• Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close for Best Picture. Excuse me?
• The Tree of Life for Best Picture. YES.
• Spielberg snub: No nomination for The Adventures of TinTin. Except for John Williams. Of course.
• Has the Academy no Shame?
• Just because it’s Pixar, doesn’t mean it’s Oscar-worthy (Thank you, Oscar).
• ¿Dónde eres tú, Almodóvar?
• Both Bridesmaids and A Separation are Best Screenplay nominees… I think you know what I’m trying to say here.
• Real Steel. ?
• I can’t believe I have to see Anonymous.

But almost more interesting is the tally of nominations per film. Could anyone have predicted that Hugo would come out on top? And with second place going to The Artist, it seems the Academy is all about the feel-good fare this year — not that they had much of a choice, mind you.  This hasn’t exactly been the most invigorating Oscar season but it’s what we have to work with, so here we go!

Hugo- 11

The Artist- 10

Moneyball- 6

War Horse- 6

The Descendants- 5

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo- 5

The Help- 4

Albert Nobbs- 3

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2- 3

Midnight in Paris- 4

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy- 3

Transformers: Dark of the Moon- 3

The Tree of Life- 3

Bridesmaids- 2

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close- 2

The Iron Lady- 2

My Week with Marilyn- 2

A Separation- 2

The Adventures of Tintin- 1

Anonymous- 1

The Barber of Birmingham- 1

Beginners- 1

A Better Life- 1

Bullhead- 1

A Cat in Paris- 1

Chico & Rita- 1

Dimanche/Sunday- 1

Drive- 1

The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore- 1

Footnote- 1

God Is the Bigger Elvis- 1

Hell and Back Again- 1

The Ides of March- 1

If a Tree Falls- 1

In Darkness- 1

Incident in New Baghdad- 1

Jane Eyre- 1

Kung Fu Panda 2- 1

La Luna- 1

Margin Call- 1

Monsieur Lazhar- 1

A Morning Stroll- 1

The Muppets- 1

Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory- 1

Pentecost- 1

Pina- 1

Puss in Boots- 1

Raju- 1

Rango- 1

Real Steel- 1

Rise of the Planet of the Apes- 1

Saving Face- 1

The Shore- 1

Time Freak- 1

The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom- 1

Tuba Atlantic- 1

Undefeated- 1

W.E.- 1

Warrior- 1

Wild Life- 1

61 films. 34 days.
Let’s do this.

Best Picture

1. The Artist
2. The Descendants
3. The Help
4. Midnight in Paris
5. Moneyball
6. Hugo
7. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
8. War Horse
9. The Ides of March
10. My Week with Marilyn

Just because the Academy can nominate 10 films, doesn’t mean it will. However, the first 8 seem like shoe-ins at this point. If there’s a 9 and a 10, well, they could really go to almost anything (The Tree of Life should be up here, but the Academy won’t go for it). A lot of people are predicting Bridesmaids, but I honestly think the Academy is too old for that (My Week with Marilyn is more its style), and personally, I can’t fathom a world in which Bridesmaids is an Oscar-nominated film.

Best Director

1. Michel Hazanavicius, The Artist
2. Alexander Payne, The Descendants
3. Martin Scorsese, Hugo
4. Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris
5. Terrence Malick, The Tree of Life

The first four are guaranteed nominees. The fifth slot? Well, that’s up for grabs. Malick may get some love here for his epic indulgence (which I would support), but for some inexplicable reason Clooney was nominated for the Golden Globe for The Ides of March, so he could sneak in. Another possibility is Fincher for the slickly filmed The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (which I’m rooting for).

Best Actor

1. George Clooney, The Descendants
2. Jean Dujardin, The Artist
3. Brad Pitt, Moneyball
4. Michael Fassbender, Shame
5. Leonardo DiCaprio, J. Edgar

The first three are solid. The other two options for the fourth and fifth slots are Gary Oldman (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy) and Demian Bichir (A Better Life).

Best Actress

1. Viola Davis, The Help
2. Michelle Williams, My Week With Marilyn
3. Meryl Streep, The Iron Lady
4. Glenn Close, Albert Nobbs
5. Rooney Mara, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

While I’m surprised to see Mara up there, the buzz is high, though she could be shut out by Tilda Swinton (We Need To Talk About Kevin) or — an even longer shot — Charlize Theron (Young Adult).

Best Supporting Actor

1. Christopher Plummer, Beginners
2. Kenneth Branagh, My Week With Marilyn
3. Albert Brooks, Drive
4. Jonah Hill, Moneyball
5. Viggo Mortensen, A Dangerous Method

While I can’t imagine anyone else being nominated, with such a strange year, these nominees aren’t actually solid (I think it would be quite fun if Ben Kingsley was nominated for Hugo). With one exception: Christopher Plummer will be nominated — and he will win. If the 2012 Oscars accomplish nothing else, my grandpa, as I affectionately refer to the ever-charming Plummer, will finally, at age 82, take home an Oscar.

