Michael Dale’s Theatre Crawl – Judy Gold Defends Her Art Against Bullying Disguised As Compassion

Judy Gold in Yes, I Can Say That! (Photo: James Leynse)

by Michael Dale

This week…

Yes, I Can Say That! at 59E59 through April 16.  Tickets $60-$125.

Rough Trade at The Tank through April 8.  Tickets $25.

According To The Chorus at 59E59 through April 15.  Tickets $30.

Iceland at La Mama.  Limited run closed.

AAPI Heroes: Myths and Legends presented by J Chen Project at the Museum of Chinese in America.  Limited run closed.

“I had a safe space once.  It was called The Closet.”

Judy Gold’s solo piece, Yes, I Can Say That!, co-written with Eddie Sarfaty, directed by BD Wong, and adapted from her book Yes, I Can Say That: When They Come For The Comedians, We Are All In Trouble, is one of the strongest and most vital works of political theatre I’ve ever seen, and I’m not saying that just because I agree with every word she says, including “and” and “the”.

Using personal examples from her career, the careers of her influencers, and the careers of her colleagues, the popular comedian gives an entertaining and informative talk on the dangers of villainizing comedians for expressing their truth through their art.

“Remember when some loser would say some something stupid, ignorant, and inappropriate, and you say to your friend, ‘Wow, what an asshole,’ and then move on with your life?,” she waxes nostalgically.  “Not anymore.  Now you can go on social media and tell dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of people what an asshole he is, and ruin his life.  You have a purpose now.”

It may surprise those who post memes on social media espousing that being woke and politically correct mean being nice and sympathetic to others that Gold uses the term woke as a sarcastic label in her show and that its press release says, “the comedy veteran is taking the stage to tell the fascists and crybabies to shove their hate and political correctness up their respective asses.”

But being accustomed to progressive, left-leaning artists like Karen Finley, Penny Arcade and Jonathan Larson criticizing political correctness in their work, I wasn’t surprised at all.  My elevator pitch credo on the subject has always been “be offended by whatever offends you, just be aware that context and subjectivity exist, so nobody’s interpretation of another’s actions/words/art inarguably defines it for everyone else.”  So I’ll respect your right to think Barry Blitt’s Fistbump: The Politics of Fear is a racist illustration, that a line in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Carousel downplays the physical pain caused by spousal abuse and that Andre Serrano’s photograph Immersion (Piss Christ) attacks Christianity, and hopefully you’ll feel the same way about my reaction that Blitt is pointing out the absurdity of racist claims against the Obamas, that the line in Carousel refers to the documented defensive reaction of disassociation that the mind uses during traumatic experiences and that Serrano is displaying an unexpected means to achieve beauty.

Likewise, if you use the term “tone deaf” to describe someone’s insensitivity or the word “fat” as a positive body description, I won’t insist you change your vocabulary just because I’m repulsed by those words after being teased and tormented with them for much of my life.

But back to Judy Gold, who I first saw perform decades ago at downtown dive called Comedy U Grand that reserved Thursday nights for lineups of all “comediennes” (a term she despises).

It’s not that she wants to offend people.  She wants to practice her art without the fear that a word could be taken out of context, or her intention be disregarded, as was the case when Internet threads labeled her anti-Semitic for a joke involving a Hassidic woman.

Gold points out that comedy is probably the only art form that requires an audience as part of the creative process.  A stand-up comedian has to say things in front of people to understand how the jokes are accepted.  And naturally, that degree of acceptance or non-acceptance can vary, or perhaps be sharpened.  She demonstrates how, if we praise comedians for being edgy without “crossing the line”, a comedian has to do the work of discovering, usually in front of an audience, where that line is, or where it has suddenly moved to. 

While Gold has never tried to pass herself off as straight in her material, she talks about how having a child – terrific fodder for comedy material – convinced her to come out to her audiences as lesbian, a move that led to some offended patrons walking out on her shows.  She compares this to some of the experiences of comedians who greatly influenced her, such as Phyliss Diller, Totie Fields, Moms Mabley, and Joan Rivers; artists who “gave women a voice” because they “said out loud what other women whispered about when their husbands weren’t around.”

She wonders out loud how her influences would react to their acts being scrutinized in the way she and her contemporaries are today and offers the example of Ahmed Ahmed, who was visited by police after an audience member called 911 because he “feared for his life” when the comedian told a joke about terrorism.  And how Nimesh Patel’s set at Columbia University was suddenly ended by the student producers because, as one put it, “I don’t think you’re entitled to certain jokes that you’re making.”

If I’m making Judy Gold’s performance sound too much like an art history lecture, let me assure you, the show is funny.  Exceedingly, non-stop funny.

I saw Yes, I Can Say That! with my good friend Eric Vetter, who for nearly thirty years has been producing free comedy and spoken word shows where established comics, poets, and storytellers can try out new material in front of receptive audiences.  He told me about a time when the manager of a venue they were regularly playing wanted to give him a list of subjects that should not be discussed by performers after one audience member complained about a woman on stage talking about a time she was raped. 

