one-person show

Magician presents spirited old-style gathering

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By John Lyle Belden

At the same time as the modern magic show evolved throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, a movement arose involving communication with the deceased, known as Spiritualism. Turns out, the two had a lot in common.

Lexington, Ky., magician John Shore presents “The Talking Dead: Experiences from the Victorian Séance,” a one-hour exploration of the history and methods of Spiritualist mediums. After a successful debut at The Mary Todd Lincoln House in Lexington, and some revisions, this carefully-researched performance had a one night only showing recently at the IndyFringe Basile Theatre in Indianapolis, produced by Taylor Martin.

Shore decries the tense horror atmosphere of seances as portrayed by Hollywood, noting that especially from the 1840s to the 1920s, they had an overall relaxed atmosphere, an evening’s entertainment for middle and upper classes. Seating is mainly on stage, with some especially close to a pair of small tables, recreating the necessary intimate feel. Light is sometimes by a single candle.

We learn about historical figures including the Fox Sisters, who started the craze with rapping at walls and tables; D.D. Home, whose spirit power made furniture move; Dr. Henry Slade, who advanced from yes-or-no knocks or guesses at cards to mysterious messages on schoolhouse slates; and Margery the Medium, whose feats defied explanation throughout her career. We also hear about notables such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who believed absolutely everything presented to him, and legendary magician/escapologist Harry Houdini, who absolutely did not.

Shore delivers more than a lecture. The table moves and the cards reveal, while mysterious raps surround us, a simple bell rings itself, and a tambourine clatters – revealing that our séance has its own unseen spirit guide present.  (We even get “her” name.)

This splendid presentation gives us illusions in which the knowledgeable might suspect solutions, but with an air of mystery that keeps that part of you that wants to believe tuned in. As Spiritualism evolved into a bona fide religion, Shore notes that the mystery of faith plays an important role in the experience.

“Exposing it (as Houdini and his contemporaries did) really became beside the point,” Shore said after the show. As it was said in that era, neither for the skeptic nor the believer would anything fully change their minds.

As in a true séance of yesteryear, there is a fair amount of audience involvement. In fact, all who attend are asked to each write down a question for the spirits. A number of these will be selected – and answered.

Martin, a longtime Fringe veteran and master of the Indy Magic performance series, is working with Shore to bring “The Talking Dead” to this summer’s IndyFringe Festival. We are hoping they make it onto the schedule, as this enlightening and entertaining show will likely be a big hit. However, as much of the audience in the recent performance were members and friends of the local magic community, it will be interesting to see how more mundane folks handle the mysterious goings-on.  

With heart and hymns, a voting-rights hero tells her story

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By John Lyle Belden

Fannie Lou Hamer was a fairly remarkable woman before she became known to the world outside her Mississippi town. Literate despite a sparse education, the daughter of sharecroppers managed to find a good husband and work as bookkeeper for the plantation. But in 1962, at age 44, she discovered she had the right to vote. And everything changed.

Indiana Repertory Theatre presents “Fannie: The music and life of Fannie Lou Hamer,” by Cheryl L. West. On the IRT mainstage, we meet Hamer (Maiesha McQueen) late in her Civil Rights career, doing what she loves best – baking her “sock-it-to-me” cake and singing the Church music that sustained her throughout her life, through mental and physical abuse, doors slammed in her face, every small triumph and vicious defeat in the struggle to bring the vote to all Americans, especially those with dark skin like her.

She gives us her life story in gentle maternal tones, while never shying away from the dark and tragic moments. Happy to commune with us through the fourth wall, she encourages the audience to sing along with tunes like “This Little Light of Mine” and “I Love Everybody,” and even demands a “Can I get an ‘Amen!’?” Thus, she brings us 21st-century sojourners along on the dusty roads where she braved bigotry and beatings with incredible determination, even taking her message to the 1964 Democratic National Convention in Texas.

