pt at large

Quills, a play

‘Quills’ by Doug Wright, a play performed at the New Repertory Theater, Newton, MA
January 30, 2005

pt at large scored a ticket to the sold out play ‘Quills’ at the New Repertory Theater in Newton, MA, thinking he would see a spirited clash of good versus evil. The Marquis de Sade universally known as the king of kink, the prince of pain in pursuit of pleasure, and a man driven to describe his passions in purple prose, had been incarcerated in a French lunatic asylum, Charenton, the play’s setting in 1807, for doing so.

The play’s two acts pit his jailor, the Abbé de Coulmier, against the marquis. In the struggle to prevent de Sade from writing his sexually explicit and taboo shattering stories, Coulmier degenerates from a compassionate warden to a tyrannically brutal captor, all in the name of morality. “Angels and devils inhabit the same soul,” he says as he describes his struggle with the Marquis. Who is creating the greater moral atrocity, the jailor or the writer?

The play’s creator, Doug Wright, has said, “People we view as extreme or eccentric actually possess all our qualities distilled”. Thus we witness de Sade driven to freely push the limits of his art with his writing and Coulmier responding with ever increasing repression to curb it. The result is disturbingly bloody, with both men destroyed in the process of serving their ideals.

Pornography, freedom of speech, and art are set in tension with the dialogue. When questioned by her complicity in spiriting de Sade’s writing to the outside world, a washerwoman declares, “His stories allow me to be the bad woman on the page and the good woman in life.” As an occasional reader of smut, pt at large must concur with this observation from the x chromosome side of the divide.

When the washerwoman meets a bloody demise when a deranged inmate reenacts one of de Sade’s stories upon her, de Sade cries, “Who is responsible for the viewer’s response to my art?” Although most of us mortals live well within the bounds morality’s pale, we can feel the resonance the question poses.

The play’s central tensions were often diluted by gratingly overwrought acting. Pivotal scenes were reduced to camp. Director Rick Lombardo’s attempt to question individual rights, the nature of madness, and censorship are as germane as ever but are bled dry by his overly theatric production. Thus, a good play lost its e”quill’ibrium.

The Rivals

The Rivals, A Restoration Comedy by Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816)
Huntington Theater, Huntington Avenue, Boston, MA
Reviewed January 29, 2005

There are two great reasons to rush down to Boston’s Huntington Theater to see Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s play ‘The Rivals’. Mary Louise Wilson and Will Lebow romp, I repeat, romp, as the central characters in this classic Restoration Comedy. While 1775 is known for upstart America’s nose thumbing at King George III, to English Literature majors it heralds the year Sheridan’s gentle satire produced Mrs. Malaprop and her assault on the English language. History proved that it was an unpleasant year for George but a rollicking one for language lovers and theater-goers.

Everything works in this production: the clever scenery which can turn on a dime to transform a square in Bath, England, to a boudoir in a bower there; the colorful period costumes; and the music. Bath, with its hot mineral springs, was a destination city for society’s upper class, which, as the play shows, elevated frivolity to an art form.

In addition to the production values, the play spontaneously ignites into humorous bombast when either, or even better, both, Sir Anthony Absolute and Mrs. Malaprop appear on stage. These two steal every scene they’re in. When they’re on stage together, they commit grand larceny. The rest of the cast is brilliant, not a dud in sight, from the gossiping self-serving servants, to the young love interests who are eventually united, and their circle of friends. All play up to the scene thieves with grace and skill.

Mrs. Malaprop, outfitted in an impossible beehive wig that wouldn't fit beneath the underpasses of Storrow Drive, is the uproarious character whose language blunders are responsible for the entry ‘malapropism’ into Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (see below). The 60ish Mary Louise Wilson is so good that she gets laughs from Malaprop’s unintentionally comic facial expressions as well as her misuse of language for which she became legend.

Lebow leaps with comic abandon into his role. When you witness his Captain Absolute get revved up in one of his pompous, hypocritical, infantile fits, all the while assuming he’s calling the shots for his son, you’re laughing out loud. Virtually every turn the captain and Malaprop take on stage is followed by spontaneous applause from a normally staid Huntington crowd.

