The Dudleys!

Leegrid Stevens' The Dudleys! is a profoundly affecting show that I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have seen, especially given its very limited run. I urge you to go see it.

The show opens with a zombie entering the stage and explaining the rules to the audience: "You only have one life. Some of the buttons don't work. You only have one life." This is life—and game-playing—boiled down to its core: simple, unforgiving, and frustrating.

The Dudleys! is part of the emerging subgenre of music, plays and films riffing on 8-bit video games of the 1980s and early '90s (as seen in the Blip Festival, the Brick Theater's recent Game Play festival and Edgar Wright's film adaptation of Scott Pilgrim Versus the World). This is easily the best work from this subgenre I've seen. It takes a story about a family tragedy and transplants it into a pixilated reality.

The multimedia play is about the lives of the Dudleys, a Mormon family from a small Utah town, portrayed as an Atari or Nintendo game. But this not a cheap gimmick: this play at its core is about nostalgia glossing over the more ugly elements of the past. And isn't one of the primary appeals of the 8-bit scene nostalgia? Also, some of the most affecting moments in the play are where Stevens and director Matt Torney simultaneously show where real world pain and game-play both overlap and are at odds with one another.

We follow the family just after—and a little before—the death of the family patriarch, Tom Dudley (a versatile and compelling Eric Slater), who's portrayed through the bulk of the show as the aforementioned zombie. It leaps around out of chronological order to various points of the mother and her three children's lives as they try to deal with Tom's death and move on with their lives.

Many of their trials and tribulations—some funny, some serious, and some downright harrowing—are in the form of video game obstacles. When the brothers—Vic and Derek (Craig Bridger and Brandon Bales)—visit their sick father in the cancer treatment center, it's a place teeming with zombies (with hospital gowns) that they have to evade and shoot. Derek acts up and goes on a vandalism spree with his cousin Onna (Wrenn Schmidt), trashing mailboxes and the local Wal-Mart. So, it's portrayed as a game where he has to smash enough things before the cops catch up with him. And at one point, the brothers go off on a mission to Portugal, and their experience there is boiled down to a series of evading irritated locals (their mouths flapping wordlessly) intent on slapping them.

All of these aforementioned sequences—and others—are done via dance sequences in front of a projected backdrop of video game backgrounds over hypnotic and catchy 8-bit music composed by Stevens.

However, not all of the scenes are amped-up video game level recreations: many of the scenes are deliberately banal and low-key, which provides a fascinating tonal dissonance. Seeing the family sit down to a very believable and realistic dinner together, or when the local police officer (a very sweet and earnest Joshua Levine) shyly makes an implied offer to serve as a father figure to the boys after Tom's death, both in front of a backdrop of a pixilated kitchen, keep the show grounded in a firm emotional reality. This style and all of these scenes culminate in a climactic scene so powerful and moving I felt like I couldn't breathe while it was playing. I definitely felt the tears welling up. Don't look at me like that. I'm not a robot.

The ensemble cast is superb. In particular, Erin Treadway hits all the right notes as Tom's widow Clara, trying to fight increasing suicidal impulses and obsessing with religion though being unable to choose one (after being Mormon all her life, she decides she wants to convert to Judaism shortly after Tom's funeral). She seems simultaneously manic and haggard, desperately blathering away about the Bible to her children while completely oblivious to the fact that none of even pretend to listen.

Also noteworthy is Meg McLynn, who plays Aunt Meg, a woman who runs the previously mentioned cancer treatment center who believes that homeopathic remedies, the right diet, and positive thinking could have cured Tom, constantly lobbing passive-aggressive intimations that Clara's negativity is what ultimately killed him.

Diana Ruppe is also spot-on as the youngest Dudley, Sylvia, who's both intelligent and independent yet under the thumb of everyone around her (her mother often uses her as a trump card in her fights with Aunt Meg, and she's stuck in a physically abusive relationship that no one seems to notice). Casey Robinson and David Wylie round out the cast deftly playing various ensemble roles throughout.

Torney's direction and all elements of the design—from the video backdrop to the choreography to the original music to the lights and set—are also inspired. For an hour and forty minutes, you're immersed in this very unreal-yet-all-too-real world.

As I mentioned before, The Dudleys! has a very limited run (there are only three more performances as I post this), so you should make the effort to go see this remarkable show. I can't recommend it enough; it's easily one of the best plays I've seen this year.

The Dudleys! is playing at Theater for the New City on 155 First Avenue Aug 27 at 7pm, Aug 29 at 2pm, Aug 30 at 7pm. For tickets click here.

Always clicking reset,

James "Cheater" Comtois

Energy Man Review for nytheatre.com

My review of A Energy Man is now up on nytheatre.com.

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From the title to the tagline ("A dramedy about wanting to rise up—Superhero Style") to the Marvel Comics-style program credits ("The Stupendous Stacie Perlman," "The Incredible Ramon Sanchez...") to the complementary mini-comic that comes with your ticket to the curtain speech, Energy Man leads its audience to believe... [keep reading]

A Matter of Choice Review for nytheatre.com

My review of A Matter of Choice is now up on nytheatre.com.

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Although it's a cliche to say that New York is constantly changing, it's a cliche all of us living here will expound upon. It doesn't matter if... [keep reading]

Inception

UPDATE: There are elements of the discussion in the comments section of this entry that may qualify as spoilers.

Christopher Nolan's Inception may be one of the best movies I found massively disappointing. Is it fun? Definitely. Is it inventive? It sure is. Is it worth seeing? Absolutely. Is it the mind-blowing masterpiece that many critics and audience members are calling it? Not even close.

For a movie where people seem desperate to avoid any sort of spoilers, this is a doggedly linear film with very few—if any—twists (a la Memento or The Prestige). It's being touted as another puzzle or maze film (much like Memento), which I actually find misleading and inaccurate. For a movie that takes place in dreams within dreams within dreams, it's pretty damn straightforward.

Also, for a film dealing with going into the realm of dreams and the subconscious, it's pretty mundane. I kept thinking, "This isn't a dream landscape, this is the set of a James Bond film showdown," or, "The inner recesses of one's mind looks a great deal like downtown Chicago." And when you consider there are so many (better) films out there that deal with the realm of dreams and the subconscious—Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Mulholland Dr., Synecdoche, New York, even popcorn entertainments like The Matrix and Total Recall—I couldn't help but think that Inception's take on dream logic was strangely lacking.

But enough slapping Inception around. I don't want you to get the impression that I didn't enjoy this movie (I did) or that I don't recommend it (I do).

(I should also point out that Memento and The Dark Knight are two of my favorite films to come out in the past decade, so I will admit that my expectations for this film was pretty damn high.)

So let's talk about what Nolan & Co. get right with this movie (which is a great deal).

Without giving too much away, Inception is about a team of corporate thieves led by Leonardo DiCaprio that specializes in stealing ideas by infiltrating their dreams. Don't worry about how this works: the bulk of the first act is spent explaining the rules of this job and world. After a quasi-botched job, they're approached by a mysterious corporate bigwig played by Ken Watanabe who wants to hire them not to make an "extraction," (their term for stealing ideas), but an "Inception." In other words, he wants them to implant an idea in a competitor's mind and make him think it's his original thought.

DiCaprio's partner, a surprisingly dapper and badass Joseph Gordon-Levitt, says it's impossible, since the mind can always trace the origin of an idea, but DiCaprio begs to differ. We in the audience do, too; not for the same (deliberately untold) reasons DiCaprio knows, but just from simple common sense. (Studies have shown that the mind actually is notoriously bad at tracing the origin of ideas—but I guess never mind that.)

