Theater review: 'Curse of the Starving Class' at Open Fist Theatre Company
Los Angeles Times
Leave it to Sam Shepard to flout W.C. Fields’ advice — “Never work with children
or animals” — by brazenly casting a live lamb in “Curse of the Starving Class,”
his desolate, bilious, hilarious and heavily symbolic portrait of a California
farm family in crisis, which is being revived at Open Fist Theatre Company.
Naturally, Juju (as the lamb is identified in his head shot in the lobby)
steals the show. The night I went, Juju’s well timed bleats got laughs that even
Fields couldn't have imagined, and at intermission, nobody discussed the set
(which Victoria Profitt has realized creatively while staying true to Shepard’s
description), the staging (by the skillful director Scott Paulin), the talented
cast, or the significance of “Curse” in Shepard’s oeuvre and American
theater.
We spoke of Juju.
It’s not as if Shepard wasn’t warned. And of course, he’s too canny and
tongue-in-cheek a playwright not to have planned the whole thing. The actors are
obviously in on the joke. Kevin McCorkle, as Weston, the repulsive alcoholic
father, plays off the woolly diva’s interruptions so skillfully that his
soliloquy becomes a dialogue. The son, Wesley (Ian Nelson, who has a young James
Franco thing going), casually sweeps up Juju’s droppings — very considerate for
somebody who has just urinated on his sister’s 4-H project and will shortly
butcher the lamb (offstage, thankfully).
Indeed, the most jarring aspect of “Curse” is that every person is horrible.
It’s as if Shepard is mocking our expectation that a struggling American family
will be like the Joads in “The Grapes of Wrath”: noble, unlucky patriarch;
loving mother struggling to keep the family together; son of few words but pure
heart; dreamy, writerly daughter.
Instead we get the monstrous Weston (he’s actually even more odious when he
reforms and starts talking about the beauty of life), a venal mother (the
tremendously entertaining Laura Richardson) who enthusiastically betrays her
children; alternately dutiful and destructive Wesley; and a daughter (the
precocious Juliette Goglia) who at first seems like the family’s only hope
(well, except that the 4-H project she’s so dedicated to involves eviscerating
her pet chicken) but proves the craziest of the bunch.
The play’s undeniable power lies more (as in Greek tragedy) in its bleak
evaluation of the human condition, its fertile symbols (the eerie blue light of
the empty refrigerator that the characters keep opening), and the astonishing
quality of its language. Open Fist’s production keeps faith with Shepard's
mysterious vision. But they might want to hire a less attractive lamb.
-- Margaret Gray
“Curse of the Starving Class,” the Open Fist Theatre
Company, 6209 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays. 2
p.m. Sundays. Ends June 4. $35. (323) 882-6912 or www.OpenFist.org. Running time: 2 hours 30
minutes.
________________________________________________________________________
Los Angeles Times
Leave it to Sam Shepard to flout W.C. Fields’ advice — “Never work with children
or animals” — by brazenly casting a live lamb in “Curse of the Starving Class,”
his desolate, bilious, hilarious and heavily symbolic portrait of a California
farm family in crisis, which is being revived at Open Fist Theatre Company.
Naturally, Juju (as the lamb is identified in his head shot in the lobby)
steals the show. The night I went, Juju’s well timed bleats got laughs that even
Fields couldn't have imagined, and at intermission, nobody discussed the set
(which Victoria Profitt has realized creatively while staying true to Shepard’s
description), the staging (by the skillful director Scott Paulin), the talented
cast, or the significance of “Curse” in Shepard’s oeuvre and American
theater.
We spoke of Juju.
It’s not as if Shepard wasn’t warned. And of course, he’s too canny and
tongue-in-cheek a playwright not to have planned the whole thing. The actors are
obviously in on the joke. Kevin McCorkle, as Weston, the repulsive alcoholic
father, plays off the woolly diva’s interruptions so skillfully that his
soliloquy becomes a dialogue. The son, Wesley (Ian Nelson, who has a young James
Franco thing going), casually sweeps up Juju’s droppings — very considerate for
somebody who has just urinated on his sister’s 4-H project and will shortly
butcher the lamb (offstage, thankfully).
Indeed, the most jarring aspect of “Curse” is that every person is horrible.
It’s as if Shepard is mocking our expectation that a struggling American family
will be like the Joads in “The Grapes of Wrath”: noble, unlucky patriarch;
loving mother struggling to keep the family together; son of few words but pure
heart; dreamy, writerly daughter.
Instead we get the monstrous Weston (he’s actually even more odious when he
reforms and starts talking about the beauty of life), a venal mother (the
tremendously entertaining Laura Richardson) who enthusiastically betrays her
children; alternately dutiful and destructive Wesley; and a daughter (the
precocious Juliette Goglia) who at first seems like the family’s only hope
(well, except that the 4-H project she’s so dedicated to involves eviscerating
her pet chicken) but proves the craziest of the bunch.
The play’s undeniable power lies more (as in Greek tragedy) in its bleak
evaluation of the human condition, its fertile symbols (the eerie blue light of
the empty refrigerator that the characters keep opening), and the astonishing
quality of its language. Open Fist’s production keeps faith with Shepard's
mysterious vision. But they might want to hire a less attractive lamb.
