New Stage Theatre Company presents, “In the Common Hour,” now playing. This review will go over this play’s plot and then consider some ideas around this caper.

“Common Hour,” is a series of short stories loosely based on author Italo Calvino. Thus, in one story a cowboy tries to use a gun to shoot at a tornado, and in another story, a dictator confronts his subjects to hold on to power. Still a third anecdote sees a modern-day soldier argue with a 3D printer as if it were a witch’s cauldron.

If audience members do not like one scene, there is at least another one coming up in a few minutes. At any given time, a material subjective character interacts with a more ghostly authoritative and ethereal demon. The production communicates this in so many ways, not least of which is a psychedelic and phantasmagoric projection, changing the scenery every so often. The anthology even includes some happy endings among the fantasy and science fiction scenarios.

I thought this was a great little production. I liked the costumes, I liked the choreography and the good old fashioned dramaturgy and directing. I thought the symbolism and the archetypes were cool. Some things I didn’t like include the use of Wonder Woman in one of the sketches. How much of the veracity, be it plausible or Immanent, shall we believe in these amplified and augmented everyday interactions? Have we escaped from Slavoj Zizek’s, “Wisdom Trap,” whereupon wisdom and wise platitudes can be used to justify any moral claim whatsoever?

When, in our lives, if ever, do we assess the path we find ourselves on? Is that confrontation, if it happens, an awakening, or is it part of an ongoing dream? Ildiko Nemeth’s new multi-media work takes place inside the projection of a painting of a Southwest motel, isolated in the desert, where seven strangers find themselves and play out the roles that exemplify each others’ insecurities, secret desires, and confrontations. At bottom, the play, written by Marie Glancy O’Shea, asks us to consider the meaning of our lives: Is life a carnival, a walk in the woods, a discovery, a torture, or a charade? Is there love, or only betrayal? Or is it all these things at once? At the end of the performance, we must really confront ourselves, whether in our dreams or in our realities.

The New Stage Theatre Company’s tiny performance space, in the basement of a hostel, becomes a vortex of time, space, and emotions. This vortex of words and characters is enriched by the backdrop, onto which are projected Nan Xu and Nonoka Sipos Judit’s suggestive pictures, patterns, and moving shapes that morph into indefinable figures, sucking us in or merely dazing us.

Ildeko Nemeth’s staging is full of movement, so that the actors often seem to be many more than they are. The inventive and attractive costuming by Danielle Aziza adds to the mystery of the play and sometimes, though not always, clarifies it. Especially intriguing is the figure of a cactus, which hasclearly hopped off the screen of the first background projection to move into the space of one of the dreamers.

The actors portrayed many different characters as they participated in each other’s fears and dreams, and clearly enjoyed doing so, but Gina Bonati was engrossing. The characters she portrayed were the only ones who did not confront themselves, being hosts, or controllers, or perhaps personifications of fate; they might be taken for variations of one character. However, in Ms. Bonati’s hands, each one was distinct and some even brought humor to this essentially dark piece. Further, Ms. Bonati gave her words the weight that comes from thinking about what they mean, or might mean. On a technical level, her enunciation was precise and her voice filled the space, which, though small, has less than perfect acoustics, especially when complicated by the overlay of Kris Force’s mysterious music. Under Ms. Bonati’s guidance, one, relax and enjoy not only her mastery of her craft but the work of the rest of the cast.

Trend setting director Ildiko Nemeth deliciously and daringly thrusts disparately alienated characters into a smokehouse of desparately hanging flanks of meat. For me it was like experiencing the intimate and personal gender bending battles one has when seeking a place to let off steam. Only this smokehouse is actually a roadhouse in the great Western American desert where we find little comfort for the forlorn.

The only way to explain these characters’ interactions is to ask why are they all suffering magnificently when they are all so good looking and beautifully dressed? It appears to be one night stand heaven, especially for the older visitors. But wait. All the characters have histories they must reveal in order to live in the moment. That is the genius of Ildiko Nemeth. She asks her characters to be real people with their minds endlessly working to get some little peace. Is confession a road to peace in the roadhouse of life? It is and yet it isn’t.

The young actors are dressed for cosplay in high Western style. But appearances don’t make them happy. Appearances are deceiving. A cowboy in full gear is really just a little boy wanting to have a ranchside family which he knows he can never have. A young girl lives in fear of fear but is welcomed into a womens’ club as she wants to grow into something worthwhile. But can she when she’s only to willing to reveal herself in pure white undergarments?