Nearly lost amongst the laughter is Sheridan’s gentle skewering of trendy society’s notions of fashion, honor, and love. Having narrowly survived one duel in the name of honor himself, he manages to portray their folly as two pairs of suitors nearly ‘extirpate’ themselves for puerile reasons.

ptatlarge highly recommends this play to all who’ve ever chortled at a well-executed quip, pun, or malaprop.

It must be noted that your humble critic procured a front row seat at the Huntington in order to see with his own eyes, such as they are, the full dimensions of the actors’ facial aspersions and the vocal austerity of their performances.
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Choice quotes from ‘The Rivals’ characters:

• Mrs. Malaprop, referring to her niece’s suitor, Captain Jack Absolute
He is the very pineapple of politeness! (pinnacle)
• Sir Anthony Absolute (about to throw one of his patented fits, Lebow’s timing and delivery are those of a comic actor in full)
Take care; you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted! No one more easily led, when I have my own way; but don't put me in a frenzy.
• Mrs. Malaprop, referring in consternation to her niece Lydia Languish
Oh, there’s nothing to be hoped of her. She’s as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile. (alligator)
• Mrs. Malaprop, upon hearing a duel is scheduled
Why, murder’s the matter! slaughter’s the matter! killing’s the matter! but he can tell you the perpendiculars. (particulars)

Photo from a NYC production

• Richard Sheridan on acting
"I mean, the question actors most often get asked is how they can bear saying the same things over and over again, night after night, but God knows the answer to that is, don't we all anyway; might as well get paid for it."

Robert Treat Paine Estate, A National Historic Landmark

Robert Treat Paine Estate, A National Historic Landmark
100 Robert Treat Paine Drive · Waltham, MA 02452 781-314-3290
http://www.stonehurstwaltham.org/

On a recent trip just west of Bentley College on Beaver Street in Waltham, MA, pt at large spied a sign proclaiming Stonehurst Estate. Intrigued that he'd never noticed it before, he jotted down the name, and vowed to have an Excellent Adventure there some day. A summary of his January 28, 2005 visit, with background data for history buffs in the audience, follows.

The Robert Treat Paine Estate represents an intersection of 19th century Americana in which architecture, landscape design, social conscience, and genteel opulence intersect.

The social conscience was provided by Robert Treat Paine (1835-1910), a great grandson of a signer of the Declaration of Independence. After amassing a fortune in railroad and mining investments at age 35, Paine retired to a life of philanthropy (one hopes he wasn’t a robber baron and engaged in philanthropy to assuage his guilty conscience). He founded building and loan associations and organizations to teach crafts to working class of Boston, even hosted an annual picnic at Stonehurst for members of these organizations.

His marriage in to Lydia Lyman was a match made in Boston Brahmin heaven. Mrs. Lydia Lyman Paine had summered nearby in what’s now known as The Lyman Estate. In 1866, the Paine’s built a “modest” Second Empire Mansard style summer house on land given them by Lyman’s father. From April to November, they relocated there from their city dwelling on Joy Street, Beacon Hill, Boston. In 1880 her father, a wealthy shipping magnate, died and left Lydia his fortune and land on the hill overlooking the couple’s summer abode.

Thanks to the ten live-in servants who attended to household operations, the Paines had enough expendable energy to produce seven children, and by 1883 their summer home to seemed the size of Old Mother Hubbard’s shoe.

Thus entered two giants from the fields of landscape and architecture, Frederick Law Olmsted (1822-1903) and H.H. Richardson (1838-1886). By a curious coincidence, Paine had been head of the building commission which awarded Richardson the commission to build the famous Trinity Church in Boston (1872-1877). Richardson was no phony, though. His Trinity Church in Boston remains one of the ten most architecturally significant buildings in the United States. His plan for Stonehurst demonstrated his command for designing open space interiors and structural ingenuity and mark him as a precursor to Frank Lloyd Wright.

