STAGE REVIEW: THE GOAT OR, WHO IS SYLVIA?

A scene from The Goat or, Who is Sylvia?

Ewe, sex

By Ed Rampell

Let’s just cut to the chase: This production of Edward Albee’s The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? is simply one of the best plays this reviewer has seen in, well, a dog’s age. The acting is riveting, Ken Sawyer’s direction taut and Albee’s writing letter perfect. Late in his career, the now 86-year-old playwright who gave us Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf-- with its scathing, scalding critique of (heterosexual) marriage -- way back in 1961, conjured up this pushing-the-envelope drama (albeit one with lots of laughs) in 2002.

The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? is just ideal to present on the Los Angeles LGBT Center’s boards: As homosexuality and gay marriage increasingly gain acceptance and tolerance in 21^stcentury America, Albee the gadfly moves the goalposts. Note the plural, for in The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? the daring dramatist explores several types of sexual relationships that are universally considered to simply be beyond the pale of polite society. To find out what taboo forms of sexuality Albee alludes to, you’ll just have to hoof it down to the Center’s Davidson/Valentini Theatre yourself -- and unless you’re a puritanical, patriarchal overzealous proponent of heterosexual monogamous sex (preferably only after marriage for procreative purposes), you’ll likely be glad you did.

Ann Noble is absolutely stellar as Stevie who, on the surface, has the ideal marriage to award winning architect Martin (Paul Witten, who, in a bit of copasetic casting, played a makeup artist in HBO’s 2013 Liberace biopic Behind the Candelabra). In The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? our favorite Martin is turning 50 -- and has the über-midlife crisis to end them all. Martin’s outrageous acting out at the mid-century mark makes buying a Lamborghini, or pursuing a trophy woman half his age, seem tame in comparison.

Needless to say, Martin’s unorthodox (to say the least) choice completely disrupts his life and household. Best friend Ross (Matt Kirkwood) goes ape shit. Son Billy (Spencer Morrissey) now finds coping with being gay the least of his problems as his formerly idyllic family life comes to a screeching halt. And as for the wronged woman, for wife Stevie it’s literally up against the wall, motherfucker! (You’ll see what this critic means. BTW ticket buyer: If you value your personal safety your ever considerate scribbler recommends that you do not sit in the first row, which is about as safe as front row seats at a Samoan fire knife dance show. You have been warned, Dear Reader!)

And now a word about Noble: Your erstwhile scribe last had the pleasure of seeing her roam the moors and heaths of Antaeus Company’s 2012 Macbeth wherein, his review singled out “Noble as Lady MacBeth …the ultimate henpecker, ever prodding her beleaguered husband on. She’s more terrifying than Scotland’s other infamous horror, the Loch Ness Monster. Noble is positively harrowing with her crimson locks and reddish period outfit, all redolent of her blood obsessed psyche…” Considering the twists and turns The Goat takes one could say, with tongue planted firmly in cheeky cheek, that Noble is in “danger” of being typecast. What’s next? Starring as “Norma Bates” in a female version of Hitchcock’s classic, re-titled Psycho’s Psyche?

What makes Marty run? Noble’s performance, sculpted with the finesse of a Rodin or Michelangelo, provides clues. Her Stevie (hmm, odd choice of names selected by the gay bard, eh wot?) seems like a person full of artifice, who acts out roles in her daily life, such as dutiful wife or urbane sophisticate. For instance, in a vignette full of Albee’s dazzling wordplay, she and Martin partake in well-rehearsed (that is, by the characters -- although these polished thesps obviously all worked their tails off) banter, expertly parodying a British comedy of manners.

So the role playing, persona-wearing Stevie stands in sharp contrast to her husband’s devastating, off-kilter choice, which is to pursue a totally (literally) natural partner, who, as Martin says, is completely “guileless.” Noble, by the way, has lovely thighs and a heaving bosom; although this may strike some as sexist, this is important to note as it makes Martin’s actions seem even stranger and more bafflingly incomprehensible. The fact that we’re repeatedly informed that, as husband and wife for 20-ish years, Stevie and Martin never strayed and maintained a fulfilling, even exciting sex life, all conspires to make hubby’s philandering all the more mystifyingly puzzling.

