by Analyn Revilla

“The Katrina Comedy Fest” is based on the true experiences of 5 separate lives who survived the hurricane of 2005.  I was given a nod to write about “The Katrina Comedy Fest” because it’s still a relevant story.  Natural disasters and catastrophes, like waves lapping on the beach, erase the tracks of lives imprinted on the sand.

I’ve visited New Orleans twice.  The first time was in in 1991 when I got married in a small town called Buras.  It’s about an hour south of the Big Easy.  On August 29, 2005, the eye of Hurricane Katrina made its first landfall in the Buras-Triumph district, and the area is still in the process of rebuilding.  On my second visit in 2010, I wanted to see the effects of the BP disaster upon the environment and the people.  It’s unbelievable to see the ant work it took to watch people and helicopters putting up barriers to keep the oil slick at bay.

I sought out the old fire hall station where I was married by the JP with his deputy as witness.  Like my marriage, the white-washed concrete building didn’t withstand the forces of wind and rain.  I sought out Camp’s, the restaurant that served big bowls heaped with rice and oyster gumbo.  That one had closed too, or the owners decided not to rebuild it after the storm.  My memories of Louisiana linger, like the waft of good soul food that beckons.  It was at Camp’s where I learned how to eat a crawfish properly as demonstrated by the happy waitress.  She took one mini-lobster from the heap on the newspaper and used her thumb and index to flick the head off, and she sucked out the ‘best part’, followed by forcing the meat from the body with the same fingers.  This technique ensures “less mess” and allows for continues eating, because there are plenty of hands going into that heap.

The story telling captures the sensitivity, nostalgia and steely guts of survivors in the face of a natural disaster and caught in the web of bureaucratic foibles.  The stories of five characters, from different walks of life, belie a spirit of humor and a soul of surrender.  New Orleans, historically, has always been at the mercy of nature because of its geography – it sits on the soft silt of the Mississippi River delta, and it opens up to the Gulf of Mexico.  This relationship has grown more tenuous with the industrial revolution.  The coast of Louisiana and Texas has been identified as dead zone, and is the largest hypoxic zone in the United States (source: Wikipedia.)  Last week two explosions erupted in two chemical plants on Thursday and Friday.  If the investigation comes up with any likeness to negligence that led to the BP disaster, then this reinforces some themes common woven into the lives of the people.

“The Katrina Comedy Fest”, refreshingly, does not focus on the politics.  The play brings the event to a tangible level that can be digested as a languorous 5 course meal, beginning with the rising waters and ending with sobering shot of reality.  It becomes a speculation game as to the strength of “this one” compared to the “last one” when the levees didn’t breach.

The stories are narrated through the voice of …

Raymond, a homeless, begins his story in the stadium.  He discovers his “air freshener” ineffective against the heavy stench of bodies locked down.  He’s prepared for anything being a homeless.

Antoinette is a savvy and bold owner of “Mother-in-Law Lounge”, and widow of R&B singer Ernie K-Doe.  She keeps both her 15 year old granddaughter and a shrine of her late husband afloat during the storm.  The statue donned with a sawed-off shotgun keeps away would-be intruders.

Rodney is a sweet southern gentleman shoulders the responsibility of keeping his aging parents plus new comers entertained and alive during the siege of rising waters.  He keeps well inebriated with whisky and at the close of the storm realizes he had spent more with his parents than he’s ever done in a long long time.

Judy is a sweet and naïve older woman who meets up with 5 young people.  She wanders out in the street of her neighborhood which had already been evacuated.  She receives texts from her son, “Get out now!”  She meets the pot-smoking youths who takes her with them to San Antonio in her son’s unreliable car.  It is a miraculous trip that opens the life of Judy to young attitudes and wider latitudes.

Sonny, a tourist guide, stays a while and ends up in Oklahoma with high-pitched voiced black woman who likes to scream.  His cool logic and street-wise experience keeps the situation moving until he is investigated by the FBI, because he’s carrying a big wad of cash in a plastic bag.  How else does a person whose business is cash-based supposed to flee the floods of New Orleans?

“The Katrina Comedy Fest” was written by playwright is Rob Florence and directed by Misty Carlisle.  It’s showing at The Lounge from Wednesday thru Sunday.

by Analyn Revilla

The Fringe Festival is in full swing.  I’ve seen three shows of different genres and flavors, all of which proved to be fresh, fitting and funny.  The Fringe is about all these and more, which are reasons for attending a performance and more to tickle your senses and blow your imagination.  A stage and players with powerful stories to share is a lever to enlighten our minds, elevate our spirits and encircle the range of humanity in our hearts.

In writing about the the Fringe plays I’ve seen.  The question in my mind is, “How is today unlike any other day?”