The Adventurer forgives you if you’re not aware of the brain behind the design of Central Park and the U. S. Capitol grounds. But the “Emerald Necklace”, the series of parks and playgrounds surrounding Boston? Who but Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted, another son of Boston.

Richardson and Olmsted, who lived ten minutes from each other in Brookline, MA, were a Babe Ruth/Lou Gehrig tandem at the peak of their powers. They relocated the original Paine house 1000 yards to a higher elevation that commanded a sweeping view of the surroundings, and their imaginations seemed to ascend with it.

The architect and landscaper spoke in the same tongue and their the materials surrounding the mansion site became their vernacular. Richardson used its uncut glacial boulders to construct the tower where the first mansard house and the larger addition converged. Predating Queen Ann styles which would soon emerge, he used saw tooth and fish scale wooden shingling to set off its Romanesque arches, which were one of his signature designs.

The interior, although on a grand scale, is made inviting by the honey tones of the wood paneling and hand wrought woodwork throughout. Balustrades, columns, ceiling beams are all meticulously crafted (showing the influence William Morris’s Arts and Crafts Movement in England).

The mansion’s siting offered maximum light penetration through wide windows during the day. During a walk through the interior, the Adventurer was slack jawed at the subtle rose tones of the Sienna marble the couple chose for the hearths as they toured Italy to furnish their little love nest, and the wall and ceiling palette, influenced by Japanese art, deep soothing terra cotta, clear cobalt blues. The grand stair case in the central foyer is smashingly elegant, a blossoming of hand turned wood ballisters leading in three stages to the second level, under the canopy of a thirty foot ceiling. Although the mansion was designed for central heating, the Adventurer easily deduced why the Paine's repaired to their home base in Boston. It would have taken the veins of one of Paine's larger coal mines to heat the place for one season.

Outside, Olmsted configured the curved terracing from the glacial boulders that were strewn about the property, and relocated the site’s plants and trees to set off the house. The house achieves an organic unity with its surroundings. In 1970, the Paine family turned the entire estate over to the city of Waltham, MA.

The Adventurer gives this museum’s and its surrounding grounds a thumbs up for those who’d like to see how two geniuses integrated their art and the environment to construct a Brahmin family’s dream home, a creation remains gorgeous to behold.

It must be noted with some perverse satisfaction, however, that upon his January visit to this national landmark, the structure exhibited some of the same problems with ice dams (called “water infiltration” when it occurs in a historic landmark) that bedevil pt at large’s own manse.

In fact, were it not for pt at large, the day’s only visitor, the water pool upon the finely waxed oak foyer floor may not have been detected till the following morning, during which time irreparable damage would have been inflicted upon it. As it happens, pt at large pointed out said infiltration to the docent, then orchestrated a search mission for a barrel to receive the incoming H2O, and sought access to the second floor to ascertain the source of the influx.

Due to his acuity, pt at large was excused from paying the entry fee and may some day be in line for a preservation award from the trustees of the operation. Being modest by nature, he will undoubtedly demur from the attendant publicity but may relent by accepting an offer to use Stonehurst for a bash for all his friends and admirers, including, dear reader, yourself. Stand by for details.

Donohue’s Bar and Grill

Donohue’s Bar and Grill
87 Bigelow Avenue, Watertown, MA

January 27, 2005

Ok, sports fans, you want a working class, no nonsense bar and grill with heaping portions of TV pixels, pub grub, and thirteen varieties of draft beer on tap? Aim your Hummer for 87 Bigelow Avenue in Watertown. If your hunger for sport TV and draft beer isn't slaked after a visit to Donohue's Bar and Grill, you just don't have sports cred with this reviewer.

After pushing open the door to the saloon on a sunny high noon, it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust from the Arctic white of the snow banks deposited by the Blizzard of ‘05 to dimly lit interior. The first glow that comes into focus is a 100-inch plasma TV showing sports highlights from the far corner of the room. I make my way through the bar and booths filled with men on their lunch hour to the adjacent room, a mirror image of the first but admitting enough light for me to see the ruby colored walls, more booths, and the long bar filling the far side of the room. The flags of Ireland and USA hang larger than life from the black painted ceilings, as do two giant speaker systems. I wont need a flashlight to read the menu as I take up residence at the bar.

