The Tempest at the Dallas Theater Center

This Tempest is still very much in the mode of Kevin Moriarty’s easy-access, short-attention-span Shakespeare. It’s an approach — seen previously in Midsummer Night’s Dream and Henry IV — that frankly, I’ve not been bowled over by.  Of course, as with the dance-party Midsummer two years ago, this approach can provide an invigorating and popular introduction to a play. And certainly, there’s often a case to be made for simplifying and re-wording Shakespeare’s works. When it’s done on this scale and this regularly, though, it seems like a lack of faith in the plays or in the actors. It’s as if even the great ones can’t succeed without some serious re-tailoring.

With The Tempest, Moriarty has cut down Shakespeare’s late comedy to an hour and 45 minutes — without intermission. He’s stripped out much of the historical context and classical references, dropped the masque (which many directors do) and modernized the language throughout.

Paradoxically, Moriarty’s overall approach can be jokey-trendy  — given the chance, the drunken clowns Stefano and Trinculo eagerly sport hoodies and Juicy Couture. Yet his production is also retro, even traditionalist. In addition to the cuts just mentioned, the DTC Tempest forgoes any of the colonialist overlay that’s become conventional in recent years — with Prospero as the Western master of science and power, and Caliban as an oppressed Third-World native. (Coincidentally, Adrian Hall’s production at the Theater Center — the last Tempest done by the company — brought this interpretation to Dallas in 1987. Most elaborately perhaps, director George C. Wolfe brought it to Broadway in 1995 in a Jamaican-island version featuring Patrick Stewart as Prospero).

Yet here, Moriarty’s simplifications work wonderfully well. That’s because what he’s given us is The Tempest as pure fairy tale. Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, was banished to an island where he’s raised his daughter Miranda. For twelve years, he’s used magic and the island’s magical creatures to prepare his revenge against his usurping brother, Antonio.


It’s a fairy tale, but Moriarty gives it a contemporary gloss. Instead of a shipwreck, the play opens with a lame airplane crash (onboard, there’s not much in the way of smoke, warning lights or even passenger panic). But our castaways then find themselves on set designer Beowulf Borrit’s silvery dreamscape, which recalls Arthur Rackham’s children’s book illustrations or the fantasy worlds of album-cover artist Roger Dean. This is a desert island where it snows, an island where even Caliban, the island’s monster, is amazed by the music he hears and the dreams they cause.


Hunter Ryan Herdlicka as Ariel, Cliff Miller as Trinculo, Joe Nemmers as Caliban and Lee Trull as Stephano in The Tempest

This fairy tale succeeds not because of Borrit’s beautiful set or the music (provided by Broken Chord) or even the special effects (some of which, like the plane crash, the flying harpy and a magic dog, aren’t that impressive). It’s plain Moriarty wants to remove a lot of the antiquated language to get to these characters’ human essence, and several performers succeed. They make this a heartfelt Tempest as well as a lovely one.

Longtime Dallas actor Joe Nemmers makes Caliban a tender monster, not the usual “thing most brutish,” to quote Miranda. To be sure, Nemmers snarls and threatens and contorts his muscular body into an Igor-like crouch (one half-expects him to lisp, “Master!“). But his Caliban is more akin to a resentful teenager, hating to obey, hating his chores, yet secretly aching for adult attention and guidance. There’s a wounded soul in this beast. In fact, at the end, when Prospero acknowledges “this thing of darkness” as his own, the reconciliation is more touching than the entire Miranda-Ferdinand courtship, which in the hands of Abbey Siegworth and Steven Walters feels formulaic. The clowns (Lee Trull and Cliff Miller) are much the same — good but not great.

The island’s other magical servant-creature, Ariel, is given a more human interpretation as well. He’s not as ethereal-extraterrestrial as some Ariels, but he ends up relatively unsurprising as a kind of choirboy Puck. Hunter Ryan Herdlicka is a handsome, agile presence with a clear, pure voice but he’s also somewhat bland in the role, the likable puppy to Nemmers’ attack dog.

