Off-B'way Reviews: Cold War Choir Practice; Bigfoot!, A New Musical; Chinese Republicans

Alana Raquel Bowers, Andy Lucien, and
Crystal Finn in Cold War Choir Practice.
Credit: Maria Baranova

That distinctly weird, transitional decade, the 1980s, provides the time frame for two wildly funny Off-Broadway productions. This was a time when America was rejecting the liberal ideals of the hippie-Vietnam era and moving into the narcissistic, ego-driven period of “Me first and the rest of you be damned.” Both shows use parody to lampoon the excesses of the time. One examines serious conflicts while the other is a silly spoof. The more complex work is Cold War Choir Practice, Ro Reddick’s imaginative, surprisingly riotous take on Reaganomics, nuclear threats, and race relations co-presented by MCC Theater, Clubbed Thumb and Page 73. Set in 1987 and written with a sharp satiric edge, this insightful and mercilessly dark comedy focuses on African-American adolescent Meek (intense and winning Alana Raquel Bowers) who becomes embroiled in international espionage when she corresponds with a Russian pen pal.

Will Cobbs, Lizan Mitchell, and 
Alana Raquel Bowers in
Cold War Choir Practice.
Credit: Maria Baranova

Matters get complicated when Meek’s estranged uncle Clay (solid Andy Lucien), a prominent black conservative, brings his mysteriously ill white wife Virgie (appropriately shattered Crystal Finn) home to the family’s Syracuse, NY, roller-skating rink for the holidays. Meek’s choir Seedlings of Peace and Virgie’s cultish women’s affinity group are involved in attempting to steal Clay’s state secrets. Meek’s dad Smooch (fiery Will Cobbs) and grandma Puddin (fun and feisty Lizan Mitchell) clash with Clay and Virgie, trying to fathom their family member’s transformation from radical Black Panther follower to Reagan White House advisor. 

B'way/Off-B'way Reviews: Glengarry Glen Ross; Deep Blue Sound

John Pirruccello and Kieran Culkin in
Glengarry Glen Ross.
Credit: Emilio Madrid

Glengarry Glen Ross, David Mamet’s savagely funny takedown of cutthroat Chicago real-estate salesmen, has been a magnet for male actors to prove their theatrical chops since it premiered on Broadway in 1984. The flashiest role, chief barracuda Ricky Roma, has attracted Joseph Mantegna, Liev Schreiber, Al Pacino, and Bobby Cannavale, resulting in Tonys for the first two and an Oscar nomination for the third for the 1993 movie version. Ironically, the main box office draw for the current, third Broadway revival of Glengarry is Kieran Culkin, Emmy winner for Succession and Oscar champ for A Real Pain, and he is the weak link in an otherwise strong ensemble. 

Culkin is no novice to the stage, having appeared to great advantage in numerous Broadway and Off-Broadway shows including This Is Our Youth and Suburbia, yet he seems out of his depth here. Roma is a shark of the first order, but Culkin plays him as a loud-mouthed guppy. We first meet Roma landing a malleable prospect (appropriately browbeaten John Pirruccello) in a Chinese restaurant (Scott Pask designed the realistic sets.) Rather than displaying Roma’s take-no-prisoners, charismatic sales spiel of Mamet double-talk, Culkin opts for quiet subtlety. In previous productions, Roma aggressively lands his mark and the final line of “Listen to what I’m telling you now” felt like the trap was sprung. Here, Culkin seems to be just chatting amiably with a random stranger. That could be a deliberate choice on the part of the actor and director (Patrick Marber in a low-key mode) to show a contrast between Roma’s cosy sales technique and his later profane, predatory behavior in the office after the intermission. But Culkin never achieves the alpha male status of previous Romas, despite some energetic limning in the second act.

Bob Odenkirk and Donald Webber, Jr.
in Glengarry Glen Ross.
Credit: Emilio Madrid

Thus the balance of the play is thrown off and the focus shifts from Roma to the conflict between veteran slumping drummer Shelley Levine (deliciously desperate and blustering Bob Odenkirk) and the corporate functionary/office manager John Williamson (an unexpectedly forceful Donald Webber, Jr.). In previous productions, Williamson has been played as an emotionless drone, representing the soulless owners of the real-estate business, the unseen Mitch and Murray who symbolize the heartless corporate bureaucracy the nasty but individualist Roma stands against. Here, Webber plays Williamson as just as intensely invested in keeping his job as his supervisees. When the weaker Culkin as Roma challenges a now stronger Williamson, the threat is not especially effective. Culkin comes across as a tantrum-throwing student yelling at a teacher which is ironic since he berates Williamson as being a “child” unfit to work with “men.”