Backstage West Online

Backstage West Online September 26, 2001

Our Own Dear Anton's Abandoned Story Cycle
Reviewed By Brad Schreiber

Theater:Raven Playhouse Location:, 5233 Lankershim Blvd., N. Hollywood Phone:(323) 478-1337 Starts:September 22, 2001 Ends: October 28, 2001 When Anton Chekhov abandoned a series of stories about characters named Ivan and Burkin, he very likely never suspected they would come to life in this "meta-memory play" by the considerably talented and freewheelingly imaginative Joseph Skibell. For Ivan (William H. Bassett) and Burkin (Richard Kuhlman) interrupt and contradict each other as to their own stories and to Chekhov's original work, and by the time Vladimir (Michael Albala) enters the storytelling fray, it is a constantly amusing or touching roundelay of blame, shifting realities, and tart asides. Kuhlman excels at the latter here, looking like Jerry Springer but with a keen intellect, snidely beseeching Bassett, "If we could just skip past the descriptivity."The latter revels in setting mood in his tales but winds up being punished by having to wear a shawl and play miserable Russian women who must meet their Maker too

soon. His long snowy beard and piercing stare, punctuated with hilarious underplaying and an expert sense of how to look like the rug is being pulled out from under him, brings Bassett much mirthful laughter. The wiry physical presence of Albala offsets these two combatants nicely. He waxes in an ironically hopeful way on the advantages of death: "You don't have to eat or pay taxes or offend people." The performers' fluid interplay and camaraderie make it possible for Skibell's words to fully weave their spell. All is brought together sumptuously by the faultless directorial hand of Virginia Morris, who not only whirls the three around one another like playful bees but also masterfully brings out the nuances among each actor as storyteller, as characters within the stories, and as human beings commenting on their own theatrical discoveries. Sometimes it is a comical excitement of really feeling like a woman; other times it is the tragicomic sense of Chekhov's words that reflect--on their own and by association--our lives. Skibell has pulled off a multilevel prestidigitation, and, as with any good magic trick, we'd rather be dazzled than overly analytical.
Michael Albala
William H. Bassett
Richard Kuhlman

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