Feb. 3rd, 2008 09:12 pm
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muckefuckThe long and short of it is that I did survive the weekend. This was no doubt helped by the fact that my father got sick and cancelled his visit so that my family time was limited to dinner and a show. Dinner was at South Water Kitchen, which none of us had been to in quite a while (my last meal there was with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
his_regard at least two or three years back) but which hasn't lost its flair, and the show (Horton Foote's Talking Pictures, now in previews) was at the Goodman, which I'd been to but not the Owen Theatre.
It's a very nice space, but it's in the round, which is tricky for all involved. SBIL tried to guide us on where to situate ourselves ("opposite the yard"--uh, does that mean opposite the two potted marigolds or the two potted tomatoes?) and we still ended up behind the bench on which many of the most important scenes took place. (Afterwards, we took him to task for his directions; as my stepsister put it, "We all got confused, and we're the smartest people who are coming to your show.") The set lacks vertical walls, but between the lighting and the skill of the actors, it was almost never difficult to discern who could see whom or what, and there's enough dressing that it doesn't smack too much of Our Town.
The plot, on the other hand, felt almost pure Winesburg, Ohio only transplanted to East Texas. It unfolds slowly but sweetly and with gentle humour that builds very nicely. The characters are well-rounded and human with the exception of the two estranged spouses, whose narcissism verges on the cartoonish. I was wondering if this might've been a deliberate attempt to make a conservative audience less censorious of the two leads for separating from them until I found that the play premiered in 1990, well after no-fault divorce had become commonplace. SBIL's part is small, but for once he doesn't (a) die; (b) kill anyone; or (c) abuse a woman. Instead, he's bathetic and sympathetic.
The rest of the actors are quite solid, although I was particularly impressed by the actors playing the teens and pre-teens (not least of all because one is the actual age of the character he's playing), with one exception: For whatever reason, the "Mexican preacher's son"--despite a Miami origin and a Hispanic surname--has absolutely terrible Spanish. Strangely, he has the cadence right on his Mexican-accented English and if he could only transfer that to his many lines in Spanish, it would be much better--though the glaring pronunciation mistakes like "creo Díos" for "creó Dios" would still remain. (We were particularly puzzled what was influencing these mistakes, because it seemed to be a language other than English; on the way to the car, it occurred to me that Tagalog for "God" is Diyos, and we seized on it as also explaining his name and looks, which were dark without being particularly mestizo.) I have to say, I find this particularly disappointing, not only because this is a city with more than a half-million Mexicans in it (no small number of which are actors) but because the Goodman even hosts a biennial Latino theatre festival! Even if they inexplicably couldn't cast a Mexican actor, why couldn't they find a Spanish-speaking vocal coach?
In the end, it's a minor point and a small flaw in an otherwise very watchable play. I particularly appreciate that all of the punchlines (and there are some doozies) actually sound like things people would say in conversation. Some of the conversations seem too a bit revelatory for pious small-town Texas in the 20s, but much of the other pragmatic factors--the easy formality of characters' interactions, their modesty and stiff body language--seem very much on target. It's also nice to have staunchly religious figures who aren't shown up as being villainous or hypocritical, just decent people who can't always live up to their ideals.
Fortunately, the whole thing didn't tire me out like I'd feared, but I think being abstemious at South Water Kitchen helped. They've added a decadent molten goat cheese appetiser to the menu that we probably should've ordered less of and I confounded expectations by passing on both the porkchop and the duck in order to try a fish--cobia--I'd never heard of before. It was quite lovely, as was the braised fennel alongside it, although not as sumptuous as e.'s scallops. Her squash was simply to die for.