At first DiCaprio & Co. refuse due to the excessive risk and difficulty, but Watanabe makes DiCaprio an offer he can't refuse. I won't reveal what it is, but it has to do with Leo's deliberately elusive and troubled back-story. Then we get into the "getting the team together to organize the heist" portion of the movie, which is actually quite fun. This is where we meet Ellen Page, who's brought in to serve as the architect for the dream world they're creating for their target (Cillian Murphy).

The story is actually very fun and engaging. It's also one of the few movies where I didn't mind that it stopped for 45 minutes to simply explain the rules of this world to Page us. (This is, after all, how most heist films are done; after getting the team together, the team then plans out the heist in semi-meticulous fashion, a la Rififi). And, at two hours and 45 minutes, it flies by.

And my previous complaints about the mundane look and feel of the dreamscapes aside, the effects are quite nice and not aggressively in your face. The effects serve the story, not the other way around, and the action sequences are clear and coherent (although again, this may be a detriment for a movie like this). They also range from the spectacular (the anti-gravity fight in the hotel lobby; the opening sequence) to the disappointingly mundane (the previously-mentioned James Bon-esque setting).

The acting, as is the case with the acting in almost all of Nolan's films, is top-shelf. DiCaprio is breaking out of his pretty-boy routine and looks quite well, and looks downright haggard and downtrodden in this. (He actually also looks a bit pudgy and bulky in this movie, which works in his favor, oddly enough: it adds some metaphorical weight to his screen presence as well.)

As for the rest of the cast, Page works well as the audience's surrogate. Michael Caine obviously makes a nice cameo here, and is also obviously engaging. Again, I was really surprised and impressed with how...there's no other hyphenated word for it...kick-ass Gordon-Levitt is in this as well (though having seen and liked Brick, I really shouldn't have been so surprised). Watanabe and Murphy are also solid and spot-on, as are Tom Berenger, Tom Hardy, Dileep Rao and Marion Cotillard.

Inception is ultimately a very fun and inventive heist film. Just don't go in expecting something more than that.

Still quite impressed with Gordon-Levitt's badassery,

James "Nolan + Cast of 10 Things I Hate About You = Acting Magic" Comtois

St. Nicholas Review for nytheatre.com

I figured in my downtime, why not take a break from making vampire theatre by going to see some other vampire theatre?

Thus, my review of St. Nicholas is now up on nytheatre.com.

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What separates vampires from humans is that, unlike humans, vampires can't reflect. That doesn't just mean they can't cast reflections in mirrors, but that they have no conscience... [keep reading]

Daybreakers

(Since I'm working on a play about vampires at the moment and since one of my half-dozen readers asked why I stopped writing reviews for movies, I figured now would be as good a time as any to write up my thoughts on a film I just watched in my Netflix queue that was released in theatres earlier this year.)

Daybreakers takes place in 2019, when vampires are now in the majority and humans are an endangered species. That vampires now rule the world is made clear during the opening credit sequence, which shows a completely abandoned city during the day, then a metropolis teeming with fanged commuters getting their blood-filled coffee on their way to work after darkness falls.

In this vampire-run city, Ethan Hawke plays Edward Dalton, a hematologist and reluctant vampire seeking to create a synthetic blood replacement, since the human population is dwindling and recent reports suggest that the vampires' food supply (received mainly via comatose farmed humans) will be depleted by the end of the month. Reports also show that vampires become deformed feral monsters after only a couple of weeks of being deprived of human blood (complete with pointed ears, claws and bat-like wings).

The concept of vampires brought forth in Daybreakers is an inventive one, and one that makes perfect sense if vampires did in fact exist. In a short period of time, yes, vampires would radically outnumber humans, since all the humans would eventually either die or become converted. This means that the vampires' food supply would become scarce, then eventually extinct. The problem is also exacerbated when you consider that vampires are traditionally immortal, which means you now have to deal with feeding a species that will only grow in population but never die out.

Edward hopes that a blood replacement will put an end to the hunting and farming of humans. His boss Charles, however (played with demonic precision by Sam Neill), cares about profits and the bottom line, and still believes in capitalizing on the farming and selling of human blood for consumers willing to pay a little extra "for the real thing." What I particularly enjoyed about Neill's character is that he's much more of a corporate monster than a traditional one, fangs aside. This is one of the many nice touches that the movie offers, showing it is interested in conveying ideas rather than just showing off a penchant for gore (although wow, there is plenty of gore as well).

Edward eventually meets up with a band of humans led by Willem DaFoe who think they may have found a cure for vampirism. And here's where the movie brings in its most "take it or leave it" through-line. I won't reveal what the supposed cure is, but it may stretch the viewer's suspension of disbelief, even for a movie about vampires.

There are also a number of subplots in Daybreakers, including a through-line dealing with Sam Neill and his estranged (human) daughter, another concerning Ethan Hawke's strained relationship with his brother, and a whole subplot involving the government's callous handling of the starving feral vampire population. However, the movie doesn't feel overstuffed and handles these threads well (albeit somewhat truncated).

I admire the ideas and social commentary scattered throughout the movie (particularly in scenes like the one where a mini-riot breaks out at a Starbucks-like vendor when it changes its blood-to-coffee ratio). True, the commentary isn't exactly subtle, but then again, neither is the commentary in the films of George Romero.

I also admire that the film's writer-directors, Australian brothers Michael and Peter Spierig, delay the perfunctory shoot-em-up ending for as long as possible to continue doling out intriguing details of the world they've created (and might I add that the movie looks nice and slick, with the central city resembling elements of the cities found in Brazil, Blade Runner and Minority Report, yet still maintaining its own look). I also liked the cars and how they're set up to enable daytime driving.

Although I understand why, I think the reviews for Daybreakers were a tad unfair. No, it's not a mind-blowing work of art. Yes, it's a tad overstuffed. Yes, it's concept of a "cure" for vampirism is more than a little iffy. And yes, the final 10 minutes are as uninspired as its first 10 minutes are inspired. But despite these flaws, it's got a lot more going for it than many critics had led me to believe (hence me not seeing it in theatres during its original release). It's got a higher level of ambition than most mainstream horror films have had in the past decade. It has a new angle on the vampire tale. It has enjoyable performances (particularly from Neill and DaFoe). It has fun ideas. And hey: it also has lots of gore.

Liking his social commentary
to be chock-full of ultraviolence,

James "Lowbrow Philosopher" Comtois

Jacob's House

(Again, I'm good pals with most folks involved with this production, wrote a piece for their ForePlay series leading up to this show, and have worked with one of the actors—Zack Calhoon—in Nosedive a couple of times. So, grain of salt, all that. Plus, I paid a discounted price on my ticket.)

Flux Theatre Ensemble's latest production, Jacob's House, is an Americanized retelling of the Old Testament story of Jacob. It's at times fun, confusing, thought-provoking, frustrating, touching, muddled, and cathartic. Do you need to know the original story to follow and understand the play? No. Would it help to know it? I would imagine so. As I am unfamiliar with the original story, I did find myself getting lost on more than one occasion in the first act. But more on that later.

First, a little bit of background on this show for those of you who don't already know: Flux was originally set to mount a production of JB, Archibald MacLeish's modern retelling of the story of Job. However, the company was denied the rights at the 11th hour. Rather than cancel their spring production, Flux's artistic director August Schulenburg wrote a new script over the course of a weekend for the already-assembled cast based not on Job, but on Jacob wrestling the angel. (There is however a winking nod to JB, or at least the story of Job, in the script.)