Broadway veteran McQueen brings Fannie to life wonderfully, bringing to light a lesser-known civil rights icon, making us feel glad to finally discover her and understand she is one of many workers in the struggle who deserve to be remembered and honored. Though this is presented like a one-woman show, the importance of music to her life is emphasized by the fine upstage backing band of Morgan E. Stevenson, Spencer Bean, and Dorian Phelps.

Henry D. Godinez directs, assisted by Ashlee “Psywrn Simone” Baskin (also understudy for Fannie). The narrative is enhanced by projections designed by Mike Tutaj.

Share in the joys and tears of the person who popularized the phrase, “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.” Performances of “Fannie” run through Feb. 4 at the IRT, 140 W. Washington St., downtown Indianapolis. Get info and tickets at irtlive.com.

Bradbury Center hosts one hell of a show

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By John Lyle Belden

Emmy winner and Ray Bradbury superfan Bill Oberst Jr. has portrayed many characters who reflect the darkness within mankind; in his new one-person show, “Adversary,” he takes on the Devil himself.

Presented as part of the IU Indianapolis Ray Bradbury Center “Festival 451 Indy,” Oberst’s performance in the District Theater, Sept. 30-Oct. 1 is the world premiere. (If you are seeing this as it is posted, you may be able to make the 2 p.m. Sunday show.)

Satan, who enjoys toying with the words of others, regards himself through sources ranging from ancient scripture to Mark Twain. Oberst contributes one piece, “Your 3 A.M. Therapist.” Mr. Bradbury is not quoted, though this suits the literary mission of the festival, and Oberst said in a follow-up Q&A that Bradbury’s character of Mr. Dark in “Something Wicked This Way Comes” was an inspiration – one of the better depictions of the Devil in fiction.

“Here we hear lies; here we hear truth,” the entity before us declares. “The devil is in the distinction.”

He focuses on three principal “true lies” that sound good and right but are bendable to darker purposes. Passages such as Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “The Grand Inquisitor,” from “The Brothers Karamazov,” show their application.

It is sometimes said that a work of theatre challenges you in the audience. This one literally does. Old Scratch knows you are watching and speaks to you through the ephemeral fourth wall. Do you answer? Regardless, there is plenty of food for thought here – dine with care.

“Adversary” is a unique, engaging, and in its own dark way enlightening theatre experience. For more information on Oberst and his projects, visit billoberst.com; click here for the Ray Bradbury Center in Indianapolis.

See why everyone went bananas for Baker

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By John Lyle Belden

Like, I suspect, many others, most of what I knew of Josephine Baker was that she was an early 20th-century performer who chose continent-wide fame in France over being just “a Negro” in America. And, knowing she was being adored rather than belittled, she indulged in and claimed power over stereotype with her infamous “Sauvage” dance wearing little more than a string of bananas.

But any cursory look at her biography shows that Baker is so very much more than the first African-American international superstar. “Josephine: A Musical Cabaret,” presented by Dynamite Lunchbox Productions and starring co-creator Tymisha Harris, at The District Theatre in downtown Indianapolis, presents her life story in a most entertaining fashion, letting Baker herself tell it between timeless songs of her era.

Harris brings the diva to life in non-stop flirtatious mode – remembering, relating, dishing, confessing. One moment she dances in pasties, the next she feigns modesty to a gentleman she addresses (including a few she sees in the audience). Yet even at her most exotic, she maintains that tasteful line one had to toe in that time when even the Folies Bergère had its limits. Thus, consider this a pushing-it PG-13 or light R rating for teens and older.

That flirting was with both men and women, as recent biographers have revealed and our Baker freely admits, making her an LGBTQ icon, as well as a war hero and Civil Rights activist – both of these are also addressed.

