Paint The Town

Beantown baby, yeah!

Well, the bad news is that, being the overworked, overextended blogger that I am (hear me roar!), I ended up missing out on “A Vixen’s Valentine: Hot Art Show & Music Showcase” at Club Timbuktu (520 E. Center St.), which featured women’s art and the Scorcher Family Soul-Reggae Band.  Bummer.  In fact, I also failed to catch Motion City Sountrack at The Rave (2401 W. Wisconsin Ave.) on last Thursday as well as the event at the Milwaukee Art Museum (700 N. Art Museum Dr.) in honor of the Bruce Nauman exhibit. According to Cory Clifford, “Cedar Block (they did the Science Fair in the 3rd Ward last summer) rounded up about 30 Milwaukee-area artists and designers to create works inspired by Nauman” on Friday night.  Sigh.  Night jobs just rob you of the will to live after a while . . . ON THE OTHER HAND, last Friday, Stuart flew me out to Boston for the weekend to celebrate my birthday.  And it was freakin’ GREAT!  Well, as much as the three-hour delay on my flight with Midwest Airlines sucked, the warm chocolate chip cookies almost made up for it.  The FREEZING COLD gusty winds somewhat hampered our ambitions to walk around outside for extended periods of time (although I guess I missed out on some equally frigid weather here).  Nevertheless, the BEAUTIFUL accommodations at the Onyx Hotel made me hopeful that the hotel industry might actually be open to the idea of employing individuals with a modicum of style.  In fact, they were installing a series of paintings in the lobby that you may very well see in a gallery somewhere.  Surprisingly enough, though, Boston’s famous Irish pubs in the area surrounding the Gardens (formerly known as Boston Gardens, now dubbed Bank North Gardens – eek!) were DEAD as a doornail.  It made the Water/Brady Street and North/Kinninickinnic Avenue scenes seem a lot more happening than I usually give them credit for.

Saturday we hit the fairly sprawling and somewhat chaotic Haymarket/Quincy Market/Faneuil Hall area, which kind of made me miss the nice warm enclosed environs of the Milwaukee Public Market.  We popped into Churchill’s, a cigar aficionado bar in non-smoking Boston to watch the market-goers while as we attempted to regain the feeling in our fingers and toes.  Then over to Copley Square to hit Optika to fix my sunglasses, which were missing a screw (well, okay, maybe they weren’t the only ones, but that’s another story . . .) and we ended up at Lens Crafters, who did a bang-up job in no-time and didn’t even charge me!  Sorry, OPTIX (2616 N. Downer Ave.), but I can’t trash them as much as I did before.  

Quickly changed into theater gear at the hotel, and off we went to the Boston Center for the Arts for SpeakEasy Stage Company’s performance of “Five by Tenn,” the Boston premiere of five recently discovered works by Tennessee Williams.  Director Scott Edmiston arranged the plays together, so that they seamlessly dovetailed into one other “to depict the personal and artistic evolution of a poet from youth to old age, or – as Williams might say – from desire to death,” according to Producing Artistic Director Paul Daigneault’s words in the playbill.  In the wake of two major Milwaukee theater companies folding over the last year or so, this company inspired new hope in me - maybe people with a common vision might get together and dedicate themselves to staging Milwaukee premieres such as this.  The venue was also really different than anything I had ever seen before – basically several productions were being staged at once – like half a dozen or so – by various companies; and again, the design was really modern and contemporary, instead of the kind of Killmainham Jail-feel of the Quadracci Powerhouse Theater.  The production was a great way to celebrate the dark side of Mardi Gras – i.e. the fatalistic and yet witty insights of one of the greatest, and most troubled, American playwrights.  How can you not love a man who writes lines like, “He’s fruit – and I’m not talkin’ apples and oranges.”  After being taken through the, well mostly lows, of New Orleans culture, the production concluded with an AMAZING performance by William Young in Mister Paradise, in which he advises his young admirer about today’s values and that “there’s an end to everything, even gunpowder” – very timely and effectively brought me to tears.  Yikes. 

