Theater
Actress/playwright Ellen McLaughlin relishes working with Michael Kahn
‘Angels in America’ actress says Greeks have lessons for modern life
‘The Oresteia’
Through June 2
Sidney Harman Hall
610 F St., N.W.
$44-118
202-547-1122
When Michael Kahn asks you to do something, you do it. It’s that simple.
And so, playwright/actor Ellen McLaughlin explains the genesis of her latest work, “The Oresteia” — not a translation of Aeschylus’ trilogy about revenge, murder and justice, but rather a new version freely adapted from the Greek classic.
In the spring of 2016, Kahn and McLaughlin met for coffee in Manhattan. The out director confided that he planned to end his long and illustrious tenure as artistic director of D.C.’s Shakespeare Theatre Company by directing a play based on the original and he wanted McLaughlin to write it.
“The offer came with just two stipulations: First, Aeschylus’ three plays must be performable in one evening,” McLaughlin says. “And secondly, the primordial, vengeful goddesses found in ‘The Eumenides,’ the final piece of the trilogy, needed to be really scary without costuming the actors as monsters. I accepted his challenging offer on the spot.”
Aeschylus is the first of the great Greek dramatists. He actually came up with the dramatic form. In “The Oresteia,” the first and second tragedies of the trilogy include Agamemnon’s murder by his wife and her lover and his wife and lover’s murder by Agamemnon’s son Orestes. The third play is about justice. The ancient Greeks did not take matricide lightly.
There’s a hugeness and majesty to what Aeschylus does, so the project was daunting, she recalls. But McLaughlin had successfully adapted the Greeks before, so she knew what to do. Since she doesn’t read Greek, McLaughlin relies on extant translations. After much reading, she pushes the translations away and gets down to writing wherever she might be (jobs take her far and wide), but mostly in her orderly, light-filled study in Nyack, N.Y., a quiet town on the Hudson River.
Working with Kahn has exceeded her expectations.
“What Michael has done is completely unprecedented in my experience as a writer,” she says. “He gave me
What’s more, throughout the rehearsal process, Kahn was generous in allowing McLaughlin to speak directly to the actors.
“That’s very unusual for a director. But at this point in his career he has enough confidence in himself that he doesn’t have to protect his position in the room. He’s the top of the food chain. It’s remarkable and testament to his experience and how easily that experience rides on him.”
From the start, McLaughlin’s career has been two-pronged. She’s a playwright whose works have received numerous national and international productions, and an actor who has worked on and Off Broadway as well as extensively in regional theater. On the acting track, she is best known for originating the role of the Angel in out playwright Tony Kushner’s seminal work “Angels in America.”
“There’s nothing quite like working on Broadway,” she says. “And doing a profoundly important piece that meant so much to so many made the experiences that much more. We were creating a central cultural event that would resonate in so many ways out into American and world culture; it would change the way people think.”
McLaughlin says “Angels” worked largely because of its lead character, Prior.
“The momentous thing Tony did was to have Prior, the American everyman at the middle of this long and complicated saga, be a flamboyantly gay man with AIDS. That was revolutionary. And because he used humor, people were defenseless against it. You have to love Prior. You can’t deny that he’s profoundly brave. He’s a hero.”
She recalls a post-matinee talk back with a group of young Mormons. Mclaughlin and Stephen Spinella (the out actor who played defiant Prior Walter) were seated on the lip of the stage. A pretty, blonde girl raised her hand, stood and directed her comment to Spinella.
“Everyone and everything in my life has taught me to hate you, and still, I love you.”
They embraced and cried.
“If that’s the only thing we accomplished,” Mclaughlin says, “It was all worth it.”
Growing up in Chevy Chase, Md.., McLaughlin developed an interest in the arts early on. At Sidwell Friends School, she was exposed to Quaker pacifism, acted in plays, and also learned to paint scenery, a skill that got her through some lean years after graduating from Yale.
Meeting Michael Kahn in the late ‘80s was a bright spot in her early career. At the time, Kahn was teaching acting at the Julliard School in New York while also helming STC in Washington (testament to his legendary energy), and McLaughlin was hired as playwright in residence at Julliard.
