tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-218186962024-03-05T18:05:25.453-08:00Jim Rutter's Post and ReviewsIn this blog you'll find my reviews of past and current theatre, opera, and dance in Philly and elsewhere, and arts-related editorials that I've had published.Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.comBlogger113125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-42054271118921232192010-12-20T19:07:00.000-08:002010-12-20T19:10:46.803-08:00How long till the Spiderman musical makes money?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHVGa6L5QYwxJTk4-lAXEb0iIpnQz065ndG6NfAudvKlDE3vUZHhWzuHmQEJp5wx_ad24ZUTy6fBXJ6XBn2Vtt2_Dl04EbPv5SyEZNo_SZNskIeJA4WzW3ER-BqOT5HKWedSXFA/s1600/22spider-blog480.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHVGa6L5QYwxJTk4-lAXEb0iIpnQz065ndG6NfAudvKlDE3vUZHhWzuHmQEJp5wx_ad24ZUTy6fBXJ6XBn2Vtt2_Dl04EbPv5SyEZNo_SZNskIeJA4WzW3ER-BqOT5HKWedSXFA/s200/22spider-blog480.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552967503895101378" /></a>
According to NYTimes economics writer Catherine Rampell, it will take <em>four</em> years of nearly sold out shows for the production to reach a point where it recovers the initial 65 million (yes) investment. Read the full story <a href="http://economix.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/14/spider-man-economics-recouping-that-initial-investment/">here</a>.Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-54475086711049294312010-11-16T13:27:00.000-08:002010-11-16T13:38:18.783-08:00Review of Uncle Vanya at the Lantern Theatre<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXznkcsIDPhfTaNEbJSGr13IV6YINsBVWwYMbRvtKwqCzl2OT-Il0nZ4HA2EXcjTJ0-GM9IscltPzHPopNtilfaGF_xMU1QlmjuuETmSrO2pV3BF8CTWwfsnN2bq5rgpGtp2_kAQ/s1600/vanya.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXznkcsIDPhfTaNEbJSGr13IV6YINsBVWwYMbRvtKwqCzl2OT-Il0nZ4HA2EXcjTJ0-GM9IscltPzHPopNtilfaGF_xMU1QlmjuuETmSrO2pV3BF8CTWwfsnN2bq5rgpGtp2_kAQ/s320/vanya.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540263575120009938" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal">In his 1994 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Western Canon</i>, Yale professor Harold Bloom catalogued the great literary works of Western Civilization since Dante. He capped his near-1,000 year progression with Tony Kushner’s two-part <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Angels in America</i>, deeming it the last work fit for inclusion. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The original productions of Angels garnered multiple Tony Awards and a Pulitzer Prize. Its current off-Broadway revival at New York’s Signature Theatre Company has critics re-confirming its exalted place in literature.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve seen multiple productions of both parts, and until recently, I felt inclined to agree with critical estimation. But then I watched the Lantern Theatre’s production of Chekhov’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Uncle Vanya</i>. While I can still appreciate the epic scope of Kushner’s six-hour Angels, his play nonetheless deals—per its subtitle of a “Gay Fantasia on National Themes”—with problems related to the “Democratic Age” in which Bloom catalogues it. Chekhov’s Vanya, by contrast, confronts the very problem of existence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Fixed locale, timeless problems:</strong></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Chekhov’s play opens on the Serebryakov estate, most likely in present day Ukraine. However, with few textual exceptions—that call for a samovar and a guitar—Meghan Jones moderately detailed manor could exist in any Western nation. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the problems Chekhov’s characters face feel equally timeless. The arrival of Professor Serebryakov (David Howey) and his young wife Yelena (Sarah Sanford) throws the normal routine of the estate’s denizens into chaos. They work the land and manage the estate’s affairs; he lists about complaining about petty academic struggles and geriatric health complaints. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">His wife embodies the problems of beautiful women anywhere. Men dote on her, unless she ignores them (in which case they snap), and less attractive females unload the equally unfortunate perils of having their inferior genetic endowments overlooked. Watching Sarah Sanford’s eager eyes attend to everything but the reality of her life, I couldn’t help thinking of Hedda Gabler or Helen of Troy. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflWT2Hs13bcgyPIoXiMfR7xSt8VC-xYJBFhqzCuoUcsMeZC1jOQc_WplHeyHfndP8hlozCpNZKT_NTP0W1B4Q2Hf0s3lPuqm4AwNC0nEzqH6VN5M0sW-D22pANkmAVu6PWUmavg/s320/vanya2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540264864292477282" />As the possibility of a more refined and leisurely life intrudes, all other concerns fly out the window. The local Doctor (Charlie DelMarcelle) trades his conservationist lifestyle for long nights of drinking, their neighbor Telegin (David Blatt) ruminates on his past misfortunes, and Serebryakov’s daughter Sonya (Melissa Lynch) pauses long enough from her work to realize that she’s aging, and no man might ever love her. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">One line that carries them all: </span></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In any production of Vanya, the entire dramatic weight of the play rests on a single line, uttered by the overlooked titular character: “I could have been the next Schopenhauer…the next Dostoyevsky.” I’ve seen other translations which preface that line with “If I had lived a normal life.” Whether or not we agree with Vanya’s outburst depends on how well the actor has set up the line, and how much we view—at any age—the potential application of that sentiment to our own lives. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the Lantern, Peter DeLaurier’s masterful performance balanced Vanya’s buffoonery with both solemnity and a desperate exhaustion at having failed in his own life because he satisfied the expectations of others. DeLaurier shows us Vanya’s intellectual strength (in solidly challenging Serebryakov) while indulging his moral weaknesses and self-pity. And the line, coming as a culmination of such a rich portrayal, evoked both scoffing laughter and my own chilled spine. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">An existential crisis, averted: </span></strong></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Director Kathryn MacMillan imparts tremendous care into the production, letting the play unfold along the lines of each character’s narrative. No member of the ensemble contributes anything less than a stellar performance. Her and the cast’s depiction of life at the estate transcends its locale, showing even the servants as trusted members of family, equally ready to offer support or rebuke, but unlike Vanya, all equally committed to a desire to solve their problems with a return to routine, even if only the lost status quo. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And by giving the production this sense, the Lantern’s production reveals something extraordinary, that Chekhov only achieves with conviction in Vanya. To many, the normal association of “existentialism” implies one of two meanings: the nihilism of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Waiting for Godot </i>or the reckless hedonism of Dorian Gray. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But Chekhov provided a third option, telling us in Vanya that we can find meaning and alleviate present-day suffering by working toward a better earthly future for those to come. He states this same idea more explicitly in his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Three Sisters</i>, but dulls its impact by repeatedly insisting upon it. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the Lantern, MacMillan and her cast let us feel it as the vital key to their own lives. It doesn’t matter if you accept that in your own life, or pity or hate the characters in Vanya for soldiering on by those lights in theirs. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What matters is that this staging possesses a rare quality, where its characters could not just reach across the fourth wall to sit down with us in our own lives, but that we could get up from our chairs and take their places on the stage. And that’s something only a great production of a great play can make you realize. </p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-89340605045977845892009-10-01T00:20:00.000-07:002009-10-01T00:29:20.721-07:00Problems with the New Barrymore Awards: Part II<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBQhF-oX3uzYdF1XkVGc_YqAsjWDLeZk-FXSOub0VwMQLtLwyGkZTdjChy_glt9MAILvaJXztJ368mHBmt_p97G7ERQvkvK1ZjOCax9Dlx-2acWcwKZGBeEdF9gkPFhAudj7XA6A/s1600-h/bmore.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBQhF-oX3uzYdF1XkVGc_YqAsjWDLeZk-FXSOub0VwMQLtLwyGkZTdjChy_glt9MAILvaJXztJ368mHBmt_p97G7ERQvkvK1ZjOCax9Dlx-2acWcwKZGBeEdF9gkPFhAudj7XA6A/s320/bmore.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387529614728799154" /></a><div>In my <a href="http://jimruttersreviews.blogspot.com/2009/10/problems-with-new-barrymore-awards-part.html">first article</a> on the problems with the new Barrymore Awards voting process, I pointed out how the new system’s assignment of voters enabled clustering of awards around certain productions to a degree unseen in seasons past.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></div><div> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here, I will show how the new process itself cannot fulfill its stated goal of recognizing the best performance, design element, or production over an entire season.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I would say that this holds true even if everything I wrote in the first article proves false.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">First things first: I realize that the Barrymore’s do not—in name—designate the “best” anything (e.g. director), but instead give awards signifying “outstanding” sound design, “outstanding” performance by a leading actress, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But this circumlocution merely equivocates on a term.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Under the old system of voting, only one performance or design element received the top number of votes from the judges, and similarly, the new system yields a “highest score” from the voters.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In each process, someone is (or will be) collectively regarded as the “best” of the season.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Of course, people can always pretend otherwise.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">However, I would argue that only the old system could legitimately recognize the best performances and design elements of a season.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>By contrast, the new process cannot even convey a standard of excellence, let alone reward the most outstanding anything of the season.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Who Decides and How?</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This year’s new system of voting sent eight randomly assigned voters out of 62 to see each show, with each voter seeing 12 to 20 shows over the season.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Their instructions encouraged them to treat each show on its own merits and rank each performance or design element on a scale of 0 to 100, with rough-and-ready categories (like “poor: 0-20”) guiding their scores.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The judging of figure skating in the Olympics attempts something similar, assigning point values to each performer taken in individual consideration.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But there, the judges possess pre-determined objective criteria (difficultly of routine, number of specific movements performed) that form part of their scoring.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">However, because theatre lacks any such observer-independent objective criteria, the new Barrymore system more resembles trying to determine the fastest runner by taking each competitor in isolation, letting a handful of people watch him run, and then selecting another, different batch of observers to evaluate the next sprinter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Imagine this process without a stopwatch and you understand how they determined this year’s awards.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As such, this quantifiable system can only encourage <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">thinking</i> about excellence, but without a frame of reference or cross-comparison, it cannot possibly measure it adequately.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Like obscenity, we must trust the voters to just “know it when they see it.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">How the old system of judges solve this problem </span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When it comes to art, this might be the best any of us can do, and the judges of the old system operated similarly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, unlike the judges, the voters do not see every eligible show, which, in a qualitative analysis, is the only thing that could give them a frame of reference to properly vote for the “most outstanding X of an entire season.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Instead, they cast a once-and-done fixed vote that they cannot later rescind or alter.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The old system of judges who had seen every eligible production could—no matter how flawed otherwise—at least introduce a frame of reference for cross-comparison.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yes, they also lacked “objective criteria,” but unlike runners viewed by rotating sets of observers, the judges at least possessed the advantage of seeing and evaluating every show.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>At the end of the year, after marshalling a continually refined set of theatre-evaluating experiences, they could then confidently cast a vote for excellence.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But now, the new system has transferred the power of the judges to an even smaller group while losing the one advantage of cross-comparison that the judges conferred.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Even <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">assuming bias on the part of all judges</i>, that they had seen every eligible show still gave the old system a level of quality control that the new process lacks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A sports analogy clarifies the problem</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So rather than 10 to 17 judges deciding all the awards after a period of reflection, this season the first (and isolated) impressions of eight individuals decided each and every award.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But because of the random distribution of the voters, not even the same group of voters made any two decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To borrow another analogy from sports, the new process resembles allowing a different set of judges to decide the gold, silver, and bronze medals.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Whoever thought that spreading the responsibility of choosing each award—though not any award—onto new random groups actually increased the rigor and integrity of the Barrymore process needs to take a course in qualitative analysis.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In order to rank something as “the most outstanding X” of the year, one needs a large sample, not of voters seeing isolated shows, but of total number of shows seen.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">By contrast, trying to pretend that the voters should only treat a show on its merits means asking them to ignore every single show or theatre-experience any of them ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But each voter can only know excellence by past exposure to such.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And since no one can ever ignore the totality of their experience when making judgments about excellence, why wouldn’t Silvante want to buttress the system’s ability to truly reward it by ensuring that each and every person who votes on the awards <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">all</i> possess the same theatre-going experiences that season?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Qualitative analysis versus quantifiable metrics</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Qualitative</i> notions like “best” and “outstanding” must involve a comparison.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But the elimination of a group of judges that could make these comparisons eliminated the possibility of the new system rendering such judgments.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>At best, the new awards can only stipulate which performance, production, or design element earned the highest score via random assignment of a group of voters who never again voted on another production as a unit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Perhaps they should change the name of each award from “Outstanding Actor,” to “Highest Voted Upon Performance,” a meaningless moniker to signify a process that could not otherwise ensure that it rewarded the quality of excellence.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Stay tuned for Part III in this series, where I discuss the potential for using quantitative analysis to judge art. </p></div>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-81220405356712008902009-10-01T00:07:00.000-07:002009-10-01T00:31:31.889-07:00Problems with the New Barrymore Awards: Part I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFNH32Z8WnTT4Uo0FYS-ovLI3M3MEzFI2g5Iv47lHRwyWl6i9Cdr8WfVBvWa9g_URXll4nahwWJeeSEZAkw_W99NrtcaSVWCeO7CX-8n7tn_BLmaQ3roaS3v2uGP0S_ad3PxeIA/s1600-h/bmore.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcFNH32Z8WnTT4Uo0FYS-ovLI3M3MEzFI2g5Iv47lHRwyWl6i9Cdr8WfVBvWa9g_URXll4nahwWJeeSEZAkw_W99NrtcaSVWCeO7CX-8n7tn_BLmaQ3roaS3v2uGP0S_ad3PxeIA/s320/bmore.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387526161825673826" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><b>Next Monday, the </b></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><a href="http://www.theatrealliance.org/">Theatre Alliance of Greater Philadelphia</a></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><b> will host the 2009 Barrymore Awards for Excellence in Theatre. However, the unprecedented clustering of nominations for this year's awards points out the problems with the new method of nominating. See <a href="http://jimruttersreviews.blogspot.com/2009/10/problems-with-new-barrymore-awards-part_01.html">Part II</a> for how these problems render the Awards unable to fulfill their stated goal of recognizing excellence. </b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the past five seasons (2004-2008) of the Barrymore Awards, only five productions earned 10 or more nominations.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This <a href="http://www.theatrealliance.org/barrymores/2009_awards.html">year alone</a>, four productions garnered more than 10 nominations, even though a greater number of participating companies made more shows eligible than ever before.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Two of them—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Cinderella</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Something Intangible</i>—equaled the total of 13 given to Sweeney Todd in 2005. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Producers</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Scorched</i> scored 12 apiece, bringing the total for the top-four vote getters to 50 out of 113 possible nominations.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In the musical theatre categories, two productions captured 25 nods, and five took 44 of the 51 nominations possible in this genre.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Furthermore, this clustering of nominations extended to whole award categories: the Wilma’s production of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Scorched</i> and People’s Light’s staging of the musical Cinderella each saw four female performers nominated for Outstanding Supporting Actress (in a play and musical, respectively); likewise, the Arden’s production of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Something Intangible</i> raked in three best actor nods.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Something doesn’t add up.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While some might contend that a handful of shows emerged as clearly superior candidates in a mediocre season (despite notable oversights like <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Blackbird</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Hamlet</i>, among others), I’d argue that the clustering effect around these (and a few other) productions resulted from changes implemented this year to the Barrymore Awards voting system.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Out with the Old: How the nominating used to work</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To understand what happened requires some background on the Barrymore Awards’ history.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Started by the Theatre Alliance of Greater Philadelphia during the 1994-95 season, the Alliance first used nominators selected from the theatre community to decide the awards.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In 2000, the Alliance switched from this simple system to a two-tiered approach of 40 to 50 nominators and 10 to 17 judges, the latter handpicked theatre professionals who formed a unit possessing hundreds of years of theatre-producing and theatre-going experience amongst them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This now-discarded two-tiered system randomly assigned six nominators to see each eligible production within the first three days of its opening night.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Within 24 hours, each filled out a ballot, giving either a “thumbs-up” or “thumbs-down” for every applicable category (such as “outstanding music direction”).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If a minimum three out of the six nominators gave a thumbs-up in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">any one category</i>, then that production became eligible for nomination in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">every </i>category.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To determine which aspects of a show (if any) should receive a nomination, all of the judges now went and viewed that particular production. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>At the end of the season, the judges—who had seen <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">every</i> eligible production—then voted on the awards.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The top five ballot-getters received nominations, with the winner determined by which show/performer/designer garnered the most of the judges’ votes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>In with the New: From differential expertise to random voters </b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For the 2008-09 season, Margie Silvante, the Theatre Alliance’s new Executive Director, decided to eliminate the two-tiered system of nominators and judges, and replace it with a cadre of “voters”.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Armed with a metrics-based standard of quantification, her new system randomly assigned 8 voters (out of a pool of 62) to see each show, with each voter weighing in upon 12 to 20 productions out of the 130 eligible for consideration.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Within 24 hours after seeing an eligible show, each voter logged onto a website to post their scores for each of the applicable awards (for instance, “outstanding actor in a play”).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The website’s ballot ranged from 0-20 (poor) to 86-100 (outstanding), and each voter cast a specific number score for each possible award, using these categories like “poor” as rough-and-ready standards to guide their scoring.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Under this new system, the top five scores in any award determined the nominations, with the top-point scorer ultimately winning the award (to be announced at the ceremony on October 5).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In early 2008, Silvante announced these changes at a mid-season meeting of nominators and judges and stressed her desire to reintroduce integrity into the process and eliminate the prejudice of some judges.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I had witnessed this bias at an earlier meeting when then-judge Alan Blumenthal admitted to Walnut Street Theatre’s Artistic Director Bernard Havard the judges’ past prejudice against the Walnut’s productions.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Silvante hoped that her new metrics-based system would eliminate this unfairness and enable greater rigor by introducing a method of quantification that could (in theory) draw upon the commonalities of judgment from a larger and more diverse pool of voters.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Considered Judgment versus The Wow Effect</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But rather than produce greater integrity and rigor, the new process instead yielded a clustering of nominations unseen in previous years.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Two competing hypotheses can explain this phenomenon; neither have anything to do with artistic merit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To understand what happened, consider the new system’s process of assigning voters.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Out of 62 randomly assigned voters, the chance that any eight of them saw a single show comes to 1 in 136 trillion.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The chance that any single group of eight voters reunited to see another production amounts to 1 in 1.8 x 10<sup>27 </sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(The actual number is slightly less because of the cap put on the possible number of shows assigned to each individual voter.) </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Under the old system, the chance that any grouping of judges not only all saw the same productions but saw every eligible production: 100 percent.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The judges could compare performances, and thereby ensured a level of measured reflection and quality control that this new system lacks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The new system, by contrast, requires that each voter post a score within 24 hours, without recourse to reflection, and without the frame of reference that seeing every other eligible production affords.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As such, the evaluative process each voter employs must contend with his or her first impression of a performance and whatever overwhelming emotions—both positive or negative—the production has elicited.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Because of this time constraint, I would assert that voters, taken as a whole, will tend to over-value an excellent production and fall victim to the “wow effect” just like anyone in the audience. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Other critics have cited this as the number one reason to postpone writing a review until one can fully collect his or her thoughts.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Certain plays—those heavily indebted to spectacle, or capable of inducing powerful emotions in the audience—could take much greater advantage of this wow effect.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The final unraveling of the mystery in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Scorched</i> packs an emotionally stunning revelation that few plays equal, and walking out of the theatre, and even for the next 24 hours, the show’s conclusion would still leave one reeling.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But a magnificent moment doesn’t necessarily make a magnificent show.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And a common error—the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fallacy_of_division">fallacy of division</a>—would see voters acceding greater weight to each performance in a show that elicited that effect.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The old two-tiered system of judges and nominators could actually take advantage of this “wow factor’s” bias.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The judges would see plays overvalued by the nominators, and by not having to decide the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">ultimate </i>merit of each production element on the spot, could temper their observations through evaluations of other performances.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For the judges, what may have appeared overwhelmingly “outstanding” after a single viewing, could, in a broader sense of what the community offered over an entire season, come into better perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(Don’t believe the “wow effect” exists? <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Judges have said to me on more than one occasion that they “can’t believe the nominators sent them to see such-and-such a show.”) <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Second Hypothesis: Mediocrity rears its non-descript head</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Allowing the awards to be determined by the random distribution of voters who only see a handful of shows enables another likely–though far more invidious—possibility for the clustering of awards, which I’ll call the “mediocrity effect.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While the new system hinges on a set of commonalities distributed evenly among 62 voters that could help quantify their choices, a rough-and-ready metric of five categories cannot eliminate personal judgments in assigning the scores.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Take any two critics seeing the same show.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Presumably, Philadelphia Weekly’s J. Cooper Robb and I bring a commonality of background qualities to our roles as theatre critics.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Yet, in his <a href="http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/stage/Season-Review.html">best of the season</a> roundup, he called Geoff Sobelle’s performance in Hamlet the year’s best.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I thought it decorated with frills that lacked a central unifying quality.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In the Barrymore voting system, Robb might have scored Sobelle’s performance a 95, where I would’ve chalked up a 70.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">However, under the new system of scoring, Sobelle’s unique interpretation would have lost to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">any</i> performance that consistently earned a vote of 83, a score that falls below the cutoff for “outstanding.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>To give another indication of how this could happened, when I was a nominator, actors (who I won’t name), told me that they had auditioned for the role they now had to vote upon, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">didn’t agree with the choices made by the performer who was cast</i>, and for that reason, didn’t think it worthy of Barrymore consideration.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And rather than eliminate the bias of the judges and restore integrity, this new system makes it possible for disgruntled voters to trash a performer’s rankings entirely.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Moreover, statistics predicts that most rankings will cluster around a norm. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>(And even if the Awards process eliminated the highest and lowest score—as the Olympics adjusts the points for diving—this would actually further encourage regression to an average score.) <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Unfortunately, this new system of voting actually makes it possible that this “norm” enshrines mediocrity at the expense of more superlative work.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">What the new system ultimately makes possible</span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don’t write these comments to discredit any of the voters, many of whose opinions I respect, but to point out what types of outcomes a particular set of boundaries will make more likely.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And knowing that all systems of measurement possess flaws that mandate trade-offs, I will not pretend that all of the voters <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">can</i> completely avoid well-established observational biases.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I would instead opt to select systems that minimize the impact of each bias in turn. </p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">And this all goes back to the way the voters are assigned.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The new system only produces a 1.8 in 10<sup>27</sup> chance that the same 8 voters ever reunited to evaluate a show again.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In all likelihood, the voters who cast their vote for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Something Intangible</i> never evaluated another show as a unit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Furthermore, the parameters of this new system encourage the “wow effect” and the “mediocrity effect” in such a way that not only makes each error possible, but exacerbates the likelihood of each of them occurring.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Because the new system lacks a method of self-correction or quality control (that the judges provided in years past), it further exacerbates the effects of each error.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hence, you get clustering: either around shows that wowed voters or that contained enough reasonably good elements as to ensure a high average, though not an outstanding one.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">In either case, the less-than-24-hour reflections of 8 individuals who hadn’t seen all the contenders (and not the same 8 people for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">any single award</i>) decided each and every award this year.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">In a system with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">dual</i> levels of quality control and far greater numbers of variables provided by the judges seeing every eligible production, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">this clustering effect would not be a statistical probability</i> but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">would only happen for a show that was truly phenomenal</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hence, under the old system, only five shows in five years garnered 10 or more nominations, as opposed to 4 productions this year alone receiving that many. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>By contrast, the new system encourages the clustering of awards not out of any reason of artistic merit, but out of sheer probability alone.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh well, back to the drawing board.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">See Parts II and III for more. </p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-32646061462353459952009-09-18T16:11:00.000-07:002009-09-18T16:32:38.733-07:00The original ending to my review of Headlong's "more."<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPZyqhwlYBMvQrFxWnFvKt-yp1iTe1aO5rPdyC0ItpXirY3leKeXpTtN0MjkfuvZZEux1tQC6DB5s2L0DXkwf9IwgTtcVs25MJAucKqzwDFJlK9yjl-YkNor0qz3AXdjjT8ylbw/s1600-h/more.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 158px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkPZyqhwlYBMvQrFxWnFvKt-yp1iTe1aO5rPdyC0ItpXirY3leKeXpTtN0MjkfuvZZEux1tQC6DB5s2L0DXkwf9IwgTtcVs25MJAucKqzwDFJlK9yjl-YkNor0qz3AXdjjT8ylbw/s320/more.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382953576977673730" border="0" /></a>
<p>To read the full article as edited and published by the Broad Street Review, click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/headlongs_more_at_live_arts_festival/">here</a>.
