and personality — and also, let’s not forget, style — Mavis is infinitely relatable, and, importantly, a Black full-figured heroine with supportive and snarky Black friends. In other words, she feels real.‘Wednesday’Jenna Ortega in “Wednesday.”NetflixWhen it comes to gothic, sexy teen revamps of old franchises, like “Riverdale” and “Chilling Adventures of Sabrina,” I’m often turned off by the baroque plots, aesthetic preening and self-conscious … well, adolescence of it all. “Wednesday” is a delightful exception, in part because the Addams daughter did goth before it was cool. (And it doesn’t hurt that the director, Tim Burton, has been the goth king of filmmaking for decades.) The show strikes the perfect balance between juicy teen dramedy and ghoulish supernatural thriller, with Jenna Ortega starring as the ever-dour and ever-surprising young mistress of darkness. Her performance delivers flashes of color behind Wednesday’s signature dead eyes and deadpan mannerisms; she manages to carry off a character with a sociopathic disconnect from the world around her and yet still make her the charming antiheroine. And I’m still waiting for anything to come along that I enjoyed as much as Wednesday’s dance in Episode 4. (Read our review of “Wednesday.”) More

    More stories

    • 113 Shares99 Views

      in Theater

      ‘Swing State’ Review: All Is Not Well in Wisconsin

      by

      Rebecca Gilman’s play, set in a rural farmhouse, sees an image of the decline of Americans’ interdependence in the death of wildflowers.It’s immediately clear what kind of flinty, progressive woman lives in the converted farmhouse depicted onstage in “Swing State,” the play by Rebecca Gilman that opened on Sunday at the Minetta Lane Theater. Well, not so much “depicted” as “duplicated.”You can just about sense the recycling bins beneath the working sink and the Obama memoirs in the book-filled sitting room of Todd Rosenthal’s cozy set, a throwback to the hyper-naturalistic style that has for decades dominated American social drama. Indeed, as the play begins, Peg Smith, whose name alone lets you know she’s plain and real, stands cracking eggs at her kitchen island to make the homeliest food ever devised: zucchini bread.But all is not well among the baskets, birdhouses and earthenware bowls. For one thing, there’s a container of human ashes on the counter. Peg (Mary Beth Fisher) has been a widow for a little more than a year, and not doing well. She and her husband had moved to this corner of rural Wisconsin to enjoy the ancient prairie taking up 48 of their 51 acres; without him — and this being the pandemic year of 2021, without much of anyone — her life feels joyless. She is considering, as the euphemism has it, “self-harm”: The knife with which she chops the zucchini can cut both ways.The prairie isn’t doing well either, abutted by commercial farms and subjected to the runoff of their agrochemicals. A young neighbor named Ryan (Bubba Weiler) sarcastically calls Peg a “ray of sunshine” as she rattles off a valedictory list of dying local species: bats, chorus frogs, whippoorwills, wildflowers, butterflies, nighthawks and the insects they feed on.The dying off, though real, is also, alas, a symbol. “Swing State,” as its title suggests, means to connect the land to its people: poorly stewarded and subject to dangerous fluctuations. Though Donald Trump is mentioned only once — Peg says she canceled her subscription to the local newspaper when it endorsed him — he is as much the target here as the agrochemicals. In the play’s cosmology, the debased politics of narcissism have polluted American life with the aggro-chemicals of overly heightened and disordered emotions. Democracy is a prairie.I don’t argue with that premise. Nor with Gilman’s craft; I’ve admired her since her first New York outing, the shocker “Spinning Into Butter,” in 2000. “Swing State”— frugal with themes, meticulous about motivation, minutely sensitive to the timing of revelations — could serve as a case study in dramatic construction.A young neighbor named Ryan (Bubba Weiler) sarcastically calls Peg a “ray of sunshine” as she rattles off a valedictory list of dying local species.