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      How Lynn Nottage and Her Daughter Are Exploring Their Relationship in Writing

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      Can you collaborate with your mother, a Pulitzer-winning playwright, and develop your own voice too? Ruby Aiyo Gerber wasn’t too scared to try. Ruby Aiyo Gerber: For so long, I rebelled against wanting to be a writer, fearing that admiring any part of you was to be forever in your shadow. I had a lot of fear when starting the collaboration [on the opera “This House,” with the composer Ricky Ian Gordon, which premieres next year at the Opera Theatre of Saint Louis; based on a play that Gerber wrote, it’s about a brownstone in Harlem and its inhabitants over a century] that I wouldn’t be able to be my own writer, that I’d be like a version of you, that my words would turn into yours. Lynn Nottage: In both librettos we’re collaborating on right now [for “This House” and another forthcoming opera tentatively called “The Highlands,” with the composer Carlos Simon], we’re dealing with intergenerational trauma, intergenerational love. A daughter grappling with her legacy, a daughter grappling with her relationship to her mother, a daughter trying to decide if she wants to take this gift that her mother has offered her. Embedded in the themes we’re exploring is our relationship.culture banner More

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      A Connection That Began When Sarah Ruhl Made Paula Vogel Cry

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      Paula Vogel: In my advanced playwriting class at Brown, there was an exercise where I asked people to write a play with a dog as protagonist, and Sarah wrote about the dog waiting for the family to return home after her father’s funeral. That was my introduction to her — on the page. I remember weeping at the end of the five pages, running into the next room and handing them to my wife, who also started to cry. I looked at her and said, “This woman is going to be a household name.” And then I discovered she was 20.What’s followed has been 30 years of exchanging writers, books, first drafts. I’m always perplexed when people teach writing and they ask the writers to be insular. Every time we write a play, we’re talking back to Aristotle: We shape the clay of our own work by responding to colleagues who are no longer with us. It’s a much different path for women playwrights — things that our male colleagues like Tom Stoppard or Tony Kushner may get praised for (using poetic language; challenging an audience emotionally) often get resisted when a woman’s voice presents those same virtues.culture banner More

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      Review: Flying High and Falling Hard in ‘Peter Pan Goes Wrong’