Best Supporting Actress

1. Octavia Spencer, The Help
2. Bérénice Bejo, The Artist
3. Jessica Chastain, The Help
4. Janet McTeer, Albert Nobbs
5. Shailene Woodley, The Descendants

Possible Spoiler: Carey Mulligan (Shame)

Best Original Screenplay

1. Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris
2. Michel Hazanavicius, The Artist
3. Asghar Farhadi, A Separation
4. Will Reiser, 50/50
5. Diablo Cody, Young Adult

Bridesmaids could steal a slot here, quite easily — that’s how dismal a year it is for original screenplays. And the WGA also nominated Win Win, but…whatever.

Best Adapted Screenplay

1. Nat Faxon, Alexander Payne & Jim Rash, The Descendants
2. Aaron Sorkin & Steven Zaillian, Moneyball
3. George Clooney & Grant Heslov, The Ides of March
4. Tate Taylor, The Help
5. Steven Zaillian, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

Possible spoilers: John Logan, Hugo; Richard Curtis & Lee Hall, War Horse

Best Animated Feature

1. The Adventures of Tintin
2. Arthur Christmas
3. Cars 2
4. Puss In Boots
5. Rango

Best Foreign Language Film

1. A Separation (Iran)
2. The Skin I Live In (Spain)
3. Pina (Germany)
4. In Darkness (Poland)
5. The Flowers of War (China)

Best Documented Feature

1. Project Nim
2. Hell and Back Again
3. Paradise Lost 3
4. Pina
5. We Were Here

Potential spoiler: Bill Cunningham New York

Best Film Editing

1. The Artist
2. Hugo
3. War Horse
4. Moneyball
5. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

Possible spoiler: The Tree of Life

Best Cinematography

1. The Artist
2. The Tree of Life
3. Hugo
4. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
5. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Possible spoiler: Jane Eyre

Best Art Direction

1. Hugo
2. The Artist
3. The Help
4. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2

Possible spoiler: The ADG-nominated Anonymous.

Best Costume Design

1. The Artist
2. Hugo
3. Jane Eyre
4. The Help
5. W.E.

Because all of the above are period films, I have to believe one of them will be knocked out in favor of a more contemporary piece — or Harry Potter. But my hope for a spoiler is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

Best Original Score

1. The Artist
2. War Horse
3. Hugo
4. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
5. Harry Potter

Possible spoiler: Anything else scored by Alexandre Desplat. The man is ubiquitous.

Best Original Song

1. “Masterpiece,” W.E.
2. “Lay Your Head Down,” Albert Nobbs
3. “The Living Proof,” The Help
4. “Coeur Volant,” Hugo
5. “Hello Hello,” Gnomeo & Juliet

Sound Mixing

1. War Horse
2. The Adventures of Tintin
3. Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol
4. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
5. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo

Possible spoiler: Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon (Isn’t it always nominated?), Super 8

Best Sound Editing

1. War Horse
2. Super 8
3. The Adventures of Tintin
4. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
5. Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Possible spoiler: Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon (Isn’t it always nominated?), Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol

Best Visual Effects

1. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
2. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2
3. Hugo
4. Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon
5. Super 8

Best Makeup

1. The Iron Lady
2. Hugo
3. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2
4. The Artist
5. Albert Nobbs

Top Ten Best Shows of 2011
(in no particular order)

Hello, Again at 52 Mercer Street.

Hello, Again

The Transport Group’s sexy revival of Michael John LaChiusa’s 1994 chamber musical inspired by Arthur Schnitzler’s 1900 play La Ronde, didn’t wink-wink, nudge-nudge its way through the carnalities of couplings. About sex at its seediest level, this was a brazen production of one of musical theatre’s most under-appreciated and complex composers.

The Hallway Trilogy and HotelMotel

Ever a fan of the hyper-prolific Adam Rapp, two of his many productions share a spot on my list: One a hyper-ambitious triptych spanning a century in a single decrepit hallway and the other a reboot of the meandering and magically real Animals and Plants (in a doubleheader with Derek Ahonen’s Pink Knees on Pale Skin), these two works were chockfull of signature in-your-face Rapp: daring nudity, jolting language, shocking actions and of course, difficult and damaged, strangely compelling characters.

The Normal Heart on Broadway. Photo: Joan Marcus.

The Normal Heart

Equal parts hostility and heart, George C. Wolfe and Joel Grey‘s searing, minimalist production did exactly right by playwright-activist Larry Kramer by focusing on content over context with a spare, direct design that drew out the most staggering ensemble work on Broadway of the season. It marked an astonishing example of how truly worthy plays — even less than perfect ones like the preachy-passionate Heart — can endure over time.