Another young woman brags about her full life as she worries about her looks and fulsome figure. Can she remain young and beautiful just long enough to find that perfect partner?

On the other extreme an old burnt out motorcycle gang member reminisces about his illustrious past with the guys. Yet he has nothing now but memories of sex and violence to perk him up so he becomes a predator. I thought for sure he was going to mate with the cowboy. What do I know? Instead he bullies his way into conversations where he stands out like an octopus on the shore.

However the solo performance by an imagined member of this road crew royalty makes them all look sane and desirable. His performance shows the other characters that they are not suffering enough. No one suffers like faded darkening nobility.

The ultimate human tragedy of “In The Common Hour” is the lack of lust and comedy. However the encounters between characters and the dance of life make this a worthwhile experience.

There is a place somewhere, here or there, where moments of time intersect smoothly, easily, fluidly, or in rough, difficult, inflexible ways. It imparts a mark on consciousness, opening a web of possible meanings. It may be in a mountain meadow, on a city street, behind a closed door, or in a motel on a highway lost in the mists of time.

In the Common Hour is a play with text by Marie Glancy O’Shea inspired by the writings of Italian author Italo Calvino of six stories about an other-dimensional place on the edge of reality. A dream world filled with the consequences of people lost in the projections of their being, unsure of what the next moment holds for them. It is a story, or more realistically, a series of episodes, exploring the liminal space created by dreams and hallucinations. The stories bring to mind the speculative and absurdist work by Rod Serling, Ursula Le Guin, and Philip K. Dick, among others.

Conceiver/director Ildiko Nemeth’s work is always worth experiencing. She is adept at giving structure and style to edgy, multimedia, avant-garde stories that are often idiosyncratic and abstract. In this play, she guides an ensemble of players at different skill levels and styles into a cohesive whole who portray a range of characters through six dream sequences. It is not a typical piece of dramatic theater but an example of experimental, multimedia, and avant-garde theater. If you are someone who likes theater in all its forms, then you should see this show.

The play is set in a motel somewhere along legendary Route 66. A group of travelers gather there as night falls. This particular motel is somewhat different from what one would expect to be typical of such a place. It is a portal that opens to the psychological liminality of anyone who visits, revealing those things that linger at the edge of one’s perception, allowing the individual to confront or retreat from what is being shown.

The show opens with a projection of a stretch of highway along a desolate-looking landscape, slowly changing to the dingy interior of a motel office and then into a cavernous space depicting a bar with a stage. A voiceover prologue guides us through these images, much like Rod Serling’s openings to Twilight Zone. It is an effective technique for establishing a feeling of eeriness and disconnect for the place that has been entered.

VO:

“Within, a space opens up –  cavernous. In the middle, the magnetic singer. Her haunting ballad, transfixing – in a language you don’t recognize. Her audience is elegant, yet the room holds a feeling of disorder, the unstable energy of a place where people unknown to each other drift into proximity for one night, and the rules of propriety loosen their hold.”

The projection changes to what looks like a cavern, and so begins the first of six dream sequences that reveal the inner struggles of different characters. Each dream sequence is presented as a series of interactions that seem connected but may not be, effectively evoking a sense of what dreams are like in the “real” world.

The first dream follows a young woman clutching a cloth-covered frame covering a painting of some significance to her. As the sequence progresses, the setting transitions from her with a solitary figure to a formal cocktail party to an art auction where the picture she has been carrying will be sold. Throughout this sequence, there are cross conversations that seem unrelated to the young woman, and then back to her being the center of attention. In the end, there is no one left in the space but her.

Each dream sequence is accompanied by upstage projections related to the depicted story. The images are only sometimes straightforward, keeping with the expressed dream-like state. Each story is distinctive and conveys the jumble of memories being realized in a narrative that the dreamer may or may not understand. There is an internal consistency between the meaning of each story and its protagonist, regardless of the seeming inconsistencies of the events within each.

The young woman and the meaning of the painting she carries. A biker in the second dream and his struggle to understand his father’s impact on his life choices. In the third, a gunslinger, riven by his fear of being torn apart by a storm of meaninglessness brought on by years of solitude. A boy escaping greed and evil in the world stumbles upon a witch’s house deep in a forest and brings the things from which he is trying to escape. Next comes an artist trapped in a maze confronting the Beast of her creativity and the deceitful Nymph of her understanding, each pulling at her as if representing truth as she searches for a way out. The last story concerns a chess king confronting the reality of being on the losing side, discovering that all the pieces he counted on to support him were disappearing because he failed to support their existence.