It’s Chamblee Ferguson’s Prospero that ultimately makes this Tempest beat with a big heart. Ferguson doesn’t have a duke’s commanding presence, the kind classic tragedians like Patrick Stewart, Michael Hordern or Christopher Plummer bring to the role with apparent ease. At first, Ferguson seems to be trying to make up for that lack by bellowing too much. But in his last great speeches, he truly comes into his own, bringing to bear an emotional openness not often seen in the old wizard. For his powerful ‘farewell to magic’ speech, lighting designer Clifton Taylor has pulled out a few effects that complement the verbal fireworks.

It’s among those speeches that Ferguson finds The Tempest’s emotional core — in a few lines that are often overlooked: Prospero’s rejection of revenge. Too many actors make Prospero’s choice seem pre-ordained: We all knew the old sorcerer was too nice a fellow to do any serious damage. In a smart move — Ferguson’s or Moriarty’s — this Prospero diligently sharpens the knife he intends to use on Antonio (the smoothly sly J. Brent Alford). Ariel brings him the news that all is ready for his revenge. But he adds, almost as an afterthought, if Prospero saw how wretched his brother and his entourage are now, he might feel differently.

Fahari Arts Institute of Black, Gay and Southern

Harold Steward kept getting those requests because he’s the performing arts coordinator for the South Dallas Cultural Center. Black gay arts organizations using the center would ask: Did he know of any dancers who’d collaborate on this event? What about painters? Or spoken word artists?

Steward: “And so I began to match artists with organizations, and it got me to thinking about what a black queer multi-disciplinary arts organization would look like. And I was really just playing around with an idea because there is a gap between organizations and artists.”

Then African-American novelist E. Lynn Harris died in July 2009. The openly gay writer had had 10 consecutive novels on the bestseller lists. But when no public tribute in North Texas seemed forthcoming, Steward helped arrange one — with readers, visual artists, dancers and a singer. After that, the Fahari Institute grew – as Steward says – “organically.” Fahari means ‘pride’ or ‘royalty’ in Swahili. But for Steward, it could well mean ‘things keep happening every month.’

Steward: “The next month, an opportunity came to hold a monthly poetry and spoken-word event called Queerly Speaking. And then, shortly after that, another opportunity came with the Queer Film Series at the Cultural Center.”

Then came a three-day film festival and then fundraisers. Fahari Arts Institute is now the only black gay arts organization in North Texas to offer a full array of programs year-round: dance, theater, lectures, films and readings. A new season began this month with two gallery exhibitions, marking the fact that this is the 30th year of the HIV epidemic: One is a solo show, Poz Eyes, about photographer Terrance Omar Gilbert’s battle with HIV; the other is Our 30, a group show of different artworks, such as “Scarlet,” below, by Lovie Olivia (print on plaster, 2011).

Steward says Fahari is as much a Southern organization as it is a gay, African-American one – because the South is different for blacks and gays. Patrick Packer is the executive director of the Southern AIDS Coalition.

Packer: “Nine of the top ten cities with the highest HIV case rates are in the South. If you look at the states – and Texas being one of those states – eight of the top ten states with the highest HIV infection case rates are in the South.”

Packer will give a gallery talk sponsored by Fahari on Friday. He said he chose to speak at an arts institute  because gay artists, for 30 years, have been some of the loudest voices in the fight against HIV.

And there’s a grimmer reason.

Packer: “The arts community has been one of the hardest hit with HIV and AIDS.”

Steward says all of that leads to a different conversation about the arts, HIV, race and the South – about access to medical care in underserved areas, for example. Or even access to the arts. Steward wants Fahari to serve North Texas in ways he felt weren’t available to him when he graduated 10 years ago as a theater student from the Booker T. Washington Arts Magnet High School.

Steward: “When I was thinking about where I would go after high school, the East Coast or West Coast was constantly on my mind. But what does that do to my local community if everyone moves to a different community to produce their work?”

Fortunately for Steward, he’s always found strong support in his family. When he decided to come out to family members two years ago, he wrote them all — parents and siblings, aunts and nieces — a Christmas card that “really laid out who I was.” (“It wasn’t necessarily a cowardly approach,” he says with a chuckle.) Family members individually gave him more or less the same response: They loved him and were happy for him.

