pt at large

Broad Comedy: I've known this broad since...

Broad Comedy: An all female sketch comedy show with music, song, and dance
Created and written by Katie Goodman
Written and directed by Katie Goodman and Soren Kisiel
Stuart Street Playhouse, 200 Stuart Street, Boston, MA
Saturdays, 8 PM

Every so often, the leggy actress singing and dancing on stage morphed into a little kid in overalls practicing a skit she’d half imagined and half written with her fourth grade friends. A nine year old girl in thirty seven year old body or a thirty seven year old woman in the body of a nine year old? It’s not often a spectator has those dueling visions in his head as he watches a talented, sexy actress strut her stuff onstage. But OshKosh B’gosh to spandex, there was my former student Katie Goodman singing, dancing, and acting in front of a packed house at the Stuart Street Theater in Boston last Saturday.

I sat the fourth row as Katie wowed the house with her smart writing and directing talent. Katie’s been doing plays since grade school. Made’em up herself, took part in school plays, and wasn’t above creating drama in her social life just to keep things interesting. Were the comic sketches between married women on the park bench extensions of the pre-adolescent dialogues she had with her friends or antagonists on the playground?

Broad Comedy is a good old-fashioned cabaret style revue featuring five other talented actresses who were some other fourth grade teacher’s former students. Parts of our lives, sides of ourselves we may not even be in touch with, live in the minds and memories of others. George W. Bush (the target of some of Katie’s pointed political broadsides), 50 Cent, and Yo Yo Ma all have places in the memory banks of their former teachers. We remember them as children, see who they’ve become, and wonder about the maze of roads taken that propelled them to the present.

For that matter, how have the rest of us arrived at our current stations in life? Unless you’re a strict adherent of predestination, pt at large guesses it was forced marches through college, graduate or trade schools, or the universally famous School of Hard Knocks. Robert Frost would have a field day with our map of Roads Not Taken. Choices made by action or default. Opportunities taken or rejected. And the kick of it is that most of us are still works in progress.

We make choices every day - and I’m not talking about cabernet vs. pinot noir. Say something to the parent of the kid who’s using a Fenway Park voice in the coffee shop you’re sitting at for your afternoon “cuppa”, tell a business associate that a racist joke makes you uncomfortable, acknowledge a sticky problem with a significant other?

We’ve all grown up but I wonder how much we’ve changed since we’ve been in fourth grade. Katie harnessed her talent with the desire to entertain and make a point, and a difference. There’s a part of Katie the girl that’s still emerging as Katie the writer. When the Bard said, “All the world’s a stage,” he didn’t specify the size or capacity of the venue. Our own kitchens will suffice. If we’re lucky, our lives are extended engagements. And it’s probably helpful to keep in touch with the kid inside all of us.

I had all I could do to restrain myself from proudly shouting, “Hey, Katie’s my former student!” and wishing for some of her stardust to rub off on my gray tweed sport coat.

I know that when Katie said, “I’m so honored that you came to see the show,” the words were right from her heart. As I talk with her after the performance, I wonder if in her eyes I morph into an enthusiastic young man with burnished brown hair who liked to take his class to the museum, show them how to make clay float, and write cinquaines.

Nearly thirty years ago, I created some of my own stardust by being a knowledgeable, supportive, and occasionally entertaining teacher for Katie. Neither of us is done with dispensing or gathering stardust.
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To read what the critics have to say

http://www.boston.com/ae/theater_arts/articles/2006/03/03/all_female_show_satirizes_with_a_broad_point_of_view/

http://www.boston.com/ae/theater_arts/articles/2006/03/22/with_song_and_satire_the_fun_is_infectious/

http://www.boston.com/ae/events/articles/2006/03/08/broad_comedy/

The Fox, a one act play

The Fox
A one-act play adapted by Allan Miller from a novella by D.H. Lawrence
Boston Center for the Arts - Hall “A” at the Stanford Calderwood Pavilion, Tremont St, Boston, MA
March 2 - March 18
Running time approximately 90 minutes

Little theater companies swim furiously in the primordial soup of Boston’s thriving theater scene. Aspiring actors, directors. and production teams are awash in the turbulent and fertile backwaters of rehearsal halls, church vestibules, gymnasiums, and any other place where folding chairs can be assembled. If they swim hard enough they might land on the beach and crawl onto the solid floorboards of larger and larger stages where their talents will become more evident to the public.