How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying

A dancer’s director, Rob Ashford slickly staged a blissfully bright Broadway musical with a full, fantastic orchestra; clever, beautifully executed choreography and a dynamic, dedicated cast. No wizardry there: just some luck, a lot of pluck and quite possibly the Happiest Boy on Broadway this year, Daniel Radcliffe (who, just this week, was replaced with — sigh — Glee star Darren Criss).

War Horse at Lincoln Center. Photo: Paul Kolnik.

War Horse

A boy and his horse and some awe-inspiring puppets combine to create the most imaginative, visionary and theatrically moving work of the season, garnering the Tony Award for Best Play. Quite naturally, it’s also become a Steven Spielberg film (and an inevitable Oscar nominee).

Good People

Even hardened anti-realism folks such as myself must acknowledge when the form is done well — and few contemporary writers do it better than David Lindsay-Abaire. The female-friendly playwright — his protagonists are almost always women — explored the hot-button American issue of class through intricate relationships and richly complex characters, without ever grasping for topicality.

The Book of Mormon

Praise be for Trey Parker, Robert Lopez and Matt Stone who offered up a well-made, very funny, minimally offensive, brilliantly performed, completely original Tony Award-winning Broadway musical about a pair of mismatched, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Mormons sent on a mission to squalid and violent Uganda. A bit of a musical miracle, indeed.

The cast of epbb's These Seven Sicknesses.

These Seven Sicknesses

Take 23 actors and a bevy of technicians and crew members; throw them in a super-secret Hell’s Kitchen loft; add a select audience, communal dinner and an endless supply of alcohol; mix in a 5-hour play cycle of Sophocles’s works and what you’d come up with is the most intimate, inclusive and enjoyable night at the theatre this year. If you aren’t yet familiar with Ed Iskander’s “theatre collective,” Exit, Pursued by a Bear, you should be. But if you haven’t yet experienced Sean Graney’s epic, clever and affecting take on Sophocles’s work, you still have a chance: The Flea Theater’s production of These Seven Sicknesses, also helmed by Iskander, premieres later this month.

Milk Like Sugar

The pregnancy pact plot is a tad bit Lifetime-y, but Greenidge’s punchy drama has power, and the playwright possesses a knack for language, effortlessly and hilariously fusing urban colloquy with lyricism. With such smart, hip and ambitious work, this talented playwright won’t be “emerging” for long.

Urge for Going at The Public Theater. Photo: Carol Rosegg.

Urge for Going

The deceptively simple play follows Jamila, a 17-year-old Palestinian girl growing up in a Lebanese refugee camp, as she desperately attempts to escape the restriction of her desolate home. Beautifully complex and rich in both character and story, this production was a surprise from start to finish, and playwright Mona Mansour’s talent was the most wonderful surprise of all.

The Worst

Baby, It’s You!

This jukebox musical represented the most inept musical offering of the season. Baby, it’s decidedly not you.

Catch Me If You Can

As shallow and soulless as they come, the only person involved who emerged from this Pepto-Bismol-palletted aural attack with full dignity intact was the always stellar Norbert Leo Butz.

The Most Overrated

Punchdrunk's Sleep No More on West 27th Street.

Jerusalem

The success of Jez Butterworth’s hyperbolically praised “state-of-the-nation” play was, in actuality, due solely to the dazzling performance of one Mark Rylance.

Sleep No More

Wandering through the impeccably decorated five-story McKittrick Hotel with actors silently performing “scenes” from Macbeth was mildly entertaining for about an hour. As for the next three, well, I wouldn’t know: I preferred sleep, more.

The Best Drama Off-Stage

Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark

Lord knows the drama onstage was dismal — except when actors were falling from the sky, of course — but who didn’t love gossiping about this train wreck? C’mon, admit it: we all kinda miss Spidey, The Hottest Mess on Broadway.

The Best Marketing Gimmick

The Importance of Being Earnest

I still can’t stop laughing, and you know Wilde would approve.

The concept has serious comedic potential: Take Aristophanes’ bawdy political 411 BC comedy and transfer it to a contemporary college campus where the cheerleaders refuse to “give it up” until their b-ball guys stop giving up on the court. Unfortunately, Lysistrata Jones is just that: a funny concept that, as executed by Douglas Carter Beane (book), Lewis Flinn (music/lyrics) and Dan Knechtges (director/choreographer), does not a funny new musical comedy make.

