Theater
Undercover agent
Creative restlessness, logistics spur Ganymede’s Jeffrey Johnson to new endeavors
EDITOR’S NOTE: This event is over but go here for a review.
‘The Only Gal in Town’
Special Agent Galactica and Christopher Wingert
Dec. 31
8 p.m.
$10
Go Mama Go!
1809 14th Street, N.W.
- Special Agent Galactica (Jeffrey Johnson) and her accompanist Christopher Wingert. (Photos courtesy of Jeffrey Johnson)
New Year’s Eve is the birthday of Special Agent Galactica, the performance art drag persona of local gay actor Jeffrey Johnson. So despite logistical hurdles, she’s not letting the occasion pass un-noted.
“The Only Gal in Town,” Galactica’s cabaret act with musical wiz Christopher Wingert, is Dec. 31 at 8 p.m. at Go Mama Go!, the 14th Street shop where Ganymede Arts, the region’s only LGBT arts organization, hosted recent productions of “Falsettos” and “Edie Beale LIVE at Reno Sweeney.”
Galactica, who was born four years ago as one of four drag characters who did a New Year’s Eve show called “SEXE: the Floor Show,” has continued each year. But this year’s show is different in two major regards — Johnson, in a Galactica first, is doing all the vocals live and it’s not a Ganymede production.
Johnson, who had 11 years of musical theater experience under his belt before moving to D.C. in 1997, found his pipes reawakened when he played the lead in “Falsettos” in September. He’d been mostly directing and lip syncing the last decade-plus.
“I can always do more (lip syncing) and I’m not done with that at all, but I do kind of feel I just wanted to try something different and I’ve been inspired by some of the cabaret artists I’ve gotten to know so I thought, ‘This could be a lot of fun,'” Johnson says.
The original plan for “Falsettos” was for Johnson to only direct but an 11th-hour pass from a friend Johnson had tried to arm twist to play the lead resulted in Johnson playing main character Marvin. That production proved doubly influential for the New Year’s Eve show — it not only reawakened Johnson’s love of singing, he found a kindred artistic spirit with “Falsettos” musical director/pianist Christopher Wingert, who’s sharing billing with Galactica for next week’s show.
Wingert was an emergency sub for a performance of “Naked Boys Singing,” Ganymede’s May/June show. He did so well, Johnson hired him for a major role in “Falsettos.”
Wingert, who saw Galactica perform for the first time at this summer’s Fringe Festival, says he and Johnson click.
“We have a ton of fun,” he says. “Sticking to the work is sometimes the tricky part because we end up cracking each other up and going off on all kinds of tangents.”
Next week’s show will find Galactica singing songs by Stephen Sondheim, Quincy Jones, Ray Stevens, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Ann-Margaret, Dusty Springfield and others.
So what will Galactica — whom Johnson admits was conceived as a purposefully ambiguous personality capable of morphing into any guise the lip syncing material demanded — have to say now that she has the chance to speak? Some might shrug since “Falsettos” already proved Johnson can carry a tune, but for those who’ve seen Galactica’s many performances over the years — at Miss Pixie’s, at the Fringe or at ACKC — this is a huge paradigm shift.
Johnson says don’t expect any major soul baring a la Edie Beale’s New Year’s Eve cabaret act which Johnson has performed several times over the last couple years.
“Well, I hate cabaret shows where the people start talking,” he says. “Then it’s just me me me me me me me. I don’t really care. I just want to hear them sing. I didn’t come to hear them relay a life story. That seems a little bit of performance masturbation. So Galactica’s not a big talker. She lets the material speak for itself. I’m still trying to figure out what I need to say or what she would say between songs if she were lip syncing.”
Johnson has never gotten too wrapped up in notions of female illusion. It’s more about toying with notions of gender than trying to make people forget Galactica is played by a man. Subsequently he’ll be using his own vocal register in the show, not aping a higher female range.
“We’re not trying to give them an evening of Castrati,” he says. “It’s all part of the gender-fuck thing. But it’s a gentle gender fucking as it is a holiday.”
Wingert calls Galactica “a class act.”
“She’s a professional,” he says. “That’s the thing that really kind of seals the deal. Yeah, there are lots of performers and some are in wigs and some are not. But the ones that really have the polish and the stage presence to really nail it and just hit every mark every time, that’s very rare and Galactica really has that.”
