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Exhibitionism
OCTOBER 20, 1997:
Tlamatcanemilitzli Trilogy: Brutal Search for Peace
John Henry Faulk Theatre,
through October 18
Running Time: 2 hrs
In the village, the mothers are crying. Their sons are about to be sent into another
battle, to fight for another faceless cause. The drums of war are sounding, and the
battle won't be long in coming. But all of the bloodshed can be averted if a young
boy can fight the nine spirits and return with the flame of peace.
In another village, a woman in white buckskin descends from the sky and destroys
a boy who would try to possess her. She tells the elders to build a consecrated dwelling
and shows the people the way to peace. In her place, she leaves a white buffalo calf.
In the final village, soldiers ransack the homes of the indigenous people, destroying
families and ending lives. The soldiers were sent by the government to quell a rebel
uprising. The government sends tanks and helicopters against roosters and rocks.
Peace will be a long time coming.
Rodney Garza, with musical accompaniment by Mario Garza, tells these three tales
in his Tlamatcanemilitzli Trilogy, produced by Teatro Humanidad Cansada. Garza's
script consists of the stories of these villages, two from the past, Azteca and Lakota,
and one from the bloody present, Chiapas, and their often brutal search for Tlamatcanemilitzli,
the Aztec word for peace.
When Garza roots himself in the ritual story-telling of the past, his work is
magical. The scent of incense hangs thickly in the air, calling to mind brown earth
and dry heat. He uses his strong voice and agile body to transport the audience from
the sterile theatre into his tales. His passion and performance is magnetic.
But the present is problematic for Garza. While the video clips from Chiapas,
completely in Spanish and without subtitles, are emotional and moving, his monologue
"Operation Peace on Earth" feels more like a political rallying cry than
a coherent piece of theatre. There is a coherent storyline within the monologue that
deals with a young rebel and his need to fight, but somewhere it loses the thoughtful
and subtly emotional qualities that make the first act such a moving success. Somewhere,
some border is crossed and the production becomes less about the story and more about
action, which seems to undo all of the messages about Tlamatcanemilitzli that Garza
has woven into the previous passages.
It does make you think, however, and probably will make you angry, either at the
situation in Chiapas or at Garza himself for lulling you with gentle stories, then
beating you with a rallying cry. -- Adrienne Martini
Italian American Reconciliation: Moments from Exploding
Hyde Park Theatre,
through November 1
Running time: 2 hrs
Much to my grandmother's chagrin, I never dated Italian boys, even though my high
school was full of them. I just couldn't take all of the pent-up passion, a type
of smoldering intensity that seemed to lurk just behind their dark eyes where it
could erupt with the strangest provocation. It was the same with my father and all
my uncles -- fiery, poetic, and just barely restrained, the whole lot of them.
But the grand drama lives on in Subterranean Theatre Company's Italian American
Reconciliation. Moonstruck screenwriter John Patrick Shanley revisits that now familiar
territory of an Italian love affair gone haywire, with equally histrionic results.
In this foray into Little Italy, Huey Bonfigliano decides he needs to reconcile with
his ex-wife Janice, a woman of high passion who killed Huey's dog to get her spouse's
attention. Aldo Scalicki, Huey's best friend and Shanley's humble narrator, gets
dragged into the machinations, and lessons about people and relationships are learned
by all.
The mighty Joe York plays Huey and turns in a genuine, heartfelt performance as
a man trapped by his emotions. York's deft touch is matched by Ken Webster, who brings
both warm and scuzzy nuances to the big-mouthed character of Aldo. Katherine Catmull
plays the angry Janice strongly, while Lana Dieterich brings a roundedness to the
sage-like Aunt May. As Teresa, Huey's jilted girlfriend, Monika Bustamante seems
like she is about to burst, though whether from nerve-wracking desire for her lost
man or opening weekend jitters was hard to tell.
In fact, the whole production feels as if it is moments from exploding into a
glorious feast of high drama and fierce comedy. Most of the pieces are ready to ignite,
but there is some essential spark that is missing. Perhaps this hidden element is
a stronger ring of authenticity that could have been gained from time spent with
a real Italian family or a trip to Little Italy, more realistic experience than can
be gleaned from repeated viewings of The Godfather or Wise Guys. Or, perhaps, the
elusive spark is a full commitment to these heightened, wonderful characters that
allows you to really get lost in the passion of their lives and loves, to fling yourself
into the opera while retaining the skills to sing a glorious aria before you die
of consumption. -- Adrienne Martini
William Pellicone: Pears & Circuses
Gallery Lombardi,
through October 25
Where did this place come from? Or, more appropriately, where have I been? This
roomy, comfortable, well-lit gallery tucked behind the Electric Lounge has been exhibiting
local artists for more than a year, but I've failed to discover it until now. Not
only that, but William Pellicone, an 83-year-old artist living in Dripping Springs,
has produced artwork and shown around the country since at least the early Sixties,
and I've only now happened upon him. Jeez, just when you think you have your finger
on the pulse of the local arts scene....
But better late than never, and fortunately this retrospective provides a good
glimpse at Pellicone's work over the past 30 years. His style at the beginning of
this phase was somewhat morose. The abstracted depiction of an ominous and forbidding
collection of trees in Landscape is an eerie portrayal in dark hues, similar to the
chilling stillness in Red Sun.
This darkness lifts, however, especially when he begins exploring pears. Pellicone
appears to have an affinity for the bulbous fruit, which is the model for almost
half these works. The pear images aren't typical still-life-in-a-fruit-bowl, mind
you. These pears are animated, cartoony, and full of characterizations. They're like
pear-shaped aliens, weird little foreign creatures with colors that are sometimes
brilliant, sometimes subdued. Little rainbow-colored pear bodies mingle together
in one work, pouty brownish pears sulk in the corner in another.
Another obvious inspiration for Pellicone is the circus, to which he belonged
at some point. The endless images and colors of the circus are evident in these realistic,
detailed paintings. Circus Family is a panorama of humans and animals in the midst
of a frenetic circus existence. In the foreground, two female performers take a break
inside a building. As one sleeps, head cocked on the couch, another sits beside her,
topless and mending a gown. Remnants of the day lay on the table before them: a teapot
and teacup, sewing tools, face paint, cold cream (with Pellicone's signature serving
as the label), a cast-aside tiara. As the women relax, the circus carries on outside
the windows. Women in barely-there costumes and massive, feathered crowns stroll
into the tent on prancing white horses, performers balance precariously on a galloping
horse beneath the center stage spotlight. Elephants await their turn, workmen prepare
props, and the town's hilly terrain sits in the background. One can ex-plore the
work for several minutes and discover many different worlds churning away in a certain
synchronicity. There is one detail that almost escapes the eye. The exhausted-looking
man entering the room is Pellicone himself, and the women are his ex-wives, one of
whom was his current wife when he painted the piece. It's easy to imagine that these
works are a tangle of hidden metaphors, messages between the lines in the visual
story of this artist's long life.-- Cari Marshall
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