Monday, April 13, 2026

Weekly Margin 2026, W15: Echoes of My Silence, Scorched Earth

4/09/26: Echoes of My Silence
What: As part of the Frigid/New York City Fringe Festival, Azadeh Kangarini's autobiographical one-woman show plays at the Chain Theatre. Her piece follows the path of her silence in the face of externalized and internalized misogyny through the various men whose molestations through the years of her life have made her question herself and her own relationship with her body.
And? full review here.

Azadeh Kangarani. Photo by Nathan Zhe.


What: St. Ann's Warehouse presents Attic Projects' production of Luke Murphy's choreographic play about a cold case over a death ruled accidental at the center of a land dispute in Ireland.
And? Absolutely stunning choreography: fluid and athletic and almost weightless, bodies seeming to be falling up from the ground, a collapse in reverse. The dance often separates itself from literal storytelling, dilating emotional moments and crises, fixations and mysteries. So while the ostensible frame is the 24 hours a man is held for questioning as a cold case is reopened in which he is the prime suspect for a murder, there are diversions to the late night walker who found the body, the damage to the body itself, the missing donkey, and the farmer's affection for the land he's losing that volleys between love and desire: a distinction noted in the work of giving versus taking. The final sequence, as the walls fall away to reveal the tract of land, a steep hill with a deep loam, is a gorgeous expansion of space and bodies in motion.

The company of Scorched Earth. Photo by Teddy Wolff.

Sunday, April 12, 2026

Margin Notes: Echoes of My Silence


Seen on: Thursday, 4/09/26.
Azadeh Kangarani. Photo by Nathan Zhe.



Plot and Background
As part of the Frigid/New York City Fringe Festival, Azadeh Kangarini's autobiographical one-woman show plays at the Chain Theatre. Her piece follows the path of her silence in the face of externalized and internalized misogyny through the various men whose molestations through the years of her life have made her question herself and her own relationship with her body.



Thoughts:

Azadeh Kangarani stands onstage in slacks and a burnt orange blouse. She is calm, warm, collected. A woman who knows who she is and loves who she is. Behind her are six vertical mirrors: some single pieces, some a column of smaller mirrors. She lifts the seventh mirror, a horizontal one leaning at her side, and walks through the audience, asking us "How often do you look at your face?" As she tells her story, a mix of memories from the most recent--an encounter with a female pilot whose sight forces Kangarani to reckon with her own internal biases--to the most distant--a memory of a man exposing himself to her when she was only nine years old. For each story she tells, she wrestles with her guilt over how many times she held her tongue as men took advantage of her. Why was she silent each time? Why didn't she let the world know about yet another violation? Silence after silence, echoing through her life. For each memory, one of the vertical mirrors behind her is assigned an identity and an initial for his name. Though each represents a man who tried to steal her autonomy, who pressured her to quash her own sense of her worth and voice, they are all still each a mirror. She has named them, but if she turns to look at them dead on, she will see only herself. Even this, the performance of her wrestling with her self-imposed guilt, has her seeing her own face as the perpetrator of her trauma. She's not being fair to herself. But it's an honest examination of how survivors of this sort of assault do not know how to be fair to themselves. Her piece brings her face to face with her own shames, but also her survival of each of them. And she invites the audience to do the same: face that in ourselves which we are most afraid to see, and discover that in ourselves that we most love to see. The silence doesn't have to echo on, once we are able to speak.

Monday, April 6, 2026

Weekly Margin 2026, W14: Beaches, The Balusters

3/30/26: Beaches
What: A new musical adaptation (with lyrics and co-written book by Iris Rainer Dart, the original novelist of Beaches) of the beloved 80s film about two best friends whose wildly different personalities and paths lead them to connect, disconnect, and ultimately unite in their lifelong affection for each other. It's also the movie that gave us "Wind Beneath My Wings."
And? It's fine. The score isn't memorable and the script is serviceable, but the performers are excellent, particularly Jessica Vosk and Kelli Barrett as the adult versions of Cee Cee and Bertie, and Samantha Schwartz and Zeya Grace as their childhood counterparts. Also of note: the rarity of a musical with only two male performers (it's a small cast in general, but that's still impressive). Sadly, another show with an unimaginative use of projections and screens.

Jessica Vosk as Cee Cee and Kelli Barrett as Bertie.
Photo by Trudie Lee.



4/01/26: The Balusters
What: MTC presents David Lindsay-Abaire's new play about the Neighborhood Association of a community of houses in a historically preserved neighborhood, as they struggle with maintaining the faithfulness to the aesthetic against the ever-changing progress of time: here encapsulated in the need for a stop sign on an otherwise preserved esplanade, and the controversial installation of non-historically accurate balusters (porch railings).
And? Honestly just a fantastic night out -- good, messy fun. The play accomplishes a fantastic feat of a true ensemble work where every performer gets a chance to shine, where every character has admirable qualities and more despicable ones. There are no heroes here, but nor are there villains. These people are a damn mess, and it makes for very good theater. It's hard to talk about standout performances, but Marylouise Burke (who also starred in the original play version of Lindsay-Abaire's Kimberly Akimbo) is an absolute dotty gem, delivering even the simplest lines with her own unique spin. And the two primary antagonistic forces, Richard Thomas as the board president and ardent advocate for preservation and Anika Noni Rose as the newcomer ready to stir things up, are perfectly polarized: each with an ironclad conviction that they are on the correct side of the argument, each cunning enough to try to outwit the other.