The tiny Basement on the Hill Theater Company gains visibility with its recent production of The Fox, just concluding a run in Hall “A” at the Stanford Calderwood Pavilion. Adapted by Allan Miller and first produced in 1981, the play is based on a novella set in WW I by D.H. Lawrence.

With novels like Lady Chatterley’s Lover to his credit, Lawrence’s predilection for exploring the charged erotic moments in which characters must decide to follow their minds or their loins is dramatically explored. Nellie and Jill, two young women who are romantically attached, have found a small country farm on which they can live on their terms. Opening scenes make clear that the chores of farm life and perhaps the burden of attempting to nourish a relationship in their rural and isolated life style is taking a toll on them. The chickens don’t lay eggs, firewood is always in need of chopping, bread and cheese is scarce, and the townspeople’s tongues wag at the slightest hints of unconventional behavior. And there’s a fox pillaging the henhouse.

A strapping young soldier on leave arrives during a one week leave in search of his grandfather who formerly owned the farm. Jill lobbies to take him in for a few days hoping his help will help with the volume of demanding work. Within days, the soldier Henry insinuates himself into the household. At first slyly, then menacingly, he uses his physical and sexual power to drive a wedge between Jill and Nellie. Does he want to possess Nellie or is he angling a way to become owner of the farm then, as Jill warns Nellie, “Treat us like farm stock and have his way with us.”

Henry slays the marauding fox late one night. The scene sizzles with sexual overtones as he calls Nellie out of the cabin to witness his victory. “Have you ever felt a fox before?” he says as he stands over Nellie and guides her hand to slowly stroke the fur of the fox that he’s slung in front of himself. The way he describes his guile at killing the fox mirrors the guile with which he’s trying to tame the resistant Nellie, who has remained torn between loyalty to Jill and her attraction to Henry.

One fox has been slain but a far more dangerous predator has infiltrated the women’s household. The play culminates in a visceral struggle between Jill and Henry for Nellie’s love.

In the play’s program notes, Greg Raposa thanks the company for “getting him in touch with his inner animal.” Indeed, Raposa plays the soldier’s role with a powerful combination of testosterone and guile. Dialogue about his boyhood reveals that Henry was controlled by a demanding and unloving grandfather. Strong willed Henry uses his sexuality to snare Nellie and repeat a cycle of dominance to which his grandfather subjected him. Raposa is a convincing ‘fox’.

From the soldier’s first entrance, Grace Sumner’s Nellie displays a prey’s natural wariness in the presence of a threat to survival. The burden of caring for Jill, performing the farm’s heavy work, and now the interloping soldier, are weighing on her. Her physical agitation often seems overwrought and would be more credible if we could sense more of the inner turmoil from which it stems.

Robin Rapoport is perfect as a chattery fussbudget Jill. She appears frail and dependent upon Nellie’s caretaking but is the stronger willed and more determined of the two. In the final showdown, she sheds her façade of neediness and becomes a formidable challenger to the soldier competing with her for Nellie’s love.

Balances of power are established and occasionally shift within every relationship. How do relationships withstand the predatory forces of the outside world? Director Lilia Levitina delivers a hefty dramatic punch while exploring the question. Minimal props and lighting were used to tell the story effectively. The music arrangements by Emily Romm were seamlessly integrated into the action and powerfully underscored the play’s emotional tensions. The Basement on the Hill Stage Company closes in on the shore with this well rendered production.