The cast includes Gina Bonati, Theodore Bouloukos, Lisa Giobbi, Markus Hirnigel, Justin Ivan Brown, Alexis Field, Lexa Infante and Palenque Doddington who collaborated on this piece. They do a credible job presenting a diversity of characters in six distinctly different stories. Depending on the characters they are attempting, there is a mixture of solid and average performances, mainly with the minor characters. An actor may not comfortably fit a role in one story but excels with a completely different character in another story. The main characters are solidly portrayed in each episode.

The video design by Hao Bai, with multiple projections in each story, added definition to aspects of the story without being a distraction. The projections included original artwork by Nonoka Sipos Judit, Nan Milkxu and Chris Sharp. Federico Restrepo’s lighting design is a critical ingredient in the theater’s limited performance space. Sound design is an essential element in the telling of these tales, and Patkos Attila’s work is solid and includes original music by Kris Force. Danielle Aziza’s costume design involves various types and styles for the different story elements. Lisa Giobbi’s choreography is an integral component of the show and works well.

Last week I was honored that the wonderful theatre journalist Raven Snook…

…saw fit to mention this column in her excellent article on the precarious state of Off-Off Broadway/Indie theatre, written for TDF Stages.  A few days later, the Off-Off Broadway movement lost one of its pioneers with the death of playwright Robert Patrick, who once regaled me with his fascinating experiences as part of the ground-breaking collection of artists who reinvented New York’s theatre scene at Caffe Cino.

Invariably, when people find out I write about theatre, they hit me with the question, “What should I see?”  Responding was fairly easy when the focus of my coverage was Broadway and major Off-Broadway; I’d often be mentioning shows and actors that people had at least heard of.

But Off-Off Broadway is a strange and mythical creature to most.  In television and movies, it’s generally depicted as a punch line; amateurish and sparsely attended or densely unfathomable work created by intellectual snobs.  Perhaps that’s a reason why so many prefer the hip and rebellious moniker Indie Theatre.

But honestly, it’s budget, not talent, that separates most of what you’ll pay $30 to see in a small, out-of-the-way venue and what some pay ten times as much to see in Times Square.

They say word of mouth and finding your audience are very important on Broadway, but there’s no time for that Off-Off Broadway, where shows rarely run more than a dozen or so performances, and it’s usually way less.  Theatre rental rates are prohibitive, and more performances would require union members to be paid on what would be an unaffordable scale for that budget level.

So, I’d strongly suggest that those curious about attending Off-Off Broadway (Indie, if you prefer) need to be of the mindset that they’re “going to the theatre” rather than that they’re going to see a specific hit play or a musical that they’ve heard is great.  Don’t wait for reviews or word of mouth.  Be proactive in seeking out live theatre that might appeal to you.  There’s a lot of great, affordable and underpublicized stuff in this city.  Go often enough and you’ll get a better sense of who’s doing the work you really enjoy.

When I was younger, my weekly issue of The Village Voice contained lengthy listings of current Off-Off Broadway shows, with brief descriptions and ticket prices.  I haven’t seen anything quite as comprehensive on the Internet, but a little Googling will lead you to the websites of theatre companies where you can read about current productions and sign up to get email updates on future shows.

In this week’s column I’m writing about a play I saw at The Tank, where I’ve been catching some very good theatre the past couple of years, and my first visit to see The New Stage Theatre Company, a troupe I’ll definitely be looking for in the future.

Here are some more websites for theatre companies I’m enthused to recommend.  But remember, this is just a start: The Classical Theatre of Harlem, The Brick, Chain Theatre, La MaMa, Theater For The New City, Here, Dixon Place, Wild Project, FRIGID New York, A.R.T/New York Theatres, Irondale Ensemble, Theater 2020.

One of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday night in New York…

…is to visit a tiny, out of the way theatre where people are doing an unconventional play I wouldn’t pretend to fully understand, but I can sit in a not especially comfortable chair experiencing the passion of creative voices demanding to be heard.

Fitting the bill very nicely was The New Stage Theatre Company’s thoroughly engaging production of Marie Glancy O’Shea’s The Singing Sphere, performed at the company’s home in the basement of a West 106th Street hostel.