<p>Then come back and see the final two paragraphs, as I submitted them (and which got cut, leading to unnecessary claims that I lack knowledge of dance history).
<p>And FYI: I don’t write the headlines or subject headings for the pieces that appear in the BSR.
<img src="file:///C:/Users/Jim/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot-1.png" alt="" />
<p>A question for my cleaning lady:
<p>"And while I don’t believe for a minute they showed what remains of dance when bodies disappear, I think the work continues to ask important questions about the boundaries of dance’s movement vocabulary. Is rearranging your own furniture art (and not merely when it’s feng shui)? The next time my maid comes over to clean, do I owe Headlong royalties? Can any movement function in a choreographer’s arsenal?
<p>Choreographers long ago answered the latter question affirmatively. But in making an entire work out of a continual reframing and re-asking of the question, Headlong instead set up an insignificant tautology, proving only that any time dancers (or anyone) engage in movement, they’re engaging in movement. As a company, they may have needed to take an artistic leap in a piece like more. But to argue that any and all of the movement they present constitutes art in some definitional sense when disconnected from bodies, from context, and from meaning does not extend the boundaries of dance but reduces them to meaninglessness."
<p>In other words, embrace the freedom to use whatever movement you want but integrate it into a piece, rather than fashion the act of questioning into some meta-level approach to your work.Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-40487826431722434762009-09-18T01:17:00.001-07:002009-09-18T01:22:54.849-07:00Review of A.W.A.R.D. Show Round One<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1GGd9YwUcIO4FGs4Nx5FSHSs_G8LHkPMORvL5L0EQKeisBay5V_xh8JCxsuEPReR2Zfls5jMjB3rTF11EkvU_WcRLeWPGxaQh_kpXE4Z3IQcZyJGvEV7_KLHezD6PAKchmonBA/s1600-h/store1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1GGd9YwUcIO4FGs4Nx5FSHSs_G8LHkPMORvL5L0EQKeisBay5V_xh8JCxsuEPReR2Zfls5jMjB3rTF11EkvU_WcRLeWPGxaQh_kpXE4Z3IQcZyJGvEV7_KLHezD6PAKchmonBA/s320/store1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382719171072964274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">First published in Edge Philadelphia:</span>
<p><span class="body">The "art for art’s sake" crowd rarely likes to acknowledge the huge role that financial concerns play in the creation of new works. But two shows (among many) at this year’s Fringe Festival exposed the near-inseparable connection between money and art.
<p></p></span><span class="body"><span class="body">Indeed, when Headlong Dance Company choreographer Amy Smith hosted the first installment of the A.W.A.R.D. Show-a dance competition with a $10,000 prize-she opened the night with a complaint, telling the audience that "The idea of a competition for dance nauseates me a little".
<p>I guess what worked for the Ancient Greeks doesn’t suit Smith’s sensibilities. But I can sympathize with her a bit. Four local choreographers competed in the AWARD show, and the evening structured three minute intervals between each of the four pieces, giving audience members time to reflect before voting. When the lights dimmed to commence the second piece (Jenn Rose’s "Way Up High"), the audience burst into exuberant, almost overwhelming applause merely on the mention of Rose’s name.
</p><p>So much for the audience not turning the evening into a popularity contest (for those paying attention, Rose’s piece won the first evening’s audience vote count).
I don’t know any of the four choreographers personally, and so I will say who I voted for, even if my vote doesn’t entirely reflect the merit of the piece they presented that evening.
<span style="font-size:130%;">
</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">ROUND ONE PRESENTS:</span>
</p><p></p></span></span><span class="body"><span class="body">Kate Watson-Wallace opened the evening with "dances for the recession," an excerpt from her recent Live Arts Festival full-length Store. Their heads wrapped in fabric, six dancers rose up out of piles of clothing, clutching paper bags in a consumerist post-apocalypse landscape. Small scenes played out; a couple fighting, a man stripping to reveal a dress worn underneath, then later ecstatically groping and caressing a broken television set. Her dancers sometimes moved rhythmically in unison, and an ominous sense pervaded the entire piece.
<p>I had already seen Store earlier in the week, and found it hard to separate my experience of the full-length work from this excerpt, especially since I consider Store the best dance piece I’ve seen during the Festival. However, as an excerpt, "dances for the recession" failed in many ways that Store admirably succeeded. Without the abandoned warehouse setting, Watson-Wallace’s shorter version didn’t engender the same sense of desperation, isolation, and pathos in her characters, and couldn’t locate their activities within the same space of consumerist experience.
</p><p>In short, it lacked a framework to both contextualize the mood of the piece and give it meaning. Still, for all its disembodied disconnect, I loved it.
</p><p>Jenn Rose’s Oprahesque "Way Up High" blended tap and modern dance choreography in four women’s emotional struggles. Rose’s dancers started in a circle around four pair of shoes, and the mood and music (and Jessica Sentak’s excellent lighting) set a dark tone for the piece. As the women found strength and hope in each other, they donned their tap shoes, and moments of exuberance and joy began to pierce through their darkness.
</p><p>Rose didn’t need to tell us afterward the meaning that her choreographic journey made readily apparent. While I found the first half overly neurotic, in both choreography and dancing, Way Up High showed the best execution of the evening.
</p><p>Jumatatu Poe’s melodramatic "Alibi" played the evening’s best soundtrack, but I found his multimedia and videos unnecessary to what the piece clearly conveyed. The text and dancing capably told the story of a man who comes home to find a dead woman in his house, and the oft-frightening choreography showed the battle within one man between his innocent reason and guilty conscious. Throughout, dancer John Luna wracked his face to fashion the night’s best characterization.
</p><p>Finally, Kathryn TeBordo’s "You Ain’t Gonna Get Glory If That’s What You Came Here For" blended spoken word poetry (text borrowed from Dorothea Lasky) and minimalist dance. While three dancers moved slowly about the floor, a man stood still at the back of the stage, loudly and monotonically blathering out lines like "Conceptual art is dead, representational art is also dead."
</p><p>The delivery hit the piece’s humor, but I wondered what TeBordo intended as ironic, and what as mock-ironic. TeBordo set out to find "how small can movement be to still be dance, and still be seen," and her work, while enjoyable on one level, proved just how insular art can become when it only focuses on the medium and not the product. Like the famed paradoxes of Zeno, I could just as sophistically (and just as easily) ask "is the last flicker of a bonfire still part of the fire?" and the answer would only satisfy those with an iron already plunged into the flames.
</p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">SO WHO'D I VOTE FOR?</span>
</p><p>If you want to know how I voted, re-read the order of the pieces as I described them. As for my comments on merit? Ultimately, my final vote reflects which choreographer I would rather see create new work with the $10,000. With money on the line, I’m going with who I can consistently count on to create new art. It’s not fair, and probably what artists hate the most about the free-market.</p></span> </span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-46195353670914014622009-09-18T00:54:00.000-07:002009-09-18T01:17:01.694-07:00Review of Applied Mechanics "It's Hard Times at the Camera Blanca"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmvs9xWbq6TOunFryDTUNGDeMuS0Jg8hFwk9HQV_qidapGBOfTPeaEDJuu6QN0DtNXFlaM02cH1z_aaxwU2DyLTzRPbG6GWk09jQwz_a3BPgjVEo5m_7QLCS07VlQJ4EquRSDtw/s1600-h/cb1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmvs9xWbq6TOunFryDTUNGDeMuS0Jg8hFwk9HQV_qidapGBOfTPeaEDJuu6QN0DtNXFlaM02cH1z_aaxwU2DyLTzRPbG6GWk09jQwz_a3BPgjVEo5m_7QLCS07VlQJ4EquRSDtw/s320/cb1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382718284324651042" border="0" /></a>First published in Edge Philadelphia:
<p>Applied Mechanics "It’s Hard Times at the Camera Blanca" presented the inescapable nature of the global economy, that other thing artists hate most about the intersection of art and economics. Here, eight circus characters (trapeze artists, clowns, a lion tamer) downed drinks at the Camera Blanca bar as they struggled with the economic uncertainty of a travelling show on the verge of financial failure. The audience moved between tables, chairs, and barstools, eavesdropping on conversations between a brother and sister as their relationship fragments over an uncertain economic future, listening to the outpourings of clowns who fear irrelevancy, and throughout, witnessing a Ringmaster ruling over all of them with a unyielding iron fist.
</p><p>One moment of hope rises above the Dickensian din: a young clown arrives, hoping to reinvigorate, if not reinvent the circus (i.e., the economy, if you didn’t get it yet). "No one does that," the lion tamer tells him; "no one can do that" the Ringmaster commands.
</p><p>Rebecca Wright’s text lays the metaphors on thick; however, she enlivens the dialogue by creatively borrowing from a number of other sources, providing a movie-buff’s dream script with quotes culled from Greatest Show on Earth, Trapeze, and Casablanca (hence the mnemonically mimicking "Camera Blanca" bar). I laughed in hearing the bartender and trapeze artist replaying the "Go back to Bulgaria" dialogue, just one of the moments that transcended the show’s melancholy mood.
</p><p>Like several other Fringe Artists presenting works that deal with the scientific discipline of economics, I’d love to know the depth of Wright’s knowledge in this field (or at least how much research she’s done). However, unlike the two monologues Mike Daisey showcased at this year’s festival, Wright at least doesn’t dip into fantastical solutions to fix economic woes, but instead presents the valid, real concerns felt particularly by artists during an economic recession that makes the production of art a luxury and further drives the existence of artists to the margins.
</p><p>Despite these financial concerns, Wright and her designer Maria Shaplin didn’t manufacture a sure-seller for the Fringe, but instead pushed at the boundaries of theatre as an art form. "Hard Times" dropped the proscenium, linear narrative, and fixed directorial focus, and forced the audience to follow characters about an awkward landscape, catching only part of the conversations at a time to piece together the evening by themselves. At times it felt a bit scatter brained, but the entire 35 minute piece repeated, allowing anyone with decent parallel processing skills (or massive ADHD) to catch every conversation and get the whole jist of her "hard times" and circus metaphor.
</p><p>And while Wright may not have found any answers about the economy, her new work asked important, and theatrically rewarding questions about the dramatic nature of theatre.</p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-26044154013267729912009-07-23T21:07:00.000-07:002009-07-23T21:42:00.023-07:00Review of Anthony and Cleopatra at Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLs_xjnqHX9S-2qGMPmoMpY4UlNcqLt9tq3HaK1VVbt3wZq1oL2jKqHBwTSwWS-hqnp72VzyWlCqLTPIAAUb7VmU5njAEI0gn6H8QhnG58ozhyphenhyphenXobYhX8VGJRlwWq1OPNz98Peg/s1600-h/aandc.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLLs_xjnqHX9S-2qGMPmoMpY4UlNcqLt9tq3HaK1VVbt3wZq1oL2jKqHBwTSwWS-hqnp72VzyWlCqLTPIAAUb7VmU5njAEI0gn6H8QhnG58ozhyphenhyphenXobYhX8VGJRlwWq1OPNz98Peg/s320/aandc.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361873855360609586" border="0" /></a>First published in EDGE Philadelphia:
<p>The Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival’s Anthony and Cleopatra offers a unique opportunity in the Bard’s body of work, one that goes beyond the rare staging of his mammoth locale-jumping epic. Except for his “history plays,” Shakespeare—unlike Agatha Christie and her famed inspector Poirot—didn’t serialize his characters.
</p><p>Instead, he either ended their lives or married them off into banality (thereby ending their fascination), denying audiences the chance to see their favorite roles tread the boards in new adventures.
</p><p>And therein lies part of the fascination with Anthony and Cleopatra. When audiences last saw Marc Anthony (here played by a very robust-looking Greg Wood), he towered as the boyish hero of Julius Caesar. Much like Prince Hal from Henry the IV, Anthony’s arduous circumstances forced him to grow up quick.
</p><p>But unlike young Hal, who matures into the courageous military genius that storms the field in Henry V’s Battle of Agincourt (delivering no less a monumental speech as "Band of Brothers"), Anthony devolves from the young hero avenging his mentor’s death into the henpecked whipping boy of an aging Queen Cleopatra (Lauren Lovett).
</p><p>Seduced by her beauty, Anthony neglects his duties, falters from one military blunder to the next, and grants concessions to maintain his fragile political alliance with Octavius (Jacob R. Dresch) and Lepidus (played with terrific subtlety by Wayne S. Turney). With each mistake, his confidence erodes further and he crawls back to Cleopatra in desperation.
</p><p>But after watching PSF’s production, I couldn’t help but wonder why. The fault doesn’t lie with Wood’s effortless transitions. In Alexandria, he lolls about the stage, either desperately begging favors from Cleo, or wasting the nights in revelry. In Rome, he exudes masculinity and confidence, and before battle, his fury cracks the stage like a whip. Only Steve TenEyck’s lighting fails to cohere with the shifts in attitude across atmospheres. Why paint the fiery passionate realm of Alexandria in white tones and Rome’s calculating world of men in red?
</p><p>Under Patrick Mulcahy’s crisp direction, the supporting cast plays solidly off Wood’s lead. Dresch’s delivers the evening’s best performance, appearing commanding while simultaneously blending a young leader’s insecure need for haughty distance with childish petulance (I could easily imagine Dresch’s Octavius maturing into Augustus, the dictator that ushered forth the Pax Romana). As Enobarbus, Tony Lawton fashions his own mini-tragedy out of a soldier’s betrayal and regret.