The rest of our lovely weekend was mostly spent eating and shopping – my two strongest talents, ha! - and I managed to make it back to the frozen tundra (redundant, yes I know – more of a colloquialism, okay?!) of good ol’ Milwaukee.  There is something to be said for a small airport – you can hop off a plane, fly downstairs, collect your luggage, jump on a shuttle and be back in your warm car headed downtown in, like, half an hour, unlike Stuart, who had to perilously negotiate his way through Boston’s labyrinthine tunnels.  Aah - home sweet home. 

"The Moonlight Room" Chamber Theatre

Woke up Sunday morning with my voice completely cashed after shouting across the table to Donte at Lee's Luxury Lounge (2988 S. Kinnickinnic Ave.) after the show the night before.  It was so strange, though - I saw well over half a dozen actors from various Boulevard Theatre productions there.  Huh.  Small world.  Anyway, I met my friends Jenna and Josh at Trocadero  (1758 N. Water St.) for a lovely vegetable crepe and some hair of the dog - their legendary Southsider bloody mary (a pickled meal in itself - yum!).  After a relaxing brunch, we wanted to kill some time before the shops on Brady Street opened (noon on Sundays - ugh), so we went over to The Exclusive Company, (1669 N. Farwell Ave.) where I went totally nuts and bought too many CD's, but what can I say - life is short.  Listen to more music (although I shouldn't talk - I'm writing this on the bus from Madison and I forgot my headphones in the car.  DOH!).  After Jenna and Josh managed to drag me out of the store, we headed down to A Woman's Touch (200 N. Jefferson St. Suite 101), where I signed up for their "Art of Erotic Dance" class - ha!  Since Brew City Burlesque, about whom I wrote a feature for the Art Muscle section of Riverwest Currents, is now defunct, I felt inspired to carry the torch (even if for just for a few hours).

Then I swung by Susan's and we drove down to the Broadway Theater Center (158 N. Broadway St.) for Chamber Theatre Company's production of The Moonlight Room.  We had the unique pleasure of being joined by the Red Hatters, who were gaily passing out nametags for each other that read "Queen Donna" or "Princess Tammy." (Note to readers: If you see me gallivanting around in red & purple giggling with a gaggle of fellow middle-aged ladies someday, just shoot me).

Anyhoo, maybe set designer Paul Soderblom’s hospital waiting room set and David Cecsarini’s sirens and pages were a bit TOO realistic, bringing back subconscious feelings of fear and dread; perhaps I was feeling the after-effects of the Southsider.  Either way, it was VERY slow-going, as a play about people in that situation SHOULD be . . . and yet it was all a bit too much for a Sunday afternoon.  Maybe it was the fact that the actors just didn’t seem to fit the part of high school punk rockers whose friend OD’d on Vetalar or Ketamine (animal tranquilizer – I don’t know if it’s for cats or horses, but you get the idea) backstage at some concert.  I almost laughed out loud, for example, when Maris Hudson (Sal) appeared, wearing a spanking new anarchy T-shirt from Hot Topic (does Sal even know what the “A” stands for?).  Her hair was neatly pinned back in two pigtails and her makeup reminded me more of a Dresden doll than an “urban adolescent.”  Chris Klopatek was less whiney and more entertaining as Josh, your typical upper middle class white male slacker with a good heart and lots of “potential.”  His clownish antics and antagonistic comments made the time pass somewhat more quickly, but still, like Sal, I continued to ask myself, “How much longer?”.  Julian E. Brown’s (Mr. Wells) and Jenny Wanasek’s (Mrs. Kelly) performances as single parents in NYC were more solid, and yet, as much as Brown really LOOKED great for the role, he had somewhat of a timid and almost effeminate manner about him.  Maybe this was his or Director Norma Saldivar’s choice; perhaps this is just the way he presents himself, but it just felt odd somehow.  When he got angry, however, he managed to successfully rouse the audience from their heat-induced dozing (it was stifling hot in the studio theater for some reason) as he barked, “DID SOMEBODY SPEAK?!” to Josh, whom he blamed for his son’s overdose.  In fact, he really compelled me to empathize with him, as he held his head in his hands and shouted, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”         