Monday, March 30, 2026

Weekly Margin 2026, W13: The Unknown, Trash

3/25/26: The Unknown
What: Studio Seaview presents David Cale's new one-man show starring Sean Hayes, about playwright Elliott struggling with writer's block who finds himself the object of fixation by an actor rejected from the casting of his last play. As the details surrounding this actor become more convoluted, Elliott finds himself equally fixated on his stalker.
And? David Cale is truly adept at writing a showcase monologue (he also wrote the wonderful Harry Clarke, played with seedy charm by Billy Crudup), and this one showcases Sean Hayes very well. Deliberately murky while luring the audience further into the mire with every twist, Cale's play is excellently set off by the subtle but chilling design work of director Leigh Silverman's team. Under Cha See's stark, tight lighting, set pieces by Studio Bent appear and disappear as if conjured from Elliott's imagination. Elliott's hand drifts into shadow and reemerges holding a glass of whiskey. What was the brick backwall of the space now has a looming apartment door. And Caroline Eng's sound design, chilling and subtle, delicately cinches the audience in closer to Elliott's increasingly fractured sense of reality. Is he imagining Joey? Is Joey imagining him? What is true and what is hallucination and what is just hopeful dreaming? Though the play deliberately leaves the ending ambiguous as to whose story we've been watching, it's enough to hear the audience slowly filing out, eagerly debating what the truth could be.

Sean Hayes. Photo by Emilio Madrid.



3/27/26: Trash
What: Perelman Performing Arts Center hosts Out of the Box Theatrics's new play by and starring James Caverly and Andrew Morrill. Two Deaf roommates, at odds with each other and with the hearing world, argue over whose responsibility it is to take out the trash, as well as unpacking the reasons for why things have become such a mess: the trash of their own lives and baggage, and the literal stinking trash can in the kitchen.
And? The storytelling conceits here are fascinating. I was talking to a friend about the challenge of presenting Deaf theater to a largely hearing audience: the need to always accommodate the hearing audience, all the while mainstream theater often offering very limited means of accommodating a Deaf audience. This, then, is reclaiming the narrative by nature of who is telling it: a play written by and starring two Deaf men, and presented by Out of the Box, whose mission is to center stories about marginalized identities, with a focus on people with disabilities. At the performance I attended, at least half of the audience was either Deaf or fluent in ASL. And a huge chunk of the play is communicated only in ASL or the occasional handwritten message on a dry erase board.  I could say that this means I am not the primary audience, and I'm probably not; but the truth is, while I don't always grasp the nuance of a particular moment in the way the Deaf audience members do, I am still able to follow the characters' conflicts and emotional journeys. And then there's the slightly fantastical device: a jukebox rescued from an arcade. While outsiders observe that it's odd for two Deaf men to keep blasting music, for the audience, every dollar fed to the jukebox (here embodied by Chris Ogren in a smart black suit) awakens an English-speaking interpreter for the characters signing onstage. For the hearing audience, we are temporarily admitted into the conversation. For the Deaf audience, not much has changed. The show isn't for me, but it is letting me visit. In this way, it's a very generous invitation to the hearing world into what is often a very isolated community, as Deaf people are largely excluded from a mainstream society unwilling or unable to learn their language. One of the questions of the play is if it's worth the bigger lift on the part of ostracized Deaf to try to assimilate as much as possible into an audist world, or if it's better to live where they won't be treated as children or second-class citizens, as people not worth hearing. That's the macro. The micro is how Tim and Jake can bridge their own communication divide, as well as trying to wrangle a lifetime of baggage weighing them down.

Andrew Morrill as Tim, James Caverly as Jake, and Chris
Ogren as Jukebox. Photo by Rebecca J. Michelson.


Monday, March 23, 2026

Weekly Margin 2026, W12: Monte Cristo, Our House, My Joy is Heavy, The Wild Party

3/18/26: Monte Cristo
What: The York Theatre presents a new musical adaptation of the Alexandre Dumas classic novel about revenge and love.
And? full review here.

Norm Lewis as Villefort. Photo by Shawn Salley.


3/19/26: Our House
What: The Other Side of Silence presents Barry Boehm's new play, about elder queer couple Andy and Stanley hosting their nephew Brendan and his fiancé Gene for their upcoming wedding. When smalltown bigotries of racism and homophobia rear their ugly heads, old griefs and new pains are exposed.
And? This play is very difficult to watch, not because of its quality but because of its content. Though Andy and Stanley survived the worst of the AIDS crisis, with Andy a vocal and passionate fighter with ACT UP, they've settled into the family home in a rather small town with no queer community to speak of. And while they're frustrated by the harassment of local young men pelting their yard with walnuts, the underlying awareness of the danger facing Gene, a Black gay man, is felt not just by the audience but by the family onstage. And we all hate that we're right. So it's a difficult play to watch. But it's worth watching. Christopher Borg is particularly affecting as Andy, a mix of loving joy and fiercely bitter anger and heartbreak at what he and his community have lived through, and continue to live through. His final moments, a grief and reconciliation with his husband Stanley is well-earned. Also quite powerful is Jalen Ford as Eugene: quiet and sweet, but carrying an additional burden none of the others in his almost-family can seem to understand. Ford's performance is understated and honest and lived in, which makes it all the more horrible when he's attacked. Scenic designer Evan Frank builds a lovely backyard space for the action, with a fence strung with festive lights. It's notable that this feels more real than the back facade of the house, particularly with its importance to the family: a skeletal structure, with only half its siding covering the inside. But then, what we see is that perhaps a house isn't enough protection from the outside hostility, when the walls aren't as solid as we think.

Christopher Borg as Andy, Nancy Slusser as Paula, CJ DiOrio
as Brendan, and Jalen Ford as Eugene. Photo by Mikiodo.