Lysistrata Jones, a bubbly blonde transfer student (played with Elle Woods-like enthusiasm by Patti Murin), is tired of the lack of drive and overall commitment of her boneheaded boyfriend Mick (a humorously vapid Josh Segarra) and his teammates, so she puts together a cheering team to offer some motivation. When that doesn’t work, she convinces her fellow gal pals to take inspiration from her namesake and deny the boys sex until they shape up. But what is Lyssie really gaining from this self-inflicted abstinence? Aristophanes’ women denied themselves to promote peace and save lives by motivating their men to end the war, but Lysistrata has no real reason to care that the Spartans have been shamelessly rocking a 30-some-odd-year-long losing streak. What the heck is the point?

The stakes are low to non-existent, and Douglas Carter Beane’s characters revel in racial stereotypes (Jewish, African American, Latino — you name it, he’s written a two-dimensional character to exemplify it). The super-shiny set (Allen Moyer), color-splashed, semi-slutty costumes (David C. Woolard and Thomas Charles LeGalley) and endearingly enthusiastic cast work hard for laughs (most successful is Lindsay Nicole Chambers with her exuberant curls and priceless poetry slams), but the material simply doesn’t boast enough zippy one-liners amidst all its predictable pop culture references. My (least) favorite was the sigh-inducing slam bemoaning the overabundance of stage musicals based on films — a joke that is particularly unfunny considering the man who wrote it sole other musical experience comes from two such musicals (Sister Actand Xanadu, the latter of which is one of the most shallow, ridiculous, delightful and hilarious musical experiences on Broadway in the past 5 years). Be careful lest you bite the hand that feeds you, Mr. Beane.

And why, oh why, in a musical comedy about sex is the word sex utilized but once (brava for the “sex jihad” joke, by the way)? Aristophanes would’ve been as appalled as I was by the almost complete lack of raunchiness. There is, in fact, an entire song that avoids any kind of sexy directness — “No More Giving It Up!” is cringe-inducing in its G-rated lyrical awkwardness and bland pop stylings. Knechtges’ cheertastic choreography doesn’t help bring the sexy back either — for the record, Kenny Ortega did the baller number better.

For whatever reason, Lysistrata Jones was a hit when first staged at the Dallas Theater Center and then again when it was presented off-Broadway this past summer by the usually spot-on Transport Group (Was Ben Brantley drinking the Kool-Aid?). While everyone from the cast to the designers to the creators of LJ are working really, really hard to be super-fun and super-funny, they don’t come anywhere near the deliciously guilty pleasures of the Legally Blondes and Alter Boyzs of the musical theatre world. The joy of musical fluff comes from its clever, streamlined effortlessness — not from awkward, unsexy earnestness.

Lysistrata Jones
Walter Kerr Theatre
219 West 48th Street
New York, NY 10036
Opens December 14, 2011 – Open Ended 

I’ve never seen or read any of Dael Orlandersmith’s work before (though I’ve always, always confused her Yellowman with David Henry Hwang’s Yellowface), so I had few expectations going in to Rattlestick Playwrights Theater’s production of her newest play, Horsedreams. But once the usher informed me the runtime was just 90 minutes, no intermission, I was already on board with Ms. Orlandersmith (I firmly believe that unless you’re Shakespeare or O’Neill — even then, you’re pushing it — your play should not exceed two hours. Musicals excepted, naturally).

Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised. Exploring the breakdown of a family due to addiction, Orlandersmith deals mainly in cliches: NYC party girl (read: social coke-user) Desiree settles for big businessman Loman, despite dreams of wanting so much more. Once she’s moved up state and given birth to too-adorable-for words-son Luka, her drug habit increases steadily in attempt to escape the depressing reality of her unrealized dreams, eventually and frighteningly including highballs of coke and dope, which she scores by late night limo trips to Lexington 1-2-5 (Lexington Ave/125th St. in Harlem). Her eventual, inevitable death by overdose causes Loman to spiral into his own addiction, forcing young Luka to parent his own father.

Despite the over-familiar characters and the simplistic plot, Horsedreams surprisingly works. Orlandersmith writes starkly lyrical monologues in a counterpoint that is aggressively paced by director Gordon Edelstein. The superb cast includes Roxanna Hope (Desiree), Michael Laurence (Loman), the impressively mature Matthew Schechter (Luka) and the playwright herself as Mira, the no-nonsense nanny/Nursing student from Harlem who takes horse-obsessed Luka under her wing when his parents fail to raise him (there’s a nice, if obvious, juxtaposition of the highs of riding horses and drugs).

Once again, Rattlestick proves its knack for supporting interesting playwrights. I’ll certainly keep my eye out for Ms. Orlandersmith from now on.