So then, after managing to sit through the equally long second act, Susan and I couldn’t make heads or tails out of the ending (“So . . . what happened?!”).  Maybe we missed a key line or symbol or . . . something . . . maybe I’m just kind of slow on the uptake, but regardless, see it for yourself and tell me what YOU think.   

NOTE: Photo credit: Amanda Schlicher

Angels in America

So after a fun night in MAD-town with Tammy and Claire, I got up SUPER early (ouch) to finally collect my car and run a few errands.  Energy was low, however, and as the evening approached, I was not really in the mood to see a long play about AIDS.  My friend Donte Fitzgerald, however, had arranged for some comps, AND I had heard that it was a very good production, so I managed to get myself over to the Gay Arts Center (703 S. 2nd St.) and grabbed one of the few remaining seats for Uncommon Theatre's performance of Tony Cushner's Angels in America: Part One - Millenium Approaches. I am so happy I did.  This was Jim Bloomingdale's directorial debut, and I was quite impressed that he would take on such a complex play like this one.  Needless to say, he not only met the challenge, but superceded it with such force that I am chafing at the bit for the second part - "Perestroika" to run sometime this fall.  Mark Hooker, Artistic Director, played the role of Prior Walter with such raw intensity that just drew you into his plight as an AIDS victim.  And Rome Balistreri's brutally honest portrayal of Louis, his lover, made me empathize and despise him simultaneously.  Donte was simply stunning as Belize (nice midriff top - tee hee!) and Harper's (Sarah Winiarski) Valium-induced hallucinatory pal, Mr. Lies.  The space is also very comfortable and during both intermissions, it was nice to stroll about and view the latest exhibition in the adjoining gallery as I sipped my concha del toro.  Comfy seats were also strategically placed for those of us who were struggling to sit comfortably in the theater's metal folding chairs for three hours.  Ah, no pain, no gain, though - the production made me forget my aching back and numb buttocks almost completely.  It closes this weekend, so you should really try to catch it if you can.    

The Fireside Theatre

“I guess there are drawbacks in being the girl-about-town,” wrote my friend Marney after she heard I was at the Fireside last weekend.  “Am I correct to have an image in my head of walkers, oxygen tanks, sherbet or carrot cake for desert, and bad cocktails?” Well, not quite, but it was a good question.  As I was chatting away with some First Stage Children’s Theatre people at Bob Friedman's party a couple months ago, they said, "You know, you really should go to the Fireside to see what it's like out there." 

Okay - fair enough.  I donned my cat-eyes, pinup girl shirt and brought my friend Margaret along – both for moral support and for the sheer fact that she was actually alive in the fifties, which was the theme of their current production - "The Fabulous Fifties."  SO - off we went to Fort Atkinson, which according to the map they sent me, was a mere 60 minutes away from Milwaukee - a straight shot down Hwy. 26 off of Int. 94 West.  Not quite.  26 winds its way through the heart of Jefferson (don't blink - you might miss it) and then into Ft. Atkinson.  So after what seemed like a very long and involved series of twists and turns along Bus. 26, we managed (with the help of a couple subtle signs along the way) to make it to our destination about 15 min. late.  I felt like I was pulling into a mini-Potawatomi lot - huge tour buses were unloading at the front entrance, and a long line of people were filing into the place.  We quickly joined them and snaked our way down the hallway of gift shops (?) that reminded me of the gaily painted crap depots you encounter at Six Flags or some such locale.  We were shown to our table which was situated alongside a little river/stream fountain sort of thing.  And flocking - iridescent Christmas trees and poinsettias (maybe they're getting ready for NEXT year) - as far as the eye could see.  Which seemed to be quite far - the mirrored walls gave the illusion that this cavernous holiday forest really did go on forever.  Since dinner is required with your ticket purchase, Margaret and I were treated to a meal so elaborate I felt dangerously close to slipping into a food coma.  Steak, HUGE butterflied shrimp tempura, some sort of pork/creamy cheese spread appetizers, greens salad with a chablis vinagrette dressing and carmelized walnuts (mmm), chicken orzo soup, fresh cheddar and/or dill bread (served piece-by-piece by a strolling bread basket girl) and, for dessert, some delectable lemon/cherry cheesecake confection.  All brought to us by our wonderfully doting waitress, Kelly.  And the DRINKS - as we were following the polite young man (yikes - sounds like the clientele kinda rubbed off on me) to our table, we noticed people sipping these exotic-looking drinks with the largest ornamental fans I've ever seen ("you could put an eye out with that").  "I want one of THOSE, I said to Kelly, pointing to the nearest table.  Although, my friend Tammy told me later on that we should have ordered the Volcano, which is this flaming bowl of alcohol for two that gets you LOADED.  Maybe next time. 