A one page spread in the Watertown TAB advertising daily and weekly specials, one of which is a hamburg and fries for $4.95, seems like just the trick to satisfy my appetite, which has been hyperactive after shoveling snow for the past five days. With only three other guys at the bar, the bartender takes my order in less time than a commercial break during a Patriots game. In the next thirty minutes, I will hear enough ESPN Super Bowl gossip to keep me conversant for the next several days in the men's locker room at my gym. With the brilliant array of twelve TVs bracketed to the upper reaches of the walls, I can twirl a 360 in my barstool and not miss one glorious moment of a replay of a Tom Brady spiral pass down the field.

But I digress. The full-length bar seats about twenty. More booths, some big enough for a family (given the reasonable prices, a family could dine here without sacrificing the milk money) and open doors leading to the kitchen in the rear, complete the interior.

Then there's the booze. Thirteen spigots of draft beer dominate the bar, ready to spout rich brown Guinness, honey toned Bass Ale, Sam Adams Winter Lagers, IPA, light beers, and assorted brews in between. Parked beside the beer taps are enough bottles of the hard stuff to get a patron in the mood to get down in a three-point stance on the line of scrimmage.

My burger arrives, branded with the cross hatched marks from the char-grill, and a generous pile of fries. The 8 ounce burger, medium rare as ordered, is pub grub average. The fries, although hot and plentiful, are rather bland. As I scan the menu, I see there's a Saturday/Sunday All You Can Eat Breakfast Buffet for $6.99 adults, $3.99 kids, as well as a Kid's Menu. Appetizers run from chicken fingers, wings, and nachos to cheese sticks, and are in the $5 range. Today's entrees included swordfish, chicken, shrimp, and pasta dishes priced at $11 to $14. There are inexpensive lunch specials every day of the week, my burger and fries come to a total of $5.21. No wonder the place has survived since it opened six years ago.

By the time I leave, I've been fortified enough to tackle that last pile of snow in my driveway.

Oriental de Cuba

pt at large. January 25, 2005
Lunch at Oriental de Cuba, 465 Centre Street, Hyde Square, Jamaica Plain, MA

Advertised on the menu as “a little piece of Cuba in Jamaica Plain”, the Oriental de Cuba lives up to its name. Once inside, those little pieces are showered on a hungry visitor as if released from a pinata.Dozens of framed photos of Cuba’s urban, rural, and seaside allures adorn the linen white walls. The aromas of choriso (Spanish sausage) and simmering soup stock fill the nostrils as the visitor walks past the chest high ordering counter, behind which stand huge gas ranges, and over which is a ten foot long map of Cuba. Once seated, it wouldn't be unusual for you and your party to be the only English speaking patrons. The menu, written in Spanish and English, stretches from breakfast to dinner, with stops at sandwiches, rice specials, side orders, soups, tropical shakes, and desserts.

On this January day, the clean, glass topped wooden tables lining the restaurant are occupied by men in work boots and children in snow suits. In the aftermath of the Blizzard of ‘05, school had been canceled for a second day, and parents, many of them still snowed out of their own work, seemed eager to set foot outdoors and enjoy the luxury of being served, rather than serving. The giggles of bilingual children at tables and Spanish ballads and instrumental music from the sound system are more reasons to believe one is sitting in Havana rather than Hyde Square.

Daylight pours in through the bay windows lining the side and front of the narrow restaurant, backlighting our waitress Adriana’s brown hair as she promptly comes to take our orders and gently laughs as we ask gringo questions about names we don't recognize.