Horsedreams by Dael Orlandersmith
through December 11, 2011
Rattlestick Playwrights Theater
224 Waverly Place
New York, NY  10014

Mandy and Patti are together again, and the result is every musical theatre geek’s wet dream. With her big, brassy belt and his otherworldly, crazy-town falsetto — not to mention their incredibly over-the-top personalities — An Evening with Patti LuPone and Mandy Patinkin guarantees a good time. Whether you’re a Sondheim snob, Great American Songbook aficionado or a Gleek, this is the show for you.

It’s hard to believe this is only the second time the Broadway divas have shared a stage on the Great White Way. Aged three years apart, they attended Juilliard at the same time, in the infancy stage of the school’s drama program, but they didn’t officially meet until the summer of 1979 in Los Angeles for the tryout of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s second Broadway-bound musical. It seems fitting, then, that as they reunite and once again perform some of the songs that solidified their statuses as musical theatre legends, Evita is also prepping for its first Broadway revival (starring Ricky Martin (!), Elena Roger and Michael Cerveris).

Fitting, but also just a tad bit sad. That 30 years have passed between these incarnations serves as a reminder that LuPone and Patinkin are no longer on the upswing of their careers. True, she’s been keeping busy with award-winning revivals (Gypsy, John Doyle’s Sweeney Todd) and some, well, less than stellar premieres (Women on the Verge). And though Patinkin has been largely absent from Broadway — excluding special concerts, his last appearance was back in 2000 in Michael John LaChiusa’s The Wild Party – he’s been dabbling in Shakespeare and puppets off-Broadway and consistently working in television (currently co-starring with Claire Danes in USA’s well-reviewed Homeland).

This is all to say that it’s a delight to have them back together again, doing what they do best. Though it’s certainly not the first time they’ve come together for an Evening. A theatre in Richardson, Texas cleverly tricked them into performing together back in 2002, and it was then that Patinkin (who also directs) and his longtime pianist Paul Ford conceived of Evening as it is now: a song cycle of the ups and downs of love, the two work their way through the cockeyed optimism of South Pacific through the hyper neuroses of Sondheim and back again to the heartbreaking reality of Carousel. The first act is heavy on the former musical and the second act, the latter, to the point where musical sequences from those shows are done in their entirety, dialogue and all. Never minding that it’s a stretch to imagine LuPone as a teenaged wallflower– that silly pony tail isn’t fooling anyone, Patti — with a legit voice, but it’s also takes such a commitment, from both the performers and the audience, to delve so deeply, so briefly. LuPone and Patinkin are decidedly at their best when they’re switching deftly from song to song and show to show: The magic of the evening results from marveling at their transformative abilities, both in voice and character.

Photo: Joan Marcus

LuPone’s belt appeared to be on holiday — or she was simply saving herself for the evening’s big moment, and certainly “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” was her strongest, most poignant performance. Only a couple of shows into the run (that will transfer into a touring production come mid-January), though, LuPone is already in weak voice, and even her Mama Rose couldn’t quite hack it — I was a bit worried she wouldn’t actually hit the vocal heights of “Everything’s Coming Up Roses.” But the performance was feisty, and her fantastic facial expressions and spot-on comic timing largely make up for her shaky vocals.

But I’ve always preferred Patinkin over Patti, and Mandy had plenty of magical moments. Showcasing his signature hyperbole in a mesmerizingly manic take on “The God-Why-Don’t-You-Love-Me-Blues” (Follies), he pushes comic neuroses to the edge with screwy hand gestures and a sputtering smile. He was equally showy but oh-so-slightly more subtle in “Everybody Says Don’t” (Anyone Can Whistle), demonstrating his vocal agility by switching effortlessly from that soft, almost feminine lilt to a guttural growl. When it’s finally time to revisit his Tony Award-winning performance, he doesn’t disappoint: “Oh What a Circus” makes us wonder how Ricky Martin can ever possibly hold a candle to this master.

I only wish Patinkin’s theatrical concept encompassed his full musical range: where’s the manic minstrelsy of The Wild Party? The faltering falsetto of The Secret Garden‘s crippled shut-in? The obsessive artist of Sunday in the Park with George? Sure, one can’t include everything in a single show, but these feel like missed opportunities when there’s an over-abundance of Rogers and Hammerstein and Kander and Ebb. The evening also lacks one major key: in a concert performance such as this, typically between songs, the performers chat with each other, regaling the audience with gossipy backstage tales and peppering their performances with personal anecdotes. Disappointingly, this only occurs once in the 2 hour show that is all singing and dancing (an enormously funny dance duet in swiveling office chairs — “April in Fairbanks” — can be credited to choreographer Ann Reinking), but the two, who are obviously dear, dear friends, make the most of the time: whispering to each other conspiratorially between songs, LuPone gigglingly boasts that, during one of her numbers, Patinkin openly admires that her “breasts look great.” And throughout the course of the evening, whilst the theatre hilariously encounters one lighting dilemma after another, the two slyly incorporate the malfunctions into lyrics to much humorous effect.