To harp on some minor structural flaws in a script written under duress in mere days—a stunningly impressive feat—seems horrifically unfair and petty, especially considering how impressive the end result is. So, lest I seem like a crank, let me get all of my criticisms out of the way up front, since this is a show I ultimately liked and recommend.

The play centers around the offspring of Jacob, who recently died. They’ve just come from the funeral and are at his house, waiting to see who inherits it (and all its contents). Joe and Dinah believe they should get it, much to the dismay of Tamar, who became part of the family through marriage. Joe and Dinah—particularly Dinah—doesn’t believe Tamar should be entitled to anything of their father’s, but Tamar obviously disagrees, claiming she knew a side of dear old (and I do mean old) dad that Joe and Dinah never did.

So, through flashbacks and recreations, the siblings air out dirty laundry and revisit tales from their—and Jacob’s—past. And here’s where I can offer my two major criticisms and get on with the show.

The first act centers around stories that deal with Jacob’s childhood, his upbringing, how he became prosperous, how he met the love of his life, his wife, and how he became—depending on your viewpoint—blessed or cursed. The first act is very much all over the map, with sometimes achronological flashbacks that go off on tangents of their own.

For example, the scene where Jacob meets his true love’s father, although offering crucial information for the second act and is in and of itself fun, due in part to Bianca LaVerne Jones’s marvelous portrayal of the father, it derails the primary thrust of the flashback, which is the story of how Jacob fell in love with Rachel but married her sister instead.

All of this is a long roundabout way of stating that I often wondered where the show was going in act one, and sometimes had difficulty finding my bearings or locking onto the main narrative thread. I kept forgetting about Jacob’s exceedingly long life and couldn’t pinpoint when he got this gift or acknowledged it.

Also (and this is a minor thing that didn’t cause too much confusion), during the flashbacks, sometimes the actors playing Joe, Dinah and Tamar would step in and play younger versions of themselves, and sometimes other actors would step in to play them. Although it’s not too confusing, I’m not 100% sure why this inconsistent device was used.

Which isn't to say the first act isn't fun or interesting. There are many tales about the recently departed father that are compelling. It's just that in the first half of the show, I sometimes had trouble figuring out what these stories were all adding up to.

Aside from this, my confusion dissipated in the second act, where the narrative threads tighten and we’re presented with some very compelling stories that make up the Big Picture. (And really, if an audience member stops being confused before curtain call, the playwright’s done their job.) Specifically, there are two tales—where Dinah’s parents (unwittingly?) destroy her fiancé’s life (and in turn, Dinah’s chance of marrying the love of her life), and where Jacob bargains bits and pieces of himself with an angel for just a little more life during an extended chess game with Tamar—that are touching, heartbreaking and utterly absorbing. Thanks to the writing, directing and performances, theses scenes are almost worth the price of admission alone.

In the second act, we learn more about the "gifts" Jacob has been given by a nameless angel, and how said gifts have affected him, his offspring and really, everyone around him.

The actors are all great in this, particularly Matthew Archambault as Jacob and Isaiah Tanenbaum as the nameless angel who shows up from time to time to either bless or taunt Jacob. They inhabit their roles as if they were made to play them. Zack Calhoon, Jane Lincoln Taylor and Jessica Angleskahn are perfectly cast as the squabbling heirs, Tiffany Clementi and Kelli Holsopple play of each other well as the two sisters vying for Jacob’s love, and hell; they look like they could practically be sisters in real life. Johnna Adams, the aforementioned Jones, and Anthony Wills, Jr. deftly play multiple roles throughout (I particularly liked one bit where Johnna Adams, playing a young Tamar, tricks one of Jacob’s dim-witted sons to do her toilet-cleaning work for her).

And the previously-mentioned quibble aside, Kelly O'Donnell's direction is excellent. She seamlessly blends scenes from the past with those of the present in a way that's not cluttered or confusing.

Jason Paradine’s set is also astounding. Seriously, I didn’t think you could make the Access Gallery look like that. His set makes the space, which is really just one large dance studio look like the interior of an old cluttered with lifetimes of knickknacks and belongings.

Despite my reservations—and hey, maybe those more familiar with the original Biblical tale won’t be as sporadically lost as this ignoramus was—Jacob’s House makes for a night of compelling and fascinating theatre. It deals with a man blessed with fortune and long life, and shows the after-effects and consequences those gifts have on him and his family.

Wanting to learn to play chess,

James "Agnostic Moron" Comtois

Jacob’s House is running until May 22 at the Access Gallery on 380 Broadway. For tickets go here.

The Vigil or the Guided Cradle

(I guess in the full disclosure department, although I've only actively worked with one person involved in this show, I'm good pals with most of them; plus, Crystal and John staged something for Nosedive's 10th Anniversary Gala back in March. Also, I paid for my ticket, if anyone really gives a dick about that sort of thing.)

The Vigil or the Guided Cradle, written by Crystal Skillman and directed by John Hurley, is simultaneously a horror story, historical fiction, contemporary political thriller, and a variation on the age-old "woman in peril" story.

What makes the piece work so well, in addition to the great writing, deft direction and spot-on acting, is that it's focused on the narrative and the characters, not about political talking-points. It's not interested in delivering a heavy-handed sermon about the horrors of torture so much as crafting an engaging story that lets the audience see for itself how torture takes its toll on the victim and the victimizer.

The show follows two concurrent narratives that complement each other. In one, Ippolito, an Italian interrogator in the 15th Century Prague has unveiled a new method of interrogation torture device that may render his associates (rivals?) redundant: the titular vigil or guided cradle. It is regarded as an innovation of style and the next phase of getting confessions out of imprisoned suspects.

As horrified as I was with Ippolito's invention, like his fellow "interrogator" played by Travis York, I was also fascinated with how he genuinely believed in his methods. He's not interested in being cruel so much as he is in being efficient and effective. He also seems to delude himself into thinking he's being merciful (although the vigil has the potential to cause serious physical harm, its main goal is to inflict mental and emotional—and therefore more "humane"—pain).

In the other storyline, Susan Louise O'Connor plays a young American woman touring present-day Prague who meets up with a handsome stranger played by Dion Mucciacito. He offers to serve as her impromptu translator and tour guide during her stay. And of course, as we get to know these two, we realize that their pasts are indirectly connected, and their relationship takes a sharp left turn.

The play flips back and forth between the two narratives, with a subtle yet substantial thread connecting them both (for example, in one scene, the present day tourist admires the Astronomical Clock in the Town Square; in another, Ippolito uses his new torture device on Jan, the son of the Clock's maker).

Skillman and Hurley ably show the thin membrane between the two centuries and plotlines, revealing that the differences between Ippolito tormenting Jan and Mucciacito's tour guide holding O'Connor's tourist hostage is by a matter of only a degree or two. But again, it's not delivering a sanctimonious message about how our current torture methods are medieval: it's using that concept as a given to tell an engaging narrative.

The cast—which also features Vinnie Penna and Alex Pappas—is excellent, with a couple members of the ensemble playing counterpart characters in both threads. Christian Rummel is perfectly cast as the intimidating yet sympathetic Ippolito. O'Connor is, as usual, great as the seemingly naïve tourist-turned-victim-turned-victimizer. Joseph Mathers also deserves applause for his grueling and convincing performance as the tortured Jan, who's unlucky enough to be one of the first people to have the new torture device used on him. It hurts just to watch him in this show.