To read the text of Lawrence’s original novella, go to
http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/l/lawrence/dh/l41f/
A literary essay about Lawrence and The Fox
http://www.viewsunplugged.com/VU/20030410/arts_litEssay_lawrence.shtml

Basta Pasta Trattoria

Basta Pasta Trattoria
319 Western Avenue, Cambridge, MA 671-576-6672
Open daily, 11 AM - Midnight
“Good food, honestly prepared”

From the street the storefront looks like one of the hundreds of pizza joints sprinkled like tomato colored confetti over the Boston landscape. The terra cotta and yellow floor tiles, the three small square tables and four booths lining the walls, and the sturdy steel-door pizza oven fired up just behind the chest high order counter add to the generic template.

It’s the “Daily Special” sign the gets my attention: Spicy zucchini, crushed black olives, fresh basil and grape tomatoes over linguine. That’s a far cry from a meatball sub or a pepperoni and mushroom pizza with extra sauce. Priced at $7.95, why not take a chance? The budget prices here sing out to the adventurous diner.

As I sat down to wait, a mailman, two Cambridge police officers, a couple of neighborhood kids and a young couple ordered from the crammed chalkboard menu listing panini ($5.95), burgers ($5.95), risotto ($7.95), pasta ($6.95-$9.95), pizza ($8.95-$10.95), salads with home made dressings ($4.25-$6.25), appetizers ($1.99-$5.95), and a kid’s menu.

Deep behind the order counter, a mini commercial kitchen galley was being tended by a dark haired fellow in a white chef’s coat. The curtain had risen for lunchtime and Reno Hoxallari was performing a culinary minuet, deftly shirring ingredients in long handled sauté pans atop cast iron gas burners, turning meat on a compact grill, and reaching for olive oil, spices, plates, or anything else he needed on racks within easy reach of an outstretched hand. It’s performance art suffused with the pungent aroma of garlic and oil, the economy of movement of Marcel Marceau, and the relaxed smile of a man who loves his work.

Watching Hoxallari at work gives a customer a glimpse into the line cooking techniques he learned at several highly regarded Boston restaurants including Bambara and Via Matta. When the East Cambridge storefront became available, Hoxallari jumped at the chance to graduate to the head of the line and brought his brother, front man Altin, along with him. “We had to rebuild the kitchen so we could fit our stoves and grills inside. Some of it’s better than the bigger places I’ve worked at before,” says Hoxallari with pride.

The daily specials, minus starched napkins, baskets of focaccia, and linen table cloths, would be right at home in upscale restaurants. Today’s was served on a stylish square plate and sprinkled with chopped basil. Red pepper flakes added to the zucchini provided the kick on a generous mound of pasta.

For the next week, I returned for more, inviting a few friends to discover this little gem. Chicken piccata served on a large oval platter: firm al dente home made fusilli, white wine sauce, four hunks of chicken breast, sliced mushrooms, chopped parsley, capers was savory. The chicken was slightly dry but the lemony tang of white wine sauce was divine.

The Putanesca pasta dish ($6.95) lives up to its heritage of being a robust combination of ingredients that don’t require daily stops to the produce market (what hard working prostitute in Naples had time for shopping?). The anchovies, capers, olives, chili peppers, diced tomatoes, and fresh oregano were steeped in a light tomato sauce that lightly coated the homemade pasta. Hoxallari believes in allowing the ingredients to be seen and tasted individually rather than be drowned in tomato sauce.The Italiano Pollo panini was served inside a warm, fragrant rosemary flatbread. The moist slices of roast chicken, roasted red peppers, fresh mozzarella, and home made pesto sauce made a wonderful marriage of tastes and was hailed by each of our party of diners.

The hamburger, which seems oddly out of place with the rest of the menu, arrived medium rare as ordered but the French fries were a disappointment, too greasy and soggy. The ground sirloin contained enough ground chuck to keep it moist and was served on a fresh ciabatta roll. Considering the menu, only die-hard meat and potatoes diners are likely to make the tasty burger choice.

Just about everything is made from scratch here. On one visit I watched Altin Hoxllari insert two huge trays of chicken into the pizza oven. “We roast the chicken, then cook it down in a pot to make our own stock,” he says. Lilly’s of Everett makes some of the fancy pasta, but other round pastas are made right on the premises.

