Archive for March 1st, 2007

It was a Wednesday night, and I spent a lousy day yapping to idiot tourists on an open-top bus. I made some pretty good tips though and figured it was worth $10 at the door to see some titties.

WAIT, NO! That’s not what Burlesque is about! It’s supposed to be a clever and ironic throwback to the 1920’s and 30’s where sexual performance was still new and scandalous! Neo-Burlesque is, of course, a self-counscious modern interpretation on a distinct early 20th century art-form, a fusion of costuming, dance, seduction and humor all while weaving a narrative through music and pantomime, topping it all off with. . . well, yes, Titties! With pasties! And tassles that swirl!!

But, as my first paragraph illustrated, sometimes a fella can dilude himself into believing that he’s attending a subtle, layered, performance piece when in truth, it’s a lot more like a glorified strip-tease.

Which is what my experience seeing The Peach Tartes at Don Hills was like last night. Don Hills, which can be found at Greenwich and Spring sts, in the above Canal st part of TriBeCa (wait a second. . .) and The audience seemed to be mostly made up of the Wall st. types, (both guys and girls) looking to get their jollies off at the sight of pert young female flesh shaking their goodies for the whole crowd to enjoy.

The show was well composed, the ladies very, very sexy all of them with very clever burlesque names and sexy outfits. The loose plot of the show was that these six young ladies were all guests at the Heartbreak Hotel, acting out the five stages of grief (Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Depression, Acceptance) through burlesque acts some (Denial, Depression) more inspired than others (the rest) along with the most fun, often forgotten stage of overcoming grief: REVENGE!

Though in most of the cases, when not sure of how to take the flimsy story-line of each of their acts further, just displayed some spinning kicks and splits, opting for some easy applause from the audience.

The most enjoyable part of the evening had to be the first act, the Tartes signature piece, all six ladies, in three sets of Dom/Sub duets, tight bodies in slinky lingere performing a very, very naughty dance piece set to Chriss Isaac’s “Baby did a Bad Bad Thing”

Sure, it got my jolly-jim all nice and pointy, but I’m the type to call a spade a spade and if it looks like a strip show, it acts like a strip show, and the skanky bar it’s in smells like a strip show, well then

Don’t call it “Burlesque”

Some nights, I just feel like a grumpy old man. I don’t want to talk to you, and I certainly don’t want to stay home and watch that damned Ryan Seacrest. Kids today. Hmph. So, I went to Pete’s Candy Store for some good old-fashioned Bingo. What did I find? Kids! Uncool kids! They looked like a bunch of marijuana cigarette smoking hooligans if you ask me. Luckily, they were for the most part easy on these old eyes, and the sexual deviants in the crowd seemed to be intimidated by my maturity (judging by the fact that they did not immediately approach yours truly) so I was not at first forced to interact with the locals. But, by jove, then I won a game! You should have seen the jig I danced! Pete’s practices a particularly eclectic brand of bingo involving a combination of “standard” wins (one row across, any direction) with the more intricate “flying backwards L,” “six-pack,” and “holy crap that’s fast first to get to five” variations of bingo. My skills of observation were unthwarted by the multiple hot toddies I consumed, allowing me to crow “bingo!” well before the other drunken rabble present. Typical of the prizes they pass out, I won a set of finger paints which I gave to my truant niece, and a toy motorcycle which launches from a “helmet emitter” which I tried to give to a bum (but found later that my truant niece had wrestled it from the bum and kept it). Upon winning, I suddenly found myself far more popular. A strange woman claimed she lived with me. Following the prudent course, I ran for the door, but suddenly found myself in some sort of hippy back room where a singer-type was warbling at a melange of booze hounds. Clearly, I had gone the wrong direction in my haste. Dodging through the crowd as best I could I scurried back the way I’d come. Strange women in sloppy dress and boots that were fashionable in a time when I was considerably more virile consistently tried to direct me into their booths and “help” me. Harlots! Upon making it to the door, I saw McCarren Park to my left and made a run for it. Eventually, I took refuge somewhere in Greenpoint under the porch of an older Polish couple where I spent the night. Obviously, I will be back for bingo again next week.

Most shows begin when the curtains rise, but at Galerie Poller (547 West 27th St., NY) the curtains are the show. It may seem a tad too avant-garde to photograph the very tapestries you ignore while pretending to leaf through your playbill while you scan the room for a closer seat, but Joachim Schulz’s “lichtspiele” shows that art lurks in the shadows of even the most overlooked items.

Shultz proves what directors already know: even the minutest of details sets the tone for a stage production. Each photograph is approximately the same size and presents the curtains from the same angle: from top to bottom, but with no elaborate overhead or scuffed-up wooden floor peaking out from underneath. Therefore, the color of the curtains and their individual texture take center stage as the photographer shows the implications of lighting.

During a play, when the spotlight zeroes in on one of the characters, your attention focuses on the actor. However, when the spotlight hovers on a curtain, you notice the light instead of the object of its attention, as evidenced in “cinestar hagen, grün,” “cinestar bremen, rot,” and “cineplex bremen Schwarz.” Similarly, the four pillars of lights in “cineplex münster, rotgrün” draw your attention away from the mere fabric. The bright orb of a spotlight becomes its own show as the audience expectantly waits for the curtains to rise so the show can begin.

Since the curtains never rise in Schulz’s photographs, it is the less-obvious lighting that truly brings out the beauty of the curtains. The close ups reveals a labyrinth of deep folds that shelter the stage from hordes of prying eyes. Red curtains are ablaze with subtle lighting. Several photographs romanticize the curtains to such an extent that the tapestries resemble an evening gown. But, “cinemaxx wuppertal, bunt” looks like the tacky drapes you’d find in a suburban concert hall.

The photographs will be on display through March 17. If an exhibit devoted solely to stage curtains is too abstract for your taste, don’t rule Schulz out completely. There are some rather quirky works on his interactive website.

Dry comedy at its best, How to Kick People is a fantastic event at Mo Pitkin’s. Todd Levin and Bob Powers, the evening’s power duo hosts have created an event that allows comedy writers a venue to showcase their work, without having to given in to the more conventional forms of stand up or improv. Instead, How To Kick People is a night of writers performing longer, more concentrated work to a supportive, laid back audience. From the moment it began I felt that How to Kick People is what NPR would be if it were a comedy radio station. This is meant as a huge compliment to Levin and Powers whose humor is pointed, understated and dead-on. The show has a liberal, intellectual tone and best of all no one that goes on stage is trying too hard.

The night’s theme was “I Coulda Been Someone” and each writer addressed this idea in a different but equally hilarious way. to open the show, Levin and Powers showed a slide show of people who had not fulfilled their dreams. This, for me, was the highlight of the night. Each slide was of an individual, a description of their dream, and the reason their dream was de-railed. Levin and Powers delivered each ridiculous dream and de-railment with straight faces and level voices, and the effect was unique and satisfying. I was impressed and inspried by the duo’s creativity and ease with the audience. Though none of their guests quite lived up to this killer opening, it set the tone for an excellent evening of comedy for the literate, intellectual (dare I say hipster?) crowd.

The stand out guest performer was the sole female, Ellie Kemper. She read fake diary entires from her would-be life as a nun– a dream she had nursed when she was younger. The entries addressed all that was disappointing about being a nun, and how unlike the reality of the lifestyle was to the movie “The Sound of Music”. Kemper was charming in her delivery, cheery and naive, with a dark hidden edge. She is an excellent performer and writer and held her ground in the male-heavy line up.

I highly recommend this event, which is celebrating its three year anniversary in the New York scene. Its a little off the beaten path, very East Village, and you feel lucky to have been there when you leave.