After considering the ropa vieja (shredded beef) and tilapia (white fish fried in batter), I chose the classic Cubano sandwich (roast pork, swiss cheese, ham, spicy sauce, mustard, and pickles layered between sides of crusty bread). My lunch companion orders home made chicken soup, fried yucca, and a side of rice and beans. My sandwich, although tasty, has a bit too much fat on the pork for my taste, and could have been pressed on the grill a bit longer to give it more warmth. My companion’s chicken soup is hearty, full of tomato, noodles, peppers, and chicken. The fried yucca, a starchy product, is the day's surprise for me. Perfectly fried and served with a topping of fried onion, its delicate flavor is enlivened by a gently seasoned batter. Its thick, french fry shaped morsels disappear quickly, as do the moderately spicy beans which we've spooned over white rice.

The entire bill comes to sixteen dollars and we’ve had our fill. As we leave, I notice complimentary reviews from the Phantom Gourmet and the Boston Globe’s ‘Cheap Eats’ section, and see that this tiny gem is also listed in the 2005 Zagat Survey. To which, I will add my own “Olé”.

Harry’s Bar and Grill, Brighton,MA

Harry’s Bar and Grill, 1430 Commonwealth Ave. Brighton, MA
January 14, 2005
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Special quote of the day, uttered by the bartender at Harry’s.
“It’s easier to apologize than to ask permission.”
Although this gem was in reference to explaining his TV football watching habits to his wife, I imagine his philosophy might ring true to some readers for other reasons.
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Harry’s Bar and Grill is a wonderful neighborhood bar. Daylight streams in from the windows on the street side. The split-level interior atmosphere is warmly lit on this January afternoon, the cozy feel of a glowing hearth without the logs.

Small enough to survey the entire clientele with a lingering glance, large enough to have an intimate conversation at one of the small tables, the place feels inviting and welcoming. A long bar extends to the rear wall, exposed brick walls on two sides, Tiffany lamps hanging from the ceiling, old time black and white photos on the walls, are pure neighborhood touches. The large screen TVs in each corner (the pictures only, without the blare), honey colored bar, tables, and chairs, and a huge mirror behind the bar, framed with shelves of popular alcoholic beverages, offer several reasons for the neighbors to visit.

And they serve lunch, which is why I’m sitting there, drooling over the menu today. The categories include Appetizers (wraps, dips, quesadillas), Soups and salads, Tacos and more, Entrees, and Dessert.

Fried haddock with fries gets the nod today. Comes out flaky, tasty brown light batter, with, surprise, curly Q french fries. Never seen anything like them, gently seasoned, cooked perfectly throughout, with a bit of salt they go down fast. "Before we opened in December, 2003, the owner tried about 20 kinds of fries and chose these," says the bartender.

A bonus, especially to the retiree bent on lunching at every lunch spot in Boston, from five star to pub grub, is that only one of the menu items tops two digits in price. Good enough for a return visit, certainly. The bartender’s suggestion about the Carne Assada, Central American grilled beef with rice and the chef’s special refried black beans, beckons for the next visit, as does the tender tuna sandwich with homemade chipotle sauce.

Anyone free for lunch?

A walk on the Wild Willy side

pt at large
Wild Willy’s Burgers
46 Arsenal St., Watertown; 617-926-9700
Burgers, sandwiches, sides $5.75 - $7.75
Hours: Sunday through Thursday 11 a.m. to 8 p.m., Sat-Sun 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.
Credit Cards: Visa and Mastercard
Handicap access: Wheelchair accessible.
January 12, 2005

A walk on the Wild Willy side

As square, red, and uninspiring as a barn, Wild Willy’s is located in a corral at 46 Arsenal Street, a short canter east of Watertown Square. Just inside the double doors, it’s a short lariat throw to the food prep and grill area straight ahead. Spacious and lit with hospital white fluorescence, it’s crawling with food wranglers who are obviously enjoying their work. No Benihana of Tokyo fancy chopping but smooth efficiency prevails. Under a big “Order Here” sign, I went with a Willy Burger, the basic lettuce tomato mayo choice. “Find a place to sit, your order will be ready in about 13 minutes,” said the waitress.