Founded in 2002 by Hungarian-born Ildiko Nemeth, who directs this production, New Stage has built an award-winning reputation as a daring experimental theatre group drawing on multicultural traditions.  This was my first time taking in one of their shows and I’d call it the kind of old school Off-Off Broadway I enjoyed so much when I first started going to live theatre in the 70s.

Some of the play’s unexplained absurdist imagery is, by design, reminiscent of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting For Godot, yet the playwright specifies it to particularly female experiences.

Instead of Vladimir and Estragon, we’re introduced to Mags (Lisa Giobbi) and Belem (Gina Bonati), who find themselves in what Tibetan Buddhism calls a Bardo space; a kind of purgatory between death and rebirth.

A fabulously sequined, Vegas-type entertainer (Sonia Villani) sings a number that suggests their purpose for being there.  Also present are Liv (Sam Flynn), a creative who defines herself through her writings, Blanka (Daniele Aziza), a young boxer continually on defense, Miriam (Tatyana Knot), who has lost her child to the oppressions of war, and Ruth (Michelle Best), a flashy, confrontational talk show host whose views lead to her being ostracized by the others.

They interact in ways that are sometimes humorous, sometimes poignant, and often intriguing, leading to the proposition that “Man Does, Woman Is”, when Mags compares herself and her companion to “those two ragamuffins from Beckett.”

“Think of what it is to have our machinery,” she proposes, which is followed by the company recalling the many ways society has regulated women to waiting.

“Only you could say something so extravagant and make it sound completely un-ironic.”

“I don’t do ironic.”

“Sometimes I wish you could.  It would make life much more comfortable.”

And with that early exchange, I was all set for Frank Tangredi’s Muse, directed in a solid, well-acted production by Hazen Cuyler for The Greenhouse Ensemble, to be a quirky-humored dysfunctional romance between two artists.

Wow, he really tricked me there.

While there is a certain cuteness in the live-in relationship between Mathias (Matt O’Shea) and Sheila (Rachel Gatewood), there is also a discomforting immaturity present that signals trouble ahead.

One is a painter and the other a dancer.  While neither has achieved any sort of prominence, when they decide to work together on a project, one finds such inspiration from the other that a potential brilliance begins to break through.

But scenes tracking their artistic and emotional progress alternate with scenes set in the future, where their loved ones are dealing with the violent tragedy that eventually occurs between them.

The parents of one (Anne Fizzard and Robert Hickey) are shocked and confused.  The father of the other (Jeffrey Grover), won’t hide his anger, but another relative (Reanna Armellino), who has the credentials to know, can see the significance in a work of art that was left behind.  If the work is made public, an enthusiastic critical reception could bring glory and admiration to both the perpetrator of a horrific act and that perpetrator’s victim.

If I’m being a bit vague with details of the plot, it’s because I was completely absorbed in seeing what was going to happen next.  While the toxic relationship between Mathias and Sheila is a familiar one, the issues it brings up regarding artistic collaboration and the separation of art from the artist are well presented.

This premiere production of Muse appears modestly budgeted, but it’s a play that will leave you with topics to talk about, and I’d be excited to see how a fuller production might illuminate the discussion.

Curtain Line…

“Above all, I was doorman at The Caffe Cino, of which I am very proud.  I let Lanford Wilson into The Cino for the first time.” – Robert Patrick

Seven women materialized into an intermediate assignation, a liminal space between two earthly lives, in a state where one’s consciousness is disconnected from a physical body.We viewed a dreamscape setting of emerging, horrifying hallucinations associated with one’s refined reality experiences.

The production opened with a stark stage, a dim penumbra enveloped with inscrutable, discordant, and eerie soundscapes. The opening verse was literary, poetic, and sophisticated, setting the tone for the evening’s badinage.

The troupe comprised a seemingly incongruent ensemble. Six of the seven voiced regrets and grief while trapped in this hazy, existential chimera.Are truth and reality constructed fiction? Belem lacked family, while Mags could not process the “darker sides of the world.” Liv’s challenge was to accept herself, while Bianka sought self-worth. Ruth lacked compassion, and Miriam grieved at the loss of a child. The seventh, an “Entertainer In the Corner,” was a “catalyst of interaction.”