The Ganymede board is behind Johnson’s venture. It just didn’t have enough money to stage the show itself. An artistically satisfying but financially draining year left the company depleted. “Naked Boys Singing” broke even. “Falsettos” probably would have, Johnson says, except that the company had to put about $10,000 into building a stage and seats in Go Mama Go’s back room after Miss Pixie’s landlord put the kibosh on anymore shows there. Both shows had high royalty fees as well.
“We had a terrific year,” says Ganymede board vice president Jim Bennett. “We put on some spectacular productions on a shoe-string budget and we had a lot of help but the money, in this economy, is just not readily available and we’re kind of always scrambling to make ends meet.”
The New Year’s Eve show will be divided into two acts. The first is voice and piano. A drummer and bass player will join Johnson and Wingert in the second half. It’ll also be over about 9:15 so attendees will have plenty of time to get to the spot in which they want to ring in the new year. Drinks, snacks and champagne will be served. JR.’s and Johnson’s friend, Patrick Vanas, are making donations for that.
So what inspires Johnson to continue forging ahead despite modest payoffs? He admits it’s been “really hard” to reconcile Ganymede’s near-pristine critical record the lack of grant funding and widespread regional support.
“Just being able to do these things is the biggest payoff,” he says. “Having the outlet. When I don’t have the outlet I get extremely depressed, moody. So it’s just that I’m grateful to have it … as a person, I’m artistically fulfilled. As an artistic director of a company, I think there’s a lot left to be desired … there’s no bragging rights to say you’re a patron of Ganymede like there is at Studio, or Arena, or to say, ‘Oh, I’m a patron of the Kennedy Center.’… Sometimes I don’t feel the community support is there.”
Bennett says anyone who hasn’t seen Johnson perform as Galactica should.
“He’s very talented and puts 110 percent into everything he does and he does it to perfection,” he says. “The kid has a lot of talent and a lot of dedication. I would love to see him be a really big star someday because he’s so committed to his art. If you have not yet seen him in this type of performance, you have to go. He is just terrific.”
Theater
José Zayas brings ‘The House of Bernarda Alba’ to GALA Hispanic Theatre
Gay Spanish playwright Federico García Lorca wrote masterpiece before 1936 execution
‘The House of Bernarda Alba’
Through March 1
GALA Hispanic Theatre
3333 14th St., N.W.
$27-$52
Galatheatre.org
In Federico García Lorca’s “The House of Bernarda Alba,” now at GALA Hispanic Theatre in Columbia Heights, an impossibly oppressive domestic situation serves, in short, as an allegory for the repressive, patriarchal, and fascist atmosphere of 1930s Spain
The gay playwright completed his final and arguably best work in 1936, just months before he was executed by a right-wing firing squad. “Bernarda Alba” is set in the same year, sometime during a hot summer in rural Andalusia, the heart of “España profunda” (the deep Spain), where traditions are deeply rooted and mores seldom challenged.
At Bernarda’s house, the atmosphere, already stifling, is about to get worse.
On the day of her second husband’s funeral, Bernarda Alba (superbly played by Luz Nicolás), a sixtyish woman accustomed to calling the shots, gathers her five unmarried daughters (ages ranging from 20 to 39) and matter-of-factly explain what’s to happen next.
She says, “Through the eight years of mourning not a breeze shall enter this house. Consider the doors and windows as sealed with bricks. That’s how it was in my father’s house and my grandfather’s. Meanwhile, you can embroider your trousseaux.”
It’s not an altogether sunny plan. While Angustias (María del Mar Rodríguez), Bernarda’s daughter from her first marriage and heiress to a fortune, is betrothed to a much younger catch, Pepe el Romano, who never appears on stage, the remaining four stand little chance of finding suitable matches. Not only are they dowry-less, but no men, eligible or otherwise, are admitted into their mother’s house.
Lorca is a literary hero known for his mastery of both lyrical poetry and visceral drama; still, “Bernarda Alba’s” plotline might suit a telenovela. Despotic mother heads a house of adult daughters. Said daughters are churning with passions and jealousies. When sneaky Martirio (Giselle Gonzáles) steals the photo of Angustias’s fiancé all heck kicks off. Lots of infighting and high drama ensue. There’s even a batty grandmother (Alicia Kaplan) in the wings for bleak comic relief.
At GALA, the modern classic is lovingly staged by José Zayas. The New York-based out director has assembled a committed cast and creative team who’ve manifested an extraordinarily timely 90-minute production performed in Spanish with English subtitles easily ready seen on multiple screens.