Anyway, before we knew it, we were being summoned to the theater.  Time flies when you are eating for three hours I guess.  We followed our lady usher into the small, but packed square theater-in-the-round.  Not an empty seat was to be found.  Nor was anyone under 40. "Look, there are some young people over there," said Margaret, vaguely gesturing in a general direction.  Maybe I just couldn't see them, or maybe by "young" she meant something else.  Either way, Mr. Klopcic, the proprietor, gave us a hearty welcome and then went into reciting a litany of anniversaries ranging from 27 to 50 years (!).  He also made a point to remind the audience of the Fireside’s upcoming Christian concert series and, as he concluded, he hoped that we would enjoy the show - "And may the Lord Jesus Christ bless us all." 

The band, however, was pretty impressive, as it arose from a pit in the middle of the stage and was rotated like a musical merry-go-round so we could all get a good view of the musicians.  In fact, reed-men John Hibler and Curt Hanrahan are college professors.  Jeff Pietrangelo (trumpet) and Claude Cailliet (trombone) have performed, recorded and arranged music with the likes of U2, Liberace, Neil Young and Johnny Mathis, just to name a few.  Guitarist Ralph Brunner used to be in Feet of Clay.  Keyboardist/vocalist Steve Watts was very engaging and dynamic, especially in his rendition of Jerry Lee Lewis's "Great Balls of Fire."  The Fabulous Fifties dancers were, well, what you'd expect in a dinner theater in rural Wisconsin - no Obie award-winners, but they weren't half bad.  Emcee Dan Embree and their token latino, “Rico,” have also performed in Branson, MO - if that doesn’t paint a picture for you, then I don’t know what will.  On the other hand, the rockabilly one - who played his own guitar, I might add - was trained at NYU’s Steinhardt School. 

During the intermission, we went down to the bar, where literally a dozen bartenders rushed to serve us.  Wow.  If only some places in Milwaukee would follow their example. . . unfortunately, the intermission seemed to just fly by and we were then treated to ANOTHER round of fabulous fifties nostalgia.  Margaret really got a kick out of it - the recordings of old-timey commercials, game shows and fads really brought all the memories back for her.  And she wasn't alone.  The crowd seemed to be really getting into it - singing along with the songs and laughing at the George and Gracie routine.  At one point, Dan Embree said, "The fifties were a time of innocence before the turbulent and troubled decades to come."  That's pretty much the gist of it - an evening of safe, non-threatening, inoffensive, intellectually unchallenging entertainment.  And that's what we got.  The couple next to us from Poynette had been to the Fireside three times before.  I only wish I had the nerve to turn around and tell the couple behind us to shut the #$*@ up - it was as if they were watching the Jerry Springer show on TV in their own living room.  And THEN, after the intermission, the woman was snapping/cracking her GUM - A LOT.  LOUDLY.  NONSTOP.  If it weren't for the fact that she could have squashed me like a bug if the spirit moved her, I would have been more pro-active about the situation.  MAN.  Regardless, the show ended on a somewhat somber note - and it would have been SO cool if they would have played Don McLean's "American Pie," but they didn't.  Well, you can’t have it all.