Also co-created by Michael Marinaccio and Tod Kimbro, this production runs a full two acts rather than the Fringe Festival-length performance seen elsewhere on the tour. Remaining dates are tonight (as I post this) and Sunday at the District Theatre, 627 Massachusetts Ave., Indianapolis. Get tickets at indydistricttheatre.org and info on the show and tour at josephinetheplay.com.

‘Naptown’ awakens

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By John Lyle Belden

The Naptown African American Theatre Collective made an impressive debut with its opening one-night production of Austin Dean Ashford’s “Black Book,” directed by Dexter Singleton, on May 13.

NAATC is Indianapolis’s first Black Equity theatre company. A 501c3 nonprofit organization, it is dedicated to diverse employment and speaking to the Black experience in all its forms.

We hear from many such voices in “Black Book,” written and performed solo by Ashford, a many-times national champion of Forensics (the art of speech and debate) who expanded to theatre while pursuing his masters degree. (He is presently earning a PhD at Texas Tech.) The central character is based somewhat on himself, a Forensics expert spending a summer as debate coach for a high school in a mostly-Black inner-city neighborhood. He tells his own story, how he elevated himself from a rough childhood and young adulthood mainly through speech and debate. We also get many glimpses of his coach and mentor, based on famed educator Tommie Lindsey. 

We then meet his students, who naturally want to be anywhere but in class, but need summer school credit to graduate. There are four, but there should have been five. Just days earlier, one was shot by a gun-wielding teacher. One of our students caught the incident on his phone and the viral video only managed to get the teacher fired, not prosecuted. Another was a close friend, and the trauma of witnessing the death exacerbated his stuttering. 

Prior to the first class, Ashford’s character asked that the students watch the 2007 Denzel Washington film, “The Great Debaters,” about the life of Melvin B. Tolson, whom the school is named after. In turn, the kids call him out for trying to be some sort of outsider teacher-savior from a popular movie. “This ain’t ‘Dead Poets Society’!”

As he proves to his charges, and us in the audience, this is a more genuine story of how oratory arts can lift up young men and bring about changes individually, and hopefully beyond. He assures them that this isn’t his bid for sainthood, and speech and debate won’t eliminate the thousand little cuts of racism the youths will endure through their lives, but will give them the tools to assert their dignity and heal.

It also opens the spectrum of what it means to be successful: “You can be a champion, and never touch a ball.”

This drama, with plenty of amusing bits and portrayals, does follow the genre storyline to a degree as the coach mostly wins over the kids, and we end with a triumphant exhibition. However, it feels natural, not contrived, and results in the kind of local small victory that such characters can build on. And the way to that “happy” ending is, of course, a bumpy road. One irony that the teacher comes to grasp, and should stab at the hearts of adults watching, is that the one who would have been the best student in this class lies in his grave. We have a long way to go for true victory.

Ashford’s style is captured energy molded in numerous ways, aided by contorted body movements apropos to each character. Being first a master of speech and persuasion infuses his natural acting with commanding power. We are briefed before the performance that the audience should react freely and respond to any question tossed through the thin fourth wall. This we did with almost a feeling of obligation, giving the show the uplifting air of a traditional African-American church service.

During his instruction, Ashford asks, “What’s your big ‘Why’?” What is the purpose that drives you? We get the answer for his various characters, and a major clue as to the whole endeavor of NAATC. This illuminating look at contemporary culture, how it fails our young men, and a possible way to help remedy the situation, is part of a bold premiere season. 

Next, Naptown embraces Motown with “Detroit ‘67,” by Dominique Morriseau, opening Aug. 25. In spring the company swings to August Wilson’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” scheduled to open March 8, 2024. Then, on May 3, NAATC asks us to look into “The Light,” by Loy A. Webb. All performances are at the Phoenix Theatre Cultural Center, 705 N. Illinois St.

The Collective is led by the hard work of LaKesha Lorene, with Ms. Latrice Young and board president Camike Jones, editor of the Indianapolis Recorder, along with Mariah Ivey of the Madame Walker Legacy Center, Flanner House executive director Brandon Cosby, Ron Rice, and AshLee Baskin.