“I got paid to hang around. I wasn’t required to write anything. I had access to everything except for Michael’s acting classes, those are private. I understood but was still curious.”
McLaughlin looks to the Greeks for guidance in today’s world.
And unfortunately, “The Oresteia” which explores the contrast between violent revenge and true justice along with the transition from personal vendetta to organized litigation, remains all too relevant. She describes the current atmosphere in America as a cycle of violence in which the right is trying to take back the ground, they feel they’ve lost. And in turn, the left feels a desire for retribution.
“It’s a kind of politics and way of living that’s brutal and doesn’t bring out the best in any of us,” she says.
The Greeks brought all of their big issues — how to treat each other, how to treat the gods, what’s a good life, what’s an ethical life — to the theater, and consequently that’s why everyone gathered to see these beautiful yet disturbing plays filled with difficult images.
“They tell the most difficult stories and ask, but never answer, the hardest questions. That’s why I keep coming back to the Greeks,” McLaughlin says.
Theater
Theatre Prometheus spreads queer joy with ‘Galatea’
Two girls dressed as boys who find love despite the odds
‘Galatea’
Through May 10
Theatre Prometheus
Montgomery College Cultural Arts Center
7995 Georgia Ave, Silver Spring, Md.
$27
Theatreprometheus.org
In a timely move, Theatre Prometheus thought it would be a beneficial thing to spread a little queer joy. And since the company’s mission includes engaging audiences and artists in queer and feminist art, there was nothing to stop them.
Co-artistic directors Tracey Erbacher and Lauren Patton Villegas, both queer, agree they’ve found that joy in John Lyly’s “Galatea,” an Elizabethan-era comedy about Galatea and Phillida, two girls dressed as boys who find love despite some rather slim odds.
Now playing at Montgomery College Cultural Arts Center on the Takoma Park/Silver Spring campus, the upbeat offering is a mix of contemporary and period, and strives to make audiences happy. Galatea’s cast includes Amber Coleman and Cate Ginsberg as the besotted pair.
Erbacher, also the production’s director, adds “queer joy is something that I prioritized in casting actors and interviewing production people. I asked them what it means to them, and resoundingly the reply — from both them and the play — is that queer joy is the freedom to be yourself without having to think about it.
“Galatea” was first brought to Prometheus’s attention by Caitlin Partridge, the company’s literary director. Erbacher recalls, “she strongly suggested I read this very queer play. I read it and fell absolutely in love. And because it’s a comedy — I really like directing comedy — I knew that I could lean into that while not neglecting its universal themes of young love.”
Villegas, who’s not ordinarily drawn to the classics, was also instantly smitten with Galatea.
“Usually with classics, the language doesn’t jump out at me the way modern works do,” she says. “But not so with ‘Galatea.’ The first time I heard it read aloud, I found it easy to follow and entirely accessible in the best way.”
Whether Lyly deliberately wrote a queer play isn’t known. What’s definitely known is the play was written with an all-boy performing troupe in mind; that’s partly why there are so many young female roles, the parts 10-year-old boys were playing at the time.
There’s not a lot known about Lyly’s personal life, mostly because he wasn’t wildly famous. What’s known about the times is that there wasn’t a concept of “gay,” but there were sodomy laws regarding homosexual activity in England geared toward men having sex with men; it was all very phallocentric, Erbacher says.
She categorically adds, “Women’s sexuality wasn’t considered in the equation. In fact, it was often asked whether women were even capable of having sex with other women. It just was not part of the conversation. If there wasn’t a dick involved it didn’t count.
“Perhaps that’s how the playwright got around it. If there were two male characters in the play he could not have done it.”
Prometheus has done adaptations of ancient myths and some classics, but in this case it’s very faithful to the original text. Other than some cuts winnowing the work down to 90 minutes, “Galatea” is pretty much exactly as Lyly wrote it.
And that includes, “girls dressed as boys who fall in love thinking girls are boys,” says Erbacher. “And then they start to clock things: ‘I think he is as I am.’ And then they don’t care if the object of their affection is a boy or a girl, the quintessential bisexual iconic line.”