Sylviane Jacobsen's set, Meryl Pressman & Holly Rihn's costumes, and Olivia Harris' lighting are also all powerful and effective.

At 70 minutes, the script could actually stand to be a little longer. In fact, my one major criticism is that the present-day storyline actually feels a bit truncated. And although it's always a good thing when you want more from a show, there's easily enough material here for a 90-100-minute story.

This quibble over the runtime aside (and yes, it's always better that a play be too short than overlong), The Vigil or the Guided Cradle is a taught piece of thought-provoking—and sometimes intense and harrowing—piece of theatre. I think it has life beyond this limited run at the Brick Theater, and I for one would like to see it remounted, with perhaps a few more minutes put into it.

The Vigil or the Guided Cradle is playing at the Brick Theater on 575 Metropolitan Ave. in Brooklyn until May 8. For tickets click here.

Cradling you in my arms,

James "Cruel and Unusual" Comtois

Happy in the Poorhouse

Derek Ahonen's Happy in the Poorhouse opens with Paulie, a soon-to-be washed-up mixed martial arts fighter from Coney Island, arguing with his wife, Mary. He's got a noticeably massive wound on his right temple. She's running around the house trying to get it set up for a welcome home party for her first husband. During their fight, he gets so frustrated he pounds his fist through the plaster of the wall (near other fist-sized holes). Paulie then continues to argue with Mary while putting tape over the hole he just put in the wall.

Right away, the Amoralists' new show—like their previous outing, the exceptional The Pied Pipers of the Lower East Side—conveys a raw, intense energy and physicality that hooked me in within the first two minutes and didn't let go until curtain call.

I really enjoyed this play. Ahonen and the Amoralists have a wonderfully distinct style and aesthetic that is very engaging and exciting to watch. After seeing only two of their shows, the Amoralists has become a company—like Vampire Cowboys—that I'm making a point from now on to go see whatever they do. You should, too.

Happy in the Poorhouse is very funny and engaging. It's thought-provoking without being heavy-handed or pretentious. It feels simultaneously old-fashioned (in a good way) yet very fresh and new. To use a sound-byte analogy, this show feels like what would happen if The Honeymooners were directed by Martin Scorsese.

Paulie and Mary are dealing with two huge problems. Well, three. The first one (which may be surmountable) is that they're flat broke. Paulie's primary source of income is not from his MMA fighting—he's a few fights away from being done—but from being a bouncer in a local bar. The two real problems they have is that Mary's ex-husband and Paulie's former best friend, Petie, a more successful former MMA fighter, is coming back from a tour in Afghanistan, and she hasn't resolved her feelings about him yet. Why? Well, that's the other big problem: Paulie and Mary haven't consummated their marriage yet. Ouch.

Wait, there's more. Paulie's younger sister, Penny, is also coming home that night after being away in Nashville for five years pursuing—and apparently achieving—her dreams of being a successful country singer. Mary insists that Paulie ask his younger sister for money. Paulie doesn't feel comfortable about that at all. Well, it's a moot point, since when Penny gets home, she says she's done with the music biz, and just wants to come home and settle down with her new intense German girlfriend, Olga.

I'm not finished. The two of them live with Mary's brother, Joey, a horndog mailman who likes to get it on with all the honeys on his route. This proves to be problematic for Joey later in the show, as he realizes he may have made a huge mistake by having sex with Flossie, a teenage girl on his route who may or may not be legal (hey, she said she was 18). She brings her two large and angry uncles, Sally and Sonny, to Joey, who threaten to beat him to a pulp unless he admits this wasn't a one-night afternoon fling.

There is more, much more that goes on here (including Sally and Sonny running from a $10,000 gambling debt, a possible stalker who's looking for Penny, and Petie's inevitable homecoming). For all the new characters and subplots that Ahonen piles on throughout Happy in the Poorhouse, it never feels overstuffed or confusing. In fact, it's exhilarating. I didn't necessarily know where the show is going (I was expecting a completely different trajectory for the story), but I was never lost.

Although much of this has to do with Ahonen's vibrant writing and direction, a great deal of credit must also be given to the amazing cast he's assembled (many of whom are Amoralist regulars). There's a tight-knit and inclusive feeling that the cast conveys, so you immediately know—and believe—who's connected to whom in the story. Everyone in the 11-person cast is clearly very simpatico with Ahonen's work and each other.

In fact, everyone in the cast (many of whom are former Pied Pipers cast members) is superb, particularly the principals: James Kautz as Paulie, Sarah Lemp as Mary, and Matthew Pilieci as Joey. Nick Lawson steals the scenes he's in by playing a...you know what? I'm not telling you his role. You're just going to have to see for yourself. Nor am I going to tell you too much about Patrick McDaniel's role as Larry "The Lab," aside from the fact that he, too, delivers a hilarious powerhouse of a performance.

Al Schatz does double-duty as set designer and fight choreographer (how's that for a hyphenate?), and does an excellent job with both creating a fully-realized and believable set of a lower-middle-class house in Coney Island as well as orchestrating an intense and amusing fight between two MMA fighters, one of whom happens to be wheelchair-bound.

Like The Pied Pipers, Happy in the Poorhouse evokes an earlier period (the 1960s for Pied Pipers, the '50s for Poorhouse) yet takes place in the present day. Which makes sense: both plays follow conventions of such earlier plays as The Man Who Came to Dinner and The House of Blue Leaves (seriously), yet deftly infuses them with modern sensibilities in a way that doesn't feel awkwardly shoehorned in.

Happy in the Poorhouse deals with working class stiffs who still dream big despite the walls of reality closing in on them. Seeing Paulie pound holes in the wall, it's nice to think that even though he may be washed up as a professional fighter, he's still got some fight left in him.

Happy in the Poorhouse has been extended until April 26 at Theatre 80 on 80 St. Mark's Place. Click here for tickets.

Always fighting paraplegics and losing,

James "Coulda Been Somebody" Comtois

Alice in Slasherland

With Alice in Slasherland, the Vampire Cowboys Theatre Company has created a send-up of both slasher films and Alice in Wonderland that’s really not a sendup of either. Don't worry: the show acknowledges this on more than one occasion. And, ultimately, it doesn't matter.

What does matter, of course, is that it's a Vampire Cowboys show. Which means it's great fun from start to finish and very much worth your while. Unless, of course, you're not into having fun.

I mean, yes, there's a scene where a bunch of teenagers go to a party, get drunk, get laid, then get killed by a machete-wielding giant in a mask. Yes, that mask looks like a combination of Jason Vorhees's hockey mask and that of a white rabbit. Yes, there's a lot of spraying blood. And yes, there's a creepy girl (who acts like the girl from The Ring) named Alice. But that just about does it for the similarities.

But come on. You aren’t going to see a Cowboys show for a treatise on Lewis Carroll’s work or a dissection of a brain-dead subgenre, are you?

Once again, writer Qui Nguyen and director Robert Ross Parker (who Isaac Butler once aptly described as "the Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright of the New York theatre scene") and the rest of the company offer 100 minutes of pure, unbridled fun with their latest production. I was thoroughly absorbed and entertained from the moment the "turn off your cell phones" message was offered in the form of a 1970s-style grindhouse trailer ("The Devil's Usher"). You will be, too.

Unless, of course, you're not into having fun.