We had a very nice petite syrah ("It's like a syrah, only smaller" I told my stepmom) from Sonoma--Foppiano (which I retained by means of the mnemonic "Fallopian") and service was quite smooth until time came for the check and our waitron was MIA for a bit--as was the dessert e. andbunj ordered, which read a bit better than it tasted.
his_regard at least two or three years back) but which hasn't lost its flair, and the show (Horton Foote's Talking Pictures, now in previews) was at the Goodman, which I'd been to but not the Owen Theatre.It's a very nice space, but it's in the round, which is tricky for all involved. SBIL tried to guide us on where to situate ourselves ("opposite the yard"--uh, does that mean opposite the two potted marigolds or the two potted tomatoes?) and we still ended up behind the bench on which many of the most important scenes took place. (Afterwards, we took him to task for his directions; as my stepsister put it, "We all got confused, and we're the smartest people who are coming to your show.") The set lacks vertical walls, but between the lighting and the skill of the actors, it was almost never difficult to discern who could see whom or what, and there's enough dressing that it doesn't smack too much of Our Town.
The plot, on the other hand, felt almost pure Winesburg, Ohio only transplanted to East Texas. It unfolds slowly but sweetly and with gentle humour that builds very nicely. The characters are well-rounded and human with the exception of the two estranged spouses, whose narcissism verges on the cartoonish. I was wondering if this might've been a deliberate attempt to make a conservative audience less censorious of the two leads for separating from them until I found that the play premiered in 1990, well after no-fault divorce had become commonplace. SBIL's part is small, but for once he doesn't (a) die; (b) kill anyone; or (c) abuse a woman. Instead, he's bathetic and sympathetic.
The rest of the actors are quite solid, although I was particularly impressed by the actors playing the teens and pre-teens (not least of all because one is the actual age of the character he's playing), with one exception: For whatever reason, the "Mexican preacher's son"--despite a Miami origin and a Hispanic surname--has absolutely terrible Spanish. Strangely, he has the cadence right on his Mexican-accented English and if he could only transfer that to his many lines in Spanish, it would be much better--though the glaring pronunciation mistakes like "creo Díos" for "creó Dios" would still remain. (We were particularly puzzled what was influencing these mistakes, because it seemed to be a language other than English; on the way to the car, it occurred to me that Tagalog for "God" is Diyos, and we seized on it as also explaining his name and looks, which were dark without being particularly mestizo.) I have to say, I find this particularly disappointing, not only because this is a city with more than a half-million Mexicans in it (no small number of which are actors) but because the Goodman even hosts a biennial Latino theatre festival! Even if they inexplicably couldn't cast a Mexican actor, why couldn't they find a Spanish-speaking vocal coach?
In the end, it's a minor point and a small flaw in an otherwise very watchable play. I particularly appreciate that all of the punchlines (and there are some doozies) actually sound like things people would say in conversation. Some of the conversations seem too a bit revelatory for pious small-town Texas in the 20s, but much of the other pragmatic factors--the easy formality of characters' interactions, their modesty and stiff body language--seem very much on target. It's also nice to have staunchly religious figures who aren't shown up as being villainous or hypocritical, just decent people who can't always live up to their ideals.
Fortunately, the whole thing didn't tire me out like I'd feared, but I think being abstemious at South Water Kitchen helped. They've added a decadent molten goat cheese appetiser to the menu that we probably should've ordered less of and I confounded expectations by passing on both the porkchop and the duck in order to try a fish--cobia--I'd never heard of before. It was quite lovely, as was the braised fennel alongside it, although not as sumptuous as e.'s scallops. Her squash was simply to die for.
We had a very nice petite syrah ("It's like a syrah, only smaller" I told my stepmom) from Sonoma--Foppiano (which I retained by means of the mnemonic "Fallopian") and service was quite smooth until time came for the check and our waitron was MIA for a bit--as was the dessert e. and
bunj ordered, which read a bit better than it tasted.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Heh. Yes, of course; Mexico. I've done just about enough SEAsian Studies for this to completely throw me: mestizo is such a common term, especially in the Philippines, but also for part-Dutch/part-Javanese, Vietnamese-French (in fact any situation that doesn't tread on Chinese ID, for which the Totok/Peranakan seems to trump all other concerns). It's easy to lose sight of the term's origins.
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