Between Fertile Ground and the spate of new productions opening up this month, we've been keeping busy with theater this week:
From Fertile Ground, I reported on the festival's millennial-produced shows, and staged readings on the story of Vanport, Oregon, and Gus Van Sant.
PETE: Thomas Ross saw the feverish, high-concept, low-action play Enter the Night, at Portland Experimental Theatre Ensemble, and found the heart of the rarely produced play in the actors' chemistry, writing, "That reenactment of Broken Blossoms is a form of pseudosexual romance between Tressa and Jack, both in drag. And when Paula and Tressa read Jack's play in overblown German-ish accents, Miles and Whitehall exhibit an impossibly campy chemistry. That chemistry is important for a play with too many ideas and too little conflict. Instead of that conflict, Whitehall, Miles, and Coleman inhabit the idiosyncrasies of love in an open, engaging way."
Vanya Et Al: I took my Chekhov-joke-skeptical self out to Portland Center Stage's production of Christopher Durang's Tony-winning play, Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike , which I found—in spite of issues with Durang's script—to be a lot more interesting than the Chekhov conceit suggests, and even somewhat heartwarming, albeit in a shambling, dysfunctional, very Wes Anderson sort of way.
Patton Oswalt: Meanwhile, in the world of books, Robert Ham read Patton Oswalt's latest memoir, Silver Screen Fiend, and found it to be more ugly-side-of-comedy confessional than lighthearted journey through film, writing, "Oswalt and his comedy peers 'started to eat each other alive,' gaming for the closing spot on the bill, or showing up even when they weren't performing in the hopes of sneaking in a few minutes on stage. For his part, Oswalt would leave the venue when a friend was on, 'not wanting to see them kill, not liking the curdled butane stink it'd create in my stomach.' This experience may seem singular, but it should be very familiar to any creative person who has let their ego cloud their thinking."