</p><p>And then there’s Cleopatra. Lisa Zinni’s gorgeous costumes only accentuate Lovett’s beauty and spectacular physique, (PSF’s costume budget probably exceeds the seasonal revenue of many Philly companies). Even Lovett’s tattoo fits the period. But the woman who captivated me with her 2006 performance as Rosalind failed to convince me here. In pushing Anthony away, she "is cunning past man’s thoughts," but her attempts at ardor convey far less passion than her verses imply.
</p><p>Displaying little charm or tenderness, Lovett only wields the rough half of the push-pull histrionics that control Anthony, and beyond her beauty, I felt surprised that he returned. By contrast, even Chris Brown must have given Rihanna a backrub once in a while.
</p><p>In fairness, Shakespeare’s Anthony serves up his manhood on a platter. When Cleopatra’s fleet flies from battle, Anthony deserts his troops to follow, and before he supped in Alexandria, Anthony sat at the feet of Caesar like a dog. But in a play called Anthony AND Cleopatra, PSF’s production takes this background for granted, and unfortunately, like Shakespeare’s histories, the real tragedy must then hide in the fact that these events actually happened.
</p><p>Antony and Cleopatra runs through Aug. 2 at the Pennsylvania Shakespeare Festival, 2755 Station Ave., Center Valley, PA. For tickets or more information: 610-282-9455 or www.PaShakespeare.org.
</p><p></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-9820446281863740422009-07-15T23:18:00.001-07:002009-07-23T21:46:51.763-07:00Paul Rudd shooting a movie in my neighborhoodIf you're an arts journalist, little in life beats walking out of the front door of your apartment building onto a movie set. <p>But that's precisely what happened to me when I had to move my car to make way for the tentatively titled rom-com "How Do You Know," a James L. Brooks film starring Paul Rudd, Reese Witherspoon, Jack Nicholson, and Owen Wilson. The movie revolves around a love triangle, with both Rudd's character, a white-collar executive, and Wilson's character, a pro baseball pitcher, trying to win over Witherspoon's character.
<p>Though the writer had mostly set the movie in Washington, D.C., as one of the crew told me, they were shooting many of the scenes here to take advantage of Philadelphia's tax breaks for film investment (thank you Governor Rendell!).
</p><p>According to sources, the cast and crew will shoot on location in Philly, including shots at Drexel University and Center City, until October. Keep your eyes peeled!
</p><p>OK, you've waited long enough for the shots of Mr. Rudd:
</p><p>Here he is, shooting a scene with comedienne Cathy Hahn:
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYsH0QeLgVLas7ODMzr7oWIub3nTFM3QK7AOVx6oxFXGBDQkayg63mk6jSnFQdf4yZHOWFSYsBSMypBioyKyuNRp3QYg4nKYslDWf0AetwTOcP07cJQTssKg_Q-vMVh45J53BDQ/s1600-h/Paul+Rudd+and+Kathy+Hahn.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYsH0QeLgVLas7ODMzr7oWIub3nTFM3QK7AOVx6oxFXGBDQkayg63mk6jSnFQdf4yZHOWFSYsBSMypBioyKyuNRp3QYg4nKYslDWf0AetwTOcP07cJQTssKg_Q-vMVh45J53BDQ/s320/Paul+Rudd+and+Kathy+Hahn.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361879958873158514" border="0" /></a>
</p><p>Here, talking with his wife, Julie Wagner, after the shot:
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMWV1MeRBdZrtrfQtRUHPkQ55OJ27_gXb3vOHWqrPyRaJrK7ZkyrB0nhp8TG53rtrQiLi-8CxDC9gHATR7AspxxyilYQRuMsW3EzWlrZwanjyo41WFu7qrCkogWEAdYluUenF2mw/s1600-h/Paul+Rudd+and+Julie+Wagner.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMWV1MeRBdZrtrfQtRUHPkQ55OJ27_gXb3vOHWqrPyRaJrK7ZkyrB0nhp8TG53rtrQiLi-8CxDC9gHATR7AspxxyilYQRuMsW3EzWlrZwanjyo41WFu7qrCkogWEAdYluUenF2mw/s320/Paul+Rudd+and+Julie+Wagner.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361880395121010674" border="0" /></a>
</p><p>Here's Paul Rudd, outside the set and making his way toward the crowd of fans:
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYD6OR1XBWHna_1HyQqv_tPINBW3aX47ptb-eorQBJLBCB859ck6cwq7w7kKC_l6iK3qOWTZExHCBPUJXa6NhcsD77Jyms6XYVr09IU2oLPC1tz0p9_4-vQMOlinUfMByh8nJoGA/s1600-h/Paul+Rudd+in+Philadelphia.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYD6OR1XBWHna_1HyQqv_tPINBW3aX47ptb-eorQBJLBCB859ck6cwq7w7kKC_l6iK3qOWTZExHCBPUJXa6NhcsD77Jyms6XYVr09IU2oLPC1tz0p9_4-vQMOlinUfMByh8nJoGA/s320/Paul+Rudd+in+Philadelphia.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361880607096491746" border="0" /></a>
</p><p>Finally, Mr. Rudd, who graciously stopped for a picture by yours truly:
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJuhgDHsyDHlplmFL4ZKvJUYhrmSp5iwfdDHcnN9ivzdfw1Zh1CTHc0dE-3Gey4EGNiy44jly5ttIKqFPwdjavLfy7lkkaOCZQNCioO9Gr0FkpvjCIT8i3Hl2CRGWf9l-jOaVoQ/s1600-h/Paul+Rudd+Fitler+Square.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJuhgDHsyDHlplmFL4ZKvJUYhrmSp5iwfdDHcnN9ivzdfw1Zh1CTHc0dE-3Gey4EGNiy44jly5ttIKqFPwdjavLfy7lkkaOCZQNCioO9Gr0FkpvjCIT8i3Hl2CRGWf9l-jOaVoQ/s320/Paul+Rudd+Fitler+Square.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361881103807130754" border="0" /></a>
</p><p></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-5838445842820870412009-07-15T22:48:00.000-07:002009-07-15T22:56:48.755-07:00Taylor Hicks' dick move in Grease<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2Ba_s3Z9AyVU0hL2dwpJaGH72WNhyphenhyphenynf2B_o6XxeGdcUfYtkSp5lfXpgFz62DooqCyFyH1ubpFUgdYsJkLrDNtfZzCw_agw8yS3WMCTgpShuqgjp39WKPAeQa3UnNSiYLOgu2w/s1600-h/hicks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 169px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2Ba_s3Z9AyVU0hL2dwpJaGH72WNhyphenhyphenynf2B_o6XxeGdcUfYtkSp5lfXpgFz62DooqCyFyH1ubpFUgdYsJkLrDNtfZzCw_agw8yS3WMCTgpShuqgjp39WKPAeQa3UnNSiYLOgu2w/s320/hicks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358931103107626194" border="0" /></a>About <a href="http://jimruttersreviews.blogspot.com/2009/07/grease-tonight-at-academy-of-music.html">a week ago</a>, I wondered why Taylor Hicks had agreed to perform in the touring production of <span style="font-style: italic;">Grease</span> instead of promoting his new album. <p>On opening night, I got my answer: <span style="font-style: italic;">Grease</span> was not the word at the Academy of Music Tuesday night. Instead, the prime attraction was a bit-part “star”— the slimy “American Idol” crooner Taylor Hicks.
<p>After the show, Hicks pulled the ultimate dick move on his cast mates by performing a song from his new album. In one fell swoop, he eradicated the memories of the musical to which the cast had all contributed, and essentially made the evening all about his talentless self.
</p><p>Like his performance in <span style="font-style: italic;">American Idol</span>, the consummate wedding singer again ruins something that theatergoers enjoy.
</p><p>To read the full article, click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/grease_at_the_academy_of_music/">here</a>.
</p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-21054178253216161442009-07-15T22:17:00.000-07:002009-07-15T22:47:58.557-07:00Review of City of Nutterly Love at Philadelphia Theatre Company<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjACIAhEdbNK2x4FKCYlXaEx1PVnrGtUnxksV6TTgXsgbPhD4UpmMLMlKc3Q7lRoq85IB48lLcHleTjkAvqjbxBcqghzlZzC3Tp-Kfusnl1NW1iucj7VUVd6tWTrI_ey9OGwgSuQ/s1600-h/nutterly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjACIAhEdbNK2x4FKCYlXaEx1PVnrGtUnxksV6TTgXsgbPhD4UpmMLMlKc3Q7lRoq85IB48lLcHleTjkAvqjbxBcqghzlZzC3Tp-Kfusnl1NW1iucj7VUVd6tWTrI_ey9OGwgSuQ/s320/nutterly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358929349325973586" border="0" /></a>First published in EDGE Philadelphia
<p>Philadelphians aren't known for taking too kindly to people from other cities picking on our hometown. (Most of our sports fans can't even stand it when someone shows up wearing a different team's jersey.) So I'm sure many local theatergoers felt a mixture of reticent excitement and anticipation when Philadelphia Theatre Company (PTC) announced City of Nutterly Love, a collaborative spoof of all things Philadelphia done in conjunction with Chicago's Second City sketch comedy troupe.
<p>Like anthropologists in the wild, Second City writers TJ Shanoff and Ed Furman descended upon Philadelphia a few months ago for research. The group of seven performers-Second City's Katie Rich, Rachel Miller, Edgar Blackmon, and accompanist/musical director Bryan Dunn; and Comedy Sportz veterans Mary Carpenter Eoin O'Shea, and David Dritsas-loaded both barrels with snowballs and Tastykakes and took aim.
<p>And who knew our town contained so many easy targets for humor?
<p>The Philadelphia sports fans and their teams got slaughtered (though the Charles Barkley joke seemed too retro, especially considering Iverson only left a few years ago), and the six actors mildly skewered Mummers participants (arguing over the color of their codpieces), Comcast, and local rockers Hall n Oates. Though how did Rocky Balboa escape without mention?
<p>One particularly funny sketch had an unimpressed tour guide ragging on the museum's snooty art collection, renaming Picasso's "Three Guitars" as "Triangles Puking on Squares," and flagging the Renoir collection as "Naked Chubby Chick Age."
<p>Throughout, the group's sharply timed delivery and quick wit impressed. During the Mummer's sketch, the mention of a "Drexel girl's panties" got a lot of screams, to which one of the troupe quickly fired "I think that girl's here tonight), and with the exception of the lackluster songs (particularly bad: the one lambasting our love-hate relationship with Donovan McNabb), I laughed until the muscles in my face hurt.
<p>But the laughs came cheap. The writers culled almost every other skit from the Second City archives, massaging the material with Philly references so they could play here (the museum skit could rip on any city's art collection). And while I appreciated the original take on the famed Ben Franklin impersonator's horrific origin, what's a skit about a nun with a dirty record collection got to do with Philly?
<p>Don't get me wrong, the archived material provided most of the laughs-whether ripping on cougars chasing cub-age tail while downing "Ambien and Jaeger" bombs or a completely honest job interviewee telling a prospective employer "I just want to bone your hot secretary." But the evening's most subversive piece only managed to poke polite fun at the Larry Mendte-Alycia Lane news scandal. I expected far more insightful satire from the nation's premier comedy troupe and didn't find it at PTC.
<p>Instead, the night consisted of shoutouts (including PBR references, though not Yuengling) at local celebs (Stephen Starr) and landmarks (Boscov's?), with two words-"Phillies" followed by "repeat"-eliciting the most hoots and hollers from the audience. The rest capitalized on the resentfulness of New York's Sixth Borough for her bigger neighbor, and some Main Line snubbing ("if you move to the city, where will you park your horse?).
<p>If patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels, than provincialism is the mark of cheap comedy. 1812 does a much better job subverting the locals each Christmas, and none of these skits could hold a candle to the Philadelphia color infused into Patsy, Jen Childs' Shunk Street soap-boxer.
<p>If you're never going to Chicago, see them here. At least they didn't just focus on the tourist crap.
<p>Philadelphia Theatre Company presents City of Nutterly Love; playing at the Suzanne Roberts Theatre, 480 S. Broad St., Philadelphia. Through July 26. Tickets: $34 to $39. Information: 866-985-0420 or www.PhiladelphiaTheatreCompany.orgJim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-64321885941640731182009-07-06T21:19:00.000-07:002009-07-06T22:11:13.774-07:00Grease tonight at the Academy of Music<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.monstersandcritics.com/galleries/1236458/SGY-00109440085.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="http://media.monstersandcritics.com/galleries/1236458/SGY-00109440085.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>
Tonight I'm reviewing the much hyped appearance of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.americanidol.com">American Idol</a> winner Taylor Hicks, who's playing the role of Teen Angel in the touring production of <span style="font-style: italic;">Grease</span>. I would've thought that after releasing his second album, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Distance" title="The Distance">The Distance</a>, in March of this year, that Hicks would want to tour the country promoting his new record.
<p>But no, instead, Philadelphia gets to welcome the contestant that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_Cowell" title="Simon Cowell">Simon Cowell</a> said "would never make it to the final round"--thanks alot <a href="http://www.votefortheworst.com/">votefortheworst.com</a>--in a role once made famous by one of our native sons, Frankie Avalon.
</p><p>See Hicks, below, performing "Beauty School Dropout" on Live with Regis and Kelly:
</p><p><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/efWj8rpBwOo&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/efWj8rpBwOo&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
</p><p>There, I just saved you a hundred bucks. Although <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqSfiek4gog&feature=PlayList&p=393A87A65D7418E6&index=10">Rizzo</a>--that chick was my girl in high school--brings back memories.
</p><p>However, I remember being far more excited about eight months ago for the touring production of <span style="font-style: italic;">Legally Blonde: The Musical<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">, </span></span></span></span></span></span>(review <a href="http://www.edgephiladelphia.com/index.php?ch=entertainment&sc=theatre&sc2=&sc3=performance&id=83661">here</a>) even if the similar story about a young woman's flowering seems a bit more shallow (In fairness, <span style="font-style: italic;">Grease</span>, thanks mostly to the "hand jive" features better dance numbers).
</p><p>Still, I'm missing my girl Elle Woods, especially in the fun opening number "Omigod, you guys!" (where you can't beat lyrics like "<span>They're just like that couple from Titanic, only no one dies.
Omigod you guys!").