And without spoiling a thing, the director teases, “the ending is even queerer than the rest of the play.”
Erbacher and Villegas have worked together since Prometheus’s inception 11 years ago. More recently, they became co-artistic directors, splitting the work in myriad ways. It’s a good fit: They share values but not identical artistic sensibilities allow them to exchange objective feedback.
In past seasons, the collaborative pair have produced an all-women production of “Macbeth” and a queered take on [gay] “Cymbeline,” recreating it as a lesbian love story. And when roles aren’t specifically defined male or female, they take the best actor for the part.
With Galatea, Prometheus lightens the current mood. Erbacher says, “the hard stuff is important but exhausting. We deserve a queer rom-com, a romantic sweeping story that’s not focused on how hard it is to be queer, but rather the joy of it.”
Theater
Timely comedy ‘Fake It’ focuses on Native American themes
Arena Stage production features two out actors
‘Fake It Until You Make It’
Through May 4
Arena Stage, 1101 Sixth St., S.W.
Tickets start at $59
Arenastage.org
A farce requires teamwork. And Larissa FastHorse’s “Fake It Until You Make It” now at Arena Stage is no exception.
The timely comedy focuses on Native American nonprofits fractiously housed in a shared space. Friction rises when rivals River (Amy Brenneman), a white woman operating in the Indigenous world, goes up against the more authentic Wynona (Shyla Lefner) to win a lucrative Native-funded grant.
While Brenneman (best known for TV’s Judging Amy) is undeniably a big draw, it takes a group collaboration to hit marks, land jokes, and pull off the well-executed physical comedy including all those carefully timed door slams.
As members of the six-person “Fake It” cast, Brandon Delsid and Eric Stanton Betts, both out actors of partly indigenous ancestry, contribute to the mayhem. Respectively, Delsid and Betts play Krys and Mark, a pair of two-spirited Native Americans who meet farcically cute and enjoy one of the play’s more satisfying arcs.
For Krys, every attractive man is a potential next fling, but when Mark, handsome and relatively reserved, arrives on the scene, it’s something entirely different.
Both onstage and sometimes off, Betts plays the straight man to Delsid’s waggishness. But when it comes down to real life business, the friends are on the same page: not only are the L.A.-based, up-and-coming actors intensely serious about their film and stage careers, but they’re also particularly engaged in the themes of Indigenous People found in “Fake It.”
On a recent Wednesday following a matinee and an audience talkback, they were ready for a phone interview.
In establishing whose voice was whose, Delsid clarified with “I’m the one who sounds a little like a Valley girl.”
WASHINGTON BLADE: Brandon, you’ve been with the show since its early work-shopping days in 2022 and through its debut in Los Angeles and now Washington. Have things evolved?
BRANDON DELSID: Definitely. I’ve grown up in the last couple of years and so has my character; it’s hard to know where I end and Kry begins. There’s been a real melding.
Eric and I are both queer, and to get to play these roles that are so human, imperfect, sexy, and interesting is really joyful.
As queer artists you don’t always get the chance to do work like this. So many stories are queer trauma, which is incredibly important, but it’s liberating to feel joy and ride it off into the sunset, which, without revealing too much, is kind of what we get to do.
BLADE: There’s some race shifting in “Fake It” particularly with regard to “pretendian” (a pejorative term describing a person who has falsely claimed Indigenous status).
ERIC STANTON BETTS: The last few years I’ve been on a journey with my cultural identity and place in the world. I’m a mixed BIPOC artist, my dad is Black and Native American by way of the Cherokee tribe and my mom is white.
Since 2020, I’ve tried to figure out where I belong in this cultural history that I haven’t had a tie to throughout my life; it’s gratifying to find my way back to my indigeneity and be welcomed.
In the play, race shifting is introduced through farce. But it’s never in a disrespectful way; it’s never mocked or done in a way to take away from others. The playwright parallels race shifting with gender fluidity.
DELSID: But in life, there are people posing as Indigenous, actively taking grants, and the play goes there, we don’t hold back. Larissa, our playwright, has made it clear that she’s not trying to figure it out for us. With that in mind, we hope people leave the theater interested and curious to learn more.