Albee is asking a simple yet profound question: Do we have the right to love who we want and in our own ways? Especially if said love is consensual? Do you remember how much outrage Woody Allen’s defense of his romance with his wife’s much younger (and shall we add non-white -- let alone non-Jewish) daughter was? “The heart wants what the hearts wants.” Well, The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? takes the Woodman’s notion to the nth degree. What is especially telling is Martin’s honest response when he attends a 12-step type program for those “suffering” from similar afflictions.

Robert Selander’s stylish set -- or what’s left of it by the end of this one-acter -- also merits mention as it succinctly expresses the personalities of the play’s chic urbanites. The entire deftly directed ensemble is spot on, with the Noble savage the standout, proving once again -- as she did when portraying Lady Macbeth -- that: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Seriously fellow theatergoers, please roll out a wheelbarrow full of Ovation, Tony, Obie, etc., awards for this actress, as Ann Noble deserves a flock of theatrical accolades while she leads the lyrical lambs to slaughter. Those who love great theater should gallop -- on all fours -- down to see this hilariously provocative dramedy from one of our boundary-pushing peerless bards.



The Goat Or, Who Is Sylvia? runs through Nov. 23 at the Davidson/Valentini Theatre at the Los Angeles LGBT Centerat Ed Gould Plaza,1125 McCadden Place, Hollywood, CA, 90038 through Nov. 23. Free onsite parking. For more info: www.lalgbtcenter.org/theatre; (323) 860-7300. 

 

L.A.-based reviewer Ed Rampell co-authored The Hawaii Movie and Television Book. (See: http://hawaiimtvbook.weebly.com/.) Rampell and co-author Luis Reyes will be signing books at 7:30 p.m., Oct. 6 at the bookstore Distant Lands, 20 S. Raymond Avenue, Pasadena, CA 91105.  (See: http://www.distantlands.com/events-calendar/.)     

 

 

FILM REVIEW: SMILING THROUGH THE APOCALYPSE, ESQUIRE IN THE 60S

Harold Hayes in Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s.

Needles in Hayes stack
 
By Ed Rampell
 
Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s is an informative, good fun nonfiction film about the history of one of the 20^thcentury USA’s most influential magazines, and one of those editors who has had a lasting impact on and made an indelible imprint upon American letters. Esquire editor Harold Hayes was arguably to magazines what Maxwell Perkins was to novels, both having a literary flair in their respective mediums.
 
Hayes, originally a Southerner, oversaw not only a stable of scribes who helped spawned the so-called “New Journalism," but also a visually inventive team who conceptualized the magazine as being a visual art form combining punchy prose and pictorials. Who can ever forget the cover image of Muhammad Ali during the height of his persecution for resisting the draft posing as St. Sebastian, pierced by arrows? Or the cover pic of Pop Artist Andy Warhol drowning in an open gigantic can of Campbell’s Soup? The often mind blowing art captured the sixties’ psychedelic zeitgeist.
 
For a time, Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s, along with Playboy (its editor/publisher Hugh Hefner also appears onscreen) defined the “hip” sensibility in the world of monthly magazine publishing. (The doc also reminds us that prior to Hayes’ arrival, Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s had published high caliber authors such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, but at one point had been a sort of soft porn “girlie”-type mag.) In addition to including interviews with photographers, art designers and cartoonists such as Ed Sorel, Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s features a movable feast of notable wordsmiths, making this a movie memory literary lane. There are archival and original interviews with: Tom Wolfe; Nora Ephron; Peter Bogdanovich; Frank Rich; Harlan Ellison; and many other literary tigers (and a few pussycats).
 
Gay Talese drolly recounts writing the feature Frank Sinatra Has a Cold, which helped set the template for the more subjective, interpretive, long form New Journalism. The Left’s éminence grise, Gore Vidal, recalls his epic epochal battle royales with rightwing idiot savant William F. Buckley. Their televised tete-a-tetewas spurred by the galvanizing violence at the 1968 Democratic National Convention (which, BTW, Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s counterintuitively assigned Beat scribe William S. Burroughs and satirist Terry Southern to cover). This journalist was aware of their war of words on live TV -- with our man Vidal calling Buckley “a crypto-Nazi” (although this reviewer fails to see what was so “crypto” about Buckley and his defense of the fascistic Czech-ago pig department during their “police riot” against unarmed peace demonstrators?) and the National Review editor calling Vidal’s alleged homosexuality out. (Ironically, in onscreen interviews Vidal refers to Buckley as a “queen.”) However, I did not know that this broadcast contretemps led to articles by each in Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s, which in turn resulted in libel suits. Of course, when Hayes requested fair play so that he could publish a rejoinder in National Review, true to form, Buckley the reactionary refused turn-around-fair-play to Hayes, who had previously provided that to him.