The production emerged as an entertaining admixture of incorporeal, intellectual, and mystical radiance. The dialectics of the characters’ discourse elicited passion and empathy.The sartorial elegance of the smiling, dancing Entertainer contrasted with the shadowy monochromatic costuming of her comrades. The Entertainer provided smiles and timely relief to the vicissitudes of disconsolate repartee.

The dramatic aplomb, soundscapes, blocking, choreography, lighting, and sound were elegantly articulated. Each actor ably maintained her character regardless of stage position to ensure a consistent dramatic, artistic rectitude.

Some favorite quotes:

Belem: “Eternity is a long time, even with people you love.” “I’m on a threshold that wasn’t here a little while ago.”

Miriam:”I saved those happy little drawings:white cloud, blue raindrops, yellow sun. Bright green grass that’s kissed again and again with everything it needs in precise measure.”

Bianka: “Our choices at every point make the angle that comes next, determine the geometry of our next iteration.”

Mags:”Iremember like it was this morning, that feeling of promise when Imet my son. So many decades now. His little body wriggling with life, his vibrating wails.An utterly compact universe, ready to expand.”

Entertainer: “A yin goddess must carry the flame. Light it in her sisters. This means taking time to fill her own cup, nourish her own well-being , prioritize her bodily integrity.”

Ruth:”Blame yourself that you can’t live in a world without high-speed Internet and climate control, without two pieces of certainty to rub together.”

Liv:”To be a plant, animal, mineral in the world, inhabiting creation. To be one among them, that loud number, a droplet subsumed by the sea.”

The Singing Sphere was entertaining, intellectually engaging, imaginative, provocative, and introspective. It seemed, after all, that one might evolve to a better state. We enjoyed a sojourn of hope and infinite beauty through this collective stream of eloquent consciousness and literary effusion.

Seven women stuck in a purgatoryesque bardo are waiting to be assigned to either their own heavenor hell of their making. Each had a place in the corporal world but now they are as lost as a beachedjellyfish on a Florida beach. Roasting in the sun but not quite melted yet.

There’s so much to say. Who’s listening? Perhaps no one. Perhaps the all the universe. The wordsare so important because they prove existence at a sometimes low and sometimes high level. Thebardo waiting room is like a circus with many actors performing simultaneously. You don’t knowwho to listen to first, second, last. All the conversations begin to blend into one show. None of thewomen can account for their sinful passage to this clearly ominous place. Now it’s home, Now it’s abattlefield. Now it’s a comforting therapy. It changes as the women reveal their angst.
Marie Glancy O’Shea asks the question, “What makes women different from men and from eachother?” The profound answer is they’re not so different. The ethereal actor Sam Flynn emotes abouttransformations that can be both physical and spiritual. It’s Gina Bonati who brings to the bardo ahumanistic presence with motherly compassion and down to earth humor.
Brilliantly sequinned actor-singer Sonia Villani brings color and high energy sparks to the bardo.She singlehandedly turns the black mourning clothes of the six women into a center of fireworks
and possibilities for a different life. But alas to no avail. The profound sadness of language sweeps
over the women like a net over fish at sea.

Adding to the chaos and mayhem of the bardo’s parnoia comes a television shock interviewer
seeking a dramatic personal story to report to…whom? Michelle Best metaphorically scares the
panties off the women who don’t want to be glamorized for their sins. The bardo is no place for
antagonism or provocative acts.

Lisa Giobbi and Danielle Aziza give outstanding performances with their physical theater
movements and dance. Tatyana Kot mirrors them with quotidian notions of movement in a simpler
less verbal world.

All this is made palatable and possible by director Ildiko Nemeth. Her signature style of ensemble
directing once again creates a profound world on stage.

To imagine who you really are and where you originally come from is one of humankind’s greatest
goals. Contemporary social critics are always telling people that being themselves is an appropriate
starting point to live a fulfilled life. But how do we know we’re on the right track? This is the
question Italo Calvino’s novel “Cosmicomics” attempts to answer.

In the masterful hands of veteran playwright and director Ildiko Nemeth, Calvino’s many questions
as displayed in connected vignettes by superb acting and ensemble movement. Nemeth’s answer for
starters is to show the origin of the cosmos as Calvino wrote it. Not an easy job. Calvino
contemplates the entire multi-billion year History of Everything from big bangs to contemporary
little women and men.