About 12 minutes later, my “made by hand every morning fresh 100% certified Angus beef ground chuck” burger arrived on a red plastic tray with a side of hand cut fries. As I was halfway through my burger, a thunderous noise that sounded like a cowboy boot being tossed into a garbage disposal came from the prep area. I looked over to see a bag of whole Maine potatoes being tossed into a stainless steel grinder. With the license of political candidates, they unabashedly call these ‘hand cut’. The golden brown fries were tasty - slightly salted, soft inside but a bit limp. My “small” order was a generous serving.

The place is basically a box with a creative color scheme and a life-sized chuck wagon tethered between the counter seats and the booths. Pale yellow walls, complementary royal blue ceilings with beams and air ducts exposed, and at the far end a 30 foot wall mural with a sense of irony: a lone cowboy herding Angus beef cattle single file across the prairie under a halcyon blue sky. Little do these cattle know where the trail ends.

Wooden tables and booths are scattered about and an L angled white oak counter gives the counter customer a view of the huge grill and militarily organized prep sections, close enough to eavesdrop on the banter between the preppers. Aside from two lone chicken choices, burgers rule. Side orders of onion rings, fries, and steak chili are offered. Ice cream and Cowboy Cobblers can follow your grub, which you can wash down with home made root beer, sasparilla, and more common beverages.

“We’ve been pretty busy since we opened November 10 (2005) ”, says a waitress. “We haven’t advertised but the reviews in the Globe and the Phantom Gourmet have really helped.” The wait staff is uniformly pleasant. “Do you need catsup with that to go order?”, “Enjoy the lunch,” as they set it in front of you.

And I must admit, the review in the Globe Calendar section got me to saddle up and visit. The burger wasn’t as tasty and moist as one at, say, Bartley’s Burger Cottage down the street in Cambridge, but the smoky taste reminded me of backyard summer barbeques that seemed stuck in a time warp on this brisk January early afternoon.

UPDATE 3/20/2006
Items added since first visit:
Fried haddock sandwich on toasted bun with lettuce, tomato, and tartar sauce $6.25
Trail Boss Steak Sandwiches $7.75
Chicken Tenders, small, large $4.95, $6.95
The Stampede Burger with steak chili arrived perfectly matched my medium rare request. When I commented to the server, she said, “We just got a new chef!”

http://wildwillysburgers.com/grub.cfm

Cello Chix (1/3/05)

Zuzu! on Mass Ave in Cambridge has never been mistaken for a concert hall. A beer hall, a neighborhood hangout serving cachaca laced caipirinhas, a fondness for up and coming funky bands, yes, but two cellos and a drum set?

Well, at 10:15 on Monday night, when Susanna Porte picked up the mike and introduced the self-styled Cello Chix, the high octane, bar volume conversations stopped as if Maestro Levine had just tapped the podium at Symphony Hall. Porte, Becca Thornblade and drummer Debbie Lempke took charge.

The place was packed with friends of the Chix and the usual assortment of twenty somethings for whom the bars on Mass Ave are an extension of dorm rooms at Harvard, MIT and a handful of smaller colleges in between. And they began to groove with the Chix.

These ladies, who aren't much older than the patrons at the bar, have the credentials of pros. Both cellists are products of Oberlin Conservatory of Music, Thornblade continuing at Julliard School and Porte going a bit astray with Russian literature at University of Pittsburgh.

 

Dempke is a graduate of Berklee School of Music. Porte and Thornblade started playing as a lark at open mikes, developed a following and a requisite web site and email list and are making a splash on the local scene. A cover band with an unusual pedigree, they take rock faves and arrange the hell out of them.

They bow, strum, pluck and otherwise coax their electric cellos with funky or downright sweet interpretations, and truly imaginative endings. Imagine head bobbing, foot tapping covers of "Heartbreak Hotel", "Day Tripper", "Fever", and the Doors “Light my fire”, and the occasional ringer from opera, an aria from Bizet’s Carmen, for example, and you get the idea.

Dressed in black slacks and tops, one a conservative off the shoulder jersey , the other a see in the dark red sequin scoop necked tunic, the chix looked ready to party. By the end of their first set, they’d obliged their fans and won over a score of new ones. http://home.earthlink.net/~cellochix/