This award-winning documentary is directed and written by Hayes’ son, Tom Hayes, and his debut doc is something of a son’s attempt to come to grips with his complex, celebrity father and Harold’s legacy. But this film is no mere hagiography -- Hayes’ stumbles, as well as his triumphs, are covered. For instance, lefty author Garry Wills tells the camera that he refused to write the lengthy feature that came to be known as The Confessions of Lt. Calley. Wills protested against giving who he calls “a mass murderer” a prominent platform, and the dubious Hayes-directed cover stirred controversy not only among sponsors, but Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s staffers, as well: The smiling ex-soldier convicted of mass killing at My Lai posing with somber Vietnamese children. John Sacks, not Wills, wrote the article which was told from the point of view of the war criminal whose sentence was vastly reduced by Pres. Richard “Crimes-Against-Humanity-Are-Us” Nixon. Wolfe’s “Radical Chic” article pillorying conductor/composer Leonard Bernstein’s fundraising party for the Black Panther Party was also published under Hayes’ tutelage.

Smiling Through the Apocalypse, Esquire in the 60s will especially bring a smile to the faces of fans who enjoy(ed) the eponymous magazine; print journalism (New and old); graphic design; chronicles of the sizzling sixties; and lovers of the documentary art form. Its star-studded cast of literati and “illustrati” (to coin a phrase) will make it irresistible to aficionados of that school of publishing. The editor/ writer and father/son relationships are also of interest.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

STAGE REVIEW: EQUIVOCATION



Sharpe (Dane Oliver) and Nate (Alan Blumenfeld) in Equivocatoin. Photo by Ian Flanders.



Anonymous anyone?

 

By Ed Rampell

 

This summer, to celebrate the 450^th anniversary of the playwright and poet from Stratford-upon-Avon’s birth, Will Geer’s Theatricum Botanicum presented an all-Shakespeare-all-the-time repertory season at its leafy amphitheater perched in Topanga Canyon. (Usually WGTB varies its annual program with a mixture of Shakespearean, other classic and original plays.) The final work of the lot is not by, but rather about, the Bard -- or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

 

Ted Barton, who’d previously portrayed the dramatist at WGTB’s July ceremony honoring William Shakespeare’s birth, plays a similarly named wordsmith, “Shagspeare,” in award winning palywriter Bill Cain’s Equivocation. This two-act drama with some humorous touches imagines a Shakespeare-like playwright receiving what is literally a command performance: A royal commission to write about Guy Fawkes and England’s 1605 Gunpowder Plot, a piece of agitprop that presents the government’s point of view, to be performed by the theatre company Shagspeare belongs to.

 

The Gunpowder Plot was an actual conspiracy to blow up King James and the Houses of Parliament that took place while Shakespeare was still alive. In any case, it’s beyond the scope of this review to go into details about the revolutionary scheme, but many readers will be familiar with Guy Fawkes masks, which depict a smirking face with a mustache upturned at each end and a goatee. These masks were popularized in the 2006 movie Vendetta and more recently have adorned the faces of protesters, from Occupy Wall Street to Anonymous, et al.

 

Shagspeare -- or “Shag”, as he is called for short (or perhaps in homage to the Tiki Pop artist of that name?) -- is, as stated, a member of a theatre company. Equivocation is at its thought provoking best when it ponders the role of theater and politics, plays and propaganda, or, to paraphrase Lenin, “the stage and revolution.” There is swordplay as well as wordplay, including a definition of what equivocation means that this reviewer had never considered before.

 

The work, which lasts about two and a half hours or so, is extremely complex, even convoluted, and this critic found it difficult to follow. This complexity is compounded by a play within a play, as at one point the troupe of thesps performs a truncated version of Macbeth. Although the cast consists of only six (small by Theatricum standards), it seems that at least some of the actors play multiple roles. If this reviewer understood that aspect of the production correctly, the playbill (say, were these publications named after Shakespeare? inquiring minds want to know) only listed one role per thesp, which only adds to the confusion. One can guess that all of the above reflects the fact that Bill Cain is, literally, a Jesuit priest.