It all comes off as a more than a bit showchoir-y (nostalgia and horror for my similarly styled performances in high school alternately overwhelmed me throughout the night) with the minimal choreography and the cheesy transitions, but if any pair can get away with it — neigh, make it work to their advantage — it’s Patti and Patink. You could hardly do better than to spend an Evening with these Broadway stalwarts.

Jesse Eisenberg is all geeky, nervous energy. Inexplicably unable to maintain eye contact, his gaze darts constantly, words tumbling out of his mouth in an uncensored torrent as he hunches over ever-so-slightly, as if desperately trying to disappear within himself. The only cure for his fidgety fingers is to forcefully shove them under his armpits as he crosses and uncrosses his arms in an attempt to shield himself from any kind of human contact.

As an actor, he’s a delight to watch — bounding across the stage with curls a’bouncin’, splaying his slender frame across a beanbag — even if his range seems narrowly defined (Zuckerberg’s strategic aloofness, Baumbach’s cold pretension). As a playwright… well, let’s just say he’s got potential.

Asuncion isn’t exactly his first play, but it is the only one that’s been produced (what I wouldn’t give to see his musical, Me Time!, for which he wrote the music and lyrics. Jack of all trades, this one). And it’s certainly not original in its premise: Edgar, an unemployed wannabe journalist who mooches off his ex-TA, Vinny — a (white) Black Studies PhD candidate — becomes absurdly suspicious of his brother’s marriage to a Filipina woman named Asuncion.

Eisenberg plays Edgar — he stands in for his own stand in? — who, from his seeming position of privilege, comically projects his white guilt liberalism all over the sunnily naive Asuncion, who he interrogates about about post-Vietnam Cambodia (she’s Filipina, remember?), all the while insisting his brother purchased her in the sex slave trade  – or at the very least as a mail-order bride. Why else would an “untraveled” white Wall Street-er marry a “poor” “Latina”? (There are just so many quotes going on here.) Despite Edgar’s inherent obnoxiousness, Eisenberg imbues him with a likable earnestness — to “protect” his country, to  bring Vinny lunch every day even if it means getting mugged by the young hooligans in the neighborhood, to be fun (he so desperately longs to be fun).

Justin Bartha and Jesse Eisenberg in Asuncion. Photo: Sandra Coudert.

While you may be rolling your eyes by now at the slim, stereotype-driven plot (which only implodes rather ingloriously in the second act), don’t worry — it’s not all that bad. The self-deprecating Eisenberg has a knack for the funny — there are moments of sharp, satirical insight, and the banter between Edgar and Vinny is quick-witted and creates a subtle, at times disturbing, spin on the overly popular bromance (view a few scenes of the play here). It certainly helps that Vinny is played by Hangover star Justin Bartha (who recently starred in Zach Braff’s painfully unfunny attempt at playwriting): unironically sporting Black Power tees and Afrocentric beads (hilariously spot-on costuming by Jessica Pabst), Bartha’s pothead Vinny soulfully drums his bongo, finds a way to drop Malcom X or MLK Jr. quote into any conversation and strikes up a charming rapport with Camille Mana’s Asuncion (which, of course, Edgar is exceedingly jealous of). He’s pompous, ludicrous and disarmingly likable — he’s also the more darkly complex character, carefully exposing shocking moments of liberal racism.

Not a whole lot happens in the weakly premised Asuncion, but it’s still largely enjoyable as directed at a fast and funny clip by Kip Fagan. Eisenberg’s ability to craft damningly humorous dialogue and complex relationships demonstrates his potential as a dramatist and showcases his already proven talent as an actor.

Now let’s see that musical.

Asuncion by Jesse Eisenberg
Presented by Rattlestick Playwrights Theater 
at Cherry Lane Theater
38 Commerce Street, New York, NY  10014
through December 18, 2011

Only Michael John LaChiusa would tackle a musical retelling of the real-life story of daredevil Anna Edson Taylor who, to celebrate her 63rd birthday in 1901, hopped in a barrel and plunged over Niagra Falls — and survived to tell the tale.

LaChiusa’s got a proven track record for offbeat offerings that work: a woman quits smoking and starts swimming to compensate for nicotine in Little Fish; Mamie Eisenhower, Margaret Truman, Eleanor Roosevelt and Jackie Kennedy sing of their singular form of entrapment in the First Lady Suite; See What I Wanna See musically imagines three of Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s famous short stories (including “In a Grove,” which was the basis for Akira Kurosawa’s Rashōmon).

A criticism sometimes levied against MJL isn’t that his work is too “dark” or “challenging” (though some find that it is)  — but that he’s just too darn prolific. Even though we haven’t heard much from him in New York recently, regionally, he’s all over the place. The guy just keeps churning ‘em out.