<p>Watch the opening number here:
<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/W62-poRpBVo&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/W62-poRpBVo&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
</p></span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-60468330426760473582009-06-22T21:41:00.000-07:002009-06-22T21:59:03.989-07:00Review of It Was a Very Good Year at Bristol Riverside<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VHt47qR3QDc5duoJmIEkmni7A8l9ia7-3ji2iqOUyfhBrOB8cjFOnyNIOcph3vMZSA3Nl_ipnP-pdqpNBevvEfNtuACjh960Noh9txVX5GIulPSgDp21WthnEZjQqwLaPUJ39w/s1600-h/Bristol.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VHt47qR3QDc5duoJmIEkmni7A8l9ia7-3ji2iqOUyfhBrOB8cjFOnyNIOcph3vMZSA3Nl_ipnP-pdqpNBevvEfNtuACjh960Noh9txVX5GIulPSgDp21WthnEZjQqwLaPUJ39w/s320/Bristol.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350381394820294066" border="0" /></a>First published in Edge Philadelphia:
<p class="MsoNormal">At the start of Bristol Riverside Theatre’s current cabaret “It Was a Very Good Year,” Artistic Director Keith Baker welcomed us to the 1950’s by drawing some stark comparisons between that era and today.<span style=""> </span>
</p><p>“Those were very good years,” he began, playing to the audience who experienced them.<span style=""> </span>Coke cost a nickel, a gallon of gas set you back 23 cents.<span style=""> </span>People enjoyed romance rather than relationships, marriage lasted forever, and before a couple tied the knot, they went on dates, rather than ‘just hooking up’.”<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Strangely, the set list included “Run Around Sue,” (about a girl who never hooked-up) and “Love and Marriage” a sonnet that sincerely sings the praises of marital bliss.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sarcasm aside, in most cases, the song selection at BRT proved just how much good music the era produced.<span style=""> </span>The evening opened on a medley of popular hits—from “Rock Around the Clock” and “La Bamba” to “Fever” and “Fly Me to the Moon”—before turning into an evening of mostly solo performances chosen to display the virtuosity of the four singers.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Lisa Mindelle imbued her pep-squad leader’s cute and earnest voice with a girlish charm on innocent numbers like “Where the Boys Are” and later displayed a country quality in “Tennessee Waltz.”<span style=""> </span>And with his perfectly coiffed hair and Cleaver-esque good looks, John D. Smitherman reminded of the class President, one who didn’t draw any resentment in being voted “most likely to succeed.”<span style=""> </span>With his voice—full of butter and honey—and masterful vocal technique, he could easily afford to ham up numbers like “It’s Now or Never,” shaking his legs wildly and curling his lip up like Elvis.<span style=""> </span>Later, a commanding rendition of the Mario Lanza landmark hit “Be My Love” showed a sonorous elegance rarely seen outside of opera halls.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In stark contrast, Demetria Joyce Bailey’s chocolate-covered-cherry of a mezzo put enough seductive smoke into her numbers (“Fever”, “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”) that I got lung cancer just listening.<span style=""> </span>But hey, if you’re going to be lulled into the long sleep, what better voice to sing a lullaby, and if anything could rock you back out of it, it’s her brazen rendition of “Mambo Italiano” that kicks off Act II.<span style=""> </span>Anthony D’Amato soulfulness showed incredible versatility, soaring effortlessly through Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” and making “The Great Pretender” reminiscent of an 80’s power ballad.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The band matched the singers’ talents, and like an era when this happened often, even surpassed them at times.<span style=""> </span>Violinist Claudia Pellegrini plucked the through line on her violin to provide the best part of a vocally uneven “Unchained Melody,” and guitarist Neil Nemetz’s strident “Pipeline” reminded why it wasn’t once uncommon to flip through radio stations and hear four minutes of instrumentals.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But while the performers all shone vocally (for the most part; some stretched their instruments a bit), the evening strung the songs together with no semblance of why one followed the next, and with one exception, imparted no sense of narrative or atmospheric mood to the evening.<span style=""> </span>On “It Was a Very Good Year,” lighting designer Kate Ashton painted the stage in visual hues that shifted like the seasons through the eras of one man’s life, and Baker’s tender singing conveyed an almost Proustian recollecting, full of sorrow and longing for days gone by.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Otherwise, the program’s deceptive title played like a night of “Here’s some songs from the 50’s and 60’s.<span style=""> </span>Enjoy!”<span style=""> </span>And it did so while totally lacking a bandstand like atmosphere.<span style=""> </span>I wondered “why am I in a theatre, rather than a hall with a dance floor?” <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Similarly, except for a few individual inventions, Baker’s direction failed to structure any skits, play-acting, or interactions between the performers or audience that would make the evening seem like a cabaret.<span style=""> </span>Smitherman attempted to rectify this deficit on most of this numbers, handing a handkerchief to a woman in the audience, or combing his hair as he sang.<span style=""> </span>But while he went a bit overboard with the deep lunges up the steps on “Kansas City,” the other three singers not doing anything—or D’Amato often singing his songs to himself—made Smitherman’s theatrical touches into an oddity.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Except for the too thin ties, Robyn N. Watson’s costumes don’t really reflect the era; the men’s chinos and button-down shirts and simple women’s dresses look more business casual than 50’s bobby-soxer.<span style=""> </span>For the most part, the audience delighted in the evening, letting out gasps and nudges of recognition that recalled hearing these songs for the first time when they came out.<span style=""> </span>Thankfully, the era gave us a lot of good music to enjoy just hearing.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Bristol Riverside Theatre presents “It Was a Very Good Year.”<span style=""> </span>Written and directed by Keith Baker, runs until June 28.<span style=""> </span>Tickets and information at www.brtstage.org</p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-83537249049681332912009-06-22T21:24:00.000-07:002009-07-07T15:36:34.817-07:00Review of Doubt at People's Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqqnIwqzyCqBdnrmvpSLDCNwfSXT4xhJFBT17A9xK_hd7hUdkkcTSpAtX7nxrqxXc5fCzLdQwRuqydNvoK41cXRmDcdztx9X34eqwzpqi3hlF9Wmbh7b7EqyyWooOxgKFStGQSg/s1600-h/Doubt.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350376558482433042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 235px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtqqnIwqzyCqBdnrmvpSLDCNwfSXT4xhJFBT17A9xK_hd7hUdkkcTSpAtX7nxrqxXc5fCzLdQwRuqydNvoK41cXRmDcdztx9X34eqwzpqi3hlF9Wmbh7b7EqyyWooOxgKFStGQSg/s320/Doubt.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">First published in Edge Philadelphia:
</p><p>I’ll admit that when I first saw John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt a few years ago, <a href="http://jimruttersreviews.blogspot.com/2007/06/review-of-doubt-at-merriam-theater.html">I didn’t care for it</a> very much.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p>Sure his play had won the Tony <i>and</i> Pulitzer Prize for Best New Play, and the touring production I watched starred none other than Cherry Jones (who also won the Tony for Best Actress in the Broadway staging).<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>At the time, I found plenty to dislike in his powerful melodrama about a foreign and corruptin institution, presented through the scrim of modern sensibilities. </p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">But Peoples’ Light and Theatre Company’s current production gave me a whole new level of respect for the play.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And for that, I have only Ceal Phelan to thank.</p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Set at St. Nicholas’ Catholic school in 1964, “Doubt” begins as a conflict over teaching styles, with the school’s principal Sister Aloysius (Phelan) condescendingly warning the fresh-faced (and quite naïve) Sister James (Elizabeth Webster Duke) that “every easy choice hides within its consequences tomorrow.” However, after haranguing James for ten minutes, Aloysius quickly shifts to her real concern—the well being of Donald Muller, their first Negro student—who has fallen into the protective care of Father Flynn (Pete Pryor), a pastor transferred through three parishes in five years.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Aloysius’ worry still persists today (witness the recent scandals of the schools in Ireland), that Father Flynn’s interests in becoming Donald’s protector hide something far more sinister.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=""></p><p class="">While Sister James struggles to regain her peace of mind, doubt, suspicion, and gossip dominate the play from here.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Flynn shows signs of guilt—with Pryor’s voice cracking on certain phrases—but he credibly defends himself, winning over James, and threatening Aloysius’ future. <span style="font-size:0;"></span>When the boy’s mother (Melanye Finister as Mrs. Muller) appears, she partially acquiesces to the alleged abuse. Already thinking her twelve year old son is gay, she only wants him to make it to June, so he can use this private-school education as a springboard to better opportunities in the highly competitive New York school system. <span style="font-size:0;"></span>As for the truth of the accusations, it escapes like so many feathers fluttering on the wind.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">David Mamet once wrote (I’m paraphrasing) that in a good script, the language by itself should produce so much tension that the actors could just sit in chairs on the stage and entrance the audience with a reading.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>David Bradley’s direction of Shanley’s play seems to have taken this phrase to heart.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Except in the interludes between scenes, the actors take little advantage of the staging’s wide courtyard, and everyone delivers their lines while either standing or sitting immobile, the two nuns speaking nearly all of their dialogue with their arms held tight at their sides.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">As a result, Pryor appears suitably sympathetic and engaging just in delivery, but his lack of emoting can’t capture the charisma of a man whose congregation praises his sermons, and whose schoolboys look to him as a role model.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>More importantly, after seeing what Pryor has conveyed in much simpler roles, I wish he had brought more depth to his Father Flynn.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Finister and Duke suffer similar problems; Duke’s facial expressions transmit her wracked conscious, but I would expect that a teacher warned about “being a performer for her class” would shape the language a bit more with her hands and body.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Ultimately, only Phelan’s performance truly benefits from Bradley’s directorial choices.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Her measured manner of speaking turns the simple statements that “satisfaction is a vice” and “innocence is a form of laziness” into dictums worthy of Aristotle.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Shanley’s script sets her up as the hated prison warden who stands between order and ruin, but while Phelan’s a block of ice, her fascinating absence of emotion moved me to profound admiration for a character that would “go outside the church even if I am damned to hell.”<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">Finally, I felt the moral force of this play, something helped along immensely by the Yoshi Tanokura’s set that not only frames the entire space, but also puts these four characters in an imprisoning cell where their conflicting emotions and stories confront them at every turn.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">In trying to do good, Aloysius walked away from God.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Still in His service, she may have even committed evil.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And like the best tragedies, the battle is not fought between obvious good and clear evil, but between forces each bent on their own version of what’s right.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And for 80 minutes at People’s Light, Doubt pulverizes any complacency of thought or easy emotion.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing">People’s Light and Theatre presents John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Directed by David Bradley, runs until June 28.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><cite><a href="http://www.peopleslight.org/"><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal">www.</span><b><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal">peopleslight</span></b><span style="FONT-STYLE: normal">.org</span></a> </cite></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-56849800551212798262009-06-22T20:46:00.000-07:002009-06-22T20:55:07.859-07:00Review of Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4VP3bibjOy1KTgQsgOM6VZ7JFwR2ocNEK9zQrHPL81bqZaWwly0hMk78k3TgpJtkZCU19B-dkByq7wu3TYWPRoPafu8Ba4jINPK3sd0k1aizJ9Kc7jK02a7bSdLtR9KeLHcuGA/s1600-h/Johnny.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_4VP3bibjOy1KTgQsgOM6VZ7JFwR2ocNEK9zQrHPL81bqZaWwly0hMk78k3TgpJtkZCU19B-dkByq7wu3TYWPRoPafu8Ba4jINPK3sd0k1aizJ9Kc7jK02a7bSdLtR9KeLHcuGA/s320/Johnny.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350365964712101634" border="0" /></a>First published in Edge Philadelphia:
<p class="MsoNoSpacing">Dear Benjamin Lloyd, cast, and crew of White Pines Productions</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Re: Your recent production of Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">I’m writing this review as a letter for two reasons.<span style=""> </span>Due to your short production run, none of my readers can see the play.<span style=""> </span>Also, as letters factor heavily in William di Canzio’s script, I wanted to pay a similar tribute to your very moving production.<span style=""> </span>I hope you understand.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Di Canzio’s story probably presented some difficulties.<span style=""> </span>I’m sure that even today’s worldly teenagers would find it difficult to accept not only a tale of love at first letter, but a narrative in which a reluctant and self-protecting 19 year old girl (Amanda Schoonover as Sarah) would yield her heart to the forthright, aggressive affections of Noah Drew’s 22 year old army-reservist Dan.<span style=""> </span>And certainly, few outside the military would understand the impulsive need to cast an anchor in one’s own country on the eve of deployment, even if that means popping the question on a first date. </p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">However, despite these difficulties, your direction turned the first half of Johnny into one of the most sincere, touching, and real hours of theatre I have experienced in a very long time.<span style=""> </span>And as two young people struggling to better their lives with the community college education they must work forty hours a week to afford, Schoonover and Drew manage to make young love as charming as when it’s first experienced.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Schoonover turned her character’s lack of humor into an adorable attribute, making it very easy to understand not only Dan’s instinct for what’s real, but also his willingness to reach out to protect her.<span style=""> </span>And though both were touched early by the tragedy of a parent’s death (and a concomitant reluctance to trust), each tinged their blossoming desires with the humor that break down those walls.<span style=""> </span>Drew’s face and soothing voice painted a portrait of pure earnestness that put a smile on my face throughout act one, with his inspiring attitude in the face of deployment to Iraq keeping it there.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">And while I expected a play about war to convey a measure of bombast and outrage, too often I’ve seen the political become preachy, tainting a sincere examination of war’s consequences with the shrill of oft-insincere indignation.<span style=""> </span>So I appreciated the uncertain swagger of Mark Lazar’s Major Smythe when he asks Dan “what kind of life could you have with her if the homeland is not secure?”<span style=""> </span>And di Canzio’s script (if not Marcia Saunder’s performance as Dan’s mother) subtly, though aptly compared the “national mistakes” of Vietnam and Iraq, while also illustrating the humble patriotism of sacrifice in a mother who ships candy and comic books to <i style="">everyone</i> in her son’s unit, and the fortitude of a wife who forestalls her dreams by dropping out of college to purchase the body armor that Halliburton price-overruns render unaffordable.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">Though I can only attest to what I’ve watched on the news or read in the papers, Christopher Colucci’s sound design of choppers, gunshots, and bombings evoked the proximity of danger in a war played like a video game where cheering adolescents man the joysticks, and J. Paul Nicholas’ likable sarcasm (as the prisoner Amahl) showed the collateral damage that affects spirits as well as flesh.<span style=""> </span>His comparison of the Iliad (a Western nation invading a mid-East city) conveyed an understanding of myth’s role in warfare; the wisdom in his performance impressed with the Odyssey’s notion that only on the voyage home does a soldier journey back into life as a hero.</p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">And di Canzio’s script and your cast forced me to contemplate my least favorite example of fate, the notion that “no good deed goes unpunished.”<span style=""> </span>Perhaps that’s the most horrible facet of war, that in the midst of barbarity, even an act of thoughtful compassion must engender suffering.<span style=""> </span>And despite the valiant protestations of heroism, that suffering, as you showed so clearly, ripples outward in waves to wreak havoc on circles of loved ones, families, and communities—not only in Iraq and Afghanistan, but in the towns that more than four thousand now deceased soldiers used to call home.<span style=""> </span>Matt Saunders’ simple set—of paper panels hung together like a battalion of tombstones—only underscored the continuing, national-soul eroding tragedy of this war.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">As a too rational atheist, I’d like to believe, what Sarah comes to understand: that loved ones can continue to take care of you after they die.<span style=""> </span>Di Canzio’s referencing of the Orpheus myth coupled with Teri Rambo’s haunting vocals and Colucci’s guitar, and the straightforward sincerity of your production convinced me, if only for a moment, of the possibility.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">I won’t end with “sincerely” or “truly,” because those words are rarely either sincere or true, but close by saying “Thank You” to everyone who made this beautiful production possible.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNoSpacing">White Pines Productions presented William di Canzio’s Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier at the Adrienne Theatre.<span style=""> </span>Benjamin Lloyd directed, ran from June 3 to 7, 2009.<span style=""> </span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-34881139324168288912009-06-09T09:30:00.000-07:002009-07-06T22:00:42.797-07:00Review of PA Ballet's La Sylphide and Barber Violin Concerto<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaSacFhlPXz2jPVQf8eueq6ohmxHXQ-ovUmlNMSnAwYKSdmdYf2GgEOxWOaNZ4F_3xZKzk2DHG3jZyI9had5oJKF5cIeoRSIMlXeUOuvRtUuWr_IkBMqHoJGBXmGQc07qgibpMw/s1600-h/Sylphide+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345366659375048338" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; width: 300px; cursor: pointer; height: 166px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaSacFhlPXz2jPVQf8eueq6ohmxHXQ-ovUmlNMSnAwYKSdmdYf2GgEOxWOaNZ4F_3xZKzk2DHG3jZyI9had5oJKF5cIeoRSIMlXeUOuvRtUuWr_IkBMqHoJGBXmGQc07qgibpMw/s320/Sylphide+1.JPG" border="0" /></a>Full article published in the <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/pennsylvania_ballets_sylphide_and_barber_violin_concerto/">Broad Street Review</a>:
<p class="MsoNormal">
The Pennsylvania Ballet presents Auguste Bournonville’s La Sylphide and the company premiere of Peter Martins’ <i>Barber Violin Concerto</i>.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>At the Academy of Music until June 13.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><a href="http://www.paballet.org/">www.paballet.org
</a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The Pennsylvania Ballet looked to close their 45<sup>th</sup> Anniversary Season through a much-hyped restaging of Bournonville’s <i>La Sylphide</i>, last performed by the company 21 years ago.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>But Sylphide’s lackluster staging floundered in comparison to the brilliantly executed company premiere of Peter Martins’ <em>Barber Violin Concerto.
</em></p><p><em></em>To read the full article, click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/pennsylvania_ballets_sylphide_and_barber_violin_concerto/">here</a>.</p>
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p>Watch a clip of the Pennsylvania Ballet performing<span style="font-style: italic;"> La Sylphide</span>:
</p><p><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jFJQ3OnTQwo&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jFJQ3OnTQwo&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>
</p>
Below, a clip of the Ballet performing Martins' <span style="font-style: italic;">Barber Violin Concerto</span>:
<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zqhMZQtlnOo&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zqhMZQtlnOo&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-36307094551474694232009-06-09T09:25:00.000-07:002009-06-15T08:12:34.211-07:00Olive Prince's "Serenade" at the nEW Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGexWNODy4vPCNGTA7NJrAXyUrvd-6SHBeSnFsPa5smH9qFyjBvTm7-JxU5c8omPNrmR5o0vlVLVYHTUTLKg35WT9Co8ODYJ8mJX9IXF8y-DHZxRmmI62gLsP7s8qhn8yLa7gbMQ/s1600-h/Brown+and+Browning+in+Serenade+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345365395134449842" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 190px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGexWNODy4vPCNGTA7NJrAXyUrvd-6SHBeSnFsPa5smH9qFyjBvTm7-JxU5c8omPNrmR5o0vlVLVYHTUTLKg35WT9Co8ODYJ8mJX9IXF8y-DHZxRmmI62gLsP7s8qhn8yLa7gbMQ/s320/Brown+and+Browning+in+Serenade+2.jpg" border="0" /></a>Forthcoming article in the <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/">Broad Street Review</a> (photo by Bill Hebert):
<p class="MsoNormal">
“Serenade” and “once i lived in a cardboard portal” by Olive Prince;<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>nEW Festival 2009 Performance Program, June 3-7, 2009, at the University of the Arts Dance Theater at the Drake.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span><a href="http://www.newfestival.net/">http://www.newfestival.net/</a><span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">When my sister and I were kids, my dad used to hold us on his knee and sing “you are my sunshine…my only sunshine” to us.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Thinking about this recently, I wondered about the despair a person would feel losing someone—a child or a lover—held as their central point and reason for living.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Olive Prince’s overpowering Serenade made me feel just how devastating that loss would be.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">By contrast, "once i lived in a cardboard portal" displayed one more disappointing parody of the subtle, dreary melancholy of corporate America's productive contributions derided while nonetheless being tapped to fund an artwork that mocks them.<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">To read the full review, click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/olive_princes_serenade">here</a>. </p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-23489320947564028742009-06-09T09:08:00.000-07:002009-06-14T03:25:18.195-07:00Jaamil Kosoko's Virus at the nEW Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhz3TJX3PqYNzLI-zBCyfTuScjTwFjRCPRTE3NJGLEpGrADAhD-7M-vlo1w_IzmkZLjeDjhfEyY6ZxJOON1E97ahB-jPd8dkTRQhaHnDQ7gHy-N6_W4Ofa_LfsBW3DBChaLBv7A/s1600-h/Marshall-Lively+and+Wilson+in+Virus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhz3TJX3PqYNzLI-zBCyfTuScjTwFjRCPRTE3NJGLEpGrADAhD-7M-vlo1w_IzmkZLjeDjhfEyY6ZxJOON1E97ahB-jPd8dkTRQhaHnDQ7gHy-N6_W4Ofa_LfsBW3DBChaLBv7A/s320/Marshall-Lively+and+Wilson+in+Virus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345363917233910386" border="0" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal">Forthcoming article in the <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/">Broad Street Review</a>:
</p><p>Jaamil Kosoko’s <i style="">Virus</i>, as part of the nEW Festival 2009 Performance Program, June 3-7, 2009, at the University of the Arts Dance Theater at the Drake.<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.newfestival.net/">www.newfestival.net
</a> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For just over $20,000, Canadian-born engineer <a href="http://www.projectaiko.com/">Le Trung</a> recently built what some are calling the first <a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article2023392.ece">viable robotic companion</a>: Aiko, a robot who can <span style="" lang="EN">recognize speech, voices, face, motion, objects, and solve math problems.<span style=""> </span>Sensors underneath her silicone skin enable her to mimic pain while programming gives her the ability to avoid it in the future.<span style=""> </span></span>In the videos, she looks more human than she acts (or sounds), appearing like a hybrid of human flesh built upon a factory-floor machine interior.<span style=""> </span>
</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Judging by the dystopic feel of Jaamil Kosoko’s <i style="">Virus</i>, contemporary Homo sapiens have been such a mixture for quite some time.<span style=""> </span>
</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To read the full review, click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/jaamil_kosokos_virus_at_uarts">here</a>.
</p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-24651865333642975822009-03-24T19:12:00.000-07:002009-03-24T19:18:16.838-07:00Review of Born Yesterday at the Walnut Street Theatre<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZ82fhPI_p3Qe-9JwOT2oMxW7MoWGs7griJ3PzE25ggcAoKmNVODmtUaWkmTnMtqutPauq6KzF3DEFGjeqVhA-yilqpodXcjJUXA-AF6fpFN5pGKPuWDGZmkLeIU3BkOoy6-ZfQ/s1600-h/bornyesterday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZ82fhPI_p3Qe-9JwOT2oMxW7MoWGs7griJ3PzE25ggcAoKmNVODmtUaWkmTnMtqutPauq6KzF3DEFGjeqVhA-yilqpodXcjJUXA-AF6fpFN5pGKPuWDGZmkLeIU3BkOoy6-ZfQ/s320/bornyesterday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316943702488588882" border="0" /></a>
First published at Edge Philadelphia:
<p><span class="body">An old philosophy problem asks "What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?"
<p><span class="body">Put the pair on stage and throw a woman between them and the answer is Garson Kanin’s comedy <span style="font-style: italic;">Born Yesterday</span>, now in a very funny, if heavily caricatured production at the Walnut Street Theatre.
<p><span class="body">In Kanin’s 1946 classic, the ruthless scrap-metal magnate Harry Brock (Marco Verna) and his 100k-a-year lawyer Ed (David Hess) go to Washington. In the aftermath of WWII, Brock wants to corner the market on Europe’s scrap iron, and plans to bribe (if not outright bully) Senator Hedges (Greg Wood) to skirt the tariffs, regulations, and red tape that stand in the way.
<p><span class="body">But Brock runs headfirst into Paul Verrall (Darren Michael Hengst), an idealistic young reporter who still believes in the Constitutional underpinnings and principles of democracy even if everyone else in the nation’s capital suffers from "don’t care-ism." Initially disguising his plans in the form of a standard interview, Verrall really wants to expose the illegal activities fueling Brock’s corporation.