In Lorca’s stage directions, he describes the set as an inner room in Bernarda’s house; it’s bright white with thick walls. At GALA, scenic designer Grisele Gonzáles continues the one-color theme with bright red walls and floor and closed doors. There are no props.
In the airless room, women sit on straight back chairs sewing. They think of men, still. Two are fixated on their oldest siter’s hunky betrothed. Only Magdelena (Anna Malavé), the one sister who truly mourns their dead father, has given up on marriage entirely.
The severity of the place is alleviated by men’s distant voices, Koki Lortkipanidze’s original music, movement (stir crazy sisters scratching walls), and even a precisely executed beatdown choreographed by Lorraine Ressegger-Slone.
In a short yet telling scene, Bernarda’s youngest daughter Adela (María Coral) proves she will serve as the rebellion to Bernarda’s dictatorship. Reluctant to mourn, Adela admires her reflection. She has traded her black togs for a seafoam green party dress. It’s a dreamily lit moment (compliments of lighting designer Hailey Laroe.)
But there’s no mistaking who’s in charge. Dressed in unflattering widow weeds, her face locked in a disapproving sneer, Bernarda rules with an iron fist; and despite ramrod posture, she uses a cane (though mostly as a weapon during one of her frequent rages.)
Bernarda’s countenance softens only when sharing a bit of gossip with Poncia, her longtime servant convincingly played by Evelyn Rosario Vega.
Nicolás has appeared in “Bernarda Alba” before, first as daughter Martirio in Madrid, and recently as the mother in an English language production at Carnegie Melon University in Pittsburgh. And now in D.C. where her Bernarda is dictatorial, prone to violence, and scarily pro-patriarchy.
Words and phrases echo throughout Lorca’s play, all likely to signal a tightening oppression: “mourning,” “my house,” “honor,” and finally “silence.”
As a queer artist sympathetic to left wing causes, Lorca knew of what he wrote. He understood the provinces, the dangers of tyranny, and the dimming of democracy. Early in Spain’s Civil War, Lorca was dragged to the the woods and murdered by Franco’s thugs. Presumably buried in a mass grave, his remains have never been found.
Theater
Magic is happening for Round House’s out stage manager
Carrie Edick talks long hours, intricacies of ‘Nothing Up My Sleeve’
‘Nothing Up My Sleeve’
Through March 15
Round House Theatre
4545 East-West Highway
Bethesda, Md. 20814
Tickets start at $50
Roundhousetheatre.org
Magic is happening for out stage manager Carrie Edick.
Working on Round House Theatre’s production of “Nothing Up My Sleeve,” Edick quickly learned the ways of magicians, their tricks, and all about the code of honor among those who are privy to their secrets.
The trick-filled, one-man show starring master illusionist Dendy and staged by celebrated director Aaron Posner, is part exciting magic act and part deeply personal journey. The new work promises “captivating storytelling, audience interaction, jaw-dropping tricks, and mind-bending surprises.”
Early in rehearsals, there was talk of signing a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) for production assistants. It didn’t happen, and it wasn’t necessary, explains Edick, 26. “By not having an NDA, Dendy shows a lot of trust in us, and that makes me want to keep the secrets even more.
“Magic is Dendy’s livelihood. He’s sharing a lot and trusting a lot; in return we do the best we can to support him and a large part of that includes keeping his secrets.”
As a production assistant (think assistant stage manager), Edick strives to make things move as smoothly as possible. While she acknowledges perfection is impossible and theater is about storytelling, her pursuit of exactness involves countless checklists and triple checks, again and again. Six day weeks and long hours are common. Stage managers are the first to arrive and last to leave.
This season has been a lot about learning, adds Edick. With “The Inheritance” at Round House (a 22-week long contract), she learned how to do a show in rep which meant changing from Part One to Part Two very quickly; “In Clay” at Signature Theatre introduced her to pottery; and now with “Nothing Up My Sleeve,” she’s undergoing a crash course in magic.
She compares her career to a never-ending education: “Stage managers possess a broad skillset and that makes us that much more malleable and ready to attack the next project. With some productions it hurts my heart a little bit to let it go, but usually I’m ready for something new.”
For Edick, theater is community. (Growing up in Maryland, she was a shy kid whose parents signed her up for theater classes.) Now that community is the DMV theater scene and she considers Round House her artistic home. It’s where she works in different capacities, and it’s the venue in which she and actor/playwright Olivia Luzquinos chose to be married in 2024.