Queen of the Mist: Annie Edson Taylor

While this isn’t necessarily a problem (Full disclosure: I’m a huge fan, and think his The Wild Party is one of the most brilliant pieces of theatre I’ve seen. Ever.), it is with Queen of the Mist, which certainly needs more development and tighter editing.  Based on this musical, for which MJL also wrote the book, Taylor was a childless widow and failed dance teacher who moved around a lot in a constant quest for financial security. To prove to herself and her sister (who may or may not be a figment of MJL’s imagination — I could find no evidence that she actually existed)  that she is capable of greatness — and quite possibly out of sincere desperation — she determines to pull off the stunt of the century. Afterwards, she attempts to capitalize on her outrageous act by booking speaking engagements and selling postcards, but no one is interested in hearing her story, and her manager embezzles what little money she did make.

Produced by The Transport Group, which gave us last season’s super-sexy revival of MJL’s Hello, Again,  Jack Cummings III directs his  fine cast with an intimate touch, and the score, while quite lovely on the whole, only hits its stride in the final 30 minutes, when we begin to hear an intriguing discordance during Annie’s trippy journey into the afterlife. MJL attemps to flesh out Annie’s otherwise unremarkable life — injecting the disapproving sister and complicating her relationship with her manager  — but the drama simply isn’t there. Annie — despite the super-solid portrayal by the always brilliant Mary Testa (a frequent collaborator of Michael John’s) — isn’t compelling enough for a full-length musical (certainly not a 2 hours and 40 minutes-long musical), but maybe her story could be if tightened into one act.

Then again, perhaps this “Queen of the Mist” is best left as a fun historical anecdote.

Queen of the Mist
book/lyrics/music by Michael John LaChiusa
playing through November 20, 2011 at the Gym at Judson

Jennifer Lim and Gary Wilmes. Photo: Michael McCabe

(chĭng’glĭsh)

(adj.) Of or relating to a language in which both English and Chinese words are used together in order to express a meaning.

In the Broadway premiere of Chinglish, David Henry Hwang blends English and Mandarin in an attempt to express that East-West relations are as complex as the languages themselves. Not exactly an earth-shattering revelation — Hwang already covered this ground 23 years ago, more compellingly, with M. Butterfly — this new play is more fluff than substance.

Springing from the author’s personal experiences in China over the past five years, Chinglish follows American businessman Daniel Cavanaugh (Gary Wilmes, the only new cast member since the premiere in Chicago, is more earnest than engaging) who  desperately seeks to score a lucrative deal for his family’s sign-making firm as he travels to China. Of course along the way he manages to fall for Xi Yan, the sharp businesswoman (a sexy-shrewd Jennifer Lim) who isn’t as honest or good as she insists him to be.

Chinglish has a light touch: the comedy almost entirely consist of redundant mistranslations (Shawn Duan’s subtitle projections are nicely clear-cut) that never quite have any bite to them, and are all drawn out indulgently. One of few comic bits not riffing on language barriers — a group of Chinese businessmen fawn over Daniel  for his involvement in the Enron scandal (which they not-so-hilariously admire) — drags on for well over ten minutes in which the Chinese inquire about each head of Enron. Moments like this add up to a production that is overlong and yet still doesn’t say enough: While the  comedy needs trimming, the characters need filling out.

For the most part, director Leigh Silverman keeps the pace quick, but with so many lost-in-translation moments, it all feels a bit sitcom-y. David Korins’s slick-yet-purposefully-bland set only adds the overall indulgence of the production: On a double turntable, it’s an overly complicated puzzle that never stops moving, as though to inspire awe when its pieces finally converge to form a new location. It’s distracting, and the “scenes” that Silverman creates, in a well-meaning attempt to justify the time spent while the set spins and conjoins, are just plain silly. Darron L. West’s “hip” Chinese pop-rap soundtrack at least keeps the energy up while the set slows things down.

Critics so largely enjoyed the show (and it impressed in its world premiere at the Goodman as well) that I have to think it’s partially due to the rarity of comedies on Broadway these days. And, honestly, who isn’t rooting for Hwang? But with thematic ground that has been covered and jokes stretched as thin as rice vermicelli, Chinglish doesn’t translate to much.

Chinglish by David Henry Hwang opened on October 27, 2011 for an open-ended Broadway run.
Longacre Theatre
220 West 48th Street
New York, NY 10036

Samuel L. Jackson as Martin Luther King, Jr. in THE MOUNTAINTOP. Photo credit: Joan Marcus.