Please visit naatcinc.org to learn more.

Before the ‘bang:’ A visit with Van Gogh

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By John Lyle Belden

Welcome to the world of Vincent Van Gogh!

Our entry is via the path of “Exhausted Paint” by Justin Maxwell, a playwright and Associate Professor at the University of New Orleans (another world of French style and cool cafes), presented by MFA student Drew Stroud with tour producer and wife Carly Stroud, directed by Baton Rouge-based R’Myni Watson. The Strouds have brought this one-man performance to the IndyFringe Indy Eleven stage for a single weekend before taking it to Illinois in April.

The subtitle, “The Death of Van Gogh,” is a bit misleading. The troubled genius painter was presumably alone when shot in the chest by a small-caliber revolver. It wasn’t the bullet that killed him, but the ensuing infection, 30 hours later on July 29, 1890. This isn’t covered in-depth in the play, though we eventually see it coming. (Theories have abounded in the years since, from an apparent suicide attempt to accident and even murder, but look elsewhere to expound on that.)

However, we do meet him in his final years, 1888 in Arles, France, through the birth of the namesake nephew he would never meet, in January 1890, to the day he wanders off with the gun. Correction: Time travel isn’t real (sorry, Doctor Who fans) so we’re meeting him in 2023 on a cluttered stage with painting supplies, an easel, random objects and some sort of rotating drum. And here is Vincent, who admits he is more a pop culture object now, embodied for the moment by an actor who speaks bad French (“His Dutch is even worse,” Van Gogh quips) yet through this theatre graduate student with hair dyed the copper sheen of one of the famous self-portraits, he remarks on that two-year period, based on the numerous letters he wrote to his brother – the man who financially supported him, as only one of his multitude of paintings sold in his lifetime.

Since the artist is being channeled through an improv performer, and befitting a history of various unspecified mental disorders (he leaves that up to others to define, but admits syphilis as a factor isn’t out of the question), Vincent frequently spins the drum, which has numerous parchment words stuck to it. He then pulls one, and lets the prompt guide his next brief monologue, memory, action, or audience encounter. He drinks wine, he drinks turpentine (not recommended), he bandages his head (you probably know why), he offers a bite of his potato. He labors at the canvas in bold strokes, then shows you his whole world in an envelope. He is amused, he is troubled, he is in touch with God, he is lonely, he pursues the light, he finds color in darkness. Nature – the crow, the tree root, the very atmosphere – mocks him. Another hasty drink, and the drum spins again. Stroud noted after the show this structure is indeed random, helping make no two performances the same.

Despite attempting only one French phrase, our 21st-century man does an excellent job embodying the master, complete with tics of mental distraction that don’t sink to caricature, in a modern colloquial style – complete with a few F-bombs – that would befit an Impressionist genius who just appeared, a la “Bill and Ted,” in our lecture hall. Thus I highly recommend this to anyone, teenage an up, interested at all in the man, his life and work. Through this appropriately unconventional means, we gain surprising insight into his story, and what makes his paintings – which you could have picked up back in the day for a handful of francs – worth multiple millions of dollars today. (This irony is not lost on the spirit of Vincent, either!)

If you happen to catch this review as I post it, you have a couple more opportunities to see “Exhausted Paint” in Indianapolis, today and Sunday (March 25-26) at the IndyFringe building, 719 E. St. Clair St. Get tickets at indyfringe.org. Upcoming performances are in Jacksonville, Ill., April 13; Springfield, April 14-16; and Decatur, April 18. Get info at ExhaustedPaint.com.

IRT: Shakespeare’s wife has her say

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By Wendy Carson

The title of the play, “Shakespeare’s Will,” by Vern Thiessen, is a turn of phrase that would impress the Bard himself, not only a twisting of William Shakespeare and describing the document of his estate, but also alluding to the willful nature of the man and his wife, Anne Hathaway.