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesThat, for me, is the problem. We have become very familiar with the workings of social-problem plays like this. If we see Peg staring nervously at the knife in the first minute, and by the second scene (out of seven) learn that a footlocker containing a Winchester rifle has been stolen from her barn, we may already discern the shape of the rest. That there are only three other characters — one of them Ryan, who has recently been released from prison — does not leave many doors open.Ryan and Peg are both outsiders, oddballs trying to survive in a system that puts a premium on conformity and offers little help, or hope of reform, to those who suffer or do wrong. They are classic lefty tropes: the do-gooder who is seen as a crackpot and the misunderstood young man who is seen as a threat. The two remaining characters — Kris Callahan Wisnefski, the town sheriff, and Dani Wisnefski, her niece and the newbie deputy — represent the over-reactive forces of conservative society, more interested in order than in goodness. Sheriff Kris (Kirsten Fitzgerald) immediately accuses Ryan of the theft and sets out to prove her prejudice. Dani (Anne E. Thompson) is eager to do right but is intimidated (and undertrained) by her barky aunt.In Robert Falls’s staging, imported from the Goodman Theater in Chicago and presented here by Audible, every collision is clearly tuned. The scenes snap into place like machine-tooled puzzle pieces, with lighting (by Eric Southern), costumes (by Evelyn Danner) and music (by Richard Woodbury) that all but feeds the audience its emotional cues. And though Gilman does much to complicate the characters’ motives with back story that’s elaborately layered into the dialogue — so elaborately that at one point a character is forced to ask, “Why are you telling me this?” — none except Peg seem quite believable.Fisher is able to absorb the complications into a rounded performance in which they feel surprising but not synthetic. She has more to work with, of course, as she is onstage for most of the play’s 105 minutes, but also more to build on, having been a Gilman regular, like Falls, for years. (In New York she played a stalking victim in Gilman’s “Boy Gets Girl” in 2001.) She seems to move through the variously depressed, angry, loving and resigned aspects of the character like a hawk gliding on thermals. You barely notice the turns.In the play overall, though, you do. And until a thrillingly staged climax that moves unusually fast, you usually foresee the corners with plenty of room to prepare. The result is a play that seems becalmed on its surface despite the powerful emotions underneath — not just the characters’ emotions but the author’s.Gilman, who now lives in the part of Wisconsin where the play is set, the so-called Driftless Area, is evidently passionate about the same things as Peg. She too has become a volunteer for the Prairie Enthusiasts, a group dedicated to protecting the Upper Midwest’s natural heritage. (In the play the group is called the Prairie Protectors or, more derisively, the Prairie Geeks.) And clearly Gilman is invested in her overarching metaphor, telling Laura Collins-Hughes in The New York Times that the human ecosystem, like the natural one, is “not a monoculture. It cannot thrive unless it’s as diverse as diverse can be.”If only she had dramatized that, I could be more of a full-throated warbler in praising the play. What “Swing State” actually dramatizes, sometimes movingly, is despair. Its action is driven less by any visible coarsening of America’s democratic ecosystem than by depression, alcoholism, spite and bad luck.If anything, it is about the “swing state” of individual emotion, regardless of politics. (Even the good liberal Peg is erratic and sometimes nasty.) Still, its message — because yes, there is a message in all plays featuring sinks with running water — applies to our personal as well as our national ecosystems: “You can’t give up even if you want to.”Swing StateThrough Oct. 28 at the Minetta Lane Theater, Manhattan; swingstateplay.com. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes. More

