Just Wrought

Recovering playwright, once won a STRANGER Genius Award for theater. Now writing a bloated novel about… G-d help me! Theatre.

Category: Seattle

  • Why NewsWrights United Matters

    Why NewsWrights United Matters

    Wes Andrews,  the New Media Analyst and Dramaturg for NewsWrights United, asked each of our creative team members to write a short essay for our blog on why this project matters to them. This one’s my stab.

    Fresh theatre is living theatre.

    I hold this truth to be self-evident.

    I have held it so for a very long time, but have only argued it publically and formally for about 9 months, since launching my blog Just Wrought, and its first in a series of essays, “Theatre Takes Place: Why Locally Grown Plays Matter”.  By itself, the notion is not terribly controversial. The argument comes when we theatre professionals attempt to determine whether you can make something fresh with 10 year-old, 20-year-old, 50-year old and 500-year old ingredients. I say, “Well… sometimes.” My esteemed adversaries in this ongoing argument defiantly avow “Always!”, and then they sink a staggering amount of effort into convincing their audience, and more importantly, themselves that that so long as one has excellently trained and accomplished actors, insightful and renowned directors and designers, plenty of money from donors and a cultured public, one can always make the already existing great plays of the canon fresh.

    I disagree.

    In reality you need actual fresh content to keep theatre relevant and alive.  And fresh content only comes from creating new plays. Thus, as much as the ascendancy of “The Director” in the 19th Century, and “The Artistic Director” in the 20th, seemed to herald the demise of the playwright, the playwright remains a necessary component— perhaps the necessary component—of ensuring theatre remains a living—and not merely a museum– art form.

    We at NewsWrights United believe that employing the theatrical form of the living newspaper to cover local news is one of the best ways of injecting fresh, locally compelling, material into the theatrical canon. That alone, however, is not enough to answer why this project matters. Happily, when we produced our first edition It’s Not in the P-I: A Living Newspaper about a Dying Newspaper, we noticed an added bonus. The people came—and we sold out nearly every night—not to see excellent theatre adeptly presented by trained professionals but rather stories about a local newspaper that they loved (or hated) that had died recently. In other words, they came to see themselves.

    When theatre offers the new and the relevant, it matters and lives.   When it offers only  the polished and perfect– plays we all already know– it dies a museum death.  We are doing this project because journalism matters. We are also doing it because theatre matters. When blended they achieve an almost explosive synergy.

    Why?

    It’s simple. Audiences matter. Stories matter. The rest is icing. Sometimes icing is delightful, but it will not keep you alive forever.

    I hope you will join us Monday evening, November 15 for  . . .

    Journalism: a.WAKE.ning?  

    Tickets for the event are $20 and are available at Brown Paper Tickets (http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/133319) or may be purchased at the door.

    Or if you cannot make it, please consider helping us out with a donation.  Below is our support hat.  You can start filling it by clicking on it.  It’ll take you to our Shunpike donation page.  

    Donation hat

    Early support is always deeply appreciated support.  So thanks.

  • At Least One of Our Theatre Critics is also a Journalist

    At Least One of Our Theatre Critics is also a Journalist

    Brendan Kiley just broke some more substantiated details on the crisis at Intiman Theatre over at The Stranger’s Slog.

    So my question for The Seattle Times would be, where was Misha Berson on all this? 

    There’s an old joke about the Seattle ethos of crippling “niceness”.

    In Chicago, the car behind you will honk as soon as the light turns green.

    In New York, the car behind on you will honk exactly one second before the light turns green.

    In Seattle, the light can cycle through green yellow red… green yellow red… green yellow red… forever before anyone will discover that you’ve keeled over dead of a heart attack.

    So, was Misha just going to wait until a press release was pushed out? Or should our only surviving daily newspaper step up and occasionally do some shoe-leather arts reporting  without solely relying on the story the perpetrators choose to tell us?

  • Get your Tix Now for the Journalism/Theatre Event of the Year

    Get your Tix Now for the Journalism/Theatre Event of the Year

    Tickets just $20 at Brown Paper Tickets.

    Monday November 15, 2010 – 7:30-9:30pm

    The Upstairs Gallery above Theatre Off Jackson

    NewsWrights United is throwing a party. What kind of party is up to you.

    Do you want to toast the rebirth of journalism, or drown your sorrows at its untimely demise?