In Alice in Slasherland, Carlo Alban plays Lewis, a young geek who pines over his best friend, Margaret (Bonnie Sherman). He tries - and fails - to convey his feelings to Margaret at a party hosted by the ultra popular hottie, Tina (Andrea Marie Smith). At the previously-mentioned party at Tina's house (where a drunken Tina sports an, um...fetching...devil costume), Lewis inadvertently opens a gateway to hell, where all sorts of demons and infernal beasties rise up and wreak havoc on the town. Oops.

In addition to opening a portal to hell, Lewis resurrects the soul of a murdered girl named Alice (Amy Kim Waschke). She's very cute, and seems nice enough, even though she's not much of a talker. And oh, yeah. She seems to enjoy the taste of human flesh. So. There's that.

Now with various demons, monsters and killers destroying his town, Lewis must find a way to close the portal before Lucifer shows up. But of course he can't do it alone. He'll need the help of Alice, Margaret, and a demon named Edgar in the form of an adorable trash-talking teddy bear (voiced and puppeteered by Sheldon Best).

Edgar is a truly delightful and ambitious creation. The Cowboys have often featured puppetwork in their shows, but this is the first time they've had a puppet play a main character you connect with and root for. It's a risk, but the risk pays off superbly.

The cast, which features veteran (Tom Myers, Smith, Waschke, Alban) and recent (Best, Sherman) company actors, is amazing. It's not easy to control puppets, make multiple costume changes, engage in stage combat (sometimes in either a bear suit or evening gown), all while remaining funny and engaging. These guys just make it seem that way.

The design team has also outdone itself again, from Nick Francone's outstanding scenic and lighting design, to Jessica Shay's inspired costumes, to Shane Rettig's spot-on sound. David Valentine's puppet work is once again superlative and up to the previously-mentioned challenge of creating a stuffed character we care about through the duration of the show. Additionally, Matthew Tennie's multimedia design is also a fun new ingredient to the company's aesthetic.

Although not really a sendup of slasher films or Carroll’s seminal stories, Alice in Slasherland is actually a sendup of all of the company’s previous works. There are a number of nods and references throughout the show—both sly and overt—to their previous productions, which is an added treat to folks like me who've been going to their shows for a while now.

The Cowboys have always been about not only celebrating genre storytelling, but also celebrating theatre and what the medium can do. They've also always been about offering its fans rewards (beyond, you know, the self-evident rewards of seeing a teddy bear fighting a demon) and again, loads of fun. So you should definitely go.

Unless, of course, you're not into having fun.

Alice in Slasherland is playing at the HERE Arts Center on 145 Sixth Avenue through April 10. Click here for tickets.

Qui and Robert's retarded brother,

James "Fun-Loving Idiot" Comtois

Photo: Bonnie Sherman, Sheldon Best, and Carlo Alban in Alice in Slasherland. Photo by Jim Baldassare.

Note: Although many of the members of the company are good friends and frequent collaborators, I have tagged this entry as a review for simplicity's sake. Yes, I am biased. Yes, I paid for my ticket (though at a discounted price.) But I'm also being honest. I loved this show, and am reporting so. Those that feel some sort of ethical line is being crossed here are welcome to debate amongst yourselves. Just make sure to buy your tickets.

Avatar

Despite some top shelf effects, James Cameron's Avatar is shockingly underwhelming. Yes, the effects are brilliant, but film cannot live by effects alone. So the movie surrounding the effects? Overlong, pedestrian and forgettable.

Avatar is set in 2154 on the far-off moon of Pandora, where the plants glow like a blacklight painting, mountains float in midair and a race of giant blue Smurf-cat natives, the Na'vi, live indigenously on the land. The humans are on Pandora to mine a valuable mineral called unobtanium, but the Na’vi live on the largest deposit of said silly-named mineral and show no signs of moving.

In order to move about Pandora, human scientists have genetically engineered human-Na'vi hybrids called avatars, which are controlled by genetically matched human operators. Sam Worthington plays Jake Sully, a paraplegic former marine who arrives on Pandora to replace his murdered twin brother as an avatar operator. Using his avatar, Jake inadvertently infiltrates the Na'vi clan via an oddly sexy Smurf-cat, Neytiri (Zoë Saldaña), who, at the behest of her mother, teaches Jake the ways of the Na'vi. This, of course, makes Jake an undercover agent for the marines, and, of course, of course, he starts to become conflicted as to where his loyalties lie: to the marines who want information, or to the Na'vi and Neytiri.

Now, let's talk about the effects first. Like I said, they're top shelf. Yes, they're game-changing, jaw-dropping, astounding, all that. The giant Smurf-cats look photo-real. And the hovering mountains and vistas are breathtaking. And the CGI creatures look believable: their skin glistens with sweat and they don't look backlit like most CGI creations. If you must see it, absolutely see it in IMAX 3D, since there's no reason to watch this on a television set.

Okay, enough of the effects. Let's now talk about, y'know, the film itself.

What bothers me about Avatar isn't the story. The whole point of big budget blockbuster fare is that the story is supposed to be simple and familiar. What bothers me is the storytelling. If the movie's going to be such a by-the-numbers tale (and this really is just a rehashing of Dances With Wolves mixed with a bit of Ferngully and Pochahontis), it needs some clarity and personal flare, and Avatar has neither.

I didn't find it remotely moving or touching. For such a long movie, the characters and story felt oddly thin and underdeveloped. The entire middle section feels like a 50-minute montage. There isn't a single character in this movie that I cared about. The love story between Jake and Neytiri feels rushed and perfunctory. The politics of the film are also intelligence-insultingly reductive (Corporations BAD! Military force BAD! Nature GOOD!).

It also felt like crucial elements to the story are missing. Why is this unobtanium so important? Sure, we're told it's worth a lot, but why? Plus, what are the rules of the avatar? If the avatar is killed, does the person operating it get killed? We're never really told or shown (well, we kind of are in the tail end of the movie...kind of...I think). And seriously, if we're going to go through the trouble of watching Jake learn the language of the Na'vi, why does he spend 99.9% of his time only speaking English to this race that clearly speaks English just fine?

You may be saying I shouldn't worry about these sorts of things and just go along for the ride. I agree: I shouldn't worry about these sorts of things. But since I am, this is the fault of the filmmaker, not the audience member.

I know, I know. I should be wowed by the effects alone. And yes, let me repeat: the special effects are amazing. But with such films as the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, King Kong or even the original Star Wars available, shouldn't we expect more from our "rules-changing" spectacle films? Are we just wowed by pretty pictures alone, no matter how sloppy and reductive the film itself is?

At the end of it all, Avatar feels like an impressive demo reel that goes on for far too long.

Preferring Ferngully,

James "Meh" Comtois

A Single Man

On one hand, A Single Man is a much better and more sensitive film than you'd expect from a fashion designer. On the other, it's excruciatingly obvious from every frame that this is a film from a fashion designer. Every shot in this scene looks like a print straight out of Vogue. Even the extras could be models. Hell, they probably are.

In fashion mogul Tom Ford's directorial debut, based on the novel by Christopher Isherwood, George Falconer is a gay British literature professor teaching at UCLA in the early 1960s and grieving over the sudden death of his lover, who died in a car accident. His best friend, Charley, another British expatriate, is doing her best to cheer him up and, in turn, use George to help mitigate her own loneliness. And meanwhile, one of George's students, Kenny, is trying to make a connection with the sad yet handsome professor.

