Enchantment With a Twist

As children, we have an almost instinctive belief in magic. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny reign undisputed. But as we grow up, the belief of our youth wanes, whether through cynicism or well meaning adults. Seeking to rekindle that belief in the extraordinary is The Illusionists, now taking up residence at the Overture Center.

The presentation is not that of your typical magic show. Illusions are accompanied by flashing lights, drumbeats that reverberate in your chest, and dancing assistants in leather that isn’t so much protective as decorative. It’s also rare that any of the seven illusionists appear onstage together, the performance is composed more of individual tricks by individual illusionists than collaboration between performers.

That said, the execution of each trick is exquisite. Rarely is the secret evident, and in most cases, the end result is enough to keep the audience from hypothesizing. Particularly notable in this regard is Kevin James’s The Inventor, charming the audience with illusions that bring back the nostalgia of childhood.

On the other end of the spectrum is Dan Sperry’s Anti-Conjuror, a vulgar rocker with long hair and white face paint. Sperry’s barely veiled sexual innuendo keeps the adults entertained and the children mystified. That isn’t to say that he is less talented than the others. At one point in the show, he performs a run of captivating sleight of hand tricks that goes for at least five minutes, all while completely silent.

However, the question of whether or not this performance is appropriate for children still remains. Although the ticket states that children under six cannot be admitted, I have to wonder if that’s entirely accurate. The sexual nature of a few of the characters (Sperry and Jeff Hobson’s Trickster) not to mention a number of violent illusions suggest a more stringent rating. The assistants, dressed in leather that reveals much more than it conceals, are another concern.

But regardless of whether or not it’s appropriate for children, The Illusionists provides an updated take on magic that is much darker than its origins. Gone are the genial men in tails and a top hat, transforming rabbits with a wave of their white tipped wand. In their place are a group of men as varied and diverse as the world we live in today. (As much as a show that only features male illusionists can be diverse.) With its spectacle and stunning feats of deception, the Illusionists is a show that will make the adults in the room believe in magic again.

Love Above All at Romeo and Juliet

Romeo and Juliet, by Charles Gounod, opens with a tableau showing the feud between the warring Capulets and Montagues. One ensemble member takes a swing at another, and both go down in an enthusiastic, if overacted display of stage violence.

It doesn’t get much better from there.

Part of the problem may be John Irvin’s Romeo. He has a pleasant tenor and certainly looks the part, but his acting lacks conviction in certain places and temperance in others. Irvin has potential, but perhaps would have been served by a little more attention to his acting.

Sidney Outlaw and Chris Carr, as Mercutio and Tybalt, perform creditably, but there isn’t quite enough of them to satisfy. However, their duel in Act Three is one of the few times that the stage fighting doesn’t seem choreographed.

The costumes for Romeo and Juliet were provided by Malabar Ltd., and clothe the Montagues in blue and Capulets in red and gold. Besides being a little facile for an opera that’s supposed to be about the pointlessness of hatred and feuding, it would be nice if the lighting didn’t turn the gold to a particularly ugly orange.

Emily Birsan (Juliet), however, is the glittering star of the show. She handles Gounod’s tricky arias with composure, and her soprano voice is clear and pure. She captures Juliet’s youth and tempers it with determination.

But the biggest issue is the writing itself. Gounod’s opera focuses almost solely on the lovers, to the exclusion of everything else. Without showing more of the feuding, the forbidden nature of Romeo and Juliet’s relationship is less believable. Gounod even cuts the final scene of Shakespeare’s play, where the two feuding families, filled with despair at the deaths of their children, reconcile with each other. Without that ending, the story of Romeo and Juliet isn’t about overcoming hatred. It’s about beautiful people dying. Without knowing that the lovers’ deaths aren’t in vain, what, I ask, is the point?

Women Rule in APT's King Lear

Early on in Shakespeare’s King Lear, the Fool tells the titular king something that will define him for the rest of the play, saying “Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.” Indeed, Lear’s lack of wisdom in the ongoing production at American Players’ Theater is what leads to his downfall.