<p><span class="body">After the first meeting with the Senator and his wife (Susan Wilder), Brock’s idiotic chorus girl girlfriend Billie Dawn (Kate Fahrner) nearly kills the deal every time she opens her mouth, and if Brock’s going to succeed in "a town of respectable fronts," Ed suggests that he either dump her or marry her. The problem: to cover Brock’s illegal activity, the pair has bullied Billie into becoming the dummy head (literally) of most of his corporations, and he can’t give her the brush-off because "she owns more of him than he does." So the bull-headed industrialist suggests that Verrall tutors her, and in two months time, Billie’s crammed her hotel suite full of books, and traded her nasally voice for measured speech, her jazz for classical, and is thinking of trading in her irresistible capitalist for Verrall’s immovable idealism.
<p></span></span></span></span></span><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body">The Walnut’s production (and in fairness, Kanin’s play) accentuates the comedy (and tension) by relying heavily on caricatures: mobster-like businessmen clashing with fearless journalists, remorse-filled lawyers driven to drunken hobnobbing with pushover Senators, and a gun moll chorus girl delighted to be stupid so long as she has her two mink coats. And while the play’s clearly a poke at American-style corruption (in Italy, and elsewhere, the bribes really are commonplace), director Mark Clements steers clear of the class-envy and social commentary to find the straightforward laughs that Born Yesterday offers in abundance. Picture <span style="font-style: italic;">My Fair Lady</span> meets <span style="font-style: italic;">Goodfellas</span>, minus the showtunes and murders, and you get the idea.
<p><span class="body">And in every case but Verna’s, the caricatures hit their humorous targets. Fahrner’s simply adorable, both in her initial idiocy (who wouldn’t want to keep her around) and in her later change of heart, and Wood’s wincing reactions to her blunt outbursts mark some of the first act’s funnier moments. Hess’ drunken former District Attorney ably reflects the shifting moral balance on stage and in the audience, where even Brock’s bullying and later complaints of ingratitude found laughter and sympathy.
<p><span class="body">But while Hengst find the right balance of fearfulness and sincerity that backs up every set of untested ideals, Verna’s characterization is less interesting, and too big for the rest of the performances. In a voice that’s part Vito Corleone and part every role ever played by Al Pacino, Verna screeches his way through all of the play’s moments with a booming intensity that he never modulates. Sometimes, he’s funny, but it’s the lines he delivers ("there’s only one Mrs. Brock, and she’s dead") more than his acting that scores the laughter.
<p><span class="body">Todd Edward Ivins’ utterly magnificent hotel penthouse set recalls the grandeur of a more gilded age, where lush divans and dark wood relax the eyes even as (faux) marble columns shoot up to forty-foot ceilings and abut a spectacular windowed view looking down on the Capitol Building (and nicely representing the position Brock came to Washington to attain). In line with the caricatured characterizations, Colleen Grady bedecks Brock in forceful pinstriped suits (and a gorgeous cream colored coat), dresses Verrall in more humble plaids, and when Fahrner first walks onto the set, her gorgeous hair, makeup, and dress only completes the sense of 40’s era glamour that the Walnut’s production values create.
<p><span class="body">And as for who wins the age old question? As Verrall himself puts it, "the war leaves everything the same in DC."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-85444875746658716202009-03-24T19:10:00.001-07:002009-03-24T19:20:00.284-07:00Comparative review of Simpatico's Long Day's Journey Into Night and Temple Theatre's Caucasian Chalk CirlceIn a season stuffed with new play events— 87 world or Philadelphia premieres— I was gratified to see two revivals of modern classics: Simpatico’s brilliant staging of Eugene O’Neill’s<i> Long Day’s Journey Into Night,</i> and Temple University’s excellently staged yet overwrought production of Bertolt Brecht’s <i>Caucasian Chalk Circle</i>. Between them, the pair painted thoroughly distinct (and for Brecht, thoroughly surprising) views of the family.
<p>To read the full article, published at the Broad Street Review, click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/long_days_journey_and_caucasian_chalk_circle/">here</a>.
</p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-16672162693794581112009-03-24T19:01:00.000-07:002009-03-24T19:09:21.473-07:00Review of Road at Curio Theatre<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfANkTefUsDVrEOfKmcmoVBkliOdgKxRaNYWGYodlQtoKzhshB-J6DTRTKvcHw1MXaVaEEBHeUCaZUzZ6RT0o2ex-LgIEIV8XAfwr8G6D4pZRjTdglfNZcF4xMrnUjMWvbMYkIA/s1600-h/Road.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfANkTefUsDVrEOfKmcmoVBkliOdgKxRaNYWGYodlQtoKzhshB-J6DTRTKvcHw1MXaVaEEBHeUCaZUzZ6RT0o2ex-LgIEIV8XAfwr8G6D4pZRjTdglfNZcF4xMrnUjMWvbMYkIA/s320/Road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316940689905446210" border="0" /></a>
First published in Edge Phialdelphia:
<p><span class="body">Besides loving company, misery delivers ratings, because if nothing else, it’s usually interesting to watch. And judging from the tone of newspaper editorials, congressional outrage, and talking heads on television, some people clearly delight in the current economic crisis.
<p>They’re the same people who would enjoy Jim Cartwright’s <span style="font-style: italic;" class="bulletslug">Road</span>, now in a stilted, uneven production at Curio Theatre Company. Cartwright penned his play during the severe depression that afflicted England in the early-to-mid-1980s, when that country’s unemployment rates hit 20%. With the playwright’s permission, director Gay Carducci transferred the setting to 2009 West Philadelphia. And while America’s current "economic crisis" hasn’t reached anything near those numbers, a sense of relevance mostly permeates Curio’s staging.
</p><p>Beyond a broken street sign that juts from a corner of the stage, Paul Kuhn’s disparate set pieces appears like a graveyard of props-crumbling flophouses, littered curbsides, and sparsely furnished interiors-and show a world that’s familiar to any Philadelphian who ventures outside of Center City. Prostitutes and pushers roam the streets, petty thieves snag their loot from pockets, and young and old alike bury their heads in local taverns.
</p><p>Here, a young hooligan named Scullery (Newton Buchanan) narrates through a depressing series of vignettes, drawing a perverse comparison to the similar role played by the Stage Manager in Our Town. Clare (Chelsea Bulack) whines about missing her "little office job which she loved so much," Carol (Erika Hicks) wants something different than being pawned over night after night, and the crazy Mrs. Bald (Aetna Gallagher) trades songs for cigarettes or a swig of liquor from Scullery’s bottle. A mother smokes (despite the oxygen tube under her nose), women sell their bodies to keep their kids clothed, and even in a rotten economy, people still have money enough to drink.
</p><p>The former sociology Professor (Kuhn), who first came to West Philly to record the suffering, now drags his files like a cross, and Ken Opdenaker’s skinhead reminds of the ethnic hatreds that often fragment neighborhoods in tough economic times. Clearly, all of these different individuals (the cast plays more than two-dozen roles) share a lack of jobs, dwindling resources, and diminishing hope. While some characters consider alternate economic models (communism, what else?), in the best single performance of the night, Joey (Delanté G. Keys) tries to escape through a hunger strike, his starvation a protest against the failings of a mixed economy.
</p><p>Despite many fine moments and a sense of relevance that might otherwise engage, the production drags for one simple reason: it’s not funny. Cartwright built plenty of moments of humor into the script; when a prostitute offers her services for ten dollars, her john counters "that’s not very much," to which she replies, "maybe I’m not very much either." I laughed, hearing the jaded sense of humor the script intends but which Carducci’s production never managed to capture. As a result, one depressing scenario leads into another, ad nauseum, lacking the rolling momentum that even bits of comedy could have easily provided to buoy one scene into the next.
</p><p>I can’t blame Carducci entirely. Few in the audience laughed at anything. Most likely, seeing the misery on stage, they felt afraid to indulge the jokes that did succeed. And unlike similar characters (think Mack the Knife), Buchanan’s rascal offers little charm or charisma to make theatergoers feel at ease enough to indulge the humor.
</p><p>Despite solid production values in Jon Bulack’s original score and sound design and Jared Reed’s sharp lighting, Carducci and his cast "choke on the bitterness," in the script and this "Road" offers nothing but <a href="http://nymag.com/news/intelligencer/53858/"><i>pessimism porn</i></a> at its most exemplary. Scullery tells us early on "you can’t escape." Maybe not, but I wanted to.</p></span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-74410573896962292362009-03-24T18:51:00.000-07:002009-03-24T19:10:08.783-07:00Review of William Shakespeare's Land of the Dead at Plays and Players<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6pVZcgTFFMM7HRF5vQgFRBWam-JXShKv73vRYUfpEefvh5gdkuJTuiNTqBJUe6YfJLpRLzbceVjZDCmIKjxcQhjzRBSAPkrMd1vRGh43nAQLDqWKF9AWF4dFdLxCu-Hv2DI64Q/s1600-h/LOD.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio6pVZcgTFFMM7HRF5vQgFRBWam-JXShKv73vRYUfpEefvh5gdkuJTuiNTqBJUe6YfJLpRLzbceVjZDCmIKjxcQhjzRBSAPkrMd1vRGh43nAQLDqWKF9AWF4dFdLxCu-Hv2DI64Q/s320/LOD.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316939118860586178" border="0" /></a>
First published in Edge Philadelphia:
<p><span class="body">The real question isn’t whether <span class="bulletslug">John Heimbuch’s <span style="font-style: italic;">William Shakespeare’s Land of the Dead</span> (LOD)</span> is good or bad. The real question is whether or not it deserves the frequently heard comparisons to "The Rocky Horror Show."
<p><span class="body">Judging from audience reaction at both shows, theatergoers love both plays precisely for their moments of goodness and badness - relative terms for anything camp - of which "LOD" offers many. And like the cult-classic musical, most of the crowd who showed up for "LOD" appeared in costume, sporting zombie face-paint, bite marks, and blood soaked skin and clothing (one inventive young woman came dressed as a "zombie Dorothy," complete with a stuffed flying monkey biting her neck).
<p><span class="body">And like "Rocky Horror," Heimbuch’s play offers plenty of undead creatures. Billed as "A true and accurate account of the 1599 zombie plague that spread to the Globe Playhouse," "LOD" opens in the backstage area of Shakespeare’s theatre (sharply rendered by Lance Moore’s set), moments after the premiere of "Henry V." Former company member Will Kemp (Ryan Walter) sneaks in the backdoor, hoping to join the after-party at a nearby tavern. When Shakespeare (a very whiny Daniel Student) catches him (like a cat, Kemp wears jester’s bells), they immediately begin a bitter rehash of why Shakespeare kicked the Falstaff-playing actor out of the company. The peace-making lead thespian Richard Burbage (excellently played by David Stanger) tries to quell their quarreling, but not before reigniting jealousies over his current (and Shakespeare’s former) lover Kate (a delicate Molly Casey).
<p><span class="body">Meticulously researched, "LOD" offers quite a history lesson, and its own (mostly humorous) solutions to the academic speculations on Shakespeare’s identity and who exactly wrote all of the Bard’s plays. Francis Bacon (the stellar Paul McElwee) tries to convince Shakespeare to put his name on "Falstaff in Love," to which the Bard replies "but what if later, people think that you wrote my other plays" (as some academics do). Throw in a few dozen lines from Shakespeare’s collected works (not hard to miss, and the audience can rack up points), the labored appearance of Queen Elizabeth (Tanya Lazar, mostly mimicking Judi Dench’s Oscar-winning performance, which isn’t a bad thing) and her consort Robert Cecil (Dan Higbee); but despite some well-turned jokes, the production began to teeter on the verge of boredom.
<p></p></span></p></span></p></span></p></span><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body"><span class="body">And after about twenty minutes, the audience’s wait for the zombies was palpable, and they greeted the first arrival of the undead with catcalls and cheers. Burbage quickly dispatched this member of the undead-class, but not before she turned on the crowd and doused them with a mouthful of blood (the theatre provided huge plastic sheets to cover the first three rows). As wave after wave of zombies flooded into the Globe, Shoshanna Hill and Owen Timoney’s sharp fight choreography coupled with exploding dye-packs ratcheted the level of intensity back to bloodlust, and the audience - like at any performance of "Rocky Horror"- began calling out their own responses to the lines and cries for more blood, more action, and more zombies.
<p><span class="body">But unlike "Rocky Horror," Heimbuch’s play tries to balance the horror-camp with nerdy history and linguistic debates and an agonizing second half plot. Doctor Dee (Tom Blair) wants to retrieve his liquid metaphysic (undead cure), Bacon demands that everyone stay to protect the Queen, and Shakespeare again vents about his hatred for Kemp and reasons for killing off Falstaff. And while Bill Egan’s direction captures the moments of humor (including some fun physical comedy), he can’t speed quickly enough through these intervals of tedium and get the zombies back on stage.
<p><span class="body">Because like it or not, the crowd came to get covered in fake blood while watching zombies and humans maul each other. The rest, to paraphrase the Bard, might as well have been silence, and the Elizabethan-era premise merely provides a bit of fascinating, legitimizing reason for going to the theatre.
<p><span class="body">But despite the occasional drift into near-boredom, in many ways, "LOD" deserves a comparison to "Rocky Horror," which in any production offers tedious over-camp and disbelief-breaking implausibility (like the ray-gun scene). And while "LOD" may not offer the "Time Warp," for most of the two-hours, it thrills with kick-ass fighting and sharp (if campy) humor.
</span></p></span></p></span></p></span></span></span></span></span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-18972562398006586512009-03-10T03:12:00.000-07:002009-03-10T14:12:14.682-07:00Photo essay of the 2009 Arnold Classic Sports Festival WeekendBelow, a photo essay to accompany my article on the 2009 Arnold Classic (the fitness expo weekend hosted by Arnold Schwarzenegger), currently published at the Broad Street Review (click <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/bodybuilders_and_the_rest_of_us">here</a> to read).
<table summary="Employees of the Design Department" border="1">
<tbody> <tr><td colspan="2">Some shots from inside the main expo hall. Try to find anyone who doesn't look physically fit.
</td></tr><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi447wMRhFELUHYSS9n6MPzD3zycr-4oxhKtrGxZNF-PNpdIkcmjY4urZ0yLPZkxsBhPBR51FsOC4jlILSrFdMTnEU7N-IDbODLTWq6egK9IIQR7aUFX_Z3FS4JuEamj4LfatuhKw/s1600-h/expo+main+hall2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi447wMRhFELUHYSS9n6MPzD3zycr-4oxhKtrGxZNF-PNpdIkcmjY4urZ0yLPZkxsBhPBR51FsOC4jlILSrFdMTnEU7N-IDbODLTWq6egK9IIQR7aUFX_Z3FS4JuEamj4LfatuhKw/s320/expo+main+hall2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311553324912485858" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggh0Bs5lcwBcjGYsdsRrgo8V-Ooj68uL5TNYC5mJMMuGW9abncgJ7u5ri8bCmHpsb9ciHYPrESTck0cVGirx69xbMLul7EwY90za3hn7irUUJulS-nez2Vb34mgPsZgeHV515Pww/s1600-h/expo+main+hall1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggh0Bs5lcwBcjGYsdsRrgo8V-Ooj68uL5TNYC5mJMMuGW9abncgJ7u5ri8bCmHpsb9ciHYPrESTck0cVGirx69xbMLul7EwY90za3hn7irUUJulS-nez2Vb34mgPsZgeHV515Pww/s320/expo+main+hall1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311553318885363042" border="0" /></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi447wMRhFELUHYSS9n6MPzD3zycr-4oxhKtrGxZNF-PNpdIkcmjY4urZ0yLPZkxsBhPBR51FsOC4jlILSrFdMTnEU7N-IDbODLTWq6egK9IIQR7aUFX_Z3FS4JuEamj4LfatuhKw/s1600-h/expo+main+hall2.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Anywhere but the Arnold, the encounter on the top would
be worth taking a picture of. At bottom, the cage that normally
houses men of this size and strength.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LJmewLl4m039ROasM9maugAvHYE000I3Uyw83pMxZ3wHSC0qtXtFYaEgx4MllL8XaFqB7fg6Zyt1HXn4bNx0HihuBpoMRQASzngdjHo8_bRE1SnEycDO_lVQBUW_s0m9rPxChw/s1600-h/anywhere+else+this+encounter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LJmewLl4m039ROasM9maugAvHYE000I3Uyw83pMxZ3wHSC0qtXtFYaEgx4MllL8XaFqB7fg6Zyt1HXn4bNx0HihuBpoMRQASzngdjHo8_bRE1SnEycDO_lVQBUW_s0m9rPxChw/s320/anywhere+else+this+encounter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311547693484490146" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmY8rrrZjdYWwfGDJf0EhyphenhyphenejjDQwllGoT9uXWdgT-54pGDKy40RlAElR0aWVLLFOj7h1u9xGpVEb_sMKekZCWuh3cebfNgaJb61qWOW2H4tGvcd0i4oCquw7Q5iVf50Ohcl1mo0A/s1600-h/lifters+behind+the+cage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmY8rrrZjdYWwfGDJf0EhyphenhyphenejjDQwllGoT9uXWdgT-54pGDKy40RlAElR0aWVLLFOj7h1u9xGpVEb_sMKekZCWuh3cebfNgaJb61qWOW2H4tGvcd0i4oCquw7Q5iVf50Ohcl1mo0A/s320/lifters+behind+the+cage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549988706646242" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmY8rrrZjdYWwfGDJf0EhyphenhyphenejjDQwllGoT9uXWdgT-54pGDKy40RlAElR0aWVLLFOj7h1u9xGpVEb_sMKekZCWuh3cebfNgaJb61qWOW2H4tGvcd0i4oCquw7Q5iVf50Ohcl1mo0A/s1600-h/lifters+behind+the+cage.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Two photos of "average guys," hawking their products.