    We’ll start your evening with a complimentary glass of champagne or shot of rye (toasting or drowning?). Visual art and installations, complimentary hors d’oeuvres and a cash bar await you in the gallery.

    We’ll offer up a preview scene from our upcoming Living Newspaper, The New New News, and highlight the evening with a panel discussion on new media and journalism moderated by NewsWrights producer Tom Paulson and featuring Pulitzer Prize-winning P-I political cartoonist Dave Horsey, Monica Guzman of Intersect.com, Publicola‘s Josh Feit, local sportswriting legend Art Thiel, The Stranger theatre critic Brendan Kiley, and Chris Grygiel, coordinator of political coverage for the P-I blogs.

    Get ‘em now before the all get got!

    Tickets just $20 at Brown Paper Tickets.

  • I Hate Being Prescient

    Okay, honestly, when I posted “Let’s Put a Bullet in the Ugliest Rumor” on Monday I had no idea that the Managing Director of Intiman, Brian Colburn would be tendering his resignation for “personal reasons” that very same day.  And I sure as hell didn’t know anything about the rumor now running rampant today on the inside of Seattle’s regional theatre scene that Intiman is on the edge of going belly up.  I am hearing that “They are a million in debt, haven’t paid taxes, health care, union dues, or L&I and have spent their endowment and bonds.” 

    So is it true?  I honestly don’t know.  I just playact as a journalist over at NewsWrights United, but I do think it is high time for Kate Whoriskey to come out from behind the curtain and start reassuring her public.

    Kate?  The call is places.

  • Let’s Put a Bullet in the Ugliest Rumor

    Let’s Put a Bullet in the Ugliest Rumor

    Much as I may seem to like banging on Seattle’s Big Houses here at Just Wrought, I am compelled to make clear from the outset of this essay that they are not the perpetrators but rather the victims of the ugliest rumor currently hovering like a toxic miasma over the Seattle theatre scene.  To understand this you need to understand that beyond the Big Houses, and the dwindling mid-sized houses, and even the small alternative theatres, there exists a whole other tier of arts professionals that exercise a huge influence on the operations of these producing entities, while putting little if any actual creative “skin in the game.”  I am talking about the “booster class” of arts organizations– entities like Theatre Puget Sound, ArtsFund, PONCHO, and the boards of directors at every mid to large theatre in this town.

    These institutions tend to be led by well-meaning, “right-thinking” liberal-minded members of the upper upper middle class (formerly the “Upper Class” before the rich began to resent being called “rich”).  The boosters usually come from a corporate background and tend to have adopted standard corporate best practices as articles of faith.  (Full disclosure: I work at a large bio-tech company for my day job.  So I am both tainted by the American corporate ethos as well as intimately familiar with it.)  The Booster Class sees themselves as the noble guardians and advisors of the Artist Class.  They believe they understand quite a bit better than their artistic little brethren how the big bad real world works; and they are convinced that the best way to ensure the survival of the art form they are boosting—in this case theatre—is to apply the rules and philosophies of business to their operation.  Thus, we get general, inoffensive/ineffective, broad spectrum marketing campaigns like ArtsCrush, or the cold-blooded shuttering of the Empty Space because its board of directors decided it was not performing to the standards of a viable Silicon Valley startup.

    That sad story brings us to the ugliest rumor: that many of the leaders at or near the top of these booster organizations believe that Seattle just isn’t big enough, rich enough, or cultured enough to sustain three major League of Resident Theatres (LORT) venues like A Contemporary Theatre, Intiman Theatre and The Seattle Repertory Theatre.  One of these will have to go, goes the thinking, preferably in the next few years.  Whether this happens via out right murder, like the aforementioned Empty Space, or merger, like the recent marriage of Seattle Shakespeare Company to The Wooden O, remains to be determined; but either way, murder or merger, what seems to the corporate-minded like a necessary act of cultural husbandry will in fact be an irrevocable disaster for the cultural ecology of Seattle.  We have to make sure it never happens.

    I understand that to corporate eyes, the Seattle theatre is overdue for a down-sizing.  No other town of our population size has asmany large regional theatres.  In corpo-speak there are all kinds of economies of scale to be leveraged and redundancies to be eliminated by closing one of the Big Three or merging it with another.  What this analysis overlooks is that theatres are less like widget-manufacturers and more like ecosystems.  Diversity matters.  For Seattle to make a run at world class status as a theatre town, it needs all of its Big Houses, plus a lot more middle-sized spaces, and it needs all of them to be as different from each other as possible.