-- Margaret Gray
“Curse of the Starving Class,” the Open Fist Theatre
Company, 6209 Santa Monica Blvd., Los Angeles. 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays. 2
p.m. Sundays. Ends June 4. $35. (323) 882-6912 or www.OpenFist.org. Running time: 2 hours 30
minutes.
________________________________________________________________________
Theatre Review 'Do Do Love at Open Fist Theatre Company
Los Angeles Times
Los Angeles Times
_________________________________________________________________
Backstage West
Come Back, Little Horny
Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder
Photo credit Anela
According to Laura Richardson, "Say the word mother and it brings up so much material" that one might be able to compose a play around it, which is exactly what she has done in this play. In the screamingly dysfunctional Maloney clan, the failed artist husband (Scott Paulin) tries to wrench the lock off the liquor cabinet, one daughter (Danielle Weeks) has written a thinly veiled novel based on her family's missteps, and a pair of woebegone 30-something siblings (Jennifer Erholm and Brendan Bonner) still live at home. Yet the heart of the tribe is surely the mother (Wendy Phillips), who wonders with every problematic revelation if she's the underlying cause of the family's innumerable tribulations. Everything Horny does is downright hilarious, from humping legs with hypnotic conviction to trying to get the bickering family's attention before taking a considerable dump on the rug. Adding an actor onstage to lick faces and scratch at the door gives this work a new twist. Richardson's razor-sharp wit proves to be, the elephant in the Maloneys' living room. And, when a heartwarming resolution sets in, one wonders how short-lived the happy ending will be.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Stage Scene LA
I loved Richardson’s previous comedy, Do Do Love, which I described as “skillfully blend(ing) quirky humor with moments of real poignancy.” Blessed with a dream cast, director, and design team, the same can be said for the even richer and more satisfying Come Back, Little Horny.
--Steven Stanley
_____________________________________________________________________________
LA WEEKLY
COME BACK LITTLE HORNY
In playwright Laura Richardson’s clever sourball of a family comedy, mom Susan (Wendy Phillips) and dad Ian (Scott Paulin) used to be artists, but now they’re retired — read “tapped out” — and they seem to spend most of their time sniping at each other. Into this toxic atmosphere comes the family’s one successful scion, Stanford University professor and bestselling author Raven (Danielle Weeks), who, shows up for a visit, bringing along her adopted pet dog Horny (delightfully played in canine drag by Jason Paige, whose leg-humping, slobbery performance all but barks with the unfiltered love that the human characters can’t express to each other). Raven’s latest book is a hostile but truthful roman à clef about her family — and, as they peruse the book, the clan is forced to confront the miserable truth. Director Martha Demson’s character-driven production artfully emphasizes the subtext underlying the family’s brittle relationship. Not a line is spoken that doesn’t seep with layers of corrosive back story. The writing is smartly full of just the sorts of lines you hope never to hear from your mother. (Paul Birchall)
Backstage West
Come Back, Little Horny
Reviewed by Travis Michael Holder
Photo credit Anela
According to Laura Richardson, "Say the word mother and it brings up so much material" that one might be able to compose a play around it, which is exactly what she has done in this play. In the screamingly dysfunctional Maloney clan, the failed artist husband (Scott Paulin) tries to wrench the lock off the liquor cabinet, one daughter (Danielle Weeks) has written a thinly veiled novel based on her family's missteps, and a pair of woebegone 30-something siblings (Jennifer Erholm and Brendan Bonner) still live at home. Yet the heart of the tribe is surely the mother (Wendy Phillips), who wonders with every problematic revelation if she's the underlying cause of the family's innumerable tribulations. Everything Horny does is downright hilarious, from humping legs with hypnotic conviction to trying to get the bickering family's attention before taking a considerable dump on the rug. Adding an actor onstage to lick faces and scratch at the door gives this work a new twist. Richardson's razor-sharp wit proves to be, the elephant in the Maloneys' living room. And, when a heartwarming resolution sets in, one wonders how short-lived the happy ending will be.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Stage Scene LA
I loved Richardson’s previous comedy, Do Do Love, which I described as “skillfully blend(ing) quirky humor with moments of real poignancy.” Blessed with a dream cast, director, and design team, the same can be said for the even richer and more satisfying Come Back, Little Horny.
--Steven Stanley
_____________________________________________________________________________
LA WEEKLY
COME BACK LITTLE HORNY
In playwright Laura Richardson’s clever sourball of a family comedy, mom Susan (Wendy Phillips) and dad Ian (Scott Paulin) used to be artists, but now they’re retired — read “tapped out” — and they seem to spend most of their time sniping at each other. Into this toxic atmosphere comes the family’s one successful scion, Stanford University professor and bestselling author Raven (Danielle Weeks), who, shows up for a visit, bringing along her adopted pet dog Horny (delightfully played in canine drag by Jason Paige, whose leg-humping, slobbery performance all but barks with the unfiltered love that the human characters can’t express to each other). Raven’s latest book is a hostile but truthful roman à clef about her family — and, as they peruse the book, the clan is forced to confront the miserable truth. Director Martha Demson’s character-driven production artfully emphasizes the subtext underlying the family’s brittle relationship. Not a line is spoken that doesn’t seep with layers of corrosive back story. The writing is smartly full of just the sorts of lines you hope never to hear from your mother. (Paul Birchall)