In Alyson Mead’s play, “The Other F Word”, today is unlike any other day for four women invited to a focus group about a pen designed for women, and it is PINK!  The women are racially, socially and economically different.  Carol is Asian and is married with children.  She is shy and demure.  Roxanne is black, a lawyer and single.  She exudes power in her Armani suit and accoutrements.  Daniella is of East Indies descent (it seemed to me), and she’s a man in transition to be a woman.  She’s thoughtful and sharp, but hides showing off these gifts. Lastly, there’s Evie, Caucasian, beautiful, educated and single.  She’s opinionated and outgoing.  The women attend the focus group with different motives – whether it is for the $100 compensation, curiosity, opportunity or to fit in, they are forever changed by the dialogue initiated by a pink pen.

Sitting in the Lounge Theater at 4pm last Saturday, I listened to the monologues expressing their inner thoughts and true feelings.  It wasn’t just verbally expressing to the moderator “Tammy” about the pen.  Firstly, what kind of a name is Tammy?  Is that even a real name? or is it a psychological setup for the bearer of the name to be a stripper.  The women bark their opinions about the others which is a microcosm of their day-to-day life.  It’s really not about the pen.  It’s about their own perception, opinion, belief and attitudes about themselves, other people and situations.  This is cleverly played out in the story by using the pen as the instrument – a great metaphor.  The power of the word birth from thought and emotion as carried out with the pen.

They receive their checks in the mail, and again a tool is used to reveal a meaning – what is money? Roxanne deposits the check immediately, because she was taught by her parents that time and opportunity is wasted by an un-deposited check, and she’s saving up for fertility treatment.  Daniella saves the money for her operation, a dream to realize her inner nature.

The journey that the women had embarked upon at the focus group, has conscious shifts and unconscious impacts on their views.  Some can accept the event as a blessing that moved them to another direction on their path.  For example, the shy and demure Carol grows.  She breaks out of her self-imposed beliefs of only being a mother and wife, and becomes a successful leader and organizer of a group in her community.  To another participant, Evie, she recognizes her pattern of dating losers, and breaks out by learning to spend time alone, by herself, to discover her inner beauty and to love herself.

In case you’re curious to know… the story of play evolved from a real-life event in 2012 when a company began to market the Bic Cristal “For Her” pen.  People posted cutting and sarcastic reviews on Amazon that lamb-basted the marketing features of the pen as … “elegant design – just for her!” and “a thin barrel to fit a woman’s hand”.

 “Finally! For years I’ve had to rely on pencils, or at worst, a twig and some drops of my feminine blood to write down recipes (the only thing a lady should be writing ever),” one reviewer wrote. “I had despaired of ever being able to write down said recipes in a permanent manner, though my men-folk assured me that I ‘shouldn’t worry yer pretty little head.’ But, AT LAST! Bic, the great liberator, has released a womanly pen that my gentle baby hands can use without fear of unlady-like callouses and bruises. Thank you, Bic!”

“Oh. My. God. I’ve been doing it all wrong. There was me thinking I didn’t need to worry about whether my writing implement sufficiently reflected my gender. Thank you so much Bic for showing me the error of my ways. Perhaps Bic will also bring out a new range of pink (or purple) feminine spanners, screwdrivers, electric drills and angle grinders so that I can carry out my job as a bicycle mechanic without further embarrassing myself? Luckily my male colleagues have managed to keep their disapproval of my use of their masculine tools to themselves. I’m so ashamed. And re-educated as to my place in society. Thanks again Bic!”

Dan Kaufman, a reviewer is quoted, “Men, don’t stand for this. Aren’t there enough products specific to women already? First it was tampons, now these pens? What other products will I have to suffer the indignity of being unable to purchase just because I’m a male person?”

The BIC spokeswoman, Linda Kwong, responded to a request for comment: “We appreciate hearing honest feedback from all of our consumers, whether it is regarding a promotion, advertising campaign, or product.  As a global consumer products company, BIC wants to hear these important comments.”

The pink pen has given the opportunity for women to speak out about being branded, and perhaps that is the other F word.

I had intended to finish this week with a blog about Ann Jellicoe, the English playwright, but she’s written so much, I’m still reading.  Next time.

However, I couldn’t sign off without saying,  “Congrats” and “Break legs,” to everybody participating in the Hollywood Fringe Festival.  May it be a blast!

A long time ago I wrote a play for Redlight Theatre in Toronto, Canada with some terrifically talented actors. The cast members and I were to share royalities. The play was published and we thought the money would come trickling in. Sigh. Not even a trickle.

So, I was bowled over this week to hear that a company in Pickering, Ontario had just produced it! I got a royalty check! But I had a problem. “Where,” I said to myself, “has everybody gone?”

I started looking. And remembering.

The play was originally called What Glorious Times They Had and was changed to Nellie! How The Women Won The Vote. I’m sorry that the title was changed. I think that What Glorious Times tells the story better.

Set in 1914-1916 in Manitoba, Canada, at the headquarters of the Political Equality League, it’s about a group of women dedicated to winning the vote for women, led by a Canadian heroine, Nellie McClung.