    Of course, sadly the Big Three have done everything possible over the last fifteen years to make themselves less distinguishable from each other as an Applebee’s® is from a Red Robin® is from a T.G.I. Friday’s®.  They hire the same actors, designers and directors.  They fight for the same plays, semi-fresh from New York.  When called on their lack of local freshness, they hold up for cover the same one or two nice playwrights, local or not, call them “local” and call it good, while hoping that the call for “local” goes the way of the Empty Space.  (It won’t.)

    Instead, they should privately strive and publicly argue for what sets them apart from their competitors.  (Yes, Big Three, I said “competitors.”  The concept might make you squeamish, but your Booster bosses don’t share your scruples, and your audience actually enjoys an honest rivalry.)  The Bigs should also locally source as many of the stories they stage as possible.  (Just ask Tom Douglas: great local restaurants start with great local ingredients.)  Finally they should develop an aesthetic and stick with it, building their artistic corps around this defining core. 

    That’s right, B3: pull the artists you like working with in house.  As celebrated local scenic designer Matthew Smucker once plaintively exclaimed in the comments section of this blog:  “Freelance is killing us all, so give us all a home.”  Oh, and while I’m ranting: stop choosing safe plays.  Theatres are built to contain danger so that audiences can experience it without actually being damaged.  When you consistently choose safe plays, or direct dangerous plays safely, you smother the internal fires of our art form.  Instead of strategizing to survive, strive to make a difference.

    The differences matter; and as happy irony would have it, they better ensure your survival.  When theatres are truly diverse, audiences will care about diversity.  Then they will make ticket purchases based on it.  People will go to all three venues to marvel at the differences, like enjoying varied species at the zoo.  As it is now, they aren’t convinced they are missing anything if they fail to catch Intiman’s latest because they are fairly certain that eventually they will see something similar at ACT. 

    Now, in all fairness, I could be wrong.  The rumor could be baseless.  When I recently checked my sources,  a certain much more knowledgeable colleague of mine said:  “The movement toward ‘consolidation’ of big houses, which was at one time aimed at ACT and Intiman, and then at the Rep and Intiman, is now largely over.”  What’s more, apparently there is a counter rumor circulating that the booster organizations which were originally pushing for these mergers (ArtsFund and PONCHO, to varying degrees) are now in worse shape than the theatres themselves.  There might even be a movement afoot to merge them.  Hah!  True or not, you cannot help relishing the poetic justice.

    Still, we have to stay vigilant.  Seattle cannot lose even one of these Big Houses, and the boosters who seek to “right-size” Seattle theatre need to be convinced that our theatre scene is fatter than an average city’s because Seattle is destined for greatness.  Let’s put a bullet in this rumor once and for all.  Let every leader at every booster organization even remotely associated with the survival of the Intiman, ACT and the Rep publically avow the following:

    I understand that for Seattle to rise to its rightful place as a world class theatre town it cannot afford to lose any of its three LORT theatres.  I will do everything in my power to ensure the survival of the Intiman Theatre, A Contemporary Theatre and the Seattle Repertory Theatre in perpetuity, and I will reject any attempt to destroy or dilute their potential diversity whether by murder or merger.

    Further, I will demand that these institutions maximize the differences among themselves, so that a truly vibrant and viable theatrical ecology can thrive here, such that the loss of any one of these theatres will be utterly irrevocable, and thus unthinkable.

    Now, this is not too much to ask, is it?

    Step forward, Boosters!  And take the pledge!

  • Watching the Sausage Get Made with NewsWrights United

    Watching the Sausage Get Made with NewsWrights United

    Nine out of every ten public play readings are exercises in vanity.  Despite what we may earnestly espouse about “works-in-progress” or “rough first drafts” we playwrights tend to avoid sharing our work in anything other than what we judge to be the highest states of perfection. I am more guilty of perpetrating this soft con than most, because arrogant ass that I am I tend to think of my plays as perfect even when they manifestly are not.  The reason playwrights deceive the audiences of play readings like this— not to mention the theatres that host them —and quite often ourselves as well— is simple: we do not usually want your helpful feedback, no matter how earnestly we plead to the contrary.  We just want to showcase our plays and convince theaters to produce them.  Alas, at that latter goal we nearly never succeed.