After the show, the crowd shuffled slowly but happily out of the theater and onto their nice warm coaches as Margaret and I wearily found our way back to the car.  Unfortunately, it is NOT as easy to leave Fort Atkinson as it is to find your way there due to a distinct LACK of signage, so we ended up getting kind of lost, for which, at that point, I was NOT in the mood.  I didn't get home until 12:30 or so.  An exhausting stint, but boy did I enjoy those leftovers the next day – yum . . . now if only I could just get that damned yellow polka-dot bikini song out of my head . . . sigh.  .  .               

The Play About the Baby

After a feverish day at work (literally - I was burnin' up - ugh), Stuart  and I popped over to Don Quijote's new location (704 S. 2nd St. - across from the Gay Arts Center) for a few pre-show tapas.  I had wanted to stop by for some time now to see their new digs,  which also include an upper non-smoking level.  Maybe it was because we opted for the lower level or perhaps delirium was setting in, but I really wasn't THAT impressed.  Beautiful decor aside, the unusually loud Gypsy Kings CD kept skipping for what seemed like FOREVER, and they only had Miller Lite and Corona available for non-sangria drinkers.  The tapas were okay, but it was probably a good thing that I wasn't able to eat a bite, because if I actually had been hungry, we would have been fighting each other for the last champignon. 

Regardless, after waiting for, seriously, like 15 min. or something (they were experiencing printer problems?!), we got the check and jetted over to the  (2252 S. Kinnickinnic Ave.) for their production of Edward Albee's (one of my FAVORITE playwrights) The Play About the Baby.  Mark Bucher, in one of his trademark "lugubrious" curtain speeches, described the work as "at times very funny, shocking and disturbing" - right up my alley . . . and it was.  AMAZING.  Jim Gallagher gave a performance, I feel, that was one of the best I've seen in a LONG time.  He was so dynamic and versatile - from rambling on about driving somewhere you've never been "Have you ever noticed that?" to wrestling Brian Bzdawka to the floor with lightning-quick speed.  NEVER a dull moment in this show.  And Anita Domnitz, who played the Woman, also displayed a tremendous amount of acting ability as she switched between about five different personalities in a single monologue (her pantomime is also quite noteworthy - ha!)  Needless to say, by the end of the play, Jim had sweated through a good part of his button-down shirt and, as voyeurs of the frankly bizzare sequence in the second act, Stuart and I were ready for a post-performance libation.

Unfortunately, the Palm Tavern (2989 South Kinnickinnic Ave.) was packed (Stuart's eyes lit up when he saw their ad in the playbill - "230 beers?! 150 whiskeys?!!"), so we popped across the street to Lee's Luxury Lounge (2988 S. Kinnickinnic Ave.).  I love that place, even though their pinup girl wall-projections have faded.  Either way, it was a lovely way to relax and discuss our Albee theories,  "So what was THAT all about?  But what about . . .?" to the tune of Motley Crue and Jimi Hendrix (have I mentioned they have an AWESOME jukebox?). 

SO, go see this play, if you know what's good for you, or even if you don't.  Well worth the trip to Bay View, as always.   

The White Countess and Robert Burns

Sunday - met my mom at the Downer  (2589 N. Downer Ave.) to catch the eagerly anticipated (well, at least for me) Merchant-Ivory release The White Countess starring one of my all-time favorite actors, Ralph Fiennes (swoon) and Natasha Richardson, whom I envy beyond compare for snatching up my other fave actor, Liam Neeson.  In typical Merchant-Ivory style, the cinematography was absolutely gorgeous - the film took place in Shanghai 1936 and also starred the Redgrave sisters (whom I thought were somewhat under-utilized, playing fairly minor roles).  But then again, I could watch Fiennes read the dictionary for two hours, so I'm somewhat biased. 