Steward: “OK, here we have 10-15 people who get the same Christmas card and they all have the same reaction. For a black queer theater practitioner, I can’t do nothing with that. [laughs] I can’t even sell my coming-out story.”

Steward and Fahari must be doing something right: In its second year, Fahari won three Dallas Voice Awards against more established organizations.

Steward: “Of course, it’s all based off of popular vote. But you know, we looked at it, and said, ‘Here we are, a volunteer staff, an even more volunteer budget because we don’t know what it is, and how do we come away with three awards when no other organization does? What we’re doing is building community.”

Unfortunately for him, it also means Steward has to juggle the technical and scheduling needs of a whole range of different kinds of artists. And he does that on top of balancing the overlapping but different interests of the gay and black communities. What happens when his programs are seen as not‘black enough’? Or not ‘gay enough’?

A Slew of Art Events This Weekend

Guest blogger Danielle Marie Georgiou is the Artistic Director and Choreographer of DGDG: Danielle Georgiou Dance Group. She also serves as the Assistant Director of the UT Arlington’s Dance Ensemble.

It’s another art-filled weekend for North Texas! Not only is the Dallas VideoFest back, but the Deep Ellum Art Walk is this Saturday from 6-10 p.m., and CentralTrak is just one stop on that walk.

On Friday at 7 p.m., CentralTrak is hosting a showcase of spoken-word performances, curated by Dallas poet Michael Guinn. Guinn, a native Texan who holds a masters degree in social work, uses his experience as a caseworker for Child Protective Services as inspiration for his poetry and spoken-work performances. Guinn is the founder and “Slam Master” for the historic Fort Worth Poetry Slam Team, and his workshop for creative writing and performance poetry have received national acclaim.

For Friday’s event, Guinn has assembled a group of dynamic writers whose work relates to the social and political themes in the visual artwork of El Franco Lee II. “LIQUID ANALOG,” painting and drawings by Lee, continues at CentralTrak through Oct. 8.

The 11th Semi-Annual Deep Ellum Art Walk is Saturday, from 6-11 p.m. in both Deep Ellum and Exposition Park. The galleries of Deep Ellum and Expo Park will open their doors to the public for art viewing, shopping, music, food and drink. The galleries will feature paintings, photography, sculpture, experiential and performance art ranging from the classical to the contemporary.

Participants include: Kettle Art, Tony Horton, Kirk Hopper Fine Art, 29 Pieces, CentralTrak, Factory Girl, Latino Cultural Center, The Mitchell Lofts, Mokah Art Gallery, Chi Gallery, 500X, 3025 Main, MG Painting and Design, 2826 Arnetic, Steve Paul Productions, Calais Winery, In Accord, Demeter Project and The Ravach Arts Company.

The event is free, and each gallery is in easy walking distance from one another. The DART Green Line is available to you from Deep Ellum to Expo Park. The official starting point is Kettle Art.

Since Wednesday, the Dallas VideoFest has taken over the Angelika Film Center in Mockingbird  Station and the Texas Theatre. DVF is one of the oldest video-based festivals in the country and has a legacy that is both memorable and innovative, and this year is no different. The festival started with a screening of Film Socialisme, the new feature from legendary director and French New Wave pioneer Jean-Luc Godard. For the mixed martial arts lovers, the documentary Once I Was A Champion, about the life and struggles of former UFC Champion Evan Tanner, will be screened later in the week. Two works from director Spike Jonze, a short titled Mourir Auprès de Toi and a vintage skating video of his creation, also will be featured at the festival this year.

The schedule of films gives you an idea of a little something to do every day and night until Sunday. And if you’re into short experimental films, be sure to check out the block of videos being screened on Sunday at noon at the Angelika, featuring a little piece by me!

Talking With Choreographer Michelle Gibson

Guest blogger Danielle Marie Georgiou is the artistic director and choreographer of DGDG: Danielle Georgiou Dance Group. She also serves as the Assistant Director of the UT Arlington’s Dance Ensemble.