    NewsWrights United will be doing something completely different at 7pm this Sunday night Oct. 24 at North Seattle Community College’s Stage One.  We don’t need to convince anyone to produce the second edition of A Living Newspaper, titled The New New News.  We will be producing it ourselves in February 2011 with the gNewsWrights Donation hatenerous financial support of 4Culture, Vulcan and individual donors like yourself.  (You can click and pledge on our handy upside down donation fedora if you care to give us an early boost. )

    The proto-script we will be reading Sunday night is a big hot mess, full of great local stories about the current crisis in journalism, but also riddled with yawning narrative gaps, inconsistencies and dramaturgic sacred cows begging to be sacrificed.  We actually do need your feedback and suggestions for how to make the play better.  If you join us Sunday night, instead of hearing a polished, polite and, frankly, boring “audition reading” you will be participating in a process much more akin to the 10 a.m. “front page meeting” at a major newspaper like The Seattle Times when the editorial staff first starts to choose and shape the major stories they will be covering in the next day’s edition.

    Like theatre is supposed to be but almost never is at, say,  Seattle’s Big Houses, this reading of The New New News: A Living Newspaper will be messy, ardent, relevant, and fun.   But perfect?  Not so much.

     Making Sausage!

  • Chicago Posts: Dead and Alive

    Three nights ago my old friend Louis Slotin and I each got one of those chances that only theatre can offer.  He got to be alive while I got to be dead.

    Everybody loves a dead playwright.  The deader the better.  Living ones are prickly and unpredictable.  Actors and directors assume, sometimes rightly, that living playwrights have special insight into their plays because, well, they wrote them.  Such insight can be resented as often as welcomed.  Rehearsing a play is a process of discovery.  No one wants to do an Easter egg hunt with someone they suspect knows where all the eggs are hidden.  Smart playwrights understand when it’s time to walk out of the rehearsal hall so everyone else can breathe a little.  They do this even though they know that they do not in fact have all the answers and really might like to stay and hunt for a little treasure too.  In other words, a smart playwright knows when to roll over and play dead.

    As I confessed in an earlier essay installment of these Chicago Posts, I have seen every full production of every play I have ever written.  Often I have been part of the development process, even if the play has already had its world premiere.  For Louis Slotin Sonata’s second production which was staged off–Broadway at Ensemble Studio Theatre I rewrote substantially, adding at least one scene, which I would later cut.  I was living in New York at the time, so I could attend as many rehearsals as I wanted (and thought wise.)  The same was true for the third production at the now dead Empty Space Theatre.  By then I had moved to Seattle with my wife and kids and was able to work with the director, John Langs, to touch up the script, and most importantly, completely swap out the second act song, replacing it with the utterly original “Sodom Saki Shuffle” for which I wrote all new lyrics which the incomparable Mark Nichols then brilliantly scored.  (Click this to hear the Seattle version of the Sodom Saki Shuffle.)

    For this fourth production of the play at A Red Orchid Theatre in Chicago , I had nearly zero input.  I answered a few small script questions via email from the director Karen Kessler, but otherwise I really might as well have been blissfully departed.  So I had no idea what I was in for when showed up at the storefront theatre in Old Town two nights ago.  I have sat through productions I had nothing to do with that blew me away with their unforeseen brilliant interpretation of my script, and I have sat through shows so awful, so utterly antithetical to the play I imagined that I was struck quite literally catatonic with horror, rage and shame.

    Louis Slotin was just about to leave Los Alamos when he had his accident.  His bags were packed.  He was showing the “crit test” to Alvin Graves, his replacement at Pajarito Canyon labs.  The next day he planned to fly out to the South Pacific to see the Navy explode the very plutonium core he held in his hands.  From there he would head to the University of Chicago to continue his studies in his original field of biology.  Of course, Slotin never made it to Chicago.  He never made it out of Los Alamos alive.  They put his radiation-ravaged body in a lead-lined casket and shipped it to Winnipeg, Manitoba, his hometown.

    Two nights ago I saw Louis Slotin alive in Chicago.  He was occupying the body of an actor named Steven Schine, who through happy happenstance looks a hell of a lot like him.  I watched as that long-ago dead man was forced to, via long distance phone call, break the news in Yiddish to his father Israel Slotin that he was dying.  Israel was inhabiting the body of an eminently accomplished veteran Chicago actor named William J. Norris.

    I watched those men relive a pain that no one should even have to live through once.  I watched and I wept.  But I also felt a great strange satisfaction.  After 64 years Louie had arrived where he was going.