“This April will be our first anniversary,” Hoxallari said with satisfaction. The two Albanian immigrants are turning out savory food seven days a week. They’re feasting on success with the same gusto that customers devour the food they put on the tables.

Sweet Finnish Bakery

Sweet Finnish
761 Centre St., Jamaica Plain, MA 617-522-5200

For once, I was disappointed. Some dining companions have said that I’m too forgiving and easy to please but the buck finally rolled to a stop at Sweet Finnish. The mile long stretch from Perkins Street to Eliot Street on the Centre Street section of Jamaica Plain is loaded with food establishments ranging from funky to upscale. I had high hopes that Sweet Finnish would land comfortably somewhere in between.

The conceit of the bakery’s name (one owner is from Finland) and the fresh looking storefront piqued my curiosity. Somehow all the new furniture, display cases, and fresh painted white and blue interior, produced a vaguely antiseptic ambiance. The new straight back, unpadded oak chairs with matching tables look sleek but form trumps function after five minutes of fanny time. The art on the walls was sparse and haphazardly hung. The florescent lighting fixtures made me think more of an operating room than a coffee house.

The lower shelves of the display case at the order counter displayed several rich looking cakes. The upper case was sparsely filled with one tray of scones and several other trays of uninspiring looking fruit squares and tarts. Usually at a bakery, it takes time to whittle down choices as salivary glands go into overdrive and you try not to drool as you figure out which of the choices to gobble up. It took several scans before I decided a pie shaped wedge of currant scone. The scone turned out to be dry and flavorless. Puzzling, considering the imposing, modern stainless steel machinery visible behind the counter. The coffee was disappointingly institutional in taste, which seemed unforgivable since a free standing Dunkin’ Donuts franchise is right next door.

The assets of Sweet Finnish may have more in common with culture than calories. The clerk spoke of considerable interest in the Spanish lessons that are held Tuesdays and Thursdays in a conference room in back of the store, which is quite spacious. Several moms with strollers had made camp at tables and were exchanging news while their kids made nice with one another. Irish born actor and JP resident Bill Meleadi was meeting with a friend to discuss his next career move. A man and woman seemed to be discussing a business deal while another man sat at the only comfortable looking spot, a sofa in front of the street window, his laptop light glowing as he made use of the WI FI advertised in the window. Maybe there’s more to a bakery’s success than what’s inside the display cases.

I suppose another trip to this bakery would be in order before I decide to “Finnish” my patronage there.

Dancing with Mona Lisa

I danced with Mona Lisa last night. The inscrutable smile, beguiling, embracing, and distant. Eyes that followed me wherever I turned. She gazed into me and through me at the same time.

She followed my movements intuitively, without a trace of irritation at my novice’s blunders, me, a man of good intention and poor execution, a man in need of a learner’s permit to gain entrance to the dance floor. If my dancing were my driving and I hadn’t been on the safer confines of the dance hall’s golden oak floor, I’d have been the subject of the eleven o’clock news describing a massive chain reaction car collision at Wellington Circle.

I watch her dance effortlessly with men who possess glorious gifts of timing, graceful and confident technique. Yet here she is in my arms, tolerating my awkward, wet from the chrysalis attempts at leading, always one step behind myself.

I am drawn to her by the safety of that smile, not ironic or with rolled eyes, but accepting and without judgment, allowing me to fail before I succeed. Is she recalling her own ascent into ballroom stratosphere, her own tentative first steps, her only strength being her desire to succeed?

Some day I will be free of the fetters of counting and memorization and launch into the cosmos of the dance, subject only to the laws of gravity and my imagination. Under the gaze of this Mona Lisa, I will grow into the dancer I am destined to become.

Chile: A rooster crows

Notes from ChileFarms in Nogales, Chile, a small town nestled in a valley between the foothills of the mighty Andes and the Coastal Mountains lining the Pacific Ocean.