Average for the Arnold Classic, that is. </td></tr>
<tr> <td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7Kgr5Mbq6DWHKtp4k73PHCiZCtYU80_Jnuj4pzOalC0dDjiz8x24eLtwXQdGYU1DjTvPyn8umxKQ0sOgSBQMJ9WQeZM_Wmcj4kwjHFtCG0h6S5rENmVu7IN8Cgl0mQ7XAY-o1Q/s1600-h/two+guys+hawking+products.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV7Kgr5Mbq6DWHKtp4k73PHCiZCtYU80_Jnuj4pzOalC0dDjiz8x24eLtwXQdGYU1DjTvPyn8umxKQ0sOgSBQMJ9WQeZM_Wmcj4kwjHFtCG0h6S5rENmVu7IN8Cgl0mQ7XAY-o1Q/s320/two+guys+hawking+products.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550991653349842" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYMmwrRI3dRkd_rAE_hOnJUitsfjOh87UlPMrlhDWao7i27PCK60WG8D7dLYomRJ05fIvLoA9UqX3NJgspX3O1QmcoZNtgnhA54ns4wsS7tZt321VqdqCUWNe3ApSyKOaEiw_ag/s1600-h/a+pair+of+regular+guys.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYMmwrRI3dRkd_rAE_hOnJUitsfjOh87UlPMrlhDWao7i27PCK60WG8D7dLYomRJ05fIvLoA9UqX3NJgspX3O1QmcoZNtgnhA54ns4wsS7tZt321VqdqCUWNe3ApSyKOaEiw_ag/s320/a+pair+of+regular+guys.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311526549731258882" border="0" /></a>
</td> <td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIYMmwrRI3dRkd_rAE_hOnJUitsfjOh87UlPMrlhDWao7i27PCK60WG8D7dLYomRJ05fIvLoA9UqX3NJgspX3O1QmcoZNtgnhA54ns4wsS7tZt321VqdqCUWNe3ApSyKOaEiw_ag/s1600-h/a+pair+of+regular+guys.jpg">
</a></td> </tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">This guy was pissed that I took his picture. Do you think
it's because he knows he's one of the smallest people in the room? </td></tr>
<tr> <td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FlZynZ3xvdNpm-T30M4QQGjLVWvK7apDbrPOb7R7-hCE2spvH-glnktnWJjDUiTAJO9a-MpRX3xJXvv7FQ_SHaSKJTbqyfxVVyfK2jxcDqUpFbsmIGWoAbK-FRmlsBOhAJK77Q/s1600-h/jacked+and+angry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FlZynZ3xvdNpm-T30M4QQGjLVWvK7apDbrPOb7R7-hCE2spvH-glnktnWJjDUiTAJO9a-MpRX3xJXvv7FQ_SHaSKJTbqyfxVVyfK2jxcDqUpFbsmIGWoAbK-FRmlsBOhAJK77Q/s320/jacked+and+angry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549976506674498" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh90iBH7Oa_RRAnhFPafAQgVlOPYMhknuLhalltTjNqU7rg1tjjUEljJAFvgHrw9kqWARgJggO4gis9TSYDk3AAjpQj5L9kZ8KlAC3S-7FFZqHMPtm0Aiso1h6Jtmgcpjw-ET3K5g/s1600-h/jacked+and+angry2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh90iBH7Oa_RRAnhFPafAQgVlOPYMhknuLhalltTjNqU7rg1tjjUEljJAFvgHrw9kqWARgJggO4gis9TSYDk3AAjpQj5L9kZ8KlAC3S-7FFZqHMPtm0Aiso1h6Jtmgcpjw-ET3K5g/s320/jacked+and+angry2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549981807047266" border="0" /></a>
</td> <td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh90iBH7Oa_RRAnhFPafAQgVlOPYMhknuLhalltTjNqU7rg1tjjUEljJAFvgHrw9kqWARgJggO4gis9TSYDk3AAjpQj5L9kZ8KlAC3S-7FFZqHMPtm0Aiso1h6Jtmgcpjw-ET3K5g/s1600-h/jacked+and+angry2.jpg">
</a></td> </tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">By contrast, here's two shots of one of the AMATEUR
bodybuilding competitors. Next to these guys, the
dude on his cell phone does look a bit tiny. </td></tr>
<tr> <td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaRj4lUZ7JmtD3k2nkbYKXfRjxJQo87ofeV5UcSN1wCpQCi1jLGP7ZML36eVBBqIpU4mxpA8Zjev6Pgh2mqHUImuEH2h9zG83M4rEWJBBCXtrphR2J8TZrHv8hI_ePHkdp_tycA/s1600-h/what+world+amateur+anything.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaRj4lUZ7JmtD3k2nkbYKXfRjxJQo87ofeV5UcSN1wCpQCi1jLGP7ZML36eVBBqIpU4mxpA8Zjev6Pgh2mqHUImuEH2h9zG83M4rEWJBBCXtrphR2J8TZrHv8hI_ePHkdp_tycA/s320/what+world+amateur+anything.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311551397398643250" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJU0Xo3rszrhB-jYnkeaBygUPdq8W1B90h0qxWH3Kw6etm8o3NXLERYOaeHsGtEwzEi3aQSVDsC3GDau0ap5kEWNXIP_HQLkO3VOZnaiNFv7yquascj62qbD5It5Vy-8z2cN4nZQ/s1600-h/an+amateur.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJU0Xo3rszrhB-jYnkeaBygUPdq8W1B90h0qxWH3Kw6etm8o3NXLERYOaeHsGtEwzEi3aQSVDsC3GDau0ap5kEWNXIP_HQLkO3VOZnaiNFv7yquascj62qbD5It5Vy-8z2cN4nZQ/s320/an+amateur.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311527173735652914" border="0" /></a>
</td> <td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJU0Xo3rszrhB-jYnkeaBygUPdq8W1B90h0qxWH3Kw6etm8o3NXLERYOaeHsGtEwzEi3aQSVDsC3GDau0ap5kEWNXIP_HQLkO3VOZnaiNFv7yquascj62qbD5It5Vy-8z2cN4nZQ/s1600-h/an+amateur.jpg">
</a></td> </tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Some more photos of the men's amateur bodybuilding competition. </td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DCGsMu81ZiwTikxSz-Sze8WvkLn0FMPPfiJab3Ke8iiCM8tliufGhfCDTzwicKC3esvaaX-O0LDkWICmy1M3dYCmvkuEnh63KPA6iq_qs4wNIDSfDd_hF0o3Kw28Ye1jj9QO9g/s1600-h/amateur+showdown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DCGsMu81ZiwTikxSz-Sze8WvkLn0FMPPfiJab3Ke8iiCM8tliufGhfCDTzwicKC3esvaaX-O0LDkWICmy1M3dYCmvkuEnh63KPA6iq_qs4wNIDSfDd_hF0o3Kw28Ye1jj9QO9g/s320/amateur+showdown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311527167128456402" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijfM_WsKNKxSKndKA3ArLOoIZTHxUUvqFqMu0BLhVzbxURYH-o31ibgHo8nD9F8G5thRGsiAue5VtqcOCWJJ740b7r5j4Ts9ojbdXmx5NsSlpCIkLE__HVN8NrmmjmaBQiUOZrA/s1600-h/amateurs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijfM_WsKNKxSKndKA3ArLOoIZTHxUUvqFqMu0BLhVzbxURYH-o31ibgHo8nD9F8G5thRGsiAue5VtqcOCWJJ740b7r5j4Ts9ojbdXmx5NsSlpCIkLE__HVN8NrmmjmaBQiUOZrA/s320/amateurs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311527168725418978" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijfM_WsKNKxSKndKA3ArLOoIZTHxUUvqFqMu0BLhVzbxURYH-o31ibgHo8nD9F8G5thRGsiAue5VtqcOCWJJ740b7r5j4Ts9ojbdXmx5NsSlpCIkLE__HVN8NrmmjmaBQiUOZrA/s1600-h/amateurs.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">But what about the women? Here's how they dress at
the Arnold. (note how the one on the bottom still slightly
resembles a "traditionally pretty" girl.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYmyRDSKaBW4XamHf3cGJluFMzNAVqpgs81pboC8wBQqmIV0b7vn7kmIgptgLy4SrEDiZ_gG-4h7J6VktxCEN4N47w0OFykoSAqRmVtXPoRyTO0iNHjyZA9_4UAwz4M-OO5w9Ug/s1600-h/two+girls+in+the+expo+hall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 205px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYmyRDSKaBW4XamHf3cGJluFMzNAVqpgs81pboC8wBQqmIV0b7vn7kmIgptgLy4SrEDiZ_gG-4h7J6VktxCEN4N47w0OFykoSAqRmVtXPoRyTO0iNHjyZA9_4UAwz4M-OO5w9Ug/s320/two+girls+in+the+expo+hall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550994416823090" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuLjht8TICQOIe-jiJGoO790qtECRmez5tRlcbwMowb_o3MPEeUg3DaEjNyRxkQphohXoyc479sLMqeuRARs_bb1l9kje5FaQhnIP5vec-r481j-c18N6WFKOURBBP65m1_KbSg/s1600-h/a+bit+closer+to+normal.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 139px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuLjht8TICQOIe-jiJGoO790qtECRmez5tRlcbwMowb_o3MPEeUg3DaEjNyRxkQphohXoyc479sLMqeuRARs_bb1l9kje5FaQhnIP5vec-r481j-c18N6WFKOURBBP65m1_KbSg/s320/a+bit+closer+to+normal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311526537516550258" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuLjht8TICQOIe-jiJGoO790qtECRmez5tRlcbwMowb_o3MPEeUg3DaEjNyRxkQphohXoyc479sLMqeuRARs_bb1l9kje5FaQhnIP5vec-r481j-c18N6WFKOURBBP65m1_KbSg/s1600-h/a+bit+closer+to+normal.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">At the Arnold, I looked everywhere to find good examples
of women who would count as traditionally pretty--that
is, not overly-muscled, and with un-adrogenized faces
(and ranked as 8 or above, looks-wise). These two are
the best I could find:
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivi__nXb_68fOKvTQrl7UYd654jw6PH5RE6CSFyQky5DLQE_R1hfQG5NExQMJsQ7T7Oe1NshSht0u24Z6gnXQfFBxLT3K6Fdt2bkNBJXnRM9RZK506CrofoNKx8GpBR6jc23GQDg/s1600-h/for+your+comparison+a+traditionally+pretty+girl.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivi__nXb_68fOKvTQrl7UYd654jw6PH5RE6CSFyQky5DLQE_R1hfQG5NExQMJsQ7T7Oe1NshSht0u24Z6gnXQfFBxLT3K6Fdt2bkNBJXnRM9RZK506CrofoNKx8GpBR6jc23GQDg/s320/for+your+comparison+a+traditionally+pretty+girl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549424911906258" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V6lojlIj67wVdHNI3TTzhg3OykIaKGMdZESO-kktwTYkEKpCil_HcWdqthChHLgGTV6igKrGIL9R7d0HqkXN1PwuepV8FpqBgHbK1jRXkZVN0lQ_Bz1j5jsdM39cyXTodIIYrQ/s1600-h/traditionally+pretty.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V6lojlIj67wVdHNI3TTzhg3OykIaKGMdZESO-kktwTYkEKpCil_HcWdqthChHLgGTV6igKrGIL9R7d0HqkXN1PwuepV8FpqBgHbK1jRXkZVN0lQ_Bz1j5jsdM39cyXTodIIYrQ/s320/traditionally+pretty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550985574032402" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V6lojlIj67wVdHNI3TTzhg3OykIaKGMdZESO-kktwTYkEKpCil_HcWdqthChHLgGTV6igKrGIL9R7d0HqkXN1PwuepV8FpqBgHbK1jRXkZVN0lQ_Bz1j5jsdM39cyXTodIIYrQ/s1600-h/traditionally+pretty.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">These next two are moving in the opposite direction. Still
attractive, but with severely musculated physiques, and
yet still nowhere near the level of physical specimen on
display at the Arnold:
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwoR_k6FnuTMjV_SaEcxhtAGOnzhGIEuzL3kHva3jQPb1H0Y6HWe1WEvp9bmvHSrFjHorYgyLPS8ZO1jDpj5on6-HQimH5YF9nGDZeFG2jV78iFeJvvUdBryO3yCL9Ukq806csA/s1600-h/but+is+she+pretty.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwoR_k6FnuTMjV_SaEcxhtAGOnzhGIEuzL3kHva3jQPb1H0Y6HWe1WEvp9bmvHSrFjHorYgyLPS8ZO1jDpj5on6-HQimH5YF9nGDZeFG2jV78iFeJvvUdBryO3yCL9Ukq806csA/s320/but+is+she+pretty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311548966432683986" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKP2YLaBf8Owxn6T10i1o5CdoUkhmB7JNeTfbXQXenohclsjhvIpxQhDukUw1EzQU7HnaiIugnoADaQwMz3BuaCDRPbGhFGU03hXE2ajQ5YP1dDsyAVEYMuvcEWwTE0GqlYwtCUQ/s1600-h/hottie+or+nottie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKP2YLaBf8Owxn6T10i1o5CdoUkhmB7JNeTfbXQXenohclsjhvIpxQhDukUw1EzQU7HnaiIugnoADaQwMz3BuaCDRPbGhFGU03hXE2ajQ5YP1dDsyAVEYMuvcEWwTE0GqlYwtCUQ/s320/hottie+or+nottie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549655526391538" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKP2YLaBf8Owxn6T10i1o5CdoUkhmB7JNeTfbXQXenohclsjhvIpxQhDukUw1EzQU7HnaiIugnoADaQwMz3BuaCDRPbGhFGU03hXE2ajQ5YP1dDsyAVEYMuvcEWwTE0GqlYwtCUQ/s1600-h/hottie+or+nottie.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Below, a step further. The one on top offers the perfect
mix of silicone and leather; the one on the bottom has started
to redefine the boundaries of the female species.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKZi3yvfri5CEhphVOREEXtzo0DT_oG6f2y3xxdQLLqzXDxow-L3hQl8Yks0NhCMzx_7kiqGc5jvKsrchCBLAgjz9RKDC6b9rMGqS6SMP2Dc4lbHSQd3lOR45RgKQ33uDz0u7sA/s1600-h/leather+and+silicone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKZi3yvfri5CEhphVOREEXtzo0DT_oG6f2y3xxdQLLqzXDxow-L3hQl8Yks0NhCMzx_7kiqGc5jvKsrchCBLAgjz9RKDC6b9rMGqS6SMP2Dc4lbHSQd3lOR45RgKQ33uDz0u7sA/s320/leather+and+silicone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549984414016082" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ezMXm3Q4RRIokiVJF6eOEc-u8WgwDqbMRHKJa7i1gBvEmbQX_cfwnCs-hnHXDDcw8A4hP9uXD32bijS9OyLojd6udQAsbONagJiVT45cmSwJZh5UAtd5fz7KqCeHd6ZUPxH91w/s1600-h/time+for+a+new+scale+of+beauty.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ezMXm3Q4RRIokiVJF6eOEc-u8WgwDqbMRHKJa7i1gBvEmbQX_cfwnCs-hnHXDDcw8A4hP9uXD32bijS9OyLojd6udQAsbONagJiVT45cmSwJZh5UAtd5fz7KqCeHd6ZUPxH91w/s320/time+for+a+new+scale+of+beauty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550747622908258" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ezMXm3Q4RRIokiVJF6eOEc-u8WgwDqbMRHKJa7i1gBvEmbQX_cfwnCs-hnHXDDcw8A4hP9uXD32bijS9OyLojd6udQAsbONagJiVT45cmSwJZh5UAtd5fz7KqCeHd6ZUPxH91w/s1600-h/time+for+a+new+scale+of+beauty.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">I'm not even sure what's in the next picture. But notice the "normal"
girl in the bottom photo checking out the severely defined
oblique muscles of the blonde.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRI9Ue9e4ZmtEFBzapehnphZ6chHFc6oKvu1VLkRWcc4Uc93lqnnaUn_VG3WH8AMupRoIVjqxoeIx7LB60h825RwoFI-ShicwTg09RtD4OODP79RPFhGCHk9I5E5xCKUsHKc80SQ/s1600-h/what+is+it.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRI9Ue9e4ZmtEFBzapehnphZ6chHFc6oKvu1VLkRWcc4Uc93lqnnaUn_VG3WH8AMupRoIVjqxoeIx7LB60h825RwoFI-ShicwTg09RtD4OODP79RPFhGCHk9I5E5xCKUsHKc80SQ/s320/what+is+it.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550995593232162" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_XDzlVc5tsASem4rlpeF9Wp6xoPWs8VMx_9FHKXzW_LRv25ORpYcMJoSBA2awjDXUjGzHKpUQR-dWKwWDiufX30MO4t3hXNvuyDEfmAMCDuUotVSUL6ejrl1weeb62I96dPeYA/s1600-h/a+normal+checking+out+those+obliques.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 167px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_XDzlVc5tsASem4rlpeF9Wp6xoPWs8VMx_9FHKXzW_LRv25ORpYcMJoSBA2awjDXUjGzHKpUQR-dWKwWDiufX30MO4t3hXNvuyDEfmAMCDuUotVSUL6ejrl1weeb62I96dPeYA/s320/a+normal+checking+out+those+obliques.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311526544768333730" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_XDzlVc5tsASem4rlpeF9Wp6xoPWs8VMx_9FHKXzW_LRv25ORpYcMJoSBA2awjDXUjGzHKpUQR-dWKwWDiufX30MO4t3hXNvuyDEfmAMCDuUotVSUL6ejrl1weeb62I96dPeYA/s1600-h/a+normal+checking+out+those+obliques.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Below, two photos from the AMATEUR Fitness competition.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQ90ysIlyAsUk5NVyeAyqm6uoXvec7I3nHRRVBqa1qISBQVC9HUTE8EfQed1R1vVxyFMjfd4IHV6DHdrisiFQrnshGrtNn7qJ5P_QOmdVwQU21pbIeUZGaMUFLCJ37AllXIzSpw/s1600-h/amateur+fitness+competitors+front.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQ90ysIlyAsUk5NVyeAyqm6uoXvec7I3nHRRVBqa1qISBQVC9HUTE8EfQed1R1vVxyFMjfd4IHV6DHdrisiFQrnshGrtNn7qJ5P_QOmdVwQU21pbIeUZGaMUFLCJ37AllXIzSpw/s320/amateur+fitness+competitors+front.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311526895716975586" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HC6Akcy14R6nFLG9-B6rSI-fOfgUtE1xofjVX-GjrvHFvbdWN22eqnhUfkBK3AsK3HJYkazj0_Tb6o35T0Ct59FOO0ESi2rR2-nsvXTcfAdp7Rhn8ZBGeXL0Ya36KnHvqTFP7Q/s1600-h/amateur+fitness+competitors+back.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HC6Akcy14R6nFLG9-B6rSI-fOfgUtE1xofjVX-GjrvHFvbdWN22eqnhUfkBK3AsK3HJYkazj0_Tb6o35T0Ct59FOO0ESi2rR2-nsvXTcfAdp7Rhn8ZBGeXL0Ya36KnHvqTFP7Q/s320/amateur+fitness+competitors+back.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311526891490961874" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HC6Akcy14R6nFLG9-B6rSI-fOfgUtE1xofjVX-GjrvHFvbdWN22eqnhUfkBK3AsK3HJYkazj0_Tb6o35T0Ct59FOO0ESi2rR2-nsvXTcfAdp7Rhn8ZBGeXL0Ya36KnHvqTFP7Q/s1600-h/amateur+fitness+competitors+back.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">And now it gets a little "freaky." Whatever the word "feminine"
used to connote, it loses all traditional meaning in these next
two photos of the women's AMATEUR bodybuilding competition.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOAOhuy4XojvmEF0VkoBFmvCGphgBh3ruGlpMshx53r4U7sJstQY1rEocRpumRT-ySv3jgLU_ghimkKLcK4JUmhE1dXGRiyP-6rgFNSdiji2q_SIZEGmD6PdIM9NHwiVBZXMVOQ/s1600-h/human+female+potential.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOAOhuy4XojvmEF0VkoBFmvCGphgBh3ruGlpMshx53r4U7sJstQY1rEocRpumRT-ySv3jgLU_ghimkKLcK4JUmhE1dXGRiyP-6rgFNSdiji2q_SIZEGmD6PdIM9NHwiVBZXMVOQ/s320/human+female+potential.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549661768430786" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9kOJ7g7kyY7jx73IVSQQ36RIB2J9s6-BQ2v65fKVZHr7u-mH1C5kF94GRziT86yy8WY_LiZB2zS-OH7fXUfMh-4xaHVV1P5Tzv8_-q6My4eW7ntuce1Qn1TDsus5V7OSC1Cevw/s1600-h/what+the.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 187px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9kOJ7g7kyY7jx73IVSQQ36RIB2J9s6-BQ2v65fKVZHr7u-mH1C5kF94GRziT86yy8WY_LiZB2zS-OH7fXUfMh-4xaHVV1P5Tzv8_-q6My4eW7ntuce1Qn1TDsus5V7OSC1Cevw/s320/what+the.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311551001764880914" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI9kOJ7g7kyY7jx73IVSQQ36RIB2J9s6-BQ2v65fKVZHr7u-mH1C5kF94GRziT86yy8WY_LiZB2zS-OH7fXUfMh-4xaHVV1P5Tzv8_-q6My4eW7ntuce1Qn1TDsus5V7OSC1Cevw/s1600-h/what+the.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">But really, how is a woman supposed to look? Compare the
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liv_Tyler">Liv Tyler</a> look-alike (and traditionally pretty woman in the
center of the top photo) to the four "hired-guns" who surround
her; then look at the three "super" models on the bottom. After a
weekend saturated with a more muscled version of women,
it became hard to tell what I still preferred.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhV27QXPHbAMxb8bbrLXsM5Nx_GJPTGOHkOXQroMKWUhSIE5YsjoTSUYer-lNCyFfRjdxnYSHJsx9N5l9Smxu8PXpE7_kcY3EH8xRZ0fYhAorkJsz7D24jMbjjw2P_cuamImjmcw/s1600-h/pretty+girl+and+four+hired+guns.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhV27QXPHbAMxb8bbrLXsM5Nx_GJPTGOHkOXQroMKWUhSIE5YsjoTSUYer-lNCyFfRjdxnYSHJsx9N5l9Smxu8PXpE7_kcY3EH8xRZ0fYhAorkJsz7D24jMbjjw2P_cuamImjmcw/s320/pretty+girl+and+four+hired+guns.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550190351625730" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5HEmzuJtfcwyWEneFaINpusGcqQr5N92OG-Ky5SoDTgWkBdH05LuqmUG6BH66K6RqK5VhaxKkP6FcS0M_b9Uwr5rZgIx0CPH-pBwv45RCnOgzCtCn_omAhp7kekB5XSKHRJC8g/s1600-h/super+models3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5HEmzuJtfcwyWEneFaINpusGcqQr5N92OG-Ky5SoDTgWkBdH05LuqmUG6BH66K6RqK5VhaxKkP6FcS0M_b9Uwr5rZgIx0CPH-pBwv45RCnOgzCtCn_omAhp7kekB5XSKHRJC8g/s320/super+models3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550442560465330" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5HEmzuJtfcwyWEneFaINpusGcqQr5N92OG-Ky5SoDTgWkBdH05LuqmUG6BH66K6RqK5VhaxKkP6FcS0M_b9Uwr5rZgIx0CPH-pBwv45RCnOgzCtCn_omAhp7kekB5XSKHRJC8g/s1600-h/super+models3.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Below: Beauty AND the Beast. By contrast, at bottom below is
Olympic weightlifting "hottie" (and current US Bobsled
Team Member) Ingrid Marcum. Is she how a woman should look?