    Maybe I should play dead more often.

  • Chicago Posts: Light Rail to Sea-Tac

    For most of the 17 years I have lived in Seattle I have been poor.  Over the latter half of the Zeroes I suppose I have to cop to having climbed to “lower middle class”.  Also, I was car-less for about ten of my 17 years here, so I know a little something about getting to the airport on the cheap.  I have taken the 194 Express bus from downtown to Sea-Tac more times than I can remember.  It’s an entertaining coach—not as adventure-filled as the 358 that shoots up Aurora—but it still has its “people moments.”  I have witnessed on the 194 the racial tension that Seattle likes to pretend doesn’t exist erupt with an open nastiness that would make a New Yorker blink.  Now that we live in the future, you can avoid that certain strata of humanity almost altogether by taking the new light rail which has begun running from the downtown bus tunnel directly to the airport.

    Heather and I did it this morning.  Overall, I give the new route a B-minus.  Certainly the price was right.  With my work Orca card I rode free.  Heather fed $2.50 into the automatic ticket machine.  The cars are clean, well-lit and, at 6:40 AM south-bound, uncrowded.  I didn’t realize that that course of the train dives directly under Beacon Hill after veering east from the Sodo District.  That was cool.  We saw some fun movement-animated LED art as we came into the Beacon Hill station, which had an appealing retro-modern design, albeit still under construction in spots. 

    The airport train loses points on speed.  It took about 35 minutes from the University Street Station under Benaroya Hall to the Sea-Tac stop, and I would swear the old 194 ran quicker than that on its straight shot down the I-5 express lane.  Also, the train currently lets off south of the main parking garage.  So add another five- minute walk in the weather for you to get to the airport itself.  Not that Heather and I minded, but I am not sure we would want to do it while trying to wrangle young kids, or lugging lots of bags; and I certainly wouldn’t ask, say, my 76-year-old mother to hoof it that far.

    I will probably take the Light Rail to the airport again, but I might also see if the 194 is still running, fast and furious.

  • Frasier Takes the Stage

    Frasier Takes the Stage

    Those of us who lived in Seattle back when the sitcom Frasier was still on the air used to get a kick out of the shows many geographical gaffes.  We would laugh, shaking our heads when some character arranged a meeting at a diner on 14th street because we knew that not only was there no such restaurant in Seattle, there was no such street.  The film Sleepless in Seattle offers similar hilarities.  Characters casually stroll from Pike Place Market to Gas Works Park, and in one scene a dreamy distracted Tom Hanks paddles his son in a canoe from Portage Bay to Alki Beach: not an impossible feat, but nearly so seeing as the trip would be some twelve and a half miles by water, one-way, and require the canoe to pass through the Ballard Locks and major ferry lanes.  He should have at least worked up a sweat during the four or five hours it would have taken him.

    Frasier’s apartment has a lot in common with the apartment in The God of Carnage, which opened last night at the Seattle Rep.  It’s beautiful, meticulously appointed to indicate tasteful wealth, and it simply does not exist– because it could not exist– in Seattle.  As a private residence window cleaner in Manhattan for three years, I have seen plenty of apartments like the one I saw last night on the Rep’s stage.  A few in SoHo, a couple in the Village, but really nearly almost all of them on the Upper West Side.  As a resident of Seattle, on and off, for seventeen years I have never once seen such an apartment here, and certainly not occupied by an upper middle class couple with two young children.  The very notion is absurd.  (And not the good Ionesco kind.)

    The play proffers “Meydenbauer Park” and “the 405” and “Tukwilla” as obvious and, frankly, clunky substitutions for the actual places meant before the play’s rapid import from Broadway, namely Central Park, the FDR Highway and Long Island.  Why do I care?  Well if it were a Frasier episode on the television I wouldn’t, but this was yet another play for, by and about Upper West Siders forced down the guffawing gullets of Big House theatre goers who in reality live 2,700 miles and tens of thousands of dollars of annual salary away from the action of this play.

    Some aspects of parenthood are universal.  Of course.  But in a play like Carnage the devil is in the details, those aspects which are deeply specific to the city where one lives with one’s family: the tiny hopes and niggling fears for your children, the snobberies and slights, the lines of attack and defense.  My wife and I moved back to Seattle from New York City shortly after our first son was born precisely because we understood these deep existential differences between raising kids there compared to raising them here.  I think every parent in that audience last night shares a similar understanding, and implicitly understood further that the play they were seeing, as funny as it was—funny as Frasier frankly– had very little to do with their actual lives.