    • 163 Shares169 Views

      in Theater

      ‘Swing State’ Playwright Wants to Sound an Alarm for a World in Trouble

      by

      In her Off Broadway drama, which had an acclaimed run in Chicago, the playwright looks for hope to outweigh despair in a fractious, anxious time.The playwright Rebecca Gilman moved away from small-town Alabama long ago, but a soft Southern lilt still shapes her words. In all the years she lived and worked here in her adopted city of Chicago, she remained immune to its Bill Murray accent. The broad tones of nearby Wisconsin have likewise left no mark.Rural Wisconsin itself, though, has burrowed deep in her soul. After more than a decade of traveling back and forth from Chicago, Gilman relocated full-time to Green County, Wis., about four years ago. If you want to send her into a soliloquy, just ask what she loves about the prairie. She will talk about its colors and how they change throughout the year — from white to pink to purple to a wind-stirred sea of yellow — and then she will venture into its metaphors.“When you go to a prairie, it’s just teeming with life — butterflies, bugs, birds, everything,” she said on a stiflingly hot August afternoon in an upstairs lounge at the Goodman Theater, where her new play, “Swing State,” was in rehearsals for its New York run. “It’s an ecosystem. Everything depends on everything else. Some of the plants have to be pollinated by particular butterflies. Particular butterflies have to have lupine to lay their eggs. Monarchs have to have milkweed. And it is not a monoculture. It cannot thrive unless it’s as diverse as diverse can be.”Gilman, 58, worries about the prairie’s destruction, but she acts on that fear, volunteering with an endearingly named group, the Prairie Enthusiasts, to protect the land. She worries, too, about threats to wildlife — like white-nose syndrome, which has killed millions of bats — so she recently trained as a “bat ambassador,” to raise awareness of their plight.And like so many inhabitants of this bellicose, burning planet, Gilman worries about its survival if people cannot find a way to coexist and cooperate, at the most intimate local level and beyond. In “Swing State,” which is scheduled to begin previews on Friday, at the Minetta Lane Theater in Manhattan, she wrestles with that anxiety, and with the hopelessness that it can bring.The actors Bubba Weiler and Mary Beth Fisher rehearsing the play at the Goodman Theater in Chicago, where “Swing State” had an acclaimed run last year.Evan Jenkins for The New York TimesDirected by Gilman’s longtime collaborator Robert Falls, the play is set in what is known as the Driftless Area of Wisconsin, where the rolling landscape is untouched by glacial sediment, or drift. The principal characters are driftless, too — lacking the purpose that human beings require to thrive.Peg, a recent widow in her 60s, cherishes the acres of ancient prairie on her land, and takes crotchety good care of her 20-something neighbor Ryan, a recovering alcoholic who looks out for her, too, as he scrambles to get his life together. But with the natural world in escalating peril, and her husband now just ashes in a box, Peg cannot summon the will to go on.Set in 2021, “Swing State” is only subtly a play about the coronavirus pandemic, depicting the isolation that people felt in its early stages, and the knee-jerk, politicized hostility that arose around masks and vaccines. It is more interested in the ways that antagonism has replaced goodwill, and how lethal to community such hardheartedness can be.When the play had its premiere at the Goodman last October, the critic Chris Jones wrote, in a rave review in The Chicago Tribune, that Gilman had captured “the feeling that America has atrophied, the sense that once-shared values have swung so far to the extremes that the bones of a nation have crumbled.”Yet she frames it all in up-close, personal terms, using just four characters — all residents of the same tiny township. The story isn’t overtly about civic life; at the same time, it is hugely about civic life.“The play, for me,” Falls said, perched in a cushy chair a few feet from Gilman, “is sort of about loss and everything we’re losing. One could say civility in politics. One could say very much the environment. One could say a democracy.”For all the rough-and-tumble raucousness of the national shouting match, though, “Swing State” takes a gentle tone.