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8wzLHdeFH6FyrL28MZ22Bw4tYtQ8bQJxWSojoygJVK5Cg6WX2vsX3vcT-bmOawvqhPZ8ylfMOptiB8Rwfj15vYWUeq4Nf5Uffwum6z7Y4CDTR5xJnXx4UP8DEKrLMyqNH6yOIg/s1600-h/beauty+and+the+beast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8wzLHdeFH6FyrL28MZ22Bw4tYtQ8bQJxWSojoygJVK5Cg6WX2vsX3vcT-bmOawvqhPZ8ylfMOptiB8Rwfj15vYWUeq4Nf5Uffwum6z7Y4CDTR5xJnXx4UP8DEKrLMyqNH6yOIg/s320/beauty+and+the+beast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311547717566998514" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_izHxCAOJLysLaGNM8ktY92cHvr2h0CZld3VCX7vSxoXqc6TTknZ7gvfwnTPwcMmWPHTLuDyu03b5hzRul1TMBxTrm4LsDaY7ljPcok-Gb-uepMTkw4mWMZL4mLqkvFwmRK3vQ/s1600-h/ingrid+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_izHxCAOJLysLaGNM8ktY92cHvr2h0CZld3VCX7vSxoXqc6TTknZ7gvfwnTPwcMmWPHTLuDyu03b5hzRul1TMBxTrm4LsDaY7ljPcok-Gb-uepMTkw4mWMZL4mLqkvFwmRK3vQ/s320/ingrid+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549666303606178" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV_izHxCAOJLysLaGNM8ktY92cHvr2h0CZld3VCX7vSxoXqc6TTknZ7gvfwnTPwcMmWPHTLuDyu03b5hzRul1TMBxTrm4LsDaY7ljPcok-Gb-uepMTkw4mWMZL4mLqkvFwmRK3vQ/s1600-h/ingrid+2.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">At the Arnold, it's not much easier to discern the ideal for men.
Below a very average specimen (the author) poses with former
Mr. Olympia Jay Cutler, who outweighs me by about 70 lbs.
At bottom, the far more athletic (and much lighter German Olympic
Team member completes a very easy 375lb Clean and Jerk.
Aesthetics does not always equal strength, even when it "looks better."
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhu37-0SrJN0oLzwWVllgCJx3TLB_5nY44IDH6I4pWg2z6lEuv0XzxjWgT1Dy_Y98zSeS2A_e190MULIHnkqMNd505RW2GWmTyoy-SSYLbbCrlZOfYFIQYhO8h85lSC5IDVY3T8g/s1600-h/me+and+Jay+Cutler.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhu37-0SrJN0oLzwWVllgCJx3TLB_5nY44IDH6I4pWg2z6lEuv0XzxjWgT1Dy_Y98zSeS2A_e190MULIHnkqMNd505RW2GWmTyoy-SSYLbbCrlZOfYFIQYhO8h85lSC5IDVY3T8g/s320/me+and+Jay+Cutler.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550175626268386" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezWluV3KcWomdB-vTYcF-EYSbjPvzich2dW_YW3IVmg0yLyZHbo0WKrGHgtPG9whyd-ZwJX-35PFaGLMyyJ-dxim2BkyV3oynqyKqO0xB96BE1tuXk3wKZtkET13HdWBUI5MjzA/s1600-h/german+olympian.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezWluV3KcWomdB-vTYcF-EYSbjPvzich2dW_YW3IVmg0yLyZHbo0WKrGHgtPG9whyd-ZwJX-35PFaGLMyyJ-dxim2BkyV3oynqyKqO0xB96BE1tuXk3wKZtkET13HdWBUI5MjzA/s320/german+olympian.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549433076672466" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhezWluV3KcWomdB-vTYcF-EYSbjPvzich2dW_YW3IVmg0yLyZHbo0WKrGHgtPG9whyd-ZwJX-35PFaGLMyyJ-dxim2BkyV3oynqyKqO0xB96BE1tuXk3wKZtkET13HdWBUI5MjzA/s1600-h/german+olympian.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Of course, it's possible to take both aesthetics and strength
to extremes. Below, Derek Poundstone, an incredibly fit
competitor who won the 2009 Arnold Strongman Challenge.
In these photos, he's hoisting over 970lbs off the floor to waist height.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4s2dCGll1Vtg6Phk4x4-WoTazVmW9CjW5HDgexBHFt9ECC4rCQ1_DGq-AS5ILew4LAmsvWq0pkdPjv4TEF6orCsm0nyUktfggHFXlLEOTquz9TIcFsY1DGZpQFWMIITNxtzV8_w/s1600-h/derek+poundstone1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4s2dCGll1Vtg6Phk4x4-WoTazVmW9CjW5HDgexBHFt9ECC4rCQ1_DGq-AS5ILew4LAmsvWq0pkdPjv4TEF6orCsm0nyUktfggHFXlLEOTquz9TIcFsY1DGZpQFWMIITNxtzV8_w/s320/derek+poundstone1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311548977719699682" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYqZJiPSGjtfnTrqW33ePLBFNeGg8XxgGCWNA3x8HuxNAmcHyE1XE8fuVCr0eGydwJA7iMjB-86x4IbCqjkgg8wzCipiWrI9QRbB0o-_HcwRKOyephvlhw1Hi5O5sa_974deP0w/s1600-h/derek+poundstone+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYqZJiPSGjtfnTrqW33ePLBFNeGg8XxgGCWNA3x8HuxNAmcHyE1XE8fuVCr0eGydwJA7iMjB-86x4IbCqjkgg8wzCipiWrI9QRbB0o-_HcwRKOyephvlhw1Hi5O5sa_974deP0w/s320/derek+poundstone+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311548982681425090" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYqZJiPSGjtfnTrqW33ePLBFNeGg8XxgGCWNA3x8HuxNAmcHyE1XE8fuVCr0eGydwJA7iMjB-86x4IbCqjkgg8wzCipiWrI9QRbB0o-_HcwRKOyephvlhw1Hi5O5sa_974deP0w/s1600-h/derek+poundstone+3.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Perhaps the worst part about a "body art" sport like bodybuilding
is the transient nature of the finished product. Even though he's
a far cry away from the anatomy lesson depicted below, 57-year
old Lou Ferrigno still looks jacked.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfO6faCvigsM1gS_mqwX-TEHeuLepb8yzVQ3BuqykH69BzkTo2g2AiQYrw-sO6-dRB8S7vYgfGLaUBVOsoLCCxeE0kYUGHZIw48tV4N9PbWZc7O8SNmXLSkcBVvzcV63UX8T2L1g/s1600-h/anatomy+class+in+session.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfO6faCvigsM1gS_mqwX-TEHeuLepb8yzVQ3BuqykH69BzkTo2g2AiQYrw-sO6-dRB8S7vYgfGLaUBVOsoLCCxeE0kYUGHZIw48tV4N9PbWZc7O8SNmXLSkcBVvzcV63UX8T2L1g/s320/anatomy+class+in+session.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311527178706661042" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfajTQsDIYJVWlJemPQRNJ-u89nMzHBz5jpq_USnonBZz6lEqLZ1IqEMphl7zp7TuHO10GoZ7drZHvMfBH4afwvqV9-tjMB6uwbjiZjaAqbnx7yJNwndbQrhpEAw-yQCEnK8R37w/s1600-h/Lou+Ferrigno+looking+jacked+at+57.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfajTQsDIYJVWlJemPQRNJ-u89nMzHBz5jpq_USnonBZz6lEqLZ1IqEMphl7zp7TuHO10GoZ7drZHvMfBH4afwvqV9-tjMB6uwbjiZjaAqbnx7yJNwndbQrhpEAw-yQCEnK8R37w/s320/Lou+Ferrigno+looking+jacked+at+57.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549991909506930" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfajTQsDIYJVWlJemPQRNJ-u89nMzHBz5jpq_USnonBZz6lEqLZ1IqEMphl7zp7TuHO10GoZ7drZHvMfBH4afwvqV9-tjMB6uwbjiZjaAqbnx7yJNwndbQrhpEAw-yQCEnK8R37w/s1600-h/Lou+Ferrigno+looking+jacked+at+57.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">But then, look at Frank Zane, in the photo (direct below)
taken in his prime, when he won the Mr. Olympia contest
(and looked carved out of marble). At bottom, he's a mere
shell of his former self, as if someone had etched a scar
across the Mona Lisa.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpm6OMWBuug7iUQdkDVQAWs9_A8bMFncazoTaozpf6dsWMRKQWzVs6OPPJazbMo-cYRoDuW80WVuvqwZc7YxORyn1ag7WMrFoWCi3YgogcvcZPxUGMjm81GsQwC43U8BkpdPal0w/s1600-h/FrankZane2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpm6OMWBuug7iUQdkDVQAWs9_A8bMFncazoTaozpf6dsWMRKQWzVs6OPPJazbMo-cYRoDuW80WVuvqwZc7YxORyn1ag7WMrFoWCi3YgogcvcZPxUGMjm81GsQwC43U8BkpdPal0w/s320/FrankZane2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311552828491108978" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdodx8rBV7tkoP0pTdVigBCPPBNjRclb7YD5Nuin7ZrWTQP5yaqZHKrYq9jU5nGVWaxsTePd_4MXelJGVjEXMpA7B3dlw6tcXXlsOB-a6UzGcSIgIyd1mYyNXr3EB8HSlTOR9sw/s1600-h/Frank+Zane+disguised+as+an+old+man.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdodx8rBV7tkoP0pTdVigBCPPBNjRclb7YD5Nuin7ZrWTQP5yaqZHKrYq9jU5nGVWaxsTePd_4MXelJGVjEXMpA7B3dlw6tcXXlsOB-a6UzGcSIgIyd1mYyNXr3EB8HSlTOR9sw/s320/Frank+Zane+disguised+as+an+old+man.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549427879239922" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVdodx8rBV7tkoP0pTdVigBCPPBNjRclb7YD5Nuin7ZrWTQP5yaqZHKrYq9jU5nGVWaxsTePd_4MXelJGVjEXMpA7B3dlw6tcXXlsOB-a6UzGcSIgIyd1mYyNXr3EB8HSlTOR9sw/s1600-h/Frank+Zane+disguised+as+an+old+man.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">But then again, not even the Governator looks too hot anymore.
I suppose, however, it's better than the two guys at bottom,
a pair of "freaks" who've never had it.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS71vwHdALfofuD7wswj5X0N79IHpMkRx_XGFeYm59L-i8FQjJTGJYKsWCQ2ek4zGzXw_UA006RUTQfqh8W6JYDRoxI0LvOQGbujbapVEJkezcvCfakgl5boer6Mj_kZK7_d38mQ/s1600-h/arnold+on+the+mainstage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS71vwHdALfofuD7wswj5X0N79IHpMkRx_XGFeYm59L-i8FQjJTGJYKsWCQ2ek4zGzXw_UA006RUTQfqh8W6JYDRoxI0LvOQGbujbapVEJkezcvCfakgl5boer6Mj_kZK7_d38mQ/s320/arnold+on+the+mainstage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311547698441314722" border="0" /></a>
<p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkr9GaSIF2cD0aekpQX3fCDyAJITO3egWPCNS6C1MdF-f1zWAYRTOuaCfl1mjc4p6CqaWlLhli4Cyr78LW0k6Uzhl-hx2q1FLOMWv3eW4jPjiw1PaB9QINIVxa5rXJzUcdeiMAGA/s1600-h/anorexia+not+in+attendance.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkr9GaSIF2cD0aekpQX3fCDyAJITO3egWPCNS6C1MdF-f1zWAYRTOuaCfl1mjc4p6CqaWlLhli4Cyr78LW0k6Uzhl-hx2q1FLOMWv3eW4jPjiw1PaB9QINIVxa5rXJzUcdeiMAGA/s320/anorexia+not+in+attendance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311527177768904114" border="0" /></a></p>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimP0BmGBTGaxZ88f0MITDmLEVcGCQdbEKixoh0C_PfL1PdSjdDr24qioU29OmoraMvTa9asqNMHSomhXP8BtndgBlisucXztAPh33JYzfpypXnLuHkRy6sO8AkEG63N5aXstdcrw/s1600-h/a+real+freak.jpg">
</a><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkr9GaSIF2cD0aekpQX3fCDyAJITO3egWPCNS6C1MdF-f1zWAYRTOuaCfl1mjc4p6CqaWlLhli4Cyr78LW0k6Uzhl-hx2q1FLOMWv3eW4jPjiw1PaB9QINIVxa5rXJzUcdeiMAGA/s1600-h/anorexia+not+in+attendance.jpg">
</a></p></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">The remainder of the shots consist of images I found interesting,
and I'll leave you first with four of me, your fearless reporter
who sided up to the "freaks" (and got fake tan all over his shirt).
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyptQ82gqMc1HDZqcI4e-STad4m9lOxb8rhQh6BdTFoE7jAwIMT8AgAl8ZdUjvhH_6R1s8PMC3TMrl1HzINCpbeRcA80kdtWam-m7OdGXM-izL4JcRYV5pVZArxXlzRal_v9O75Q/s1600-h/fearless+reporter2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyptQ82gqMc1HDZqcI4e-STad4m9lOxb8rhQh6BdTFoE7jAwIMT8AgAl8ZdUjvhH_6R1s8PMC3TMrl1HzINCpbeRcA80kdtWam-m7OdGXM-izL4JcRYV5pVZArxXlzRal_v9O75Q/s320/fearless+reporter2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549199330787970" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf-Ph9ctJGibulCqXqiTnOFMft7-kOtjnLzoFEnAdshv2ZHeYWxdse-ztWairQxXKmkZqfCbdR6tQWx1YZ45ypC6yc3rzqsvHrzq7MD-lgld5GLhhCVOqnVuky0tmRan7CTyxaA/s1600-h/fearless+reporter1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf-Ph9ctJGibulCqXqiTnOFMft7-kOtjnLzoFEnAdshv2ZHeYWxdse-ztWairQxXKmkZqfCbdR6tQWx1YZ45ypC6yc3rzqsvHrzq7MD-lgld5GLhhCVOqnVuky0tmRan7CTyxaA/s320/fearless+reporter1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311549196679062562" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuf-Ph9ctJGibulCqXqiTnOFMft7-kOtjnLzoFEnAdshv2ZHeYWxdse-ztWairQxXKmkZqfCbdR6tQWx1YZ45ypC6yc3rzqsvHrzq7MD-lgld5GLhhCVOqnVuky0tmRan7CTyxaA/s1600-h/fearless+reporter1.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Below, my two proudest moments from the Arnold.
Making a 365lbs clean and jerk (for a competition personal best),
and later, meeting German Gold Medal winning
weightlifter Mathias Steiner.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/I-sOZx8KRoA&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/I-sOZx8KRoA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodxrwQp-ZDVrmBcBYqKJFTKue7Rs1sy1XYHPUDaFp4FAU_D7IOBBUzLzqEvWnLxogihFBcpQKpYUVyzIsmNu1qo6Y4xIGnriO3cp2tpvrw_k7SLXwI9_U5b7OGguwWah3jvjcLQ/s1600-h/me+and+mathias+steiner.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodxrwQp-ZDVrmBcBYqKJFTKue7Rs1sy1XYHPUDaFp4FAU_D7IOBBUzLzqEvWnLxogihFBcpQKpYUVyzIsmNu1qo6Y4xIGnriO3cp2tpvrw_k7SLXwI9_U5b7OGguwWah3jvjcLQ/s320/me+and+mathias+steiner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550179847199506" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodxrwQp-ZDVrmBcBYqKJFTKue7Rs1sy1XYHPUDaFp4FAU_D7IOBBUzLzqEvWnLxogihFBcpQKpYUVyzIsmNu1qo6Y4xIGnriO3cp2tpvrw_k7SLXwI9_U5b7OGguwWah3jvjcLQ/s1600-h/me+and+mathias+steiner.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Two photos of the ballroom dancing competition.