Colin Firth plays George in a quiet, understated and impeccably groomed performance, as does Julianne Moore with her character, Charley. Nicholas Hoult as the new young potential love interest and Matthew Goode as the newly lost love interest are fine, although their characters aren't very developed. Kenny is little more than a cipher who's shown up to possibly pull George out of his suicidal funk and we only see George's recently departed Jim through rose-colored flashbacks, when the two of them languidly enjoy each others' company in picture-perfect poses or meet cute at a local dive bar.

Still, theses scenes between George and Jim and George and Kenny have a lovely muted and restrained quality to them, as does George’s brief (and tangential) scene where he meets a Spanish Jimmy Dean clone outside a liquor store.

Eduard Grau's cinematography is astounding, with the images switching from monochromes to vibrant colors, depending on George's mood. Sometimes this is distracting, sometimes it's arresting, but at all times it's beautiful.

All throughout the movie characters comment on how terrible Colin Firth looks, when in fact he looks like, well, an airbrushed cover model for GQ. True, the voiceover narration in the opening points out that he uses his meticulously organized wardrobe as a sort of costume to cover up the shell of a person he now is, but still, never has grief and suicidal tendencies looked so...pretty.

Never looking that good, even on good days,

James "Not-So-Hot Mess" Comtois

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

There are times I really do enjoy watching Nicolas Cage get unhinged on screen. Yes, there are times his over-the-top acting is grossly inappropriate. Other times (cough, The Wicker Man, cough) it's delightfully inappropriate. Then there are times Cage's nutty acting is delightfully appropriate. Don't believe me? Well, watch these series of ads Cage did for a Japanese slot machine:

If you're not won over, then I have no use for you.

Japanese slot machines aside, Werner Herzog's Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is a movie in which Cage gets delightfully, wonderfully unhinged, and the movie gets delightfully, wonderfully unhinged along with him. Or maybe it's the other way around. Either way, this may be one of the best - and most appropriate - performances Cage has given in well over a decade. He and Herzog make a very good manic team.

For those of you that don't know this by now, no, this is not a remake of Abel Ferrara's 1992 film, Bad Lieutenant, starring Harvey Keitel. Herzog has admitted he hasn't even seen Ferrara's movie. The films share one thing and one thing only in common: that their protagonists are corrupt police lieutenants addicted to drugs. And that's it. What happened was both films share the same producer (Edward R. Pressman), who insisted Herzog slap the Bad Lieutenant moniker on his film.

In Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, Cage plays Terence McDonagh, a New Orleans cop who saves a prison inmate from drowning in the wake of Hurrican Katrina (the holding cell's being flooded). The good news is that his bravery and heroism has earned him a promotion to lieutenant. The bad news is said heroism has also earned him permanent back pains, which triggers an addiction to painkillers. Then coke. Then...well, whatever he can score from the evidence room and his escort girlfriend (Eva Mendes).

The main plot is painfully standard: something about Lt. Terence McDonagh (Cage) investigating a multiple homicide with a drug kingpin (Alvin "Xzibit" Joiner) as the prime suspect. But if I'm hazy about the details of the plot, I think it's because the movie isn't interested in the plot.

This is what happens when you have a police procedural directed by and starring slightly unhinged people who have no interest in police procedurals make a police procedural. Ironically, by dismissing the tropes typically found in the cop drama, Herzog and Cage have breathed new life into this moribund genre.

Herzog and Cage seem more interested in portraying someone go off the rails in a way we haven't seen portrayed in movies. Sporting a Richard III-esque hump to indicate his constant back problems that lead to his drug addictions, Cage's titular bad lieutenant behaves naughtily and erratically, flipping out at dismissive pharmacists, slapping imaginary (well, actually, real) iguanas, smacking around old ladies (after, of course, hiding behind her door whilst shaving) and watching dead men's souls breakdance.

Okay, I should probably back up. What's going on with the iguanas hanging out on the coffee table that only Cage can see? And, for that matter, what's going on with the shot following an alligator wandering along the freeway? And now that I think of it, doesn't the film open with the camera following a snake slithering through flood waters? Okay, I get it: we're watching a nature study on the reptiles that wandered freely around New Orleans after the levees broke. Oh, Herzog, you!

I should also mention some of the fine supporting acting going on in this movie, including Val Kilmer as Cage's low-key partner, Mendes as Cage's sympathetic girlfriend (they're both junkies and hey, misery loves company), Brad Dourif as an oddly reasonable bookie, Tom Bower as Cage's recovering alcoholic father, Jennifer Coolidge as Bower's nutty non-recovering alcoholic girlfriend and Xzibit as Big Fate.

Although I won't reveal the ending here, it does clue everyone in who hasn't yet caught on that Herzog is indeed messing with us, and has zero interest in the main cop drama. In fact, the ending reveals that Herzog hasn't been interested in making a drama, but a very manic and oddball comedy about someone becoming an unhinged reptilian beast.

Wondering if fish dream,

James "Japanophile" Comtois

The House of the Devil

The House of the Devil, the new horror film written, edited and directed by Ti West, is all about the slow build. Those seeking wall-to-wall violence will most likely be very disappointed. This is about ramping up the tension for as long as possible before unleashing the intensity.

Jocelin Donahue plays Samantha, a college sophomore who just landed a room in an off-campus house. Only problem is, she's dealing with some money problems and has to come up with $300 for rent by next week. While contemplating her money woes, Samantha sees flyer on a bulletin board on campus that says "Baby $itter Needed."

When she meets Mr. Ulman, the soft-spoken, well-dressed, yet ultra creepy man who posted the flyer (played by the always awesome Tom Noonan), he confesses that it's not a child she'll be attending to, but his mother. Although this throws Samantha for a loop, and her best friend, Megan (Greta Gerwig), tells her to walk away, Mr. Ulman offers her $400 to stay in the house until midnight. How can she refuse?

Aside from the fact that, you know, he and his wife (Mrs. Ulman, played by Mary Woronov) creep her the hell out, the house is in the middle of nowhere, and that Samantha doesn't have a car. She needs the money and is unaware that she's a character in a horror film, so we'll cut her some slack for accepting the gig.

The opening title cards about Satanic worship in America in the '80s (as well as, well, the title itself) lets you know this couple isn't who they say they are and aren't to be trusted, which adds to the tension and suspense all the more. We know right out of the gate they're up to no good and have sinister intentions with Samantha, so we're stuck waiting with bated breath for the proverbial shoe to drop as Samantha bides her time in the giant house with no sign of this mother she has to tend to.

And yes: the audience's patience is rewarded. The shoe definitely drops. Oh, boy, does it drop.

The House of the Devil takes place in 1982, but more than that: it looks like it was made in the early '80s, with the scratchy and faded film print, dated opening titles and corresponding freeze-framed shots. Plus, the characters look like they're living in 1982, as opposed to attending an '80s-themed costume party.

Another thing that's impressive about The House of the Devil is that West uses many tropes of early-80s horror films - babysitters in peril, a creepy and presumably empty mansion, Satanic worship - without relying on clichés or cheap "gotcha" moments. In fact, the two times I jumped in the first half of the movie were moments when things actually happened (rather than, say, someone being startled by a cat; speaking of which, there is no cat in this movie, I'm happy to say).

West and Donahue succeed in making Samantha a likable, sympathetic and believable heroine, not a bird-brained coed. She's a character, not an archetype. In fact, the acting across the board is top shelf and grounds the film in reality.

Is this movie groundbreaking? Of course not. Is it an exceptional technical exercise? Perhaps. (Although I'd say the above-mentioned acting and believability of Samantha makes this more than just a technical exercise.) But considering the current wave of new horror films being released are about ratcheting up the body count and gore with no consideration for suspense, it's admirable and refreshing to see a new horror film that's all about showing restraint for as long as possible before letting all hell break loose.