Michelle Gibson is a choreographer, teacher and performing artist who you might have seen in such films as Interview With a Vampire, Ray, and Just My Luck. Or maybe you’ve taken one of her classes at the South Dallas Cultural Center. Or maybe you saw her choreography in the Dallas Children’s Theatre’s production of Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters (which ran Sept. 17-18 at the Winspear Opera House).

Gibson originally choreographed the work in 2008, but she was called back in to re-stage it for 2011. In both instances, the play immediately called to her, as it represents the African myths and histories she so loves and personally relates to. And as a mother, the classical story’s embedded values and morals hit home. She found herself wanting to help the story not just for an audience, but also for her family, both on and off stage.

As the choreographer, Gibson found that creating the work was not just about the movement being movement, but also about it being true to African culture itself, and African traditions. As a mother, she wanted to create a movement vocabulary that children could relate to.

Her passion to educate her actors and her family came across as a passion for life when I spoke with her earlier this month:

Danielle Georgiou: How did you first get into dance?

Michelle Gibson: Oh wow, I could spend maybe a couple of hours on that one! But I’m a preacher’s daughter, a minister’s daughter, and being in church as a little girl, I was always a mover. I could never keep still! And my mother noticed that and she said, “Let’s try this dance thing.”

I’m from New Orleans, and the first dance school I went to was in a 67-year-old woman’s garage. No dance floor, just carpet and a revolving fan. We used chairs as a ballet barre. That was my first experience in dance.

D.G.: From there did you move on to a studio?

M.G.: Well, she was like a studio for me. But after that, I was accepted into the performing arts after-school program at the New Orleans Center for Performing Arts. I started in the fourth grade and I went all the way through middle school to high school. From there, I graduated from high school and went straight to the Alvin Ailey American Dance Center. After that, I was going to every intensive I could! I wanted to know it all. I went to Jacob’s Pillow, the American Dance Festival and the Bates Festival. I was exposed to so much of what dance really is for me.

I then went to college and received my BFA in Dance from Tulane University. And last month, I just finished my MFA in Dance from Duke University (whose program is through Hollins University and the American Dance Festival). I just finished my thesis, and that’s pretty much how it all happened.

D.G.: Well, congratulations on finishing your thesis. I know how hard that is! And what a relief it must be.

M.G.:Thank you! It’s like I can breathe just a little bit more again!

D.G.: When did you start choreographing?

M.G.: I’ve been choreographing since I was 14. I’ve always been a choreographer. And performer, that’s a blessing! I can say I was blessed with both of those talents.

D.G.: Were you always involved in theater productions? Or just dance? Maybe a combination of both?

M.G.: I think a combination of both. I teach Afro-Modern, which is a mixture of African Diasporas and modern techniques — Horton and a little Dunham. And sometimes I do this Afro-Funk thing, which mixes the Diasporas with hip-hop. I think any style of dance, for me, I can choreograph. I guess because I exposed myself to so much … musicals, contemporary works, community works …

D.G.: Right now, is Afro-Modern, Afro-Funk, your focus?

M.G.: That’s my style. That’s what I have ordained myself. It’s who I am, it’s what I do. It takes awhile for you find your funk, your style.

D.G.: I’m still trying to find mine.

M.G.: Let me tell you, it’s a process. For me, I’m doing this because it’s who I am. It keeps me tied to my ancestral history and keeps me connected to my art as an artist.

D.G.: You’re both an educator and artist – how do you manage to balance both roles?

M.G.: They have become one and the same for me. I’m lucky that I can do both, and that my career affords me to do both. But really, I’m just working.

You can catch Gibson at the South Dallas Cultural Center on Tuesday nights, when she teaches her Afr0-Modern technique at 7 p.m.

Echo Theatre’s ‘A Most Dangerous Woman’

Like Virginia Woolf’s, the life of George Eliot is one of those defining, literary-feminist archetypes: the woman whose creative genius and independent spirit could not save her from deep self-doubts about her own physical appearance. Yet she also overcame hurdles put in her way as an unconventional female writer with an unconventional sex life  (Woolf’s bisexuality and Eliot’s long-term relationship with a married man).