The stunning projected animations and visuals created by Isabelle Duverger and Laia Cabrera
project a dramatic alternative reality on this journey from scientific abstractions to mankind’s
emotional confusion. The visuals ask the same questions as the novel while Nemeth’s cast plays in
and around this cosmic setting.
Nemeth’s storyteller/narrator Paul Guilfoyle sets a calm tone for exploration of the cosmic history.
His passionate tone is both very human and almost godlike. Listening to him I felt like the world
was being created for the love stories about to unfold. There’s always another love story he says.
Long time New Stage actress Jeanne Lauren Smith gives one of her funniest performances as an
evolved shore dweller who falls madly in love with a sea dwelling fish convincingly played by
roguish Justin Ivan Brown aquatically outfitted with scales and fins. It was love at first sight and
swim.

In a brilliantly comedic piece of solo vignette scientist Markus Hirnigel convinces us there is
intelligent life on other planets. The interplanetary messages are not merely sound or radar telescope
signals, they are revelations of personal surveillance. The messages and the scientist’s responses are
a laughter filled spoof on intelligent life theories. What if the aliens are just as annoying as we are?
Could we stand them and their irony? You can decide.
Several of the vignettes are ensembles showing off Nemeth’s ability to create new meanings in the
face of romantic challenges and overblown egos. Using dance as a communication between
enamored characters Nemeth matches charming young actor Tanner Glenn with experienced aerial
artist/choreographer Lisa Giobbi posing as his mythical, ritualistic, all powerful Woman-in-
White love object who vanishes when colors suddenly appear in their world. This vignette
especially was a duet of matching talent.

Each of the vignettes are worthy theatrical endeavors with their own characters and meanings. I
highly recommend “Cosmicomics” both as a transformed example of Italo Calvino’s writing and
European thinking and as an evening of engaging, inspiring theater.

Clarice Lispector’s debut novel Near To The Wild Heart shot out of a canon in an era where many assumed the twenty-three-year-old woman was, in fact, a man writing under a pseudonym because no woman could write that well. Dear 1943, a woman did. The New Stage Theatre Company’s attempt to stage this seminal work is a provocative (albeit safe) homage to the envelopment one experiences reading the novel.

Translating Ms. Lispector’s work into English is no easy task, as her Brazilian wordplay is linguistically unique and rule-breaking. Entrekin’s 2012 translation serves as a fiercely rich arsenal for adaptor/director Ildiko Nemeth to paint a surreal pastiche of theatrical elements, which negotiate time and space on a horizontal plane, co-existing as an orchestral, almost operatic, composition.

Near To The Wild Heart follows amoral Joana through a series of moments from present-day to childhood in what one could most succinctly describe as a feminist structure. Ms. Nemeth expertly weaves this structure through a subtle nod to Aristotelian storytelling in her conducting of the multi-disciplinary music of the evening; movement and design converse together sometimes in whispers, sometimes in crescendos, and often with juxtaposed binary components.  The ride is an emotional journey, enveloping the room in a simultaneously satiating and vexing haze of poetic unease.

Sarah Lemp (Joana) is expertly disparate in cognizance while (remarkably) completely present as a moving breathing vessel in space, almost outside of time. Joana could easily be a character unengaged or seemingly unaffected, even bored.  Ms. Lemp encapsulates the qualities necessary to capture the experience of this emotion story by electrifying the energy and focus needed to lure us into her journey. Witnessing her Joana, one can’t help but feel the weight of the world compressing their whole being while they drift through the inescapable dull longing of existence.

Lisa Giobbi (Narrator, Mother, Aerial Dancer) is a delightful surprise. It is a shame that Ms. Giobbi’s aerial work is tucked off to the side, as it is a stunning visual and physical metaphor and a genius theatricalization of the feminine voyage and its corruptions.

Jessica Sofia Mitrani’s Video Design paints a powerful landscape, drifting in and out of the proverbial spotlight while flowing ever-present and persistent in flavour. Notably, Ms. Mitrani collaborated with Hailey De Jardins on the costumes, which speak their own language in striking service to the storytelling.

Frederico Restrepo’s Lighting Design is a testament to the explosive expressions that can come from exploiting the challenges specific to the architecture of a space.

Overall, New Stage Theatre Company’s production is a successful attempt to stage the work of arguably one of the most prolific literary voices of the Twentieth Century. Where the production leaves one longing for more, there is a sense that that is the very point – an ominous wink.