A rooster crows.At first a solo cock a doodle doo in the darkness at 6 AM then more insistent invocations as the sky begins to pale. During the velvety black night, every star and galaxy ever created was visible, as if scattered into the cosmos by a high rolling hand playing with the order in the universe.

By 6:30, the Southern Cross will fade into the cosmos. The rural countryside in this central region of Chile is beginning to awaken. In a few minutes the black and white lapwings will begin their incessant gull-like chatter as they begin swooping over the fields in search of food. Dogs will bark. Tractors will sputter and horses will neigh as they begin to cultivate the fields.

pt at large has launched his first communique from South America, where he’s come to visit his friends Ricardo Ceriani and Susaan Straus at Chilefarms, their farm here in a fertile valley in Nogales, Chile.We all know that apples and pears grow on trees. Who knew that peaches, avocadoes, lemons, limes, quince, figs, walnuts, and almonds do too? Not pt at large until he saw them with his own eyes in the past week in this country. Dry and sunny days range from the sixties to the nineties. Warm temperatures of spring and summer melt snow from the mountaintops ringing the valleys. Miles of irrigation channels water a staggering variety of fruits, nuts, vegetables, and flowers. The chances are good that much of the produce in the aisles of your local supermarket is grown in the Mediterranean-like climate here in the middle of Chile.

Chile is a country of contrasts. A look at the Spanish, Indian, and Anglo faces in the Metro, the ultra modern subway system in downtown Santiago reveals the history of the country. A view of Santiago from a steep mid city hilltop shows an immense example of sprawl, a city spread out from it’s center at the Plaza de Armas for miles to the foothills of the Andes on one side and the coastal mountains on the other. Millions of people from rich to poor, from high rise to hovel. The city is intensely alive. Buses, taxis and cars hurtle down the roads but the pace on the sidewalks is leisurely. The tourist learns not to set one foot into the street until he has confirmed there are no microbuses careening down the street less than a meter from the sidewalk. An imaginary sign on their grills might read “Take no prisoners.” Old Santiago and new Santiago live incongruously happily side by side. In the Paseo Moneda, a shopping district downtown, middle class, country people, kids with purple hair and black goth attire, Indians, and tourists like me fill the street. A cultural anthropologist’s dream.

This country is leapfrogging from the nineteenth century to the twenty first. Horse drawn carts might be driven by a farmer with a cell phone in his hand. Santiago is a huge metropolis with every bit of the commercial trappings of downtown USA. There are things to be consumed and Chileans are getting the hang of it. Slick billboards on the outside and large TV monitors in the underground Metro show snippets of news, the arrival time of the next sleek quiet train, and an amazing amount of jiggling cleavage, which made me wish the train to be at least two minutes late.

Poverty is a fact of life here. Money is hard to come by for many but if they aren't buying something, Chileans are selling something. And showing entrepreneurial creativity. Fruit, newspapers. crafts, food, of course. But also yellow plastic wind up baby chicks, used parts for every kind of machine, lipstick and makeup, old tools and rags are spread out on shawls on the sidewalk. An object only becomes of no value until it disappears, melts away, or is worn down beyond the original elements from which it was composed.

Nogales is an hour and a half drive northwest of Santiago. The two lane road has been replaced by a superhighway leading all the way to the Pacific coast. Commercial complexes that support the country's massive growth-spurt line the roadside.Cement companies, propane and electric plants, trucking companies, business complexes sprout like crops in the scrubby plains. Miles and miles of avocado trees ordered in soldierly fashion line the steep hillsides and fertile crop-bearing fields along the highway.

Condominiums packed like avocado trees on the steep mountainous coast are being built by the hundreds on the fifteen-mile stretch along the huge crescent shaped bay from Con Con to Valparaiso, a Chilean Riviera aborning. An upper middle class is forming in Santiago and the first place they want to play go to play in the South American summer between December and February is this central region of the coast,

The road leading from the new "Ruta 5" highway to Nogales was a bumpy dirt road until just last year. This year it is paved... a macadam metaphor for the changes happening all over this country.