At the Arnold, everything's a pageant.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsCOHFiJvGn00vRagNfCJUpDzAZS7B1xbIy3-gajOuT7aAMLWKg11QVYL_Qr1w7XXsSiD__m8Tq9WTR2VfCewtAUuePNby4-snY2cJ3HUsvq00Bk3SuWMfiXJPnAAcg13GXy79g/s1600-h/ballroom+dancing+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsCOHFiJvGn00vRagNfCJUpDzAZS7B1xbIy3-gajOuT7aAMLWKg11QVYL_Qr1w7XXsSiD__m8Tq9WTR2VfCewtAUuePNby4-snY2cJ3HUsvq00Bk3SuWMfiXJPnAAcg13GXy79g/s320/ballroom+dancing+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311547702035296450" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNG2mdWjDkXuv-2CJ0vhvbTKoiNglQzRIsw1mlU9cm3vkOp5ayfl27NQWX-iLhU8CvTnSoiFt9V3klCOVGLhjqg5mAcpG7Y7VKUKT85pjxZgSso3PxPzHjcmQ-l8KzQiCi4nl2A/s1600-h/ballroom+dancing+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNG2mdWjDkXuv-2CJ0vhvbTKoiNglQzRIsw1mlU9cm3vkOp5ayfl27NQWX-iLhU8CvTnSoiFt9V3klCOVGLhjqg5mAcpG7Y7VKUKT85pjxZgSso3PxPzHjcmQ-l8KzQiCi4nl2A/s320/ballroom+dancing+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311547705253430338" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNG2mdWjDkXuv-2CJ0vhvbTKoiNglQzRIsw1mlU9cm3vkOp5ayfl27NQWX-iLhU8CvTnSoiFt9V3klCOVGLhjqg5mAcpG7Y7VKUKT85pjxZgSso3PxPzHjcmQ-l8KzQiCi4nl2A/s1600-h/ballroom+dancing+2.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">For the first time ever, the Arnold Sports Festival weekend
included an Ultimate Fighting Championship fight, this
year held at the Columbus Arena. The card sucked, but
two of the game's best stopped by the expo hall to sign
autographs. On top, Tito Ortiz, and at bottom, possibly the
truest freak of nature on hand the whole weekend, Brock Lesnar:
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7dfdvO7yJB_Q4HqXpr5asaafjdIVKBtmiuf2yUwPfxGnQAA5r1oPQU0pzdricqWY0ZzdkH_AikUmIdTZnTMphIW6SyFj0Wb-8Uw8SrX7nlvyjU1Sr-drV4o3owoWLW-Mkeo8Rg/s1600-h/tito+ortiz.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY7dfdvO7yJB_Q4HqXpr5asaafjdIVKBtmiuf2yUwPfxGnQAA5r1oPQU0pzdricqWY0ZzdkH_AikUmIdTZnTMphIW6SyFj0Wb-8Uw8SrX7nlvyjU1Sr-drV4o3owoWLW-Mkeo8Rg/s320/tito+ortiz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550746573914050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEod4RN24u6sNMfrjM4ykxD8LoLXLL1sKzMNdGu_I-gl-H446xslcLVFkz9GyaDl83OIZjODvifGR2TXqNEkmR51H5WTuBMy9q_ctO8PqmQr3UZ7oJY3u7clGrDIDLHqiCI5d3-w/s1600-h/real+freak+brock+lesnar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEod4RN24u6sNMfrjM4ykxD8LoLXLL1sKzMNdGu_I-gl-H446xslcLVFkz9GyaDl83OIZjODvifGR2TXqNEkmR51H5WTuBMy9q_ctO8PqmQr3UZ7oJY3u7clGrDIDLHqiCI5d3-w/s320/real+freak+brock+lesnar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550428753744466" border="0" /></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEod4RN24u6sNMfrjM4ykxD8LoLXLL1sKzMNdGu_I-gl-H446xslcLVFkz9GyaDl83OIZjODvifGR2TXqNEkmR51H5WTuBMy9q_ctO8PqmQr3UZ7oJY3u7clGrDIDLHqiCI5d3-w/s1600-h/real+freak+brock+lesnar.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">The various expo booths hawked a variety of products. On top,
a plastic surgeon knows his customers are walking all around
him. at bottom, those who can't do, make the costumes for those who can.
</td></tr>
<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheIbRJIdP7hMBqhN6Zh05oRGtGrRPGN-ahoBWNvkQduWiGtz3vKUmDnwOMEUFrbCDRVE4QaBQdnpq8-zKt6BQJTkZm6g2po5FnHRT2TRCG0w5ompLySTGkhl2LV6a41nw-MsNF7w/s1600-h/doctor+boobs.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheIbRJIdP7hMBqhN6Zh05oRGtGrRPGN-ahoBWNvkQduWiGtz3vKUmDnwOMEUFrbCDRVE4QaBQdnpq8-zKt6BQJTkZm6g2po5FnHRT2TRCG0w5ompLySTGkhl2LV6a41nw-MsNF7w/s320/doctor+boobs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311548981226984114" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpe2TKVGxg_3F0jFoAjUCa5dYOMZnphLwGw8ddaBhYoyFnbkhPmoZ9pLhyNJnE5gUUwbb6SC5nvaYVWu6TS6xLWGGegrqJYwxCo6GW3Uk2nmq4UNL3g76reF1HouN2cb9FTlF7w/s1600-h/those+who+cant+do+make+the+costumes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpe2TKVGxg_3F0jFoAjUCa5dYOMZnphLwGw8ddaBhYoyFnbkhPmoZ9pLhyNJnE5gUUwbb6SC5nvaYVWu6TS6xLWGGegrqJYwxCo6GW3Uk2nmq4UNL3g76reF1HouN2cb9FTlF7w/s320/those+who+cant+do+make+the+costumes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550733596178322" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpe2TKVGxg_3F0jFoAjUCa5dYOMZnphLwGw8ddaBhYoyFnbkhPmoZ9pLhyNJnE5gUUwbb6SC5nvaYVWu6TS6xLWGGegrqJYwxCo6GW3Uk2nmq4UNL3g76reF1HouN2cb9FTlF7w/s1600-h/those+who+cant+do+make+the+costumes.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
<tr> <td colspan="2">Speaking of products, would you visit a website if it was advertised
like in the top photo? And would you get suckered into buying
a product from the woman at lower right, who everyone knows
didn't get to look like she does by lifting 5lb weights?
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<tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_PhQX32-R4gu9NOS_rmC3BSi_Txo92jdvZoZU_EYTSEs3-IP6PHKhQCwVs9AaXyRfjJxRRkU8_ghXi8biec67TvBV2n_0TrTxFd33PlLXgW72mrOSFCzB9jNO9OT9oirgsYgfg/s1600-h/buy+this+product.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_PhQX32-R4gu9NOS_rmC3BSi_Txo92jdvZoZU_EYTSEs3-IP6PHKhQCwVs9AaXyRfjJxRRkU8_ghXi8biec67TvBV2n_0TrTxFd33PlLXgW72mrOSFCzB9jNO9OT9oirgsYgfg/s320/buy+this+product.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311548969784929906" border="0" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyybfgyKiZVQ5iNhoNwiG-BzWvzARrD7Ycq7QeLRis04z5LU61S0nRJlrgSwpRaSHl5FiLiNZmK_5oJFSomxEwmDpTOEgwjy4AQ1woEEQpU3gyi5xopqbRCveYUrlqq8wNdaR4g/s1600-h/not+with+those+weights.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyybfgyKiZVQ5iNhoNwiG-BzWvzARrD7Ycq7QeLRis04z5LU61S0nRJlrgSwpRaSHl5FiLiNZmK_5oJFSomxEwmDpTOEgwjy4AQ1woEEQpU3gyi5xopqbRCveYUrlqq8wNdaR4g/s320/not+with+those+weights.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311550185021064274" border="0" /></a>
</td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyybfgyKiZVQ5iNhoNwiG-BzWvzARrD7Ycq7QeLRis04z5LU61S0nRJlrgSwpRaSHl5FiLiNZmK_5oJFSomxEwmDpTOEgwjy4AQ1woEEQpU3gyi5xopqbRCveYUrlqq8wNdaR4g/s1600-h/not+with+those+weights.jpg">
</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-51458582757704507142009-02-25T00:04:00.000-08:002009-02-25T00:23:07.847-08:00My original review of Sarah Ruhl's "In the Other Room," in reading at the Wilma TheatreJust so no one makes any mistakes about this, the Wilma held a staged reading of Sarah Ruhl's new play <span style="font-style: italic;">In the Other Room</span> during the first week of January, 2009. Berkeley Rep had commissioned Ruhl to write a play about the history of the vibrator.
<p>The Broad Street Review ran my article about the reading, then took it down in response to complaints from the Wilma. The controversy led first to the <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/free_speech_vs_creativity_at_the_wilma/">Wilma Papers</a>, and later to my article <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/the_case_for_cantankerous_critics/"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Case for Cantankerous Critics</span></a>. </p><p>Over two dozen Broad Street Review readers commented upon the first article. Scroll down, as their responses are <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/january_letters_momentous_events_music_entrepreneurs/">here</a>.
</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">For the record, I was the first person to comment critically upon Ruhl's new play</span>. And despite the controvery, and a young woman who threatened me with (admittedly, laughable) violence, that's what has always mattered to me.
</p><p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here's what I had to say</span>:
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Quick question to the Philadelphia theatre community: How does a staged reading at the Wilma offers a better night of theatre than most of the full productions I’ve seen this season?<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like reading a play at home without the intermediacy of a production, a staged reading can’t destroy my direct sense of a play by interfering with what my imagination can too often do better.<span style=""> </span>(Though stage manager Patreshettarlini Adams did use the one prop to a delicious effect, and when you get to the full title of the play, you’ll know the prop.)<span style=""> </span>As for the actors working under Blanka Zizka’s direction, the almost all-equity cast impressed, and personally, I would rather see Julianna Zinkel or Sarah Sanford give a staged reading than watch most other Philadelphia actresses perform.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But Sarah Ruhl’s recently penned script <i style="">In the Next Room</i> (or, <i style="">The Vibrator Play</i>), is, of course, what made the entire evening.<span style=""> </span><a href="http://www.berkeleyrep.org/season/0809/2880.asp">Berkeley Repertory</a>—where the play will receive its world premiere next month—commissioned Ruhl to write a play about the history of the vibrator, a device first used for medical purposes to release up “pent-up emotions in the womb” by inducing “paroxysms” (orgasms) in hysterical women.<span style=""> </span>Taking advantage of the new age of electricity, scientists in the 1880’s invented this new marvel—as Wilma literary manager Walter Bilderback so eloquently put it—“because the doctors and nurses hands and fingers kept getting tired.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In Ruhl’s play, the inventor is the appropriately named Dr. Givings (Ross Manson), who assisted by a former midwife (Mary McCool as Annie), operates a clinic in a prosperous spa town outside of New York.<span style=""> </span>He’s visited by patients like Sabrina Daldry (Sanford), whose husband (Ben Lloyd) has brought her in to cure her “women’s problems.”<span style=""> </span>Givings prescription: daily releases of nerves that result in the most number of simulated orgasms I’ve ever seen (or would want to see) on stage.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Givings wife Catherine (Zinkel) becomes jealous, initially at the bonding between their baby and the wet-nurse Elizabeth (Miriam Hyman), later at her husband’s greater interest in providing relief to these women than providing attention for her.<span style=""> </span>So she attempts to seduce the young painter Leo (Luigi Sottile)—the rare case of a man having vibrator-requiring hysteria—in order to provoke some sort of emotional response from her husband.<span style=""> </span>Meanwhile, Sabrina becomes attracted to Annie (even asking for the device-free “Annie method” in therapy), and it leads to a situation that the stage direction describe as “we wonder if we’re about to witness three women play with a vibrator.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">However, that line is the best joke of the play, and through most of the “treatments” (applications of the device), the audience laughter made it very difficult to hear the lines of Ruhl’s incredibly hilarious first act.<span style=""> </span>The women, especially McCool’s deadpan “I’ll wash my hands now,” and Sanford’s childlike innocence about her paroxysms, diminish any suggestive quality, and keep the awkward clinical situation just uncomfortable enough that if we didn’t laugh, we’d feel grossed out.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And for a play almost entirely about women’s needs for intimacy, their jealousy, awkwardness about asking for what they want, and family neuroses, I loved it.<span style=""> </span>However, these issues only provide a spring board for the richly-integrated, deeper questions about race and class, the strange patriarchy of religion (cleverly asking at one point “why does Jesus get eaten when women breastfeed”), sexual politics inside the family, and the value of love versus sex.<span style=""> </span>Her play operates and engages intellectually and emotionally, and Ruhl’s brilliance explodes the hysteria surrounding these themes with humor, making all of it entertaining, and best of all, palatable to both imbibe and discuss.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But surprisingly, the conclusions Ruhl draws are reactionary in their tone (far more so than the daddy-clinging that drove the theme and plot of her recent <a href="http://www.broadstreetreview.com/index.php/main/article/Eurydice_at_the_Wilma_3rd_review">Eurydice</a>).<span style=""> </span>Catherine’s jealousy turns her into a sexually frustrated housewife who questions her husband’s adequacy.<span style=""> </span>She begs him to use the device on her (he won’t, finding it unseemly to “experiment” on his own wife), and when she breaks into his operating theatre and tries it herself (with Sabrina’s assistance), it makes her “excitable” and she begins craving the feeling like an addiction.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In fairness, Ruhl’s got plenty of evidence that back this up.<span style=""> </span>Though scientists began using the vibrator-induced orgasm as a “cure-all” for hysteria, commercial applications quickly followed, as the device became a popular amenity at luxury resorts (imagine seeing one in your hotel room), and the fifth home appliance to become electrified.<span style=""> </span>But Ruhl’s theme—mostly delivered through Leo, the only fully rounded male character—is clear: after showing us where this road to pleasure leads, she puts her clear stamp of judgment on the lure of easy sexual pleasure versus the fruits of relationships built on compromises.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Describing the difference between an electrified lamp and a candle that flickers, Leo tells Catherine “A light without flame isn’t divine, and like having relations with a prostitute, without love, without the heart, bodies are means to an end.”<span style=""> </span>And how does Ruhl end the play?<span style=""> </span>By asserting <span style="font-style: italic;">contra</span> women’s magazines and bedroom feminism, that women really want an emotional connection, and the best way to keep your wife from becoming hysterical is simple: pay her some attention and respect, and most importantly, love her, you idiot.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Strangely enough, Ibsen made the same point in <i style="">A Doll’s House</i>, written during the same period in which Ruhl set her new play.<span style=""> </span>I realize that Ruhl had to completely infantilize her female characters (except the wise, noble, African-American, which in one instance, invokes a racist stereotype still common in our time) in order to get the humor of the innocence in using a vibrator.<span style=""> </span>However, Ibsen’s Nora did not evince this level of childishness in order for her to become “liberated.”<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And <span style="font-weight: bold;">here I’m starting to see a reactionary pattern</span>.<span style=""> </span>In her recent Eurydice, Ruhl engenders a similar effect, as Eurydice, rather than return to her tumultuous and uncertain relationship with Orpheus, clings to the safe, easy, constant love that her father (as protector) gives her in the underworld.<span style=""> </span>What next, a <span style="font-style: italic;">Stepford Wives</span> style play where the robots gain consciousness but discover they’re happier in their delusions?<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is it possible that the hottest female playwright in the country has gotten there by embracing fathers, prioritizing love, infantilizing women, and dismissing (the now passé) liberating form of feminism?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely unhappy about this development, and while I liked the similar women-centered scripts of the Wilma’s recent <i style="">Age of Arousal </i>and <i style="">Eurydice</i> better, the subject matter, themes, and wit of <i style="">In the Other Room</i> make this play far more stage worthy.<span style=""> </span>I can’t think of any audience member—except perhaps the extremest of Puritans—who wouldn’t find something to enjoy in this play.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Though Ruhl’s latest play is not without its faults, the Wilma should take a chance on producing it next season.<span style=""> </span>They easily could have charged money for just a staged reading.<span style=""> </span></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21818696.post-59566473900692452982009-02-24T23:48:00.000-08:002009-02-25T00:03:48.344-08:00Don Draper's Carousel MonologueRecently, I've become a <span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Men</span> junkie. I'll admit, I only started watching the show because someone reminded me of former Philadelphia actress Maggie Siff. Now a minor player in the AMC drama, she had brought me some of the best moments I had seen on Philadelphia stages, from her performance as Thomasina in the Wilma's (new-home) opener--Tom Stoppard's <span style="font-style: italic;">Arcadia</span>--to her appearance in Samuel Beckett's <span style="font-style: italic;">Endgame</span> alongisde New York actor Pearce Bunting (which is still the best show I've ever seen during the Philadelphia Fringe Festival).
<p>And in a Winter theatre season that relies heavily on monologues (the Arden's <span style="font-style: italic;">Asher Lev</span>, Flashpoint's <span style="font-style: italic;">Jump/Cut</span>, and the Lantern's <span style="font-style: italic;">Sizwe Banzi is Dead</span>), the best monologue I've watched in the month of January appeared in the Season One finale of <span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Men</span>.
</p><p>Here, the series protagonist Don Draper delivered an advertising pitch for the Kodak Carousel. Selling a product, he found value in life.</p>
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<p> For those interested, I've attached the full text of his monologue:</p>Don Draper: Well, technology is a glittering lure.<span style=""> </span>But, uh, there is the rare occasion when the public can be engaged on a level beyond flash, if they have a sentimental bond with the product.<span style=""> </span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My first job, I was in-house at a fur company, with this old-pro copywriter, a Greek named Teddy.<span style=""> </span>Teddy told me the most important idea in advertising is new.<span style=""> </span>Creates an itch.<span style=""> </span>You simply put your product in there as a kind of calamine lotion.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But he also talked about a deeper bond with the product.<span style=""> </span>Nostalgia.<span style=""> </span>It’s delicate, but potent.<span style=""> </span>Sweetheart.<span style=""> </span>(lights switch off) (changes slide) </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Teddy told me that in Greek, “nostalgia” literally means “the pain from an old wound”.<span style=""> </span>(changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone.<span style=""> </span>(changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine.<span style=""> </span>(changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It goes backwards, forwards, (changes slide) takes us to a place where we <i style="">ache</i> to go again.<span style=""> </span>(changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s not called the wheel.<span style=""> </span>It’s called the carousel.<span style=""> </span>(changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It lets us travel the way a child travels. (changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Round and around, and back home again. (changes slide) <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">To a place where we know we are loved.<span style=""> </span>(changes slide) (changes slide) (changes slide) </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p></p>Jim Rutterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06990535689446647400noreply@blogger.com0