On the other hand, my friend Graeme, with whom I met up at The Robert Burns Club's annual Burns Supper later that evening, thought the movie was the most boring thing he'd seen for some time.  "Are we talking about the same film?!", I asked incredulously.  He even confessed to dozing off a couple times (!) unlike myself, who was riveted throughout the entire movie.  So I guess you'll have to be the judge and see for yourself . . . the Burns Supper was interesting.  A room full of men in skirts and haggis [mmmmmmmeat-flavored pasty oatmeal - after politely nibbling at the brown mushy heap on my plate, Graeme leans over to me and asks, "You gonna eat that?"  With pleasure, perhaps too much, I passed him my plate and mumbled some excuse about saving room for the main course - whew.]  It's always interesting to me that, in such a historically German city as Milwaukee, that this group exists.  Heck, (yes, I said "heck") we even have a statue of the man and a postage stamp-sized plot of grass devoted to his "immortal memory" - Burns Commons Park - on Knapp and Franklin Streets.  Who knew?  After the post-supper "selection o' steps frae the Caledonian Scottish Dancers," toasts and "sangs and clatter," which involved recitations of a few of "the ploughman poet's" works, however, my energy was fading.  Graeme won a 5-pound note in the raffle, which he generously turned over to me for my upcoming trip to Edinburgh next month - "Have a pint on me," he said.  Our table-mate, Bob?, who ended up with practically half the prizes ("Ya wanna ice cream maker?") gave me this obnoxious stuffed monkey he had won (good thing I have a niece, to whom I can pass along this stuff - sorry mom), so I didn't come away empty-handed.  We concluded with a rousing version of "Auld Lange Syne" (whatever the heck - yes, I said it again - that means) and I headed home to sleep off the haggis.       

Full Gallop

So then, after swinging by my friend Susan's house for a glass of wine after the Next Act show - I was still a bit shakey . . . wow - we headed to the Broadway Theatre Center (158 N. Broadway St.) for Renaissance Theaterworks' one-woman show, Full Gallop, with Angela Iannone as Diana Vreeland, former editor of Vogue magazine.  We squeezed ourselves into the full house that anxiously anticipated the entrance of the woman who was an American fashion icon for over 50 years.  The set was luxurious - sumptuous scarlets (which matched the rouge that went up to her ears and forehead), gorgeous cocktail service, oriental screens, rugs, zebra striped chairs with gold trim, a huge vase the size of an eight-year-old and, later on, flowers - EVERYWHERE.  We actually heard Vreeland before we saw her - barking orders to her servants.  And that was what pretty much punctuated the seemingly endless series of name-dropping anectdotes of her rise to fame and fortune.  Jarring buzzer and intercom noises also added to the transitions from one famous-person-I-met story to the next and, unfortunately, my growing irritation and restlessness.  Perhaps it was her grating accent or constant chewing of imaginary gum.  It might have been the seemingly slow pace as she struggled to recall a certain name she wished to drop.  Maybe my resistance was down from the Next Act show.  Either way, as we sat through her recollections of her European life of leisure, Iannone seemed more of a caricature than a genuine portrayal of Vreeland.  One compelling moment, however, was when she was at her record player playing this soaring melody as she recounted memories of her husband, Reed, who died of cancer.  The lights went down as she closed her eyes and - maybe it was because she was quiet for once - but I really felt like she was a genuine person for the first time in the performance.  But all good things must come to an end - the buzzer rang - she resembled a deer in the headlights as she came to, and resumed barking orders to the servants.  Granted, there were some gems in the performance, and the audience seemed to be truly enjoying themselves. How can you not like someone who says, "I'm back up on my horse - full gallop" the day she got the pink slip at Vogue magazine?   The way Iannone licked her thumbs paging through the New York Post , which she vehemently denied reading, to hiding her purse underneath the extensive collection of pillows on her sofa helped paint a portrait of the person who was at the forefront of fashion for so long.  Yet it just wasn't enough.  At intermission, I looked at Susan and admitted that I couldn't sit through another hour of this.  She agreed and we left for our friends' wedding reception being held in the area of Riverwest known as "Lavender Hill."  My friend Michael was simply horrified at what we had done.  "I could have sat there FOREVER," he claimed, as he fixed me a much-needed vodka tonic.  Nevertheless, we toasted the newlyweds, my best friend Patti and her husband Tim, and I gave them my Milwaukee Public Market acquisition, "Fondue for Two" to celebrate their marital bliss.         