The play follows Lear, King of Britain, who is ready to abdicate in favor of his three daughters, on the condition that they profess their love for him. The two older daughters, Goneril and Regan, flatter and butter up their father with promises of false love, while the youngest, Cordelia, refuses and is banished. The following war for power ends the play with carnage, madness, and the second largest death count of any Shakespearean tragedy, topped only by Titus Andronicus.

King Lear is an ensemble vehicle, and APT’s supporting cast fills in what little dead space there is with interactions as fascinating as those taking center stage. Particularly interesting to watch are the vignettes between Jade Payton and Danny Martinez. During a violent scene, they cling to each other and Payton hides her face in Martinez’s shoulder.

Kudos also to Kelsey Brennan and Laura Rook in their stellar turns as the older sisters, Regan and Goneril. Brennan plays Regan with an icy fury, while Rook’s Goneril begs the question: Might she have turned out better had her father loved her more? A nod should also be given to Christopher Sheard as Goneril’s loyal servant, Oswald, who takes most of the beatings in the play with a grace that makes it look easy.

Cristina Panfilio plays the Fool with sensibility and a dry wit, well tempered by Greta Oglesby’s Duchess of Kent, who brawls, serves her king, and spits hard truths, whatever the consequences.

The effects for the production are nothing short of spectacular, as the eerie score that punctuates the action with martial drumbeats and cello interludes. In the famous scene where Lear screams his frustrations at a thunderstorm, lightning flickers, thunder crackles, and rain pours down, soaking Lear and the Fool.

Lear, played by veteran Core Company member Jonathan Smoots, is magnificent to watch in his transformation from powerful king to grief stricken madman. Smoots plays his madness not as a snap, but as a decline that begins so slowly that the change is barely noticeable until he’s wandering the woods in a flower crown.

It should be noted that, in a refreshing twist, director William Brown doesn’t try to paint sisters Regan and Goneril as power hungry monsters who betray their own father in their bloodlust. He humanizes them to the extent that their frustrations with their aging father are not only understandable, they seem natural. Furthermore, in his production, it is the women (with the exception of Edmund) who take what they want. Perhaps not the most moral sentiment, but certainly refreshing from an author whose female protagonists tend to spend most of their time bemoaning the inherent weakness of their sex.

The modernization of the tragedy brings striking comparisons to our own political landscape, and makes the actions of the characters that much more accessible. Although we might say we would never stoop so low for power as some of the characters, we’re just as human as they are. As much as we hate to admit it, it could be any one of us.

An Open Letter to Middleton High School

Dear Middleton High School,

It’s come to my attention that you’ve been hosting “Jesus Lunches” at your high school every Tuesday, where students are given free food in exchange for listening to sermons about the Christian faith.

You need to stop.

No, seriously, you need to stop this. The fact that you’re promoting any religion in a public high school is horrifying, not to mention in clear violation of the separation between Church and State. Let me just make that perfectly clear. You should not be actively promoting or speaking against any religion in a public school. That is not an okay thing for you to be doing. For one thing, this is a school. We’re here to learn and prepare ourselves for college, not gain new religious affiliations.

This isn’t to say that religion is a bad thing. In fact, I’ll be the first person to admit that a lot of people find comfort in organized religion, and that is perfectly okay. What’s not okay is that you’re luring kids in with what seems like free food and then proselytizing to them about Christianity. And let’s talk about the food. The fact that you’re offering such a clear exchange (listen to this sermon, get food) is more than a little horrifying considering that at Waunakee High School, our GSA wasn’t allowed to give out Jolly Ranchers during Pride Week due to parent complaints that we would “turn their children to the gay lifestyle”.

But that’s okay when it’s Christianity? There is something seriously wrong here.

And certainly, there are people who are going to raise the question of whether or not I would support having lunches for other religions, such as Islam or Judaism. To which I would say no, because they would still be taking place in a public school and that is still not an okay thing to do in a public school.

“But Hannah,” you say, “Aren’t you overreacting just a little bit? What’s the harm?” The harm is that by having lunches specifically for Christianity and in fact rewarding the attendance of these lunches, you’re essentially putting it on a pedestal. You’re announcing, whether you mean to or not, that Christianity is a desired trait from your student body. And by only holding lunches for Christianity, you’re telling your students that participating in any other religion is an undesirable trait.

We did all read the same Bill of Rights, yes? We all know the First Amendment, which promises freedom to practice whatever religion you want? So how, for the love of all that is holy, was something like this allowed to happen? You, Middleton High School, have directly gone against the Bill of Rights. And I know you’re saying that this is you exercising your freedom of religion, but that isn’t something that’s appropriate in a public school. I actually can’t believe that I have to tell you this in 2016, that it isn’t appropriate to be trying to convert teenagers in their own school.

What happens when this goes too far? What happens when students who don’t attend the Jesus Lunches start feeling unsafe because of their refusal to declare their religious alliance? When will it finally be enough?

Mr. Burns: A Post-Confusion Review

Pop culture is an increasingly important part of today’s society, and one that brings meaning to many people. In Anne Washburn’s Mr. Burns (A Post-Electric Play), presented by Madison's Forward Theater, a nuclear apocalypse causes people to turn to The Simpsons, of all thing.

The show, which is three acts long, focuses on the survivors of the apocalypse and the measures they take to remain sane in an increasingly insane world. The first act takes place not long after the nuclear event, and focuses on seven survivors sitting around a campfire, trying to remember the plot of Cape Feare, an episode of The Simpsons. In the second act, seven years later, the world has begun to recover, and groups are performing episodes of the Simpsons for entertainment. The third act shows a world 75 years later, where the Simpsons has taken on a mythic, folkloric quality completely different from the original show.

Elyse Edelman and Jake Penner

The set, designed by Keith Pitts, is made almost entirely from found materials, and adds an eerie, post apocalyptic mood to the show. Huge curtains made of trash bags drape the stage, and the floor is covered with woven mats.

The script, however, has some flaws. The first two acts were relatively easy to follow, but once the third act began, it was very difficult to follow. The time skip wasn’t easy to process, and all of a sudden this was a musical. The same actors played different characters in the third act, which led to no end of confusion, and it wasn’t until twenty minutes after the play had ended that I finally understood the allegory.

Marcus Truschinski, playing both Matt, an apocalypse survivor, and Mr. Burns, the villain of the third act, shows great range in his performance. As Matt, he’s cocky and funny, then completely transforms into the dark and intensely physical Mr. Burns. When he’s onstage, the attention of the room is on him until he leaves.

Elyse Edelman, Marcus Truschinski, and Marti Gobel

Another notable performance comes from Forward Theater newcomer Elyse Edelman. Last summer, she turned in several hilarious performances at American Players Theater, but she does extremely well with serious material as well. Her performance as Maria is interesting, funny, and most importantly, believable.

Mr. Burns isn’t a play for mindless entertainment. One should expect to leave the theater thinking. But this isn’t a bad thing. Washburn’s writing elevates something as mindless as the Simpsons to entertainment worthy of thought. And that is no mean feat.

You can buy tickets for Mr. Burns as well as other Forward Theater Plays here. Pictures courtesy of Jennifer Uphoff Gray. Photos taken by Zane Williams.

Best Not to Resist the Muses

The muses come at inconvenient times, and there are always two of them. The first one, Jasper, is a little dick. He lounges on my sofa like he owns it, kicking his feet up over the armrest, hands folded behind his head, and talks to me incessantly.

I'll be sitting there, calmly trying to do my Spanish homework, when:

"Hey."

I ignore him, continuing to conjugate trabajar in the nosotros form. My pencil scratches against the paper as I write down the answer: trabajamos.

He sits up, swinging his feet over the arm and onto the floor, and starts tapping his toes. He knows I hate it when he does that. That's why he does it so much. Jasper is a master of irritating me into compliance.

"Hey."

I don't look up. "What do you want?"

Jasper grins. "You should make me something."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. If I react, he'll only take it as encouragement to keep badgering me, and I don't want that. "Buzz off, I'm busy."

He leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and croons, "But we both know that's not what you really want to be doing," then whispers, "You should make me something." And as much as I try not to, I always end up giving in.

My collaborations with Jasper are always messy, hurried things, scribbled in the margins of my papers or written in felt tip in notebooks when I should really be paying attention to my math and science teachers. Jasper doesn't exactly work in terms of plot or character, just tossing me vague ideas like "What if we had feet for hands and hands for feet?" or "That lady you talked to in the Kwik Trip is really a mastermind in charge of a ring of criminals bent on taking over the world. Go."

If, Doucette, I ever tell you that my creative process is panicking until the very last second, then coming up with something sort of passable, rest assured, Jasper had something to do with it. I like to call writing with Jasper "writers on whee".

The other one, Anya, is a different kind of irritating. I call her "writer's ennui". She doesn't lounge around on my furniture, refusing to go away until I do her bidding. Instead, she shows up at completely random times when I'm distracted. I'll be just about to fall asleep when:

"Wake up." The light flicks on and Anya leans over the bed, a manic grin on her face and short blond hair flopping in her eyes.

I pull the covers over my head and groan. "What do you want?"

She whacks at my shoulder and drags the blankets down, shoving me over to sit on the edge of my bed. "Okay, I know you're tired and I don't want to bother you or anything, but you should really consider this." Anya pauses, holding out her hands. Then she'll launch into a fully worked out idea, gesturing wildly with her hands and speaking rapid-fire so that I'm forced to pay attention. Her enthusiasm is contagious.

Anya's ideas are always beautifully detailed, so much so that I'm almost afraid to use them. Especially since while I write, she stands behind me, reading over my shoulder and constantly interrupting me.

I'll be writing away when:

"I don't like the phrasing of that sentence. You should change that."

So I do it.

"Are you sure about that word choice?"

"I don't think that character would really do that."

"You wrote "the" twice in that sentence."

If writing for Jasper is a rush of words flowing out of my pen in a whirl of ecstasy that makes absolutely no sense, writing for Anya is like driving in rush hour traffic. As soon as you really get going somewhere, you have to stop again to change phrasing or think about character motivation for a good twenty minutes or cross out words before you can get started again.

The two of them rarely agree on anything, which is just another version of infuriating. When they're in the room together, I'm caught between speeding down the freeway and a constant stop start that, when combined, give you writer's whiplash.

And of course, both of them are useless at coming up with endings. I'm often saying to people how much I hate writing believable endings for things. So I'll come to the end of whatever it is I'm writing, and look over my shoulder for one of them.

"So what about the ending?" I say.

Both of them are nearby, Anya craning over my shoulder and Jasper lounging on the chair next to me. Jasper pulls a face, and Anya shrugs.

"Seriously?" I say.

Jasper raises his hands in a gesture of pacification. "Hey now, I'm just here to get you started. You know you're on your own for the ending."

"Thanks, guys," I tell them, and get back to work.

Amber Indian Cuisine Gives the Burn

It's hard to find a great Indian restaurant in Madison these days. It's not that there's a shortage of Indian restaurants in Madison, or even that these restaurants aren't good. Many of them are quite nice, providing tasty food in a friendly atmosphere.

But because I am something of a perfectionist, I do not settle for what is simply a good restaurant. I want a great restaurant, and I am willing to go to many lengths in order to find this best of places in which to eat food.

It was a warm night in late February, and I had just come home from a Forensics tournament and wanted to go somewhere for dinner with the family. My mother had heard good things about an area restaurant, and we decided to give it a try. We arrived at Amber quickly and were immediately greeted and taken to our table.

I decided to order the chicken curry, while my dining companions ordered the Mixed Grill plate and vegetable curry, respectively. The food arrived promptly, although we still had plenty of time to comment on the fact that the decor had improved greatly since the building's past as a bad Chinese place and a bad Mexican place.

Here is a picture of the Mixed Grill plate. I was unable to get a picture of the other dishes, unfortunately.

The food was steaming hot when it arrived, and tasted delicious. The portion sizes were plentiful, so much so that there are now three take out boxes living in our refrigerator. The Mixed Grill plate included several shrimp, a few pieces of lamb, and chicken prepared both tandoori as well as marinated in spices and grilled. The plate provided an equal assortment of spice levels and flavors, and was the most popular at our table.

The curries were also delicious. The combination of spices in the sauce really added to the flavor, and the level of spice was right on, somewhere between mild and pleasantly painful. The chicken was tender, and the vegetables were well cooked.

All in all, the atmosphere was great, the service was friendly and helpful, and the food was wonderful. If you're looking for an exceptional Indian restaurant in the Madison area, I highly recommend Amber.

Amber Indian Cuisine

*rising, desperate laughter*

So instead of yelling at the stupid barista with his stupid white boy haircut in the way she would really like to, Chae shuts off the computer, stands, and starts gathering up her stuff. The barista goes back behind the counter, apparently mollified. He looks as though he’s a little afraid of her, which isn’t something she wants to discourage.

This is a fun paragraph in the thing because it's honestly the only snarky paragraph I've written so far that makes sense out of context. And, you know, I too would like to shout at the pretentious white boy baristas that tend to frequent your garden variety cafes. It's just like, no. We get that you're alternative, and far be it from me to criticize your life choices, but please just stop with that haircut. Please just stop.

And, you know, it's fairly indicative of the tone of this thing, which is my complete and utter disdain for anything and everything serious. I kid you not. I try and write angsty, serious stuff, and I fill it in with crappy jokes about baristas. I'm too snarky for this nonsense.

Also, I know exactly what the stupid haircut being referenced is. It's this one.



I hate this haircut so much. You literally look like a paintbrush, son.

Why Do You Write?

Why do I write? I don’t know, why do you breathe?

All sarcasm aside, I write because I have no other choice. And I don’t mean this in the nice It’s-a-requirement-for-a-class-so-I-guess-I’ll-just-have-to-suffer-through-it sort of way. I write because if I don’t write, I get distracted. I start tapping my feet against the cold metal legs of my desk, I click my pen, and my seat partner starts shooting me death glares from across the aisle. Writing is my way of calming myself, of winding down after a long, stressful day. I find it relaxing to worry about the problems of the characters instead of my own problems. (Yes, I consider worrying a form of relaxation.)

I write because it’s a way of escape. It makes me feel better about my own problems. I don’t have to worry about my APUSH test tomorrow, or the fact that I didn’t take notes in Astronomy, or that weird virus taking up 4 gigabytes of space (yes, really) on the hard drive of my laptop because in fiction, every problem can be solved. Everything has a solution that can be attained with hard work, grit, and a little derring-do. Personal flaws can be remedied, and happy endings are meted out fairly. The good are rewarded and the bad are punished. Everyone gets what they deserve.

Real life isn’t always that simple.

I write because in fiction, I can pour all my fears and doubts and insecurities onto paper and no one thinks twice. My demons are the foodstuff of good writing. There isn’t another form of expression that so readily accepts the insecurities of the creator. I can put all my problems on a sheet of paper, tie it up with a bow, and say, “Look at what I made.” Why do I write? Why do you have the right to ask that question? Why do I write? Because it’s the only way I know of telling myself that things aren’t always okay right now, but someday they will be. Someday things will be okay. And even if they’re not, it’s only a few more chapters until my very own happy ending.

Who Am I?

First of all, you're asking the wrong person. I am in no position to give an accurate estimation of my own identity/worth. I am incredibly biased in regards to my value as a person.

Also, have you considered that the question is incredibly flawed? What exactly do you think asking us who we think we are is going to do? This isn't the Breakfast Club. Call me cynical but I highly doubt your question is going to spark realizations about human nature and that we will all fix our fatal flaws and live happily ever after.

Real life is rarely so neat.

There are no picture perfect endings in life. The only ending is death, and that is rarely the happily ever after we seek.

Stories are an imperfect representation of what life is like, but maybe that's why we love them. In stories, everything hinges on one climactic moment, a decision that makes or breaks the world as we know it. Rarely are we ever faced with such a choice, and it is doubtful that we would have the strength to make the choices we adore protagonists for making.

Why do we love stories? Because we can be everything we've ever dreamed of being. We can be the heroes we admire and emulate, not knowing that we are the heroes of our own stories.

Why do we love stories? Because we know we are insignificant, and we know that we can be great.

What does this have to do with who I am as a person? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I frankly have no idea. This all just sort of...happened. Maybe it is because I too am afraid of my own insignificance. Maybe it is because I, too, want to be great.