“In a way,” Falls said, “it becomes the quietest play, sitting in the middle of the biggest epic social circumstances.”The longtime collaborators at a rehearsal last month. Falls said the play “is sort of about loss and everything we’re losing.”Evan Jenkins for The New York TimesA TONY AWARD WINNER for his 1999 production of “Death of a Salesman,” Falls, 69, was nearing the end of his long tenure as the Goodman’s artistic director when he decided he wanted to stage one more Gilman play. It would be the sixth in a collaboration that began with her 2001 play “Blue Surge.”In late 2020, when the pandemic was keeping him at home in Evanston, Ill., wondering darkly if actors would ever act without masks on, Gilman was at home in southern Wisconsin, not knowing if she would ever write another play — because, she said, “everything just seemed sort of pointless.”But then he called her up and asked her to. Always, he said, he has felt a connection to her voice, and to the “moral sensibility” at the heart of her plays — a quality he ascribed to her deeply understanding “how the world truly works” yet rejecting “the cynicism of just throwing up your [expletive] hands.”“I really wanted to do a new play by Rebecca,” he said, “to the point where it didn’t really matter what Rebecca wanted to write about.”Gilman had two conditions, swiftly granted: that Falls would direct and that Mary Beth Fisher — who originated lead roles in two of Gilman’s best known plays, “Spinning Into Butter” (1999) and “Boy Gets Girl” (2000), both at the Goodman — would star.As Gilman wrote the role of Peg for Fisher, she poured into the play what was on her mind. Even in those dire days when theaters were shut down and the industry’s future was grim, Gilman’s eyes were on a more collective danger.“The world is in trouble,” she said. “It’s not just the theater that’s in trouble. The world is in trouble. And if the planet dies, all of our precious art is going to die with it. That was the urgency I was feeling. Like, can we create something that also communicates this?”In her swing-state township that Joe Biden won by two votes, where she and her husband joke that maybe they tilted the balance, Gilman doesn’t really talk politics with people anymore: too hazardous.“There’s so much potential for conflict and animosity,” she said, “that you kind of just don’t go down that road because you also have to live next to each other, where there aren’t very many people. You don’t want to make enemies of your neighbors. I don’t know my neighbors’ politics, and I don’t need to know, and I don’t want to know, because I need them if we get stuck in the snow, or they need me to come to their daughter’s high school graduation party.”Fisher, right, with Anne E. Thompson, left, and Kirsten Fitzgerald in the play.Liz LaurenThat polarity and interdependence are woven into “Swing State”; likewise what Gilman said was her fear of losing the people most precious to her, and her alarm at what was vanishing from her beloved outdoors.“Despair is a really strong word,” she said. “But when you do go out into the natural world regularly, it’s impossible not to see what’s dying. It’s impossible not to see what we’re losing.”When bird-watching became a popular pandemic activity, friends would ask her to take them. It gave them solace and gave her solace, too, but hers came with an asterisk.“I was so happy that they were discovering it,” she said. “But at the same time, I was thinking, there used to be so many more birds here. Every time we’d go out, I’d think, oh, gosh, I wish you had come out with me 10 years ago. I wish you’d come out with me five years ago. The birds that we used to see here are not here anymore.”Falls spent his first 13 years of life surrounded by cornfields in rural Illinois, where his mother’s side of the family were farmers. He has always preferred city to country, books to bird-watching. Yet when Gilman took him onto the prairie and handed him a pair of binoculars, he immediately made a rare sighting: a Henslow’s sparrow, a type of bird that figures poignantly in “Swing State.”Theater people in general being fond of superstition, he took that as a “great omen” for the play. Maybe it was, given the show’s success so far — the accolades in Chicago, then the transfer of the Goodman production to New York by Audible Theater, which will record an audio version for wide release.The play’s title, by the way, isn’t just about Wisconsin as a purple state. It’s about the characters’ emotional landscapes, Gilman said, “swinging between despair and hope.”She has no interest in providing false hope, preferring to acknowledge reality. But she doesn’t want to knuckle under to despair, not least because it’s unfair to abandon the world’s troubles to generations that didn’t cause them.So, she said, it’s a balancing act, one in which “meaningful work that makes the world better” — the kind her characters are in search of, and that she has discovered on the prairie — is part of finding a way to heal.“Put despair and hope on the scale,” she said. “You’re going to have to work to make hope outweigh despair, but I do think it’s possible. And I do think that the work is necessary in a way it never has been before.” More