 

In addition to probing the role of art vis-à-vis politics, nine years after the 400^th anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot the play’s plot has interesting references to our 21^st century world. There is the torture that has filled the stage and screen (think, for example, 24 and Jack Bauer) since the Cheney-Bush regime got into the euphemistically named “enhanced interrogation” biz at Guantanamo and “black sites” that straddle (and strangle) the globe. Indeed, this is the second WGTB production this summer wherein torture is a plot point.

 

Even more ominously, like Aeschylus’ Persians-- which is on the boards at WGTB’s neighbor down the long and winding road a bit at Malibu -- Equivocation also depicts a beheading. Both of these decapitations are occurring onstage just as ISIS maniacs are making videos (with “high production values”, as newscasters/propagandists for some reason rarely fail to point out) of the poor Western journalists and aid workers whose heads these terrorists are busy chopping off.

 

Furthermore, Equivocation was launched shortly before the referendum on independence for Scotland which, like the Gunpowder Plot, had the potential to greatly alter what is now call the United Kingdom. Even more eerie is the fact that as previously mentioned, Equivocation stages bits of Macbeth, which is nicknamed “the Scottish play.”

 

Barton is fine as the pantalooned Shag, as is Taylor Jackson Ross as his daughter. Judith, who is, alas, the ensemble’s only female member (unless you include a brief drag sequence -- after all, in Shakespeare’s day, all of the roles were depicted at the Globe by males). The interplay between father and daughter has something of a Shakespearean quality, a bit in the mode of King Lear (which is also on the repertory’s roster this season). Alan Blumenfeld is able as the ailing Nate and full of the romping pomposity this seasoned actor emanates in his more comic roles. As Sharpe, Dane Oliver steals many of the scenes he’s in as a preternaturally hammy, preening “ac-teur!” Mike Peebler deftly directs this complicated stew that this reviewer, fan as he is of the Theatricum, only wishes he could more unequivocally recommend to avid amphitheatergoers. Until next summer, this erstwhile critic bids his favorite theatre company adieu!

 

Equivocation runs through Oct. 4 at Will Geer’s Theatricum Botanicum: 1419 N. Topanga Canyon Blvd., Topanga, California, 90290. For repertory schedule and other information: 310)-55-3723; www.Theatricum.com.

 

 

LA SWISS FILM FESTIVAL 2014: SHORT FILMS

A scene from Imposter.

The Angelinos and the Alps

By Ed Rampell

From Heidi to Hollywood, Charlie Chaplin to Jean-Luc Godard to H.R. Giger, James Bond to the Pink Panther to Bollywood to the TV reality series The Bachelor and beyond, Swiss Cinema and television has a rich heritage. This motion picture plenitude was on full display at Hollywood’s Harmony Gold Theater on Sept. 7 during the 4^thEdition of Short Films Long Night presented by the Los Angeles Swiss Film Festival.

This year 14 short films plus two Switzerland Tourism TV spots were screened at the filmfest. The “100% Swiss” category included six shorts made on location in Switzerland by and with mainly homegrown talents. Eight shorts were projected in the “Here & There” category, which included works made, in part, by Swiss talents and filmed outside of the Confederacion Helvetica.

The variety of films shown reveal the Alpine nation’s depth and breadth of talent. What was interesting is that all of the shorts could have been shot outside of Switzerland. For example, the urban setting of the 9:33 comedy drama directed by Rafael Kistler, The Kids Are Alright -- dealing with issues of crime, immigration and youth -- which was also screened at Basel’s Gassli Film Festival in August, might have been lensed during the night at any European urban area. Those attributes people typically think of as Swiss -- snow capped peaks, ski lifts, yodeling, alphorns, Saint Bernards and the like -- were, interestingly, only on display in the well-made Switzerland Tourism television commercials that also entertained the L.A. aud. One could say that these ads were “100% Swiss-plus.”

In any case, three of the shorts won awards -- one per category plus an audience award voted by members of the Harmony Gold’s packed auditorium. Winning in the “100% Swiss” division was the French-language, subtitled 14 minute black comedy The Finger, directed by Malika Pelliocioli. In this delicious farce, three siblings battle over the legacy of their dearly departed dad around the time of his funeral at home. In particular, the two brothers and one sister have their eye on the ring adorning the film’s eponymous digit. Sheer hilarity ensues as they attempt to retrieve the piece of jewelry before it, along with its bearer, goes on to meet its proverbial maker.