What is most striking about The Mountaintop — a new play that re-imagines Martin Luther King Jr.’s final night before he was assassinated — is how little we get to know King. According to Hall, and to all of the press about the show (and there’s been a lot), that’s entirely the point — to get to know the man, not the legend.

But that King the man remains a mystery long after the curtain lowers is only one of many disappointments in this 90-minute two-hander by 30-year-old African American playwright Katori Hall. She’s the Hot New Playwright of the Moment: her collection of Memphis-set plays, echoing August Wilson’s cycle of Pittsburgh plays, was published last month, and while this one currently runs on Broadway, another, Hurt Village, preps for its off-Broadway bow at Signature Theatre. And, of course, her Mountaintop bested Tony-nominated Jerusalem for the 2010 Olivier Award for Best New Play.

Hall wrote The Mountaintop in 2007 when she was just 26, making few changes to the script since then — and, quite frankly, it shows. The play is set on April 3, 1968, when MLK retires to room 306 in the Memphis’s Lorraine Motel following his legendary “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop” speech delivered to a church congregation of more than 3,000. Hall’s attempts at “humanizing” the icon include showing him urinating (off-stage, of course), indulging in some liquor and cigarettes, flirting shamelessly with the maid and –SPOILER ALERT! (not really) — depicting him as a regular joe with super-smelly feet. Yep, lots of controversial/enlightening stuff here.

Sadly, it doesn’t get more insightful than that. When a young (ahem, Angela Bassett) and pretty chambermaid arrives to bring King his coffee, there’s a lot — and by “a lot” I mean the entire show — of silly, shallow banter between the two about the benefits of Pall Malls, jokes about the Beatles and even a pillow fight. Yes: a pillow fight. At the halfway mark, Hall springs a “twist” on us that isn’t all that surprising, and in fact, is fairly predictable. As requested by the show’s press rep, I won’t reveal what it is, but let’s just say it’s less inspired than it is sentimental, aiming to depict King’s great fear of his own mortality and desperate longing to “pass the baton on” — and also, to showcase a super-neat trick of David Gallo’s impeccably recreated motel room set.

Angela Bassett as Camae in the new play THE MOUNTAINTOP. Photo Credit: Joan Marcus.

But with all this Big Broadway Buzz, surely the much talked-about performances elevate the mediocre work, right? Eh, not exactly. Gorgeous as ever, 53-year-old Angela Bassett — the script calls for a twentysomething girl — plays chambermaid Camae. Meant to draw King out — at the play’s start, he’s very much inside his head, working on that last, great speech — Camae chats and flirts incorrigibly, mostly about nothing and rarely allowing “Preacher Kang” a moment to interject (much like Bassett’s forced performance, her Memphis twang is affected). With many theatre credits, including the Broadway premiere of August Wilson’s Joe Turner’s Come and Gone, Bassett has no excuse — and director Kenny Leon (Fences) even less for allowing it — for playing so broadly, shuffling and twitching across the stage as though performing in a minstrel show. When it’s obvious that an actor is working, hard, to “react” to everything said and done onstage, it’s a painful and exhaustingly frustrating experience. “If you don’t look at her while she’s talking, she’s not as bad,” my companion whispered helpfully to me about twenty minutes in.

Unfortunately, Bassett’s performance is such a train wreck that I couldn’t look away, nor could I focus on the much more natural and effective performance of Samuel L. Jackson as King. The 62-year-old is neither the right age (MLK was just 39 when he was killed), nor does he really resemble the legend, either in appearance or voice. But Jackson knows King in a way an age-appropriate actor never could — he participated in the marches, attended many of his speeches, even ushered at his funeral — and with solid theatre credits under his belt, albeit a bit rusty (his only Broadway credit is as understudy for the premiere of The Piano Lesson in 1990, and he originated other of Wilson’s roles at Yale Rep), he has a natural and easy way about him onstage.

When Jackson enters room 306, rain-soaked and coughing with cold, we watch with curiosity as goes through the motions of King unwinding after a long day. Unbuttoning his collar and removing his shoes, calling his wife and children to say goodnight, working on his next speech — practicing the tone and inflection of each line, each word. But instead of developing King from there, he remains largely stagnant, playing second banana to Camae. Jackson’s thoughtful, unshowy performance is swallowed whole by Bassett’s play for easy laughs, and it isn’t until the final scene, when he gives that famous Mountaintop speech, that we glimpse what could have been: Jackson as King, fighting to hold back his motions and his own mortality, as we know him and want to remember him, preaching, powerfully, about finding that Promised Land.

When it comes down to it, what does The Mountaintop actually offer? Do we need, or even want, to see King as a flawed man? Let me put it another way: Would you rather see a play about August Wilson or August Wilson’s Gem of the Ocean? As fine as Samuel L. Jackson is, I’d rather see King speak and learn about the movement he dedicated his life to.