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      Aerial mishaps and half-wit actors turn a fantasy classic into a farce. But, like Peter, not all of the jokes land.Six years ago, the Cornley Polytechnic Drama Society brought its production of “The Murder at Haversham Manor” from its home base in England to Broadway. Mayhem ensued. Part of the manor collapsed. An actor was poisoned in a prop mix-up. After the leading lady was knocked unconscious by a door, she was replaced by the stage manager; when knocked unconscious as well, he was replaced by a sound technician and eventually, somehow, a grandfather clock.The company has grown up since then, or down, or perhaps just sideways. Rebranded as the Cornley Youth Theater, and for reasons of liability or just sheer embarrassment no longer associated with a polytechnic institute, it has returned to Broadway with its children’s version of J.M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan.” Many of the same disasters happen chez Darling as happened at Haversham Manor, or close variations on them. Let’s just say that Peter doesn’t fly so much as flail while airborne. He, too, is knocked unconscious.And so may you be, with laughter, especially if you did not see the earlier show, which despite its disguise of amateurism was a highly polished production called “The Play That Goes Wrong.” For the Cornley players (like the Cornley Theater) are of course fictitious, part of a tradition of farcical comedies featuring terrible actors that goes back at least to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” In “Peter Pan Goes Wrong,” which opened Wednesday at the Ethel Barrymore Theater, with a game Neil Patrick Harris in a guest role, the jokes and mishaps are still funny, if not quite as magical the second time around.For one thing, if you are already familiar with the Cornley modus maloperandi, you will spot some of the setups the moment you take your seat. That’s assuming the panicked performers, bickering in the auditorium preshow, let you sit.Onstage, the Darlings’ nursery looks as if it were built on a budget not greater than the cost of a ticket, with a rickety three-level bunk bed, a wobbly casement window and wiring that’s already sparking before the lights go down. The “flying operator” credit in the Cornley program inspires little confidence: “Not yet known.” And the turntable that will deliver the children to Neverland looks just as likely to deliver them to the emergency room.Perhaps 500 things go wrong in “Peter Pan Goes Wrong,” some of them nearly fulfilling Peter’s prediction in the Barrie play: “To die will be an awfully big adventure.” Peter spends much of the play upside down or in bandages. Nana, the Darlings’ Newfoundland-slash-nursemaid, gets trapped trying to squeeze through a dog door, and has to be chainsawed out. Nor is this the first time the actor playing Nana has faced an onstage disaster. In the Cornley production of “Oliver!” some years ago, he squashed the title character.Greg Tannahill as Peter Pan, who spends much of the play upside down or in bandages.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesThat Nana is haunted by the memory — and that each of the other actors has a pathetic trait as well — helps give texture to the relentless shenanigans. Still, as the formula seems to require, the “Goes Wrong” shows often get near and sometimes cross the line at which violence and mockery cease to be funny. That line moves over time, of course; if stuttering no longer seems amusing, it was a surefire laugh-getter not long ago.And though it’s always hilarious to see floorboards fly up and smack actors in the face, the professionalization of fake trauma may have outstripped the comedy of it. The difficulty of producing a stunt safely is not, after all, related to the amusement it provides; in fact, the difficulty, when too obvious, can get in the way. “Peter Pan Goes Wrong,” directed by Adam Meggido, too often belabors the horseplay, making it feel mechanical.Milder but more endearing are the jokes that depend on miscues, amateur acting and erratic stagecraft. The chair that is meant to deliver the narrator (Harris) to and from the stage sometimes jerks him too suddenly into position and other times makes an excruciatingly slow exit. Harris, who will appear at most performances through April 30, is expert at consternation that turns into helplessness.And Dennis, the young Cornley actor playing John Darling and Mr. Smee, “who doesn’t know a single line,” must have his words provided through headphones; he repeats them verbatim, even when they’re clearly not meant to be spoken. “Dennis, you’re wearing the wrong costume,” he declaims proudly. “No, don’t say that, that is obviously not a line.”In such moments, “Peter Pan Goes Wrong” begins to achieve the dizzying liftoff of the best backstage farces, like Michael Frayn’s “Noises Off.” In the confusing atmosphere where real life, the play and the play within the play meet, you feel unmoored from the customary gravity of the theater. Words make very little sense, especially when, as happens blissfully once or twice, the dialogue slips out of alignment and one actor jumps ahead while another stays behind. (That also happened in “The Play That Goes Wrong.”) And when Mrs. Darling and her maid are declared to be “different in every way” though they are quite obviously played by the same flustered actor, disbelief is more than suspended. Wonderfully, it’s shattered.Matthew Cavendish, right, with Neil Patrick Harris, whose misbehaving narrator’s chair provides some of the production’s endearing jokes, our critic writes.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesAlas, the reprieve from the weight of meaning is only temporary. Too often, the belaboring rebounds and you crash back to earth as ungracefully as Peter Pan. Several bits depend on a setup too outlandish even for farce, which works best when the conditions are real but the responses extreme, instead of the other way around. When sound cues are somehow switched with recordings of offstage conversations and even audition tapes, it’s too far-fetched to amuse.Still, the cast makes even the dimmest jokes shine; you admire the polish. The play’s three authors, once drama school chums, have given themselves the best roles. Henry Shields, the choleric, John Cleese-like one, plays Mr. Darling and Captain Hook; Henry Lewis, the haunted teddy bear, is naturally Nana; and Jonathan Sayer is the headphoned idiot who barely belongs on a stage.They have all by now honed their shticks into weapons. “Peter Pan Goes Wrong” has been playing off and on since 2013, and the “Goes Wrong” brand has been incorporated as Mischief Worldwide. Perhaps that growth has now begun to drain some joy from the franchise, which is built not just on endangering amateurs but on loving them and even to some extent being them. Death may be a big adventure, but for bumblers, which is to say all of us, unvarnished life is adventure enough.Peter Pan Goes WrongThrough July 9 at the Ethel Barrymore Theater, Manhattan; pangoeswrongbway.com. Running time: 2 hours 5 minutes. More

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      Review: In ‘Plays for the Plague Year,’ the Soundtrack of Our Lives

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      Suzan-Lori Parks wrote one play a day for 13 months during the pandemic. Those stories come to life onstage in the form of monologues, dialogues and songs at Joe’s Pub.Upon entering Joe’s Pub at the Public Theater for Suzan-Lori Parks’s “Plays for the Plague Year,” audience members are handed a Playbill, a pencil and two yellow notecards, each with a question about the pandemic: “What would you like to remember?” “What would you like to forget?” The responses are placed in a basket from which they are picked and read during the show. At my performance, someone wrote that they’d like to forget “fear and worry, foreground and background.” People in the audience murmured in assent.We’d all probably like to forget our own experiences of fear and worry during that first year of zealous hand-washing and ever-changing mask mandates. Parks, however, made a project of remembering: For that first pandemic year, she resolved to write a play a day about “whatever happens,” including the mundane goings-on in her apartment, the deaths of friends and strangers, and the Black Lives Matter protests.Here, Parks performs a version of herself called the Writer, who creates plays each day while quarantining with her husband (played by Greg Keller) and their 8-year-old son (Leland Fowler) in their one-bedroom apartment.What unfolds is some configuration of those plays, though “play” is too restrictive a word for these micro-performances, which take the forms of monologues, dialogues and songs. Parks, who also plays the guitar here, is joined onstage by seven other cast members in various roles and a band (Ric Molina, guitar; Graham Kozak, bass; Ray Marchica, percussion).An accounting of each day — an electronic placard hanging above the stage flashes the date and title of each section, presented chronologically from March 19, 2020, to April 13, 2021 — provides the show with a built-in structure to link what often feels like a hodgepodge.Parks wisely uses a series of shorthands to quickly bring us back to specific moments in those early pandemic days — an actor, for example, gliding past Parks in an ornate doublet and Tudor-style cap to signal theater closures, the cast hollering and clapping for a brief moment to signal the daily 7 p.m. cheer for frontline workers.In the plays in which Parks isn’t writing or with her family, she’s talking to a dead Little Richard or negotiating with her Muse who, fed up with Covid, threatens to abandon her. In another, a character named Bob looks for a job. There’s one in which Earth, embodied by a woman wearing a crown of branches and holding a scepter, warns that the pandemic is only the beginning of the world’s disasters.From left: Orville Mendoza, Martín Solá, Danyel Fulton and Rona Figueroa in a short play about Breonna Taylor, a Black medical worker who was shot and killed by police officers in Louisville, Ky.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesRuth Bader Ginsburg appears, on the day of her death, as a triumphant Lady Liberty, and the virus, personified as a horror movie villainess named Corona, wheezes and stalks the stage in a black-gray-white ombré dress and virion headpiece with red “spikes.” The costume design, by Rodrigo Muñoz, is as imaginative and visually stunning as runway couture, especially the layered fabrics of the Muse’s handkerchief hem skirt, made to resemble scraps of paper with scribbled writings, and the 3-D elements, like the butterflies on Earth’s chiffon dress.But not all days are created equal, and this three-hour production does feel as if we’re reliving a year’s worth of material. At least the variety in Parks’s script keeps things unpredictable enough to hold our attention.The direction, by Niegel Smith, occasionally gets too darling, like the first scene, when the family members introduce themselves (“I am the writer. I am the hubby. I am the son.”) while passing a red paper heart to one another. But Smith, who also choreographed the show, does make organized chaos in the intimate space (design by Peter Nigrini), rotating characters on a tiny stage adorned with a few pieces of low-sitting furniture — table, armchair, dresser, lamp, rack covered in books.The show’s music is as eclectic as the storytelling; the songs are short, plucky, with hints of folk, jazz and R&B. The surprising mash-up of genres include the doo-wop style of “Bob Needs a Job,” and the bluesy “Praying Now” soon picks up tempo, turning into an upbeat clap-and-stomp. Most aren’t particularly memorable, but the strongest songs — “RIP the King” and “Whichaway the World” — build with an alternating mix of spoken word/rap and soulful crooning from two performers in particular, Fowler and Danyel Fulton.Sometimes it seems as if Parks is overreaching, as when she speaks to her former mentor, James Baldwin (perfectly embodied by Fowler, who replicates his posture and cadence of speech), so he can muse about American history. Or in a long ceremony during which the cast hands flowers to the audience at the end of a section about Breonna Taylor, played by Fulton; but Fulton’s performance is poignant enough on its own.The playwright’s conversations with the dead, however, many of whom begin their scenes unaware or in denial of their demise, is the show’s most compelling motif. She speaks to several who are Black, especially those lost to Covid and those to police brutality. Through these post-mortems, Parks is asking trenchant questions about how we memorialize Black bodies. What would the dead say? How would they want to be remembered, if at all? So the Brooklyn educator Dez-Ann Romain, who died from complications of the coronavirus, snapping “Don’t make me speak of myself in the past tense,” and George Floyd asking, “Would I be safe if Harriet Tubman was on the 20?” become tragic self-written elegies. We’re watching the dead mourn themselves.Then there’s Parks, who, even playing this version of herself, always feels earnest, as when she listens to the speeches of her characters, while sitting off to one side of the stage, leaning forward attentively. You can easily imagine this being the way Parks sees the world refracted back to her, conversing with the dead, building abstractions.Unfortunately, her own domestic narrative feels flat by comparison. So “What’s the takeaway? What’s the concept? What’s the tone,” as the Writer’s TV producer asks her at one point during a conversation about the Writer’s plays project.“Plague Year” never answers these questions; the Writer ultimately discovers that the plays “didn’t save us.” But this isn’t Parks renouncing her ambitious undertaking. She’s offering another way to think about the production, which isn’t always a cohesive work of theater: Perhaps it doesn’t have to.Theater doesn’t save us, the Writer says, “but it does preserve us somehow,” so this piece still is a record. This is catharsis. It’s preservation.Plays for the Plague YearThrough April 30 at Joe’s Pub, Manhattan; publictheater.org. Running time: 3 hours. More

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      A Dancer’s Life: Chita Rivera on Working Hard and Learning From the Best

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      In her new memoir, Chita Rivera says she could never relate to the song “I’m Still Here,” Stephen Sondheim’s beloved ode to persevering despite the odds. She liked the song just fine, but, as a nose-to-the-grindstone professional, there was no time for nostalgia — she was always looking ahead to the next gig. Then the pandemic arrived and, “like the rest of the world, there I was.”Even when the pandemic presented her with an occasion to hit pause, her urge to look back was borne out of a desire to pay it forward. “I really wanted a memoir that kids could read and apply themselves to,” Rivera, 90, said over tea last month at the Laurie Beechman Theater in Midtown Manhattan. “It’s not as much of a memoir as it is an opportunity for kids to realize that if they want this, they can have it — but they have to work hard.”“Chita: A Memoir,” written with the journalist Patrick Pacheco and available on April 25, traces the three-time Tony Award winner’s life with a veteran’s clarity and insouciance. Over its 320 pages, the Puerto Rican-American performer, who was raised in Washington, D.C., fondly recalls her early dance classes, her move to New York City to study at George Balanchine’s School of American Ballet, her breakthrough as Anita in “West Side Story” and her continued success on Broadway (18 appearances total) and beyond.Chita Rivera, right, and Liane Plane in a scene from the Broadway production of “West Side Story.”Hank Walker/The LIFE Picture Collection, via ShutterstockUpon reflecting on all she learned from the likes of Balanchine, Jerome Robbins and Bob Fosse, Rivera, who had long been approached about writing a memoir, decided finally to tell her story. She’s no stranger to sharing her experiences and playing mentor. The actress Laura Benanti, with whom Rivera starred in the 2003 Broadway revival of “Nine,” said in a phone interview that Rivera’s generosity during the production was almost maternal.“She makes you feel immediately part of a team,” Benanti said. “She’s not just out there for herself. She taught me that you’re only as good as the person you’re playing opposite, so you want everybody to thrive.”The book also delves into Rivera’s fruitful collaborations with the composer John Kander and the lyricist Fred Ebb. Their “triumvirate,” as Kander described it over the phone, led to her Tony-nominated performances as the publicity-hungry murderess Velma Kelly in “Chicago”; Anna, the roller-skating rink owner who makes amends with her daughter, in “The Rink”; and Aurora, the object of a gay prisoner’s diva worship, in “Kiss of the Spider Woman.” She often joined the national or international tours of those productions, which deepened Rivera’s ties to her best-known roles.Kander called her a composer’s blessing. “When you hear Chita, you see Chita. When you work with somebody like that, their range is so enormous that there’s nothing you can’t write,” he said of developing characters with Rivera. “It’s a spirit that I hear. If there’s a natural feeling when you imagine Chita singing it, then you’re on the right track.”Rivera, with her sharp, sensuous agility, has been a regular stage presence, from her professional debut in 1952 as a featured dancer in the national tour of “Call Me Madam” to her final Broadway bow in 2015 for “The Visit,” another collaboration with Kander and Ebb (and their frequent book writer Terrence McNally). She’s never gone more than three years without a major, regional or touring production — even when raising her daughter with Tony Mordente, Lisa, though her birth did delay the London premiere of “West Side Story” — and she continues to perform her cabaret act. This constant work is all she knows, Rivera said, though it has left her with a slight blind spot when it comes to the business she so loves.“Whenever you hear that vamp, you think of ‘Jazz,’” she said.Philip Montgomery for The New York Times“Who sang ‘Jazz’? I did.”Philip Montgomery for The New York TimesShe first saw her friend Fosse’s 1978 revue, “Dancin’,” for example, when it was revived on Broadway this spring. “I didn’t have much time to see the shows,” she said. “That’s how the golden age was for me: one show after another, one fabulous lyricist after another fabulous composer, all growing up at the same time. It was great for me because I learned constantly.”The “Dancin’” revival, directed by one of the original cast members, Wayne Cilento, reminded her of her heyday. “Because it’s full of fabulous dancers that work really hard, and that’s all they do, is dance.”To help her revisit that time for the memoir, Rivera turned to Pacheco, whom she met in 1975 while he was writing about her nightclub act at the Grand Finale cabaret for the entertainment magazine After Dark. They also got together over cosmopolitans in 2005, when Pacheco interviewed her at length; his notes shaped McNally’s book for her solo Broadway show, “Chita Rivera: The Dancer’s Life.”Rivera first worked with Patrick Pacheco almost two decades ago, when he interviewed her as part of the development process for her 2005 show, “Chita Rivera: The Dancer’s Life,” above.Sara Krulwich/The New York Times“He’s funny, he likes the spirit to be uplifted, and he found me amusing,” Rivera said. Pacheco later added that the two bonded over being Latino and Catholic — “a key to her personality,” he said. Interviews for the memoir began in the summer of 2020, from her home in Rockland County, N.Y., originally as informal conversations. They pitched it to publishers once a narrative structure came together.“I don’t think she would have ever done it if Covid hadn’t come around,” Pacheco said, “because she is unstoppable when it comes to her career. That’s what she really lives for — to be on that stage.”“She was less enthusiastic about revealing her private life,” Pacheco continued, noting her reluctance to discuss her romance with Sammy Davis Jr. “But she really was a good sport. Once we read a chapter together, she rarely asked for any changes. I would say, in 100,000 words if she asked me to delete 50, that would be major.”Those seeking gossip might be disappointed, though. Aside from some light naughtiness when describing her love affairs and weakness for Italian men, the book’s juiciest disclosure might be that Rivera turned down the playwright Arthur Laurents’s request to star as Rose in the London premiere of “Gypsy” in the early 1960s.In her 30s at the time, Rivera writes she felt she was too young, polite and distant from her inner “renegade” to play an overbearing stage mother. That renegade emerges in the book as her alter ego, Dolores. (Rivera was born Dolores Conchita Figueroa del Rivero Anderson.) Whereas Chita is the sweet one “who tries to bring everything together, solve problems and likes to laugh,” she said, Dolores doesn’t hold back, and gets her jobs. “She was the one that protected me,” she said. “Thanks to Patrick, we brought her out.”“I feel that you can’t replace the person that originates a role,” Rivera said of being replaced in the film versions of “West Side Story” and “Chicago.” Philip Montgomery for The New York TimesThese personas sit atop her shoulders, Rivera said, battling it out like a Boricua Jekyll and Hyde. When mulling over replacing her friend Gwen Verdon in the title role of “Sweet Charity” for its national tour, she remembered, “The two angels on my shoulders were saying, ‘You can’t.’ ‘Well, yes, you can — if you bring your own shoes.’”It is Dolores who provides the bulk of the book’s snarky wit and shrugs off being passed over for film adaptations, though she originated the characters onstage. “They’re always winning Oscars for roles that I’ve done, but that’s cool,” Rivera said with a confident smirk, referring to a comment in the book about Rita Moreno’s and Catherine Zeta-Jones’s wins for “West Side Story” and “Chicago.”“I feel that you can’t replace the person that originates a role,” she continued. “I say in my act: ‘Catherine, you keep your Oscar, I’ll keep my vamp.’ And it’s a great vamp. I would hold it as long as the first two rows would let me.”She recalled the vamp — Kander’s introduction to “All That Jazz” from “Chicago,” a seductive eight-count that can be teased out forever — and how, when performing that signature number, she would glare at the audience and “just pulse.”“Whenever you hear that vamp, you think of ‘Jazz,’” she said, tapping her fingers like a drumroll. “And who sang ‘Jazz’? I did.” More

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      Review: In ‘Amours (2),’ Love Hurts

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      The French director Joël Pommerat has created an intimate chamber work examining love from many angles, all of them laced with pain and misunderstanding.A new stage production by Joël Pommerat is always an event in France. At 60, he is widely recognized as one of the greatest directors and playwrights working in the country today, a theater maker with rare box-office appeal. Yet unlike many of his peers, Pommerat hasn’t parlayed this success into an ever busier schedule of new productions.Since 2015, he has brought just three new plays to domestic and international stages, starting with his French Revolution-inspired juggernaut “It Will Be Fine (1) End of Louis.” This month, he is back in Paris with a much more modest endeavor: “Amours (2)” (“Loves (2)”), a 70-minute medley of fragments from Pommerat’s previous works, reinvented for an audience of around 40.This shrunken scale doesn’t make “Amours (2),” which is nominated for best public-sector production at this year’s Molière theater awards, any less effective. If anything, it showcases Pommerat’s art — his taut writing, delivered in piercing vignettes — more intimately than ever.The show isn’t performed on a traditional stage: The production requires merely a backdrop and chairs on three sides of a square space. (In Paris, it was staged at Pavillon Villette, a venue often rented out for receptions and conferences.) There were practical reasons for this format: “Amours (2)” is a reworking of “Amours (1),” a production that Pommerat created at a French prison in 2019.Pommerat has been working with prisoners in Arles, southern France, for nearly a decade. His first two collaborations featured full casts drawn from the jail there, and were performed inside the prison for small audiences. But the security and logistics for these events were demanding, and prison officials asked for a simpler setup for “Amours (1).”Four years later, two of the prisoners he worked with in Arles — Jean Ruimi and Redwane Rajel — have been released, and are working as professional actors with Pommerat’s theater troupe, the Louis Brouillard Company. “Amours (2)” starts with those actors seated in the audience.As a spokeswoman finishes a preshow announcement, Rajel’s irritated voice rises: “Just stop!” He and Ruimi, playing Rajel’s father, launched into an argument — apologizing along the way for the disruption, as if it were a spontaneous exchange. (Some onlookers believed it was, and tried to shush them.)Three actresses join Ruimi and Rajel and the show plays out in a dozen scenes between two or three characters, drawn from earlier Pommerat pieces: “This Child” (2006), “Circles/Fictions” (2010) and “The Reunification of the Two Koreas” (2013). Love, the overarching theme, takes many forms throughout, from intense friendship to filial affection and long-term companionship.Yet it is consistently laced with pain and misunderstanding. In one scene, a deep rift opens up between two best friends because their recollections of their first meeting differ. In another vignette, two neighbors wait for their spouses to return, until it dawns on them that the missing partners are having an affair.While Pommerat has honed a distinctive stage aesthetic over the years, with dusky lighting and an eerie, quietly cutting delivery style for actors, “Amours (2)” does away with technical wizardry and goes back to basics. The plain, bright lighting and compact space lessens the distance between the audience and highlights the spare yet mysterious quality of Pommerat’s writing.The three women onstage — Marie Piemontese, Elise Douyère and Roxane Isnard — are all faultless, with Isnard an especially versatile presence from scene to scene, projecting teenage anger as easily as quiet, mature tension. Yet Ruimi and Rajel, the two former convicts, bring a different dimension to “Amours (2).”Ruimi, a former high-profile member of a Marseille crime ring who served a lengthy sentence in connection with several killings and drug trafficking, draws attention with a nervy intensity. When he plays vulnerable characters — like a man paying daily visits to his amnesiac wife, who keeps forgetting who he is — his toughness almost seems to crack in real time.Rajel, who has also performed roles with the French director Olivier Py, is a softer presence, with a gift for delivering quiet blows in dialogue. “Amours (2)” is a testament to Ruimi and Rajel’s talent and hard work, yet their life experiences shape their stage presence, too.That is one of the benefits of social diversity in the arts. It’s an uphill struggle for actors from tough backgrounds to make it as professionals, with drama schools increasingly out of financial reach in Europe and the United States. Yet their presence makes for richer, fuller worlds onstage. “Amours (2)” is certainly proof, and is bound to become another Pommerat classic.Amours (2)Through April 22 at W.I.P. Villette in Paris, then touring France through June 9. More

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      ‘Emilie’ Review: Defending, and Defining, a Life

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      In her new play, Lauren Gunderson explores the legacy of the 18th-century French mathematician and philosophe Emilie du Châtelet.“Emilie: La Marquise du Châtelet Defends Her Life Tonight” starts with a death adjourned. Emilie (Amy Michelle), a mathematician and philosophe, has slipped through a loophole in the space-time continuum and now lingers in an uncanny valley between life and death. She has been allotted limited time to determine whether her legacy amounts to one of “loving” or “knowing.”The words “love” and “philosophy” are inscribed on an upstage wall and throughout this play, by Lauren Gunderson, Emilie returns to that makeshift chalkboard to tally up her life’s deeds. As a dramaturgical device, it’s more prosaic than piquant, yet not entirely off brand for a woman whose mind was a perpetual motion machine.The play’s protagonist is based on the real-life du Châtelet, famed in 18th-century France for her translation of and commentary on Newton’s “Principia” and for a treatise she wrote on the nature and propagation of fire. Such an accomplished woman hardly needs defending, but defining a life is another matter. That is the real brief for “Emilie.”In her state of limbo, the marquise discovers that she can’t intervene in past events. Any kind of physical contact will immediately set off a blackout, as if someone has shaken a cosmic Etch A Sketch. As a workaround, Erika Vetter plays a younger version of the marquise, enacting a telescoped version of her life. Where Michelle’s marquise is ruled by an Apollonian temperament, Vetter puts a heavy thumb on the “love” scale. “Are you jealous that I’m sharing orbits with another man?” she teases Voltaire, du Châtelet’s lover in real life.Under Kathy Gail MacGowan’s direction, many of the actors play multiple roles, underscoring the similarities between certain characters. Bonnie Black delivers compelling performances as both the marquise’s mother, a woman of mean understanding, and the meddlesome Madam Graffigny, a not entirely welcome guest at the marquise’s family estate.Unlike those two women, bound by corsets, Emilie wears a simple nightgown, which allows her to move freely from her chaise longue to her desk on Sarah White’s handsome set. Her mind moves just as nimbly from an appraisal of Gottfried Leibniz to a discussion of “living force,” a scientific concept for kinetic energy first developed by Leibniz and later elaborated upon by Emilie.For all the talk of life forces, however, there’s a lack of kinetic energy between the elder marquise and Voltaire, who is reduced to a concupiscent kibitzer with a string of chronic ailments. The first act is also dragged down by exposition. “Did I mention I was married? We’re skipping ahead.” “Did I mention I had children? Three. Fascinating creatures,” the marquise maunders on. Such palavering is wasted time for a woman facing a literal deadline.Gunderson, whose other work includes plays about pioneering women like Marie Curie, does more than pay hagiographic tribute to her subjects. There are angles of regret in her portrait of the marquise, who ultimately feels that she failed to provide enough opportunities for her daughter. Even as the lights dim, she is preoccupied with “love and so many questions,” and it becomes impossible to tell where loving leaves off and knowing begins.Emilie: La Marquise du Châtelet Defends Her Life TonightThrough April 30 at the Flea Theater, Manhattan; theflea.org. Running time: 2 hours.This review is supported by Critical Minded, an initiative to invest in the work of cultural critics from historically underrepresented backgrounds. More

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      Cabaret Mainstay 54 Below Enters a New Era: As a Nonprofit

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      The midtown venue’s owners hope to raise close to 20 percent of an annual budget approaching $10 million from supporters.After nearly 11 years in operation, one of New York City’s most high-profile cabaret venues has decided to transition from a commercial entity to a nonprofit. The owners of 54 Below, a popular forum for both Broadway stars and rising performers and composers, say they intend to raise close to 20 percent of an annual budget approaching $10 million from supporters, with sponsorships, multiyear donations and naming opportunities figuring into the new model.Richard Frankel, one of the owners, described the move as motivated by both economic challenges and artistic ambitions. “There’s no doubt it’s been a struggle, financially, combining the restaurant and theater businesses,” he said, adding that the club, which occupies the space below the 1970s nightlife fixture-turned-Broadway theater Studio 54, “puts on about 600 shows a year, which is insane. So we have a structure that’s not cheap.”Those shows have included performances by marquee names such as Patti LuPone, Kelli O’Hara and Brian Stokes Mitchell, as well as series and concerts spotlighting lesser-known artists and works. “Diversity has become very important to us, presenting new musicals and young performers, many of color,” Frankel said. “And we want to be able to pay them more and expand the audience, with artist subsidies and ticket subsidies. That can be very difficult, if not impossible, to do on a self-sustaining commercial basis.”Frankel noted that two of 54 Below’s competitors, Joe’s Pub and Dizzy’s Club, both enjoy the backing of nonprofit organizations: the Public Theater and Jazz at Lincoln Center. “We’ve been incredibly envious of them,” Frankel said.As a nonprofit, 54 Below will focus on raising money to offer discounted tickets and subsidize artists’ production costs, as well as continue livestreaming its performances.A newly formed board for 54 Below includes, in addition to Frankel and his fellow owners, names from the entertainment, business and nonprofit sectors, among them the actress and entrepreneur Brenda Braxton; Robert L. Dilenschneider, president and chief executive of the Dilenschneider Group, Inc; Stanley Richards, deputy chief executive of the Fortune Society; and Lucille Werlinich, chair of the Purchase College Foundation.54 Below opened in June 2012 and entered a partnership with the veteran performer and American songbook champion Michael Feinstein in 2015; that collaboration ended in July 2022, when Feinstein teamed up with Cafe Carlyle. Last June, 54 Below received an honor at the Tony Awards for excellence in the theater.“I’m expecting the funding sources to be generous, though I don’t know how many Santa Clauses there can be,” Frankel said. “But we’re committed to this, as a way for us to survive and thrive in the future.” More