While feeling sympathetic about any emotions that may have been triggered in the audience member, Eric refused to establish such boundaries, echoing a sentiment firmly established by Judy Gold:  “Art isn’t safe.”

“They’re all gay and they’re all blindingly hot and the audience doesn’t quite know what to do with that.”

That’s how playwright Kev Berry describes the quartet of characters in his slyly titled Rough Trade.  Though I managed to leave The Tank with my vision intact, I’ll confirm that director Alex Toby’s cast is a very attractive (not to mention talented) bunch.

This is one of those smart and funny plays about love and sex and New York City (with excursions to Palm Beach, Budapest and even Astoria) that you just know is eventually going to turn serious.  And when it does, it packs quite a wallop in a way that is specific to gay men, though I suspect members of other marginalized groups can adapt a climactic scene to their experiences.  But until then feel free to be charmed by the romantic and sexy banter.

Remy Germinario and Gabriel Neumann in Rough Trade (Photo: Hunter Canning)

While the story takes place in various locales around the city (Coney Island, 9th Ave Saloon, Minetta Tavern) in lieu of visual details, designer Brendan Gonzales Boston goes minimalist with a blank canvas set where designer Cleo Perez projects the names of locations and the contents of private text conversations on an upstage wall.  Actors not in scenes gather stage right, while stage left provides a “workstation” with all the necessities needed to pour the numerous cocktails consumed.

At the top of the show, ex-lovers and current roommates Bunting and Finch (Remy Germinario and Derek Christopher Murphy) – who’s give and take is so crisp they may as well be named Nichols and May – arrive at, as the projection describes, “The Bottom of the D” to satisfy the former’s craving for “a Nathan’s original and a side of slaw doused in pepper” after one of their all-night tours of the gay nightlife stops of  Hell’s Kitchen.

Both are artists.  Tense and intellectual Bunting is a painter who seems to get a lot of mileage out of blue and purple, and easy-going Finch creates sculptures out of found objects.  Their bills (and checks at Arriba! Arriba!) are paid via waitering and tour guide jobs.

Not too long after, an unlikely Stephen Sondheim selection plays from a bar’s jukebox as Bunting meets a cute guy named Cock (Gabriel Neumann), a graphic novelist who seems to find Bunting’s need for being seen as the smartest person in the room endearing.  They start dating in an open relationship, but friction develops as it becomes evident their definitions of what that means don’t jibe.

Meanwhile, Finch meets Hawk (Max Kantor) when the latter strikes up a conversation about the former’s choice of subway reading.  Hawk has a well-paying job as an accountant with Novartis, the pharmaceutical company that has been mentioned in underhanded dealings involving Donald Trump.

Hawk doesn’t pay attention to politics.  He just does his job and enjoys his life, which soon includes dating Finch.  Though Finch is at first concerned that he won’t be able to afford to be a part of Hawk’s lifestyle, his new lover makes it clear that he’s happy to financially support the struggling artist.

As their lives start changing, the play becomes more about the relationship between Bunting and Finch, particularly when details about their respective new mates are revealed and the issue of simply being biologically gay versus having respect for and knowledge of the history that involves and the challenges that remain comes into the forefront.

Not being a denizen of gay Hell’s Kitchen nightlife myself (unless Bar Centrale counts), I couldn’t vouch for the authenticity of Berry’s play, but when it comes to having an awareness of whose shoulders you’re standing on, Rough Trade becomes universally discussion worthy.

“Carrie opened and Carrie is closing.  As soon as they’re out we’re in.”

Though the above line might mislead a theatre fan with an IBDB mind into thinking the musical depicted in Arlene Hutton‘s frothy Broadway backstager According To The Chorus is somehow Ray Cooney’s British sex farce Run For Your Wife, the costumes supplied by designer Kara Branch – alternating between cutesy and flashy – suggest an old fashioned 42nd Street style dance spectacle.

Joy Donze, Kleo Mitrokostas,  Kelly McCarty, Ricki Lynée, Sofia Ayral-Hutton, Tabatha Gayle and Karen Ziemba in According To The Chorus (Photo: Hunter Canning)

Quite appropriate, considering this play, set in the 1980s in the cramped quick-change room in the basement of a Broadway theatre, features Tony winner Karen Ziemba, who, after commencing her Broadway career as both understudy and replacement for numerous roles in the original production of A Chorus Line, was spotlighted as a replacement Peggy Sawyer in David Merrick’s extravaganza.

At the onset, Ziemba’s character Audrey, an experienced dresser for a long-running Broadway hit, is breaking in the new kid KJ (Dana Brooke), who, like the playwright, cut her professional dresser teeth in the slower-paced world of New York City Opera before hitting the main stem, where, as she’ll soon find out, complex modern productions in old theatres make for mandatory off-stage traffic patterns of movement during every performance.

Rounding out the trio of quick-change dressers for the women’s ensemble is Brenda (Judith Hiller), a typically crusty veteran who once danced in the chorus of the original Oklahoma!, but whose aging body isn’t adapting well to the physical demands of the job.