Not eating the pizza,

James "Lunar Eclipse Fanatic" Comtois

Adventureland

As I had mentioned earlier, I wanted to write more on films and plays I've seen that I have strong feelings about. Even though it's been out of theatres for months and is now on DVD, I just saw this film and felt that this is indeed one of those movies that merits some mention.

There's a scene in Adventureland where James and Joel, two 20something carnival workers, sit in one of the games booths hearing Falco's "Rock Me Amadeus" playing on the overheads. But, wait a minute. Didn't we hear this song already in an earlier scene? Right when we make that realization in the audience, James goes, "Jesus Fucking Christ! They play this song like 20 times a day!"

This is one of the many small scenes and exchanges in Adventureland where writer-director Greg Mottola gets the little details right. It transported me back to the time when I worked at the local movie theatre in New Hampshire after graduating high school and had to listen to the same damn songs on repeat all day.

There are in fact many details, big and small, that Adventureland gets just right. The bonds made between co-workers at a demeaning customer service job. The way the staff undermines the petty rules and policies of the job. The makeout sessions in the back seats of car that result in disappointment and rejection the morning after. The socially awkward blurting out too much information to the pretty girl. And, of course, the sadistic cruelty of being forced to listen to the same damn song 20 times a day.

In Adventureland, Mottola expands the coming-of-age theme he used to good (if not broad) comic effect in his debut film Superbad to make a sincerely touching, funny and honest film about being young, falling in love, and the indignities and delights of getting your first incredibly shitty job.

It's the summer of 1987 and James, played by Jesse Eisenberg (from such films as The Squid and the Whale, Zombieland and the sadly overlooked 2002 film Roger Dodger) is a socially awkward college graduate getting ready to cash in on his promised graduation present: a trip to Europe before going to Columbia for grad school in the fall.

Unfortunately, since his father recently lost his job, his parents can't afford to send him on his trip. To make matters worse, instead of traveling around Europe, he'll have to get a job summer job. The only job he's remotely qualified for (as degrees in Comparative Literature don't quite prepare you for the workforce, trust me) is at the local Adventureland amusement park. He is, in fact, a carnie.

At the park, he develops bonds with his co-workers, including Joel (Martin Starr) and Em, a very intelligent and attractive young woman played with quiet confidence and believability by Kristen Stewart (of Twilight fame). A tentative and awkward romance develops between James and Em, even as the hottest girl on the carnie staff, the ever-unattainable Lisa P. (Margarita Levieva), starts making eyes at James.

There are some superb scenes throughout this movie that shows Mottola's gifts for subtlety and poignancy, in particular those dealing with the love triangle between James, Em, and the amusement park's maintenance man, Connell (Ryan Reynolds, in a surprisingly nuanced and sympathetic turn). Connell is an unhappily married man that is having an affair with Em, unbeknownst to anyone else. What complicates matters is that Connell and James are friends, and James frequently confides in Connell about his feelings towards Em. As jealous as Connell is about James and Em's budding relationship and periodically tries to push James away from Em and towards Lisa P., they are actually friends, and it's clear that Connell actually wishes the best for James and enjoys his company.

The way Mottola and the cast play these scenes among these four characters (Em, James, Connell and Lisa P.) reveal that this isn't a hackneyed coming-of-age melodrama. No one is a clear-cut hero or villain, manipulator or patsy. They're well developed, flawed and interesting characters. (Although Lisa P. isn't a particularly bright or interesting person, she's neither a manipulative bitch nor cardboard cutout. I certainly remember working with a few Lisa Ps. at my various customer service jobs in my 20s and Levieva played her pretty much on the mark.)

I also loved the soundtrack and the way it was used (the previously-mentioned "Rock Me Amadeus," for example). True, the music definitely pulls at the nostalgia strings, but it also successfully pulled me into the story and the setting (there's another great moment using Crowded House's "Don't Dream it's Over" and INXS's "Don't Change"). After I finished watching the movie I found many of the songs online and played them on repeat on my computer.

I'll admit the movie isn't without its flaws. The main character and his friends are just out of college, and often act as if they're just out of — or still in — high school (with James paranoid about his mother seeing him drink, his friend constantly punching him in the nuts and many of the characters making out the back seats of their cars). Some scenes in the final act tread dangerously close into Dawson's Creek territory. And I'm still not sure whether or not Bill Heder and Kristin Wiig's characters/scenes are in the right movie (even though they are very funny).

But these are all forgivable because, for the most part, the movie gets things very, very right. Adventureland is a truly wonderful film that didn't get the attention it deserved during its theatrical release.

Wanting to win a big-ass panda,

James "Cheater" Comtois

A Serious Man

In the middle of A Serious Man, our beleaguered Job-like hero Larry Gopnik meets an ineffectual rabbi who relays a parable of a Jewish dentist finding the phrase "Help Me" naturally inscribed in Hebrew in the insides of a gentile man's teeth. This drives the dentist crazy. What does it mean? What should the dentist do? If it's a sign, what is the sign telling him? What's the moral of the story? The ineffectual rabbi, of course, doesn't give poor Larry one.

This scene encapsulates the heart of Joel and Ethan Coen's latest film, which offers a compelling story, poses many theological and spiritual questions, then deliberately, maddeningly, frustratingly refuses to offer answers.

This is not what Larry needs. A Jewish physics professor at a Minnesota-based university in 1967, Larry's life is slowly and steadily spiraling downward. His wife's leaving him for his creepily intrusive and unnervingly sympathetic friend. His neighbor's honing in on his property. His brother's staying on his couch, hoarding the bathroom and getting into trouble with the law. The tenure board's getting eloquently-written anonymous letters urging it to not grant Larry tenure. His son keeps nagging him to fix the reception on the TV. His daughter's slowly and steadily stealing money from him to pay for a nose job. His divorce and real estate lawyers are bleeding him dry financially with their ungodly hourly rates. He's getting bribes - then threats - from a student to give the student a good grade.

He needs help. He needs answers. And he's not getting any.

A Serious Man isn't about offering answers. It's about offering questions - about morality, about God, about spirituality - that only lead to more questions.

Of course, the above statement makes the movie sound heavy-handed and portentous, which it is not. It is, after all, a Coen Brothers movie. It's quirky and funny, though it's quirks and humor are dry (rather than wacky or silly) in nature.

Okay, that's not entirely true. One scene centered on a rabbi's "advice" to Larry (concerning parking lots) is laugh-out loud funny, as is another concerning another rabbi's advice to Larry's son, Danny, on Danny's bar mitzvah (which will sound oddly familiar to anyone versed in the music of Jefferson Airplane). But, for the most part, the humor in A Serious Man is more of the sardonic and wince-inducing variety.

The cast is filled with actors you either don't recognize or vaguely recognize (Richard Kind and Adam Arkin are the most recognizable faces), and they're all very, very good. In particular, Michael Stuhlbarg is perfectly cast as Larry. Even though the weight of the world gets heavier and heavier on Larry's shoulders, Stuhlbarg less as a pathetic, self-pitying loser but more as someone keeping up a good front and trying to hold it together. He actually plays Larry as someone who's an optimist at heart. Fred Melamed as Sy, the way-too-eager-to-hug friend who wants to marry Larry's wife, also steals every scene he's in (even one where he's simply driving his car and has no lines).