She was more than able to lead. A teacher who once taught all eight grades in a rural school, she wrote sixteen novels, was a popular speaker and in twenty years, spoke at over four hundred public meetings, sometimes speaking three times a day. She was the only woman delegate to the League of Nations in 1938. And she had five children.

I researched her work and the suffragist movement for a long time, making notes on 3 by 5 cards and putting them on a corkboard. (This was a while ago, wasn’t it?) When I found a quote from the Elections Act of Canada, “No woman, idiot, lunatic or woman shall vote,” we knew where we were going and were off and running.

Building a play from research and improv is so exciting. It’s frustrating and difficult, too, but when you find a solution to the seemingly insolvable, it makes your day or week or month.

We put things in, threw things out, and had a long, productive rehearsal period. We six actors, four women and two men, amused, played off of and with each other and became a close cohesive group. We created a cast of thousands, (well, dozens) with the help of very talented violinist, who tied all the scenes together. (I still can’t hear Meditation from Thais without thinking of the time.)

Creating the illusion of a factory with three women, some chairs and a violin was tough but it worked and turned out to be one of the best scenes in the show. We also came up with a train, a Pierce Arrow touring car, the Houses of Parliament and more, all connected by an ingenious lighting plot by our great woman techie.

The suffragists were all involved with the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, so necessary in a time when the liquor industry was unregulated and domestic violence wasn’t recognized.  My aunt, Edna Fay Grant, who was the Canadian National Secretary of the WCTU, gave me its songbook to use. It had lovely, lively songs, some taken from hymns, easy to harmonize with, and perfect for carrying the theme of the play.

I had a video of one of the earlier versions which Costco turned into a flickering DVD and what came through was the music we made out of the temperance songs, comic songs of the times, a barbershop quartet and a moving rendition of Whispering Hope.

We could play on a proscenium, a thrust or in the round, and when touring, did all of that.  We toured Canada twice with the play, (with slightly different casts) first traveling East to Newfoundland, flying in to St. John’s at the height of winter. (I noticed when we prepared for landing, all the flight attendants were holding their breaths.) We set up in schools and auditoriums and wherever people wanted us to.  And we had fun.

I’ve made contact with three of the players and they are now helping me to track down the other two so I can put the checks in the mail. I’m looking forward to that. It’s a way of saying, “Thanks for the memories.”

Neil Simon is still going strong. Just google the man and you’ll find a list of his plays that are being produced all over the country – Jake’s Women at Wichita State University, London Suites in Cape Charles, Virginia, Sunshine Boys in Tucson, Arizona, Rumors in North Beach, Maryland, and on and on. There’s even an ongoing Neil Simon festival in Cedar City, Utah.

I just saw a production of California Suite, which when it was produced in 1976, got rave reviews. Dan Sullivan of the L.A. Times called it “the funniest writing Neil Simon has done for anybody.” Clive Barnes of the New York Times said, “He tops his own jokes like a pole-vaulter setting records.” A woman, Marilyn Stasis of Cue magazine, called it, “his funniest play in years.”

For the one person in North America who hasn’t seen California Suite, here is a short description. It’s composed of two acts and four scenes (sketches, skits, playlets, vignettes, take your pick) in which four different couples at different times occupy an upscale Beverly Hills hotel suite.

In Visitor from New York, a divorced couple argue over whom their sixteen year old daughter should live with. In Visitors from London, a British actress loses the Academy Award and is afraid that she is losing her gay husband, too. The Visitors from Chicago is a slapstick affair in which two couples fall apart after spending too much time together on a vacation.

Sitting there in the audience, I didn’t really care much about the characters. The dialogue is clever but the characters bicker and bite, try to best one another, and don’t seem grateful for much.

But it was The Visitor from Philadelphia that got me up on my feet.

In it, a man from Philadelphia in town his for nephew’s bar mitzvah wakes up in bed with a hangover and a comatose woman in the bed beside him. He tries to wake her, tries to get her out of bed, and when he discovers that his wife is on the way up to the suite, tries to carry her to the bathroom, deposit her outside in the hall, stuff her in a closet. Finally, he puts her back into the bed and covers her up.

Apart from a few initial groans, the woman says nothing. The man asks her, “Are you all right?” “Are you sick?” and she doesn’t respond.

This “hooker,” “prostitute,” maybe “call girl” – there’s a question about how much she cost – was a GIFT from his brother who was reciprocating for the GIFT he was given on his birthday – his first woman!

The husband explains to his wife. “She was in the room, she was attractive, she was a little tight and she was paid for.”

She was not a little tight by morning. She’d had six margaritas and a bottle of vodka.

After the wife forgives her husband, she lies on the bed. The scene directions say, “The hooker’s arm flops over her… She looks at it with revulsion.”

She says, “Shall we leave a note?” to her husband and they leave shortly, ending the scