Review: Sleeping Beauty at the Vortex Theater ["A fluffy little lesson on whatever"]
Feminists, cultural pundits, and contemporary artists of all forms have discussed it ad nauseum: Fairy tales are fucked up. Snow White? Saved from a poison-happy cannibal queen by a pedophile. Red Riding Hood? Jailbait stripper (seriously, this is how she escapes from the wolf during their first rendezvous). And Sleeping Beauty? Raped in a coma. It's this version of the story that one would naturally expect to be fodder for a show at the Vortex, a home-grown theatrical empire built on, among other things, musicals featuring whacked-out “soundscapes”, rapes, and blood-drenched breasts (see: Vampyress, Pink Sun, Hole, etc). Instead, the company’s latest endeavor ventures into softer, more Disneyfied terrain with a vivid, winking little spectacle stuffed with messages about choosing your own destiny and respecting nature despite having a large part of your life stolen from you by some petty sprite dressed up like a tamarind. Stuff like that.
To be fair, the piece is a fun, all-over-the-place spastic romp (largely due to the music by Content Love Knowles and the mostly impressive vocals of the cast) that nudges all the right thematic notes to qualify for a fluffy little lesson on whatever. However, the follow-through and concision are gigantic issues here, and the devil is nestled in the details. Apparently we’re being preached at about appreciating the natural world, but we never see any destruction of the environment. We do, however, get that some fairy goes all Carrie on everyone’s ass when she’s spurned by a king (who’s advised by everyone not to do so). Maybe it’s a lesson for our state representatives, but none of them are in the audience, so the resulting moral becomes don’t fuck with cat lady fairies when they’re also powers-that-be. However blithe and aphasic it might be when finishing a thought, it is not actually confounding, which makes it an improvement over much of the Vortex’s fare. Fine. Whatever.
But really, it’s simply not good enough.
This last calendar year, the Vortex qualified for $81,000 in city funds as well as a $15,000 NEA grant, one of the most prestigious honors that can be bestowed upon a company. Other winners include such notable companies as New York's Clubbed Thumb, and Civilians Inc., and San Francisco's Cutting Ball, all of whom boast histories of creating visually top-notch work studded with incredible performance in considerably more expensive cities. Considering the Vortex's pecuniary support, peer group, notoriety based upon a 25 year production history, and record of quality design as a saving grace, it is an upsetting wonder that so many mistakes generally perpetrated by amateurs are represented here. Plainly stated: you put 20 people on a stage the size of an efficiency apartment and there’s a greater likelihood that things’ll look straight-up messy. The potential choreography is stifled and the pressure for the details to be all the more spectacular is not well-handled. There are visible tears in garments, which look like they were pulled out of storage and paired with arts-and-crafts project headpieces from an out-reach theater program for troubled youth. The props are obviously what they actually are (a photo reflector, for instance, doubles as a pool, and thread for a loom is obviously garland), and the props table is visible. The lighting by the generally awesome Jason Amato seems inspired by an East German gay nightclub and the set, which juts starkly amidst so much color and vivacity, simply doesn't seem finished. Revolving platforms are neat and all, but completion of an idea and synchonicity with the rest of the world are neater. The performances should have felt informed and accordant (obvious stand-outs in this strange land are Dara Allen-Trainer as a delightful frog-thing, Jennifer Coy as the hammy, charming Fool, and Julia Lorenz, who channels a spunky, pubescent restlessness as Sleeping Beauty). This production is obviously under the impression that it doesn’t have to prove itself and is, as a result, reckless, irresponsible, and apparently guided by congratulatory voices.
What's really upsetting is that this show manages to be so ostensibly insouciant regarding details and polish in the company of younger groups who create sleek shows with a to-shame-putting fraction of a $15,000 budget. Cambiare's 2009 production of Orestes struck the eyes with a tech budget of $1,200. The Getalong Gang Performance Group's Post-Oedipus managed to be evocative and clean on a tech budget of $5,000. Wherever the money was going, clearly it wasn't the most pertinent place. If stipends of your regular designers take too much from the pool, get new blood and treat them like fucking gold. If your focus is strained too far, employ other, brighter eyes. There is an obligation to the community to keep your work consistently challenging (in a constructive way), and it is ironic that a theatre built upon the notion of risk would produce such redundant performance.
It doesn't have to work like that. There are a plethora of young, scrappy, passionate people who’ll work for crumbs and experience and churn out incredible products and new perspectives with a budget that wouldn't pay rent for a month. For now, the notion that the Vortex is a haven for the "cutting edge" is, in effect, a fairy tale.
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