The Retreat from Moscow

After delivering a somewhat labored congratulatory speech (in SPANISH - ugh) to the Infant Toddler Credential graduates at MATC (700 W. State St.) and walking several blocks in the rain to my car, I needed a bit of a warm-up before hitting Next Act's production of William Nicholson's The Retreat from Moscow, which I had to review for OnMilwaukee.com.  As luck would have it, I found a parking spot directly across the street from the Milwaukee Public Market (400 N. Water St.), which is located just across the street from Next Act's studio space in the Off-Broadway Theatre (342 N. Water St.).  I had never been to the market before and figured this was as good of a time as any.  And it was.  Lovely.  Really cool.  Beautiful stalls (if you could even call them that) with vendors such as El Rey, a Greek deli, fresh seafood market and a Cedarburg coffee company.  Exquisite.  I decided (after much deliberation) on a bowl of creamy vegetarian onion soup from the Soup Market that took Dean & Deluca's down a few notches.  Sitting upstairs in the extensive dining area, I was treated to a panoramic view of the place, which was pretty hopping for a rainy Saturday afternoon. 

And boy did I need a full tank of fuel for the emotional drama of  The Retreat from Moscow.  Oh my god.   The three actors that portrayed the seemingly normal - even happy - family,  provided enough compelling material to last well into the next millenium.  With the help of Nicholson's brilliantly-written dialogue, Milwaukee Rep resident actor Peter Silbert and Obie award-winning actress Linda Stephens expertly personify a 33-year marriage that has reached the end of the road.   A bit too realistic, perhaps, as it rendered me an emotional wreck (and that was just at intermission!).  I greeted a former colleague of mine in the lobby who took one look at me and said, "That was my 26-year marriage."  Wow.  Even those who have not experienced long, drawn-out failed relationships can glean something from this production.  Eddie Collins does a wonderful job of playing the adult child caught in the middle of his emotionally needy parents while struggling to maintain a "normal" life of his own.  Stunning.  You really must catch this show, but definitely be sure to bring a hefty supply of kleenex.  Whew. 

Smoldering Fires at First Stage

How many times do you get the chance to catch the WORLD PREMIERE of a play written by a nationally-renowned playwright?!  Exactly.  Well, my niece Hannah and I had the honor of attending the opening night performance of First Stage Children's Theater's production of Kermit Frazier's Smoldering Fires, which I reviewed for OnMilwaukee.com.  The show is recommended for viewers ages 10 and up, and yet some people felt free to bring their infant-toddlers who provided constant distractions throughout the evening (NOTE: GET A SITTER).  Nevertheless, the play asked the question, "Are Dr. King's methods and ideals relevant today" and, due to a wise choice on Frazier's part, there are no easy answers.  The "Freedom" cast did an excellent job of portraying the all-pervasive violence and poverty that plague our society today and what we can (or can't) do about it.  Milwaukee Mask and Puppet Theatre added an interesting dimension to the production with their "larger-than-life" figures that hovered in children's nightmares and almost comically attempted to maintain order after disaster struck in the community.  Afterwards, the ensemble held a brief ceremony, honoring Rep. Gwen Moore and Dr. James Cameron ( America's only living survivor of a lynching and founder of America's Black Holocaust Museum) for their social activism.  Not bad for a Friday night.