Speaking of language, words overused in popular speech have lost their impact, still I feel the only way to describe this amazing one-woman show, at the Indiana Repertory Theatre, is “tour-de-force.” Thiessen has written a script that sweeps us through “Bill” and Anne’s first meeting, courtship, marriage, their children, his career, and the aftermath of his death. This reveals Hathaway as a remarkable woman in her own right.

Tracy Arnold takes us on a 90-minute ride through Hathaway’s complicated relationship with her husband. While we are taught incessantly about Shakespeare, little is ever told to us about the woman he married. We know her name, the names of her children, and if we are lucky, the actual terms of the titular will.

The show begins as Anne returns home following her husband’s funeral. She is sad, rain-soaked, tired, and carrying a copy of Shakespeare’s will which she hesitates to read. She turns instead within and reminisces of her time spent with (and often without) him.

Arnold uses a bench, chair, shawl, and a spectacular bed as her props to whisk us away to numerous points in time she reenacts. While going at a whirlwind pace, you never feel any scene is rushed or too brief. The various other characters she inhabits throughout are extremely well crafted, especially Hathaway’s father.

Director Brenda DeVita keeps the narrative guided on Hathaway’s path within the greater story of her connection to Shakespeare. History fails to record the lives of women, so we are left with far too few verifiable facts to work with in their remembrance (a mere nine in this case, according to DeVita).

A unique experience, this show is tender, defiant, tragic, and challenging, yet beautifully enjoyable. Happily, IRT has scheduled Student Matinees of the show to help bring youth a new and more accessible side of the history they are learning.

Performances run through April 16 on the Upperstage of the IRT, 140 W. Washington St. in Downtown Indianapolis. For information and tickets, visit irtlive.com.

Memory of a ‘Wild’ time at Phoenix Theatre

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By John Lyle Belden

I find it interesting that in “Wild Horses,” by Allison Gregory, on stage at the Phoenix Theatre, the main character of the one-woman play is 13 in the 1970s, around when I turned that age.

The story would feel familiar to anyone – recollections of a teenage year when it felt big things were happening and everything was changing – but there is a distinct feel in those days of kids among the first to identify as Generation X, more recent than the halcyon era of the 1950s or ‘60s, but before the decades when technology overtook our daily lives.

The girl we meet is unnamed (though one friend calls her “Frenchie,” likely a reference to the recently-released “Grease” movie) so we see things happen through her eyes. She lives in a countryside southern California suburb with a troubled mother, very strict father, and a 14-year-old sister she calls “the Favorite” whom she resents as much as she loves. Her best friends are accident-prone Skinny Linnie and budding delinquent Zabby, a tomboy with older brothers, Donno (whom our narrator is crushing on) and the eldest, who is aptly called “Mean Dean.”

When you hit your teens, a popular song on the radio is your anthem; for a typically horse-crazy girl, that’s doubly so with America’s “Horse With No Name.” The story opens with her trying to win an unusual radio contest in which entrants are asked to give the poor animal a name. We find out about the Favorite’s dangerous liaison, Mom’s condition – and her little secret – and the adventures our girl gets into with her besties. A badly-planned trip to rob a liquor store turns into an ill-advised venture through the fields of Morningstar Farms, a local horse ranch. A discovery made there in the dark is part of a summer she will never forget.

Directed by Lori Wolter Hudson, “Wild Horses” is performed by two different women: artistic director Constance Macy on some dates, and Jen Johansen on others. Macy, who we saw, notes in the program that the two have quite similar styles, which we agree makes for what we can assure will be an excellent theatre experience. However, the fact that this is a passion project for her does show through in her performance. We see both the woman remembering, and the girl living these events, in the way she presents this unique yet relatable coming-of-age story.

To help set the mood, theatre patrons are encouraged to add to a wall of notes reflecting on what ‘70s music we love and how we were in our youth.