Since dressing rooms for the six women of the chorus (and one swing) are several flights up, it’s impractical for them not to spend all their off-stage time during performances in the small quick-change quarters, so territorial conflicts arise regarding room to stretch, keeping the doorway clear, eating energy bars in costume and which bits of gossip constitute private conversation.  The constant chaos is efficiently staged by director Chris Goutman, who keeps the proceedings from resembling A Night At The Opera’s stateroom scene.

It's an enjoyable, though not very deep play, with micro-plots popping up here and there as the show’s run goes on.  KJ’s ex-husband has joined the cast, someone has a career-threatening injury, another’s living situation is apparently abusive, and those out of the loop are educated as to why musicians make such good lovers.

The most profound moments come on occasions when someone mentions how so many men are getting sick and need to be replaced.  There is a well-played reminder in the play’s final scene.

But for the most part, According To The Chorus offers audience members juicy peeks at backstage life and nostalgic references to theatre haunts like Charlie’s and McHale’s.

Damn, I miss those huge burgers at McHale’s.

It’s not every day I get to see a dance/theatre program performed in a museum gift shop…

,,,but watching J Chen Project’s AAPI Heroes: Myths and Legends in three rooms of the Museum of Chinese in America greatly increased my awareness of director/choreographer Jessica Chen’s mission to “explore different worlds filled with AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander) stories of strength, resilience and resistance in the face of ongoing challenges and discrimination.”

What caught my attention in the press release was the promise of new works honoring two film pioneers who became iconic symbols of American pop culture.  In “Rising Dragon”, dancers Carl Ponce Cubero, Maya Lam, Chieh Hsiung and Cameron Surh honor the legacy of Bruce Lee, with a collection of leaps, kicks and thrusts that emphasize the teamwork necessary behind the artistry of staging violent conflict.

In “Be Curious”, actor Joy Chen addressed the audience in a portrayal of Anna May Wong, who, in the era that evolved from silent films to talkies, became Hollywood’s first Chinese American star, despite being regulated to playing exoticized wicked women and seductresses who were eventually punished for their sins.  Though Wong would seem a natural choice to play her first leading role in MGM’s 1935 adaptation of Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth, she was refused the opportunity because white actor Paul Muni would be playing her character’s husband in yellowface, and such casting would go against the morals of Hays Production Code.

Cameron Surh, Sumire Ishige, Maya Lam, Carl Ponce Cubero, Chieh Hsiung and Fang-Ting Yeh in “You Are Safe”, as part of AAPI Heroes: Myths and Legends (Photo: Chris Nicodemo)

Contemporary issues are brought to the forefront in pieces like “You Are Safe” (danced by Cubero, Lam, Hsiung, Surh, Sumire Ishige and Fang-Ting Yeh) where the ensemble forms protective barriers to guard against rising anti-Asian violence in America.  “Reclaim” (danced by Lam, Yeh and Tsubasa Nishioka) explores the partial loss of stories, identity and culture when generations of refuges search for a safe place to settle.

Before a display depicting a rise of senseless hatred, guest artist SuperKnova plays electric guitar and entrancingly sings “Splendor Dysphoria”, a pop queer anthem that uses multiple pronouns and gender stereotypes to celebrate one’s fluidity of identity.

As you can see from the company’s sizzle reel, J Chen Project usually graces more traditional stages, but I look forward to catching them in whatever sort of venue they book next.

I rarely walk into a Broadway theatre these days expecting to see an 11-piece orchestra, much less down on E. 4th Street…

…so what a lovely surprise to enter La MaMa’s Ellen Stewart Theatre and see eleven musicians stationed behind music director Robert Kahn‘s baton at composer/librettists O-Lan Jones (who also directs) and Emmett Tinley’s Iceland.

A bit of a chamber opera that alternates between folk-inspired choral recitatives and introspective rock ballads, Iceland, teaches us about the island nation’s Hiddenfolk, a community of nature-focused elves who live a parallel existence to humans.

Nancy McArthur, Perri Di Christina and Oliver Demers in Iceland (Photo: Stacia French)

In Iceland, an ensemble of Hiddenfolk observe and get involved with the chance meeting of architect Vala (Nancy McArthur) and wilderness guide Mundi (Oliver Demers), each working their way through emotional issues as they separately explore the glacial landscape.

Admittedly, Iceland is a bit thin on plot, with the somber, contemplative score carrying the drama along.  But with beautiful visuals by designers Matthew Imhoff (sets and lights) and Matsy Stinson (costumes) that blend fantasy, folklore and nature, I was happy to kick back and be immersed for a while in the world of a culture I was unfamiliar with.

That’s something I really appreciate about La MaMa.  Created in the 1960s as one of the groundbreaking theatre companies of the Off-Off Broadway movement, La MaMa traditionally attracts artists from all over the world, presenting works that allow New Yorkers to sample theatre from a great variety of cultures.  Most of their productions are short runs, so by the time reviews and writeups are released, interested playgoers have to act fast.  But ticket prices generally range from $20-$35, so I’d say it’s worth it to check out their website regularly, see what grabs your attention, and buy tickets in advance.

Curtain Line…

I don’t understand why some people are so concerned about drag queens grooming children.  Drag queens are some of the best-groomed people I’ve ever seen.  I’d take grooming tips from a drag queen any day.