Woolf’s life has received at least some stage-or-movie time in Eileen Atkins’ superlative one-woman show, A Room of One’s Own, and the less-than-superlative novel-turned-film, The Hours. But it’s only with Echo Theatre’s new production, A Most Dangerous Woman, that Eliot gets anything similar. Too bad playwright Cathy Tempelsman seems to have followed Eliot’s novel The Mill on the Floss as a model: It’s far too long and has an ending so clunky one seriously starts re-considering what came before it.

That’s the bad news; the good news is that with some smart pruning, Dangerous Woman could be an effective bio-drama.

Tempelsman fails at the central trick of the stage biography: giving a creative person’s messy life and art the compelling shape of drama. That’s why some playwright’s concentrate on just a pivotal moment or relationship (the way John Logan’s Red, for instance, treats the painter Mark Rothko). Otherwise, they can end up with a story that sings and dances and wanders on like Will Rogers’ Follies because, well, so did Rogers — until his abrupt, meaningless plane wreck. That’s how a chronological life goes, one thing after another until it stops. Not the best formula for drama.

Marian Evans-turned-George Eliot confronted two connected issues of identity throughout her life. Born and raised a country girl in Warwickshire, she up-ended mid-Victorian literary proprieties by writing about ordinary country people. In an era when Dickens and Thackeray extolled Londoners (Dickens’ creation of London may be his greatest fiction), Eliot argued for the moral and political value in village clerics, social outsiders and Calvinist sects. Her finest novel, Middlemarch, is pointedly sub-titled, A Study of Provincial Life. So she fought simultaneously to be accepted as a serious female writer — period — but also as a “regional” social realist (one of Templesman’s best touches is her inclusion of Eliot’s life-changing, put-up or shut-up essay, “Silly Novels by Lady Novelists”).

Hence, the awkward irony of Evans’ decision to take a masculine nom de plume. She wished her work to be judged not by gender, yet disguised like this, no one would know she was a female novelist. So she didn’t actually score any points for the cause until the mask was lifted.

But the decision was also motivated by her (non-) marital status:  She’d fallen in love with writer-philosopher George Henry Lewes and lived with him, although he was married to another woman. Lewes had an open marriage, but because his wife’s children were legally designated as his, he was tacitly agreeing to her adultery and could not divorce her. Even so, Eliot and Lewes considered themselves married, and Evans even took his name.  But it was not a name (nor a relationship) she was prepared — yet — to reveal on the cover of a book.

All of these conflicts are laid out promisingly in Dangerous Woman’s first act. The play is an ambitious project for Echo, requiring dozens of characters and scene changes, interspersed with front-of-curtain set pieces from Eliot’s novels. All of which they handle very capably. Kudos to Tempelsman and director David Meglino, by the way, for not sticking with ordinary stage realism: Occasionally, critics or “society” are amusingly represented by a cluster of caricatured types loudly gossiping about Eliot or objecting to her latest scandalous action.


Or by death. Yes, Tempelsman follows chronology all the way to the end — which pushes her into a post-mortem corner. She has to have another character (Eliot’s friend Barbara Bodichon, played by Jessica Cavanagh) step in to wrap things up. The sudden appearance of a voiceover in a film is often a sign that a problem in writing and editing couldn’t be resolved or that the creators didn’t trust the material and couldn’t agree (see, for example, the added-on narrative voice in the theatrical release of Bladerunner). A character suddenly stepping out of character at the end of a drama to explain things carries the same import. Is this really necessary?

The bio-drama is a middle-brow, Masterpiece Theatre-sort of achievement — condensing an artist’s life and work into a life-like package that lets us think we’ve grasped both life and work. I don’t mean to belittle it; I happen to think some of Masterpiece Theatre’s shows are terrific.  But all of Dangerous Woman’s central conflicts — and most of Eliot’s own literary and feminist achievements — are actually tied up with the central relationship of her adult life, her soul union with George Henry Lewes.  It’s that relationship which forced Marian Evans to create a literary pseudonym while also passing herself off as “Mrs. Lewes” — the intertwined questions of identity that are the heart of the play. Everything that comes before and after in Dangerous Woman is mostly intro or repetition.