Performances run through March 5 at the Phoenix Theatre Cultural Centre, 705 N. Illinois St., Indianapolis. Get tickets and info at phoenixtheatre.org.

The Elf may not enjoy this, but you will

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By John Lyle Belden

For an Elf, labor at the Toy Workshop is like a factory job anywhere in the world, with lunch hour your one respite from the constant grind. Being in the desolate dark zone above the Arctic Circle, when one of your workers – who has issues, to say the least – requests to entertain the crew with a “celebration of truth and pure being” during the break, it’s a good idea to let him ramble his weird poetry or whatever.

But as we see reenacted at the Phoenix Theatre Cultural Center, when “ProZack the Sad Elf” gets an unused storage room to put on his show, things get weirder than usual. Apparently, this year we get “The ProZack Holiday Musical (No, it’s not!)” starring Ben Asaykwee, Ben Asaykwee, Ben Asaykwee, Ben Asaykwee, Ben Asaykwee, Ben Asaykwee, and a demented Tree.

ProZack provides profound spoken verse with titles like “Nothingness,” and “Untitled.” Tinsel plays and sings holiday songs, even after he’s killed. Videographer Snowflake is up to some visual trickery. Tinkle tries to bring “levity” but has problems with his puppet, Mr. Tree, whose anger is growing, and growing. Meanwhile Glister, the industrial death metal Elf, has caught a worrying case of sentimentality.

With so much going wrong, ProZack has to frequently go backstage, where Snowflake also set up cameras. We see the elves interact and try to find their way through this madness that includes odd holiday movie references and the secret of what’s stored away in that “empty” room.

Not to mention the literal “Star” of the show…

With the help of multimedia and other effects, Asaykwee delivers a fun and surprisingly action-packed one-person show, masterfully juggling the various personae throughout the two-act “lunch hour.” There was much laughter, some finger-snapping (how you applaud poetry), and a bit of innuendo – so this is for humans of double-digit age (or relative equivalent for elves or other mythical beings).

“ProZack The Sad Elf,” also created, written, and directed by Asaykwee, runs through Dec. 23 on the Basile Theatre stage at the Phoenix, 705 N. Illinois St. in downtown Indianapolis. Get information and tickets at phoenixtheatre.org.

Southbank’s ‘Shocks’: Trigger warning

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“…To die – to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d…”
 – William Shakespeare, “Hamlet,” Act 3, Scene 1

By John Lyle Belden

Angela takes shelter in the basement. We, the audience, find that the fourth wall is behind us; we are trapped with her. The approaching tornado roars. Threatening an “overwhelm,” a noun coined by her fellow insurance specialists, this event is not entirely fictional or even hypothetical: It is statistical. This will happen to Angela, it may – one day – even come to us.

This is “Natural Shocks” by Lauren Gunderson, presented by Southbank Theatre at the Fonseca Theatre. Directed by New York-trained local actor Eric Bryant, Carrie Ann Schlatter delivers a fascinating performance, drawing us into her world of risks that can be quantified, but are more than cold numbers when calamity happens to you. She feels a kinship with Hamlet (inspiring the play’s title, see above), noting the “To Be or Not to Be” soliloquy is not so much about suicide but just mulling over the options of the cost/benefit of staying alive, vs. not.

Angela tells us of the life that led her up to this moment, of choices made, love lost and found, and a stand she needed to take. Spoiler alert: She lies when she says her husband is a good man. Also, there is a gun. It will be used.

This intense nonstop hour-plus drama is engaging and important viewing, though possibly triggering for those who can relate to this woman’s plight. Her ordeal becomes, for a moment, ours to bear. Tornadoes are unpredictable and wildly destructive – the same with what happens here.

Remaining performances are Thursday through Sunday, Nov. 17-20, at 2508 W. Michigan Ave., Indianapolis. Get info and tickets at SouthBankTheatre.org.