What is particularly droll is that the sister is identified as a socialist candidate for office -- who actually campaigns during the funeral! This reviewer is unsure what Pelliocioli had in mind, but perhaps the helmer is indicting Swiss socialists for being as greedy as the rest of their capitalist brethren. In any case, the short’s title -- The Finger -- may be a witty reference to what the deceased is giving, posthumously, to his avaricious children. ​ Pascale Rey,president of Dreamago (a Swiss organization based in Sierre/Valais specializing in coaching screenwriters), received the award on behalf of Valais-based Pelliocioli.

The winner of the “Here & There” category was a real change in pace from The Finger’s naturalistic style. Elie Chapuis’ 6:32 animated Impostor depicted a cartoony deer attempting to rob a man’s identity by removing his head. Although a work of animation Chapius’ skillfully wrought short, like The Finger, dealt with infidelity and other all too human, if not too nice, baser desires and instincts. (One of this critic’s personal favorites among the shorts was another animation piece, Fabienne Giezendanner’s 12:00 Giant Dwarf, an imaginative, creatively rendered version of an Inuit legend.)

The knee-slapping Ruprecht likewise belies the stereotype some have of the Swiss as being a dour, humorless folk. It was easy to see why the L.A.-based filmgoers awarded Yangzom Brauen the Audience Award for the 10:00 and 48 second (mostly) English language comedy, as it deals with one of Los Angeles’ most irksome nuisances: Leaf blowers, and the ear piercing noises they make, especially during early morning hours. Ruprecht is having sex with what seems to be a prostitute when his passionate romp is ruined by pesky gardeners, prompting the European (perhaps Swiss) man into action by attempting to get the L.A. city bureaucracy to stop this chronic disturbing of the piece, which Ruprecht has been complaining about, with little effect, for ages. Sheer hilarity ensues with a series of cross-cultural collisions and encounters in L.A.’s multi-culti cauldron of disparate nationalities from around the world, as East meets Alp. ​Brauen received the well-deserved Audience Award in person from attorney Dennis Fredricks, who serves as a special counsel to Swiss and other consulates, and Swiss model Alizée Gaillard.

The Consulate General of Switzerland (Consul General Jean-François Lichtensternis a huge movie buff) supported by Presence Switzerland presented the Los Angeles Swiss Film Festival. Along with recent works by Swiss filmmakers such as Germinal Roaux, Bettina Oberli, Marc Forster,veteran Xavier Koller, et al, the Festival’s shorts showed that this is a small nation with big screen big talents.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

AGLIFF 2014: BOY MEETS GIRL

Ricky (Michelle Hendley) in Boy Meets Girl. 

Gender fender 

By Don Simpson

Being born with male genitalia did not stop Ricky (Michelle Hendley) from evolving into a strong and beautiful young woman; but despite her courageousness, living a transgendered life in a quaint, backwoods Virginian town, Ricky still lacks the confidence to enter the dating scene as an unabashed woman. Ricky’s best friend, Robby (Michael Welch), remains faithfully at her side, as she flounders around aimlessly. Anyone who meets Ricky and Robby immediately suspects that Robby is just observing from the sidelines, in the hopes that Ricky will one day be ready to date him. Meanwhile, Ricky sees fashion school in New York City as her one key to escaping the mind-numbing monotony of small town life. At the very least, New York City is certain to have a more open-minded dating pool for Ricky to peruse.

Enter Francesca (Alexandra Turshen), the fiancé of a socially conservative Marine and daughter of wealthy Tea Partying parents. Ricky and Francesca are both taken aback by the magnetic chemistry they unexpectedly share. Since Ricky still has a functioning penis, they are able to enjoy heterosexual intercourse, but everything else about their relationship seems as if they are two women hopelessly smitten with each other. Needless to say, it is a confusing relationship for everyone — including Ricky and Francesca — to understand. When it comes down to it, their connection is in no way related to their respective genders. It might sound a bit cheesy, but Ricky and Francesca are trying to listen to their hearts and nothing else.

Writer-director Eric Schaeffer’s Boy Meets Girl is about developing enough self-confidence to not care about what anyone else thinks; to be one’s true self and not what everyone wants you to be; to feel accepted and loved despite any perceived eccentricities or warts. Eschewing the crippling term “normal” and admirably avoiding presenting Ricky as an “Other,” Schaeffer’s film speaks to the importance of tossing aside the labels that inherently alienate human beings.

