“You all ready to get depressed?” It’s a lighthearted way to begin a performance, particularly when the title promises a subject matter that’s really less than cheery. That being said, Pamela Meek (a psychologist and mother) brings a certain ease to the presentation of a scarring childhood and rocky adolescence.
It’s 2015. At this point, we must have seen just about every iteration and incarnation of fairy tale that can possibly be cooked up by wandering minstrels and Walt Disney… right?
The performance of Wrestling with the WIP begins in the lobby of Brookland’s Dance Place: four women in quilted skirts in a blend of pantomime, precise movement, and frustrated shouts of, “I’m sick and I’m tired,” capture the attention of everyone in the room almost instantly — even those still in line at the box […]
In all honesty, I don’t want to say too much about Burlesque Classique’s Vaudevillian Romp, because I’d be cheating you out of your ticket (er, eraser). What I can tell you is that the performance is really two sides of the same coin and is entertainment at its finest.
“You know, it took me ten years to become an overnight sensation,” quips the sensational Danny Kaye, the springy curls of his hair bouncing as he waltzes around the stage, kicking and laughing along with the audience.
Walking into Hillyer Art Space’s main room, its walls lined with white folding chairs with a rustically set table at the head, you might get the feeling that you’re walking into a town hall meeting instead of a Fringe Festival performance. The cast members circulate, in crisp suits and dresses, handing out homemade song books […]
Let’s cut to the chase: À Demain has the greatest performances of one of the finest scripts I have seen in years. I struggle to think of its equal — As You Like It at the Folger? Something professionally produced, no doubt, and this is all from a group of college students and recent grads.
The main stage at the Goethe Institut is set like a Southern living room — a rocking chair, a small side table and what appears to be a glass of sweet tea perched atop it. As I take my seat, Katy Perry’s unforgettable I Kissed a Girl begins to play, and I almost burst out laughing.
My father was an opera singer, sometimes still hums “toreador en garde” around the house, so when the arias flowed between scenes in Marriage, Lizards, and Love I was delighted.
“Is this Ghostbusters?” one little girl shrieks as an almost hazmat-clad figure pushes a strange mechanical contraption along the sidewalk facing the White House. Her mother quiets her, then asks, “Why he got a mask on, pushing that machine?”