    So here’s a crazy thought, if you are going to take the trouble to substitute out words so that you can pretend a play takes place in Seattle, why not go a few steps further and substitute all of the words.   Have it written such that the story clearly lives here, thus giving your audience the genuine and irreplaceable thrill of seeing their actual experiences staged instead of those of some Upper Class Upper West-Siders.  And if you’re going to do that, then here’s an even crazier thought: have someone who lives here wright it.

  • How can I talk about The Borrowers?

    How can I talk about The Borrowers?

    One of the rules of this blog, which I have mentioned before but not adequately explained, is that I do not do stage reviews.  I see no value in my pumping or panning a particular production.  Whether recent stagings of Hamlet or The Adding Machine or Glengarry Glen Ross or other chestnuts from the canon are, or are not, up to the professional standards of excellence that Seattle theatre talent is clearly capable of achieving, I honestly do not care.  Nor, frankly, do I think anyone else does outside of this quasi-incestuous community of Seattle theatre professionals.  The discussion I want to have takes place at the next level up.  It has to do with how we can make theatre that matters to the widest possible population of human beings.  I have maintained here and elsewhere that there is something tantamount to fiddling while Rome burns about offering a production of Glengarry Glen Ross and calling it a cogent theatrical response to the recent mortgage meltdown when the play is no such thing and the mortgage meltdown had its epicenter little more than a mile due south of the Seattle Rep at the former Washington Mutual Tower at 3rd and University.  The Seattle theatre administrative elite may believe that nothing actual happens in this city, but history will certainly prove otherwise.

    So I will not offer a review of The Borrowers, which I saw this Friday, Opening Night, at Seattle Children’s Theatre.  What I can do is talk about how the play reopened my eyes to something essential about our art form.

    For those of you, like me, who did not know the story, The Borrowers is about a family of very small folk who live under the floorboards of an English house.  In the second act, after being forced from their comfortable home, the Clock family emigrates into the great out-of-doors.  At one point as they are wandering the countryside a giant crow comes on stage and threatens to eat them.  As soon as the perfectly wrought puppet bird came on stage I did what every playwright does, I turned to the audience to gauge their response–the key member in this instance being my five-year old son.  His reaction was odd.  He was staring right at the huge bird but did not seem to be seeing it.  It was as if the spectacle was so huge and strange and unlooked-for that his brain just could not process it.  And then suddenly he stiffened.  He saw the bird.  The giant bird.  I stiffened too, because if there was going to be a moment when my little boy would start bawling in fear, this was surely it.  And then something amazing happened.  His eyes widened.  And then a huge wonder-filled grin spread across his face.  He looked over at me and said, “I know there’s a person inside that bird.  I can see his feet.”  This knowledge did not ruin his experience of the moment: exactly the contrary.  His knowing there was a person in that bird allowed my son to fully enjoy the wonder of the story. 

    This is important.  This is something essential about theatre.  Our challenge is not to fool people, but to charm them.  The audience neither needs nor wants us to convince them we are, say, Hamlet or Louis Slotin.  They need us to convince them that being these beings matters as part of the human experience. 

    Let me track the essential trajectory again:  something giant happens on stage the likes of which our audience member has never seen before.  Said audience member cannot at first even process the experience.  Then comes a shock of recognition of a huge, potentially horrifying truth.  Finally, audience member realizes that this truth is only human after all.

    Everything that happens on stage is human.  Everything.

    As Pod Clock, the Borrower family father who fights off the giant crow Ian Bell was superb as usual, but remember, I am not reviewing this show and therefore am not officially recommending you go see his delightful performance.  Nor am I suggesting that you share, along with your family the awe that Emily Chisholm, as his daughter Arrietty, channels upon seeing an open field for the first time: “It is a sea!  It is a sea!”  Surely I would never tell you go see Marianne Owen, who so effortlessly balances the flustered chatty charm of Mrs. Clock with a steely core of loyalty for her family.  Nor will I recommend Chris Ensweiler’s tour de force romp through four characters each so distinctly drawn– but more importantly, distinctly fun!– that you had trouble keeping in mind that it was the same person playing them.

    I cannot recommend any of them.  That is not what I do here.  Remember?