A rare feat for an outsider, Schaeffer seems to capture the life of a transgender woman with profound authenticity and positivity. Hendley masters the role of Ricky as if it was her own story. One can only assume that Hendley and other transgender women collaborated in the development of the script, as many moments seem far too honest to have been penned by someone who did not experience these situations firsthand.

But Boy Meets Girl is not strictly a transgender or LGBTQA film, it is a film about understanding and acceptance, universal themes that clearly transcend gender and sexual orientation. Deeply exploring issues of shame, judgment and hatred in the context of the ever-blurring lines of gender, Schaeffer still finds a way to make a film that is significantly more lighthearted and funny than his films Fall and After Fall, Winter. Not to be confused with Leos Carax’s Boy Meets Girl, which operates in sharp tonal contrast to the lighthearted rom-com genre that the title suggests, Schaeffer fully embraces the tone and structure of the rom-com genre to make his intellectually intuitive plot all the more digestible. Essentially a teen chick flick with balls (mind the pun), Schaeffer’s film is infinitely more thoughtful than most (all) other films in the genre.

AGLIFF 2014: EVER

Ever (Wendy McColm) in Ever.

Life after death

By Don Simpson

Ever since the unexpected death of her fiancé, Ever (Wendy McColm) has lost her motivation to be happy. Even if Ever were to become happy, she would feel much too guilty to actually enjoy the moment. So, Ever opts to live a lonely existence, working in a quiet bookstore and returning to her sparsely decorated apartment.

Eventually, Ever concedes to go to a movie with a floppy-haired indie rock musician who is unwilling to take no for an answer; but when that date does not go very well, Ever all but gives up on humanity. That is until she meets Emily (Christina Elizabeth Smith), a kind and loving soul who sees the overwhelming goodness glimmering inside of Ever. Whereas Ever might find it difficult to be happy around a man, Ever feels comfortable enough around Emily to finally remove her protective shell. The two women form a bond that seems to transcend mere friendship, leading Ever to question her sexuality.

Anyone who has found it difficult to be happy again after the death of a significant other is sure to find a lot of authenticity in Josh Beck’s Ever, but this film’s real strength is in its depiction of sexuality. While it might be disconcerting to some that Ever’s recent history with male aggression and male stupidity is what triggers her explorations with lesbianism, Ever’s existential struggle is undeniably natural. Emily is probably the best possible person for Ever to explore her newly discovered feelings because she is so understanding of Ever’s hesitations. In Ever, sexuality is refreshingly not black and white. Ever and Emily were "not born" lesbians, they are both attracted to people’s personalities, not their gender. The most convincing aspect of Ever is the organic chemistry between McColm and Smith.

Respectfully toning down the quirky hipster undercurrent that could have easily undermined the film’s aspirations for realism, Beck and cinematographer Micah Van Hove cleverly balance visual style with stoic grace. Simple and sweet, Ever fits gracefully within the new trend of LGBTQA filmmaking, subtly approaching its subject, allowing it to pass as a “straight” film that can easily crossover into the LGBTQA market.

AGLIFF 2014: APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR

Shirin (Desiree Akhavan) in Appropriate Behavior.

Sex (I am)

By Don Simpson

When Shirin (Desiree Akhavan) is dumped by her girlfriend, Maxine (Rebecca Henderson), she finds herself lost and confused. In her own head, Shirin may have identified herself as Maxine’s partner, but she was never able to actually “come out” as a lesbian, especially not to her socially-conservative, Iranian-American family. Whether or not Shirin’s family were ever keen enough to catch on to the fact that Maxine was more than just her roommate is totally beside the point; they ignored the obvious signs and assumed that Shirin would eventually settle down and marry a man.

Now that she is single, Shirin has the opportunity to start anew by reevaluating her sexual and cultural identities in the hopes of coming up with a definition of herself with which she feels more comfortable. 

Taking a cue from Woody Allen's Annie Hall, Desiree Akhavan’s Appropriate Behavior utilizes flashbacks as Shirin contemplates the highs and lows of her relationship with Maxine. In the present, Shirin halfheartedly flounders away with her own life, moving into an artist loft in Bushwick and starting a new job teaching an after-school filmmaking program.