The ending, which I won't reveal here, originally left me feeling frustrated and mildly cheated. However, later that evening, I thought about it more, and realized the movie could only end the way it does. As frustrating as the ending is, a pat conclusion would betray the rest of the film. It offers you the parable and like any worthwhile parable, it leaves it up to you to figure out the moral.

Still wanting a hint,

James "Dybbuk" Comtois

Where the Wild Things Are

Since I just saw Spike Jonze's Where the Wild Things Are, and since I'm amidst blathering about criticism, I figured, why not post a review for the film before continuing my rambling three-part entry on criticism and reviewing? Considering one of my forthcoming points, I find writing a review for a film like this kind of fitting. Or contradictory. Whichever. After I post parts two and three and you have a chance to read it, you be the judge.

I loved Spike Jonze's adaptation of Maurice Sendak's 10-sentence children's book, Where the Wild Things Are. It's simply a delightful and amazing film that stays true to the vision of the original book as well as to Jonze's.

I loved the way Max (superbly played by Max Records) acts like a real nine-year-old boy. In the first few scenes of the film, we see instances of Max going damn near feral, yet the movie never treats him as a "problem child." No. He's nine. This is how nine-year-old boys behave, full of manic energy and conflicting, uncontrollable emotions.

Just watch the way Max has fun in the opening scene, making a fort out of snow and pretending to be a general, giving angry marching orders to a fence. Then watch the way he flips out over the aftermath of a fun snowball fight he has with his older sister's teenage friends, red- and teary-eyed and full of inconsolable rage.

I loved the overall lack of typical Hollywood film plot, thus making the 90 minute feature amazingly faithful to the original book. The story itself is pretty simple: Max gets into a fight with his mom (Catherine Keener) and decides to run (then sail) off to a land inhabited by giant monsters (the titular wild things) that make him their king. Max and the wild things then spend the bulk of their time wrestling, breaking stuff, building forts, and waging "war" with one another.

When he meets the wild things, there's not much setup or exposition. None is needed. One of the wild things, Carol (voiced by James Gandolfini) is trashing some of the monsters' makeshift homes. He asks Max if he wants to join in. Of course he does. Breaking stuff with reckless abandon is the bread and butter of a young boy. Thus begins their friendship. No, "What are you creatures and how does this new world work?" baloney. They're monsters, and they like roughhousing and breaking things. They're speaking Max's language.

Although it's obvious that this is Max's fantasy, Jonze and his writing partner, Dave Eggers, don't hit you over the head with this. They respect the audience's intelligence, even the really young members of the audience.

Because it's Max's fantasy world, we get to see Max's ferocity, imagination and unstable emotions in macrocosm in the form of giant, wonderful and frightening creatures. It's one thing to see a young boy throw a spontaneous temper tantrum. It's another thing entirely to see one thrown by a giant beast that can punch holes through trees.

I loved the acting in it. As I mentioned before, Records is just spot on as Max. He's neither precocious nor cloying. He's likable and believable. The voice work for the creatures, from Gandolfini, Forest Whitaker, Lauren Ambrose, Catherine O'Hara, Chris Cooper and Paul Dano, are also excellent. Keener is, as always, spot-on. The effects are great, the monsters look amazing, and the soundtrack is excellent.

I love how the movie doesn't engage in your typical stupid Hollywood moralizing (a character has a few pat flaws that can be easily fixed, an authority figure of some sort shows the character how to fix them, the flaws get fixed, and the character is a better person). I won't give away the film's course or conclusion, but Where the Wild Things Are doesn't follow this tiresome and fraudulent trajectory.

I laughed a lot. I got misty-eyed a number of times. I loved this movie. I'm so glad it was released. Go see it.

Getting all emotional,

James "King Wolf" Comtois

Ps. Don't buy into the talk around the Intertubes that this is too dark or intense for nine or 10 year-olds. This is absolutely geared for young boys as well as adults. It's just not insipid and condescending like other children's movies around.

MilkMilkLemonade

What is it about scenes in plays that take place at high school dances with '80s ballads that always get me? I think it's because when done right, they display a perfect mixture of tongue-in-cheek corniness, nostalgia, and painful earnestness. MilkMilkLemonade is the second play I've seen by Joshua Conkel that's used this device (the other one being his brilliant The Chalk Boy). Both were effective on me.

As you've no doubt caught from its title (don't pretend you don't get the reference, let's not play that game), MilkMilkLemonade, directed by Isaac Butler, revels in being immature, but still manages to have flashes of poignancy throughout.

In MilkMilkLemonade, Emory is an effeminate young boy who lives on a chicken farm in the middle of nowhere (not too far from a place called Mall Town, U.S.A.) with his emphysemic Nanna (who carries around an oxygen tank and cigarette at all times). Emory likes to play with dolls (much to Nanna's chagrin) and his best friend, a chicken named Linda. He dreams of winning an America's Got Talent/Star Search-like reality show and getting enough money to turn the chicken farm into a vegan co-op. (Yes, I realize I have just dated myself by referring to Star Search. What can I say? The dream sequences of the show reminded me of Ed McMahon's show.)

Nanna wants Emory to spend less time acting so girly and more time playing with the aggressive and rage-filled young pyromaniac Elliot. Although Emory tells Nanna that Elliot is a mean bully, and he certainly seems that way, the two of them do indeed like to play with each other, but in a way Nanna most certainly wouldn't approve of.

Meanwhile, Linda dreams of being an Andrew Dice Clay-like standup comic, Emory tries to prevent Linda from going in Nanna's chicken-slicing machine, and Elliot reveals his intense desire of dressing up in a tux and going to prom. (Hey, people and need their dreams. So do chickens.)

All of this is conveyed through the look and feel of a children's play, complete with a cardboard set and super self-conscious narrator who tries to be as "neutral" (or "boring") as possible, except for the times when she needs to play an evil conjoined twin or a spider with an attitude.

I suppose I should spend some time trying to explain how all of these elements add up, or talk about sexual preferences or gender identity, but I will not be a spoilsport. Much of the fun with the play is watching Conkel, Butler and the cast explore their ideas through much silliness and touch upon some genuine pathos in all the preposterousness. And MilkMilkLemonade is certainly a great deal of fun.

Conkel and Butler are a good fit together. They keep the show light and breezy, moving along at a fast clip (the show's only about 70 minutes long). Even though it's very childlike (and sometimes deliberately childish), it's never cloying or too proud of itself.

This cast is amazing. As the Lady in a Leotard, Nikole Beckwith effortlessly flips from being the host/narrator so nervous she looks like she's about to throw up on her shoes to Elliot's aforementioned invisible evil twin to the bitchy spider. Michael Cyril Creighton, playing Emory's Nanna, looks, moves, and sounds eerily like an old woman. Jennifer Harder is incredibly funny and surprisingly sympathetic as Linda the chicken. She's great at conveying her emotions and character arc even when the bulk of her dialogue is clucked (with Beckwith translating). Andy Phelan convincingly plays Emory as a naïve sweetheart you immediately care about. And finally, Jess Barbagallo is astounding as Elliot. I had to keep reminding myself that an adult woman, not an angst-ridden 12 year-old boy, was in fact playing Elliot.

MilkMilkLemonade is very funny. It's very silly. It's very sweet. Just like a cheesy '80s love song, it's simultaneously touching, bittersweet, and absurd.

MilkMilkLemonade, playing at UNDER St. Marks on 94 St. Mark's Place, closes Saturday, September 23. Tickets are apparently sold out, but show up early to be put on the waiting list.

Playing house with Tennessee Williams,

James "Confused Young Boy" Comtois

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