BLADE: Mark arrives kind of the middle of some crazy drama, bringing along a jolt of romance.
BETTS: Yeah, when I show up, we’re all sort of shot out of a cannon, struggling to keep up with the initial lie.
DESLID: A very gay cannon.
BLADE: What’s up next for you two?
BETTS: Both Brandon and I are up for the same part in a TV pilot, so one of us may be getting some very good news. I also have a Tyler Perry film coming out soon [he plays a model, not an unfamiliar gig for Betts].
DELSID: Coming up, I have a recurring part on HBO’s “The Rehearsal,” and a supporting part in “June and John,” a Luc Besson film. But doing “Fake It Until You Make It” in L.A. and now D.C. has been a special time in our lives. It’s 23/7 togetherness. There’s that hour for sleep.
Theater
‘Bad Books’ a timely look at censorship in local library
Influencer vs. conservative parent in Round House production
‘Bad Books’
Through May 4
Round House Theatre
4545 East-West Highway
Bethesda, Md.
Tickets start at $43
Roundhousetheatre.org
While a library might seem an unlikely place for a heated contretemps, it’s exactly the spot where adults go when they’re itching to battle out what books minors might be allowed to read.
In Sharyn Rothstein’s “Bad Books,” two women, The Mother (out actor Holly Twyford) and The Librarian (Kate Eastwood Norris), swiftly become mired in a quarrel that comes with some weighty repercussions.
The Mother is a popular conservative influencer on a mission. She’s furious that the local library has overstepped its bounds and she blames The Librarian, a woman who adheres to the “it takes a village” method of child rearing and is dedicated to the young people who approach her reference desk.
There’s some background. It seems The Librarian who dresses young (tight jackets and Doc Martens) and curses a blue streak, forged a friendship with Jeremy, a teenage library regular.
While the details are a bit hazy, it seems the troubled Jeremy confided in The Librarian regarding some personal issues. In return, she suggested a helpful book – Boob Juice.
Unsurprisingly, based solely on its title, the book has thrown The Mother into a pique of outrage. After finding Boob Juice in her son’s bedroom, she made a beeline to the library; and not incidentally, The Mother hasn’t read the recommended work and has no plans to do so.
Set in a suburb with lax gun laws, the story explores facets of division and conciliation. The Mother insists she isn’t so much about banning books as she is keeping some books away from young people until they’ve obtained parental approval.
“Bad Books” is performed in the round. Built on a rotating stage, Meghan Raham’s set is simple, pleasingly serviceable, and easily transforms from the library into a small corporate office, and later the assembly room of a church. Overhead floats a circular glass shelf filled with a cache of banned books. Things like a rolling book cart and a goldfish bowl add some flavor to the different locations.
The Mother wasn’t always a popular conservative warrior with an enthusiastic horde of followers.
Her past includes penning a book that later filled her with guilt and regret. She refers to that early questionable literary accomplishment as her bad book. And while over the years, she has persevered to find and destroy each and every printed copy, she hasn’t entirely succeeded.
Norris plays three women who figure meaningfully into the arc of Twyford’s mother character. In addition to The Librarian, Norris is The Manager, a broadly played piece of comic relief, and The Editor, a warm woman who reveals things about Jeremy that his own mother never knew.
Smartly staged by Ryan Rilette, the production is part of a National New Play Network Rolling World Premiere. While Rothstein’s script offers two strong roles (skillfully performed by celebrated actors Twyford and Norris), its ending feels too neatly resolved.
In the past, Twyford and Norris have successfully joined forces for numerous DMV productions including Studio Theatre’s production of David Auburn’s two-hander “Summer, 1976,” the story of a longtime and unlikely friendship between two women who meet as young mothers during the Bicentennial summer.
Though different, both The Librarian and The Mother share a strong and ultimately hopeful relationship with words.
There’s a quote from E.B. White’s classic “Charlotte’s Web” that pops up a couple of times in the briskly paced 80-minute play. Charlotte, the wise spider, says, “with just the right words you can change the world.”
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