Channeling the simplicity of the post-Mumblecore set (which means this film will be probably compared to Lena Dunham’s work), Akhavan presents a very realistic portrayal of a young woman struggling to balance her sexuality with her ethnicity in the “anything goes” atmosphere of Brooklyn. In Appropriate Behavior, “coming out” is not as simple as just stating your sexuality; for people of some ethnic and religious backgrounds, it can be a much more complicated statement to make. 

Then again, the whole idea of people needing to proclaim their sexuality is sort of ridiculous. (Says the straight, white male.) I sense that could be why Appropriate Behavior focuses on the comedic absurdity of Shirin’s efforts to find herself. Not only is it ridiculous that Shirin thinks that she will have an answer by the end of the film’s timeline, but it is silly that she even has to go through this whole rigamarole. While it is understandable that a lack of sexual identity could be frustrating (and scary) for a romantic partner, why does it even matter otherwise, especially to her family? (That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.)

TRAVEL REVIEW: PARIS LAS VEGAS

Paris Las Vegas in Las Vegas, Nevada. Photo courtesy of Paris Las Vegas.

French faux blurred

By Ed Rampell

In Part I of my two-part travel series on Las Vegas I wrote about experiencing Cirque du Soleil’s fab Fab Four show LOVE The Beatles. Here I write about an enjoyable place to stay, a great restaurant, an amusing magic act and more.

Abracadabra!

I’m not an expert on magicians (although Houdini was my childhood hero), and Reynold Alexander’s show at the Clarion Hotel and Casino is one of the few I’ve ever seen in person. Much of the bearded Alexander’s act consisted of a variety of card tricks, levitations, disappearances and reappearances. Of course, there is the obligatory, always crowd pleasing (and mystifying) sawing of the attractive ladies in half, too. Most of the deftly executed procedures left members of the aud scratching their noggins and wondering; “Hmm, how the heck did he do that?” The show also included the use of shadows, which reminded me of Indonesian “Wayang Kulit," or shadow puppets, and taped music, including Scott Joplin pieces.

As Alexander the Great hails from Puerto Rico his performance has a Hispanic flair. In addition to his two attractive female assistants who happily submitted to being vanished, banished and sliced and diced in various boxes, Alexander’s ragtime band included lots of comic relief. This came in the form of the corpulent Hansel, who opened wearing a white jacket and bowtie and black shirt and slacks, and humorously explained his trickery, such as pouring milk into a rolled up newspaper. Throughout the hour-or-so-long performance, just for gags a clownish caricature of Latino dancers burst onstage to “disrupt” the proceedings with a rather droll spoof (or perhaps homage to?) the type of goofy hoofer one might see in Hispanic variety shows.

Alexander’s routine ended on a touching, personal note that I’ve not seen elsewhere, wherein to mark the time we’d spent together the illusionist used sand to illustrate the nature of the passage of time. It was well done and moving.

Paris Las Vegas: The City of Lights in Sin City

I just watched Diamonds Are Forever on cable TV, and this was the first time since this James Bond flick was released in 1971 that I had seen it since. An interesting aspect of Diamonds Are Forever is that much of this last installment of Sean Connery in the Broccoli-Saltzman 007 franchise is its location shooting in Las Vegas. This seemed to be shot before the construction of the Strip, and those themed resorts. I stayed in one of the latter, the Paris Las Vegas, which is, obviously, modeled on the fabled City of Lights.

The sprawling, labyrinthine, cobblestoned walkways, hallways and lobby have a faux French flair. For example, cafés offer baguettesand brioches, crystal chandeliers hang above the main lobby where guests check-in, plus the Baroque-style architecture all enhance the Gallic ambiance. As does the blue, yellow and red hot air balloon structure bearing the “Paris” sign facing the Strip, which is illumined at night and was inspired by the Aerostat Réveillon, the balloon used in a September 19, 1783 demonstration for King Louis XVI in Paris by the Montgolfier brothers, for the first lighter than air flight.

Of course, the hotel’s Francophile pièce de résistance is its reconstruction of Paris’ most famous landmark, the Eiffel Tower. At 460 feet tall, the Las Vegas replica is half the size of its Parisian counterpart. The reason for this half-size scale is that the Paris Las Vegas is located too close to McCarran International Airport, so zoning and safety issues forbade building a 986 foot structure. This despite the fact that it, too, is lit up at night, making it one of the Strip’s most recognizable sights since fireworks were shot from it on Sept. 1, 1999, when French actress Catherine Deneuve performed the honors and with the flip of a switch illuminated the imitation City of Lights.     