Edick came out in middle school around the time of her bat mitzvah. It’s also around the same time she began stage managing. Throughout high school she was the resident stage manager for student productions, and also successfully participated in county and statewide stage management competitions which led to a scholarship at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC) where she focused on technical theater studies.
Edick has always been clear about what she wants. At an early age she mapped out a theater trajectory. Her first professional gig was “Tuesdays with Morrie” at Theatre J in 2021. She’s worked consistently ever since.
Stage managing pays the bills but her resume also includes directing and intimacy choreography (a creative and technical process for creating physical and emotional intimacy on stage). She names Pulitzer Prize winning lesbian playwright Paula Vogel among her favorite artists, and places intimacy choreographing Vogel’s “How I learned to Drive” high on the artistic bucket list.
“To me that play is heightened art that has to do with a lot of triggering content that can be made very beautiful while being built to make you feel uncomfortable; it’s what I love about theater.”
For now, “Nothing Up My Sleeve” keeps Edick more than busy: “For one magic trick, we have to set up 100 needles.”
Ultimately, she says “For stage managers, the show should stay the same each night. What changes are audiences and the energy they bring.”
Theater
‘Octet’ explores the depths of digital addiction
Habits not easily shaken in Studio Theatre chamber musical
‘Octet’
Through Feb. 26
Studio Theatre
1501 14th Street, N.W.
Tickets start at $55
Studiotheatre.org
David Malloy’s “Octet” delves deep into the depths of digital addiction.
Featuring a person ensemble, this extraordinary a capella chamber musical explores the lives of recovering internet addicts whose lives have been devastated by digital dependency; sharing what’s happened and how things have changed.
Dressed in casual street clothes, the “Friends of Saul” trickle into a church all-purpose room, check their cell phones in a basket, put away the bingo tables, and arrange folding chairs into a circle. Some may stop by a side table offering cookies, tea, and coffee before taking a seat.
The show opens with “The Forest,” a haunting hymn harking back to the good old days of an analog existence before glowing screens, incessant pings and texts.
“The forest was beautiful/ My head was clean and clear/Alone without fear/ The forest was safe/ I danced like a beautiful fool / One time some time.”
Mimicking an actual step meeting, there’s a preamble. And then the honest sharing begins, complete with accounts of sober time and slips.
Eager to share, Jessica (Chelsea Williams) painfully recalls being cancelled after the video of her public meltdown went viral. Henry (Angelo Harrington II) is a gay gamer with a Candy Crush problem. Toby (Adrian Joyce) a nihilist who needs to stay off the internet sings “So anyway/ I’m doing good/ Mostly/ Limiting my time/ Mostly.”
The group’s unseen founder Saul is absent, per usual.
In his stead Paula, a welcoming woman played with quiet compassion by Tracy Lynn Olivera, leads. She and her husband no longer connect. They bring screens to bed. In a love-lost ballad, she explains: “We don’t sleep well/ My husband I/ Our circadian rhythms corrupted/ By the sallow blue glow of a screen/ Sucking souls and melatonin/ All of my dreams have been stolen.”
After too much time spent arguing with strangers on the internet, Marvin, a brainy young father played by David Toshiro Crane, encounters the voice of a God.
Ed (Jimmy Kieffer) deals with a porn addiction. Karly (Ana Marcu) avoids dating apps, a compulsion compared to her mother’s addiction to slot machines.
Malloy, who not only wrote the music but also the smart lyrics, book, and inventive vocal arrangements, brilliantly joins isolation with live harmony. It’s really something.
And helmed by David Muse, “Octet” is a precisely, quietly, yet powerfully staged production, featuring a topnotch cast who (when not taking their moment in the spotlight) use their voices to make sounds and act as a sort of Greek chorus. Mostly on stage throughout all of the 100-minute one act, they demonstrate impressive stamina and concentration.
An immersive production, “Octet” invites audience members to feel a part of the meeting. Studio’s Shargai Theatre is configured, for the first, in the round. And like the characters, patrons must also unplug. Everyone is required to have their phones locked in a small pouch (that only ushers are able to open and close), so be prepared for a wee bit of separation anxiety.
At the end of the meeting, the group surrenders somnambulantly. They know they are powerless against internet addiction. But group newbie Velma (Amelia Aguilar) isn’t entirely convinced. She remembers the good tech times.
In a bittersweet moment, she shares of an online friendship with “a girl in Sainte Marie / Just like me.”
Habits aren’t easily shaken.
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