So February is freeze your balls off here in the south- well the whole east coast for that matter. And boy did we get snow! I mean it's still only a few inches here and there, but it's more than I have seen since 1988 down here. February is also go month for Reservoir Dogs. so without further ado... here's a review!
By Perry Tannenbaum
You wouldn't want to see a stage production of Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs that left out the gunplay from the movie. So before you walk in to the current Citizens of the Universe production, you'll find a jarful of complimentary earplugs to bring in with you. As COTU's lead guerilla, director James Cartee, tells us, we don't need the protection until Act 2, but when the blood begins flowing in Act 1, it's reassuring to have that protection in your pocket as you anticipate the fireworks to come.
Like last summer's Fight Club, simply attending a COTU operation is an exotic adventure. Earliest arrivals can park in front of Studio 1212, tucked away on that portion of 10th Street that connects Central Avenue and the Innerbelt. Otherwise, a helpful dude with a flashlight guides you to parking spots across the street. Then you must circle around the long warehouse, down a gravelly alley and past an art car that looks like a Nazi nightmare.
Portions of Reservoir Dogs are even more frightful than the car, particularly in Act 2, where gunfire and torture run amok. With some misgivings, Sue and I held our ground in the front row after intermission, emerging unspattered. A sprinkling of cinematic touches, impishly projected on the rear wall by Cartee, provide welcome relief. At any rate, Sue's implantable defibrillator didn't go off.
The bungling multi-colored Reservoir Gang -- including Mr. White, Mr. Blonde, Mr. Brown, Ms. Blue, a tetchy Mr. Pink, and a profusely bleeding Mr. Orange -- are led by kingpin Joe Cabot, infused with raspy-voiced fire by David Holland. Management support comes from Joe's son, "Nice Guy" Eddie, given an effective layer of privileged superciliousness by Colby Davis.
Joe's slickly planned jewelry heist has gone spectacularly wrong, largely because, as Pink -- the thinker in the group -- has rightly surmised, there's a rat in the gang who has set them up. Even the setup flames out, when somebody sounds the alarm, and we learn that Mr. Blonde has gone berserk. In the ensuing shoot-out, a couple of colors die out of the Reservoir crayon box amid the general carnage. At least one cop has been killed, and another has been kidnapped by Blonde.
Tom Ollis lavishes a gleeful brutality upon Mr. Blonde, reaching an apex of sadism when he begins torturing his kidnap victim – not to find out who the rat is but just for the sheer joy of it. After a brief stint as the Waitress in the opening scene, Brittany Patterson completes her memorable Charlotte debut in frantic, blood-curdling style as Blonde’s victim.
That torture scene sets in motion all the falling dominoes that follow. In the end, as the borderline between good and evil begins to blur, this becomes a story of Mr. White's (Larry) paternal loyalty toward his fallen comrade, Mr. Orange (Freddie). Scott Reynolds ably projects the twisted, combative heroism of White as he becomes more and more invested in Orange's survival. For most of the production's 108-minute length, Orange is in excruciating pain, but Berry Newkirk lives credibly in this narrow, desperate range, his sufferings occasionally the wellspring of cruel, black humor.
Keep your eye on the sly opportunistic Mr. Pink, rendered by Chris Freeman with a nervous watchfulness that belies his coolheadedness under fire. Fight choreography by Kara Wooten, as well as makeup by Amanda Liles and Rebecca Brown, are well above the standards you would expect from a guerilla company scrambling for locations to perform. Set design, such as it is, horseshoes around the audience, so I'd recommend a seat on the innermost stage-left side of the house where the gang is visible at their restaurant table. Sue and I turned around, craned our necks, and caught most of the scene. But if more seats get filled this week as word of mouth spreads, sightlines could be further impaired.
Don't sweat it. Nearly all the action -- and all the blood -- is up front in this fast-paced production.
So what you think bout THAT? *nods head* yeeeaaaah.....
Here's another:
Reservoir Dogs’ bite is as good as their bark in COTU’s latest production.
By John G. Hartness
Presented by Citizens of the Universe
Studio 1212
Feb. 20, 21, 25,26,27,28 @8PM
$10
In order for theatre to succeed, it must not be afraid to fail. If there is any one word I would use to describe Citizens of the Universe founder and director James Cartee, “fearless” is near the top of the list. From portraying psychedelic journalist Hunter S. Thompson in the one-man show GONZO: A Brutal Chrysalis to staging Fight Club in a parking lot, Cartee has quickly developed a reputation in Charlotte theatre circles as someone who’s not afraid to take chances. And in COTU’s current production, the stage version of Quentin Tarantino’s breakout film hit Reservoir Dogs, those gambles pay off handsomely.
For those unfamiliar with the film, when the director hands out earplugs at intermission, take him up on the offer. The tongue-in-cheek Cartee even reminds us of that with a video message in the middle of the act! Reservoir Dogs thrust Quentin Tarantino into the spotlight upon its debut at the box office, with the rapid-fire, often-profane dialogue raining down on moviegoers like spent shell casings on the floor of the set. The stage adaptation is amazingly faithful to the film, which is good for fans of Tarantino’s work, but rough on the production’s poor laundry crew. Anytime you estimate the stage blood usage in gallons per night, it’s going to be a wild ride.
After a brief breakfast-table chat scene, the real action of the play gets underway with the entrance of the normally unflappable Mr. White, played by a very solid Scott Reynolds, and the gutshot Mr. Orange (Berry Newkirk) into the warehouse rendezvous point after a jewel heist gone bad. Orange and White are joined throughout the play by the other members of the Crayola gang, who use colors as names to hide their identities from their cohorts throughout the planning and execution phases of the job. A distraught Mr. Pink (Chris Freeman) brings in the idea of a rat in their midst, and the psychotic Mr. Blonde (Tom Ollis) brings his own special brand of party favor for the crew.
We watch these normally professional criminals devolve quickly in the face of betrayal, death and possible incarceration, as the pressure cooker of the hideout and distrust quickly begins to take its toll. Cartee’s choice of a photo studio (Jim McGuire’s Studio 1212) as a performance venue may have been inspired by necessity, but seems simply inspired as the studio subs very nicely for an abandoned warehouse without need for much set dressing. And the dressing is minimal indeed, a few chairs, a small platform and a few props. Six lights, an LCD projector and a portable sound system are the major technical elements, and the rest of the burden is on the actors. This is no Broadway tour, with lavish sets to cover up the inadequacies of aging sitcom stars, this is in-your-face acting, without a net.
And this cast and director can handle it. From the moment the lights come up, the cast grabs your attention and doesn’t let go. Reynolds is the anchor in the whirling dervish of activity, holding center calmly and crisply throughout the night. The screaming Newkirk starts the show as a dying bag of blood (and more blood, and more blood), but in Act II takes the stage with a fantastic monologue that mixes direct address and narrative form seamlessly. Tom Ollis always has done crazy well, but this time he may have outdone himself. His Mr. Blonde was downright chilling, and there were times watching him on stage that I wondered if he might have finally tipped over the edge. His partner-in-pain, Brittany Patterson, made a great Charlotte stage debut as the doomed Jenny Nash.
An almost unrecognizable David Holland owned the room as the growly Joe Cabot whenever he was on stage and provided an excellent counterpoint to Colby Davis’ bouncy and hyperactive “Nice Guy” Eddie. But Act II belonged to James Lee Walker II, who walked in as undercover tutor Holdaway and walked off stealing every scene he was in. Walker brought a relaxed physicality and crisp characterization to the bit part of Holdaway that worked exceptionally well opposite the nervous pacing and jittery monologue of Berry Newkirk. Newkirk and Walker dominate the flashbacks of Act II, and never let go of our attention once they’ve grabbed hold. Credit Cartee with excellent casting all around, mixing theatre and improv comedy vets to create a solid ensemble.
This is not a polished production, nor is it a polished venue. The hand painted parking signs and gravel walk down a darkened alley set that stage for us early. But if you’re looking for a little of what Lou Reed walked on, then COTU’s Reservoir Dogs is for you. The language is vintage Tarantino, with plenty f-bombs and racial epithets, so leave the kiddies at home for this one. If you need valet parking for your theatre, then you’ll be better served elsewhere, but for a show with a lot of guts, some excellent performances and gallons of sheer hutzpah, you’ll definitely want to talk a walk on the wild side with these dogs.
Here's one more...
Reservoir Dogs
By Quenttin Taratino
Directed by James Cartee
Music Direction by Drina Keen
Citizens of the Universe
Studio 1212