It’s well worth a visitor’s time and money to buy a ticket to ascend the Paris LV Eiffel Tower on a sunny day (of which there are beaucoup in the Nevada desert) and/or at night, when the Strip is ablaze with neon, offering an entirely different fiery vista. In daylight the sumptuous, resplendent views stretch beyond Sin City’s limits to the mountains and deserts afar. For newcomers to Las Vegas, these panoramic scenes can help orient tourists to a cityscape that is often ajar with a profusion of crowds on sidewalks and traffic clogging the Strip and other streets. The views from on high offer different perspectives from ground level perceptions, providing a visual sense of place.

My room at Paris Las Vegas was spacious and comfortable with a large window facing away from the Strip (a room with a view of this stretch of Las Vegas Boulevard is more expensive). Paris Las Vegas' two-acre, outdoor pool is gigantic, although there is little shade for much of the time during those long, sunny Nevada summer days. (Tip: It’s shadier if you take repose on a lounge chair near the base of the Eiffel Tower.) Nevertheless, I had fun frolicking and hanging out poolside with my longtime friend, comic Tamayo Otsuki, that delightfully kooky kabuki player. Like a desert oasis, the pool cooled things off, as did the liquid refreshment provided by a poolside bar and bikini-clad waitresses.

Le Burger Brasserie: Gourmet Gluttony on the Bounty

One of Paris Las Vegas’ various restaurants is the wood paneled Le Burger Brasserie, which its passionate General Manager Jason Rinta described to me as being where “food fanatic meets sports fanatic.” Indeed, in addition to its many flat screen TVs, where fans watched the World Cup live during the soccer championship matches, as well as other sporting events, such as good ol’ baseball games, the classy yet reasonably priced Le Burger Brasserie’s cuisine tickles and entices foodies’ taste buds.

Playing off of the triple seven combination that spells luck for gamblers (it is Vegas, after all!), at the high end of the sports grille’s menu is a $777 (per person) dining experience that includes a half pound Kobe steak, lobster tail, foie gras, Dom Pérignon champagne and more. Needless to say, your struggling scribe ordered other dishes. To drink I had a nonalcoholic Daryl Strawberry Mint Lemonade minus the vodka, consisting of minty, club soda, strawberry, lemonade and perhaps lime, which not only cooled me off like a dip in Paris Las Vegas' pool, but refreshed my palate. Guided by our knowledgeable, good-natured waitress, Allison, who was tattooed with a musical motif, we ordered a somewhat spicy, very creamy concoction, Buffalo chicken dip with Point Reyes cheese and pretzels for dipping and bread (baking is done daily on Paris Las Vegas' property) for swiping. This was followed by a Pazanella salad composed, like a salad symphony, with bibb lettuce, artichokes, fresh mozzarella, pesto, vinaigrette and toast.

To tell you the truth this would have sufficed for supper, but as it is Le Burger Brasserie -- and the eatery does boast that it serves Las Vegas’ best burgers -- for my entrée I devoured a delicious, gourmet veggie burger with Portobello mushrooms and French (well, it IS the Paris!) fries. To help wash all this down we ordered a cereal inspired drink, a Captain & Crunch milkshake, which combines the breakfast cereal with vanilla ice cream and Captain Morgan rum. It was an interesting mélange, but after a sip, let’s just say that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.

As if all this wasn’t enough, for dessert we indulged in S’mores Cheesecake, with toasted marshmallow ice cream, graham crackers, and various chocolates. It was a fitting grand finale for our gluttony, a not-so-deadly sin in Sin City, which we thoroughly enjoyed, along with Allison’s always attentive service. GM Rinta, who has worked in Las Vegas for eight years, explained how he’s trying to put his stamp on Le Burger Brasserie: “I try to be innovative. I launched a new menu in March. Before then it was more French-themed; now it’s more a la carte and fresh.”

Aside from the throngs and traffic, I enjoyed visiting Las Vegas, with its shows ranging from Cirque du Soleil’s LOVE to the magical Reynold Alexander, and staying and dining at Paris Las Vegas and Le Burger Brasserie. However, if you really want to get a sense of what the real (and not the ersatz) Paris is like, the next time you hit the jackpot run straight down to McCarran International Airport and book a flight to alight at France’s exquisite City of Lights.         

For more information: 

Magician ReynoldAlexander

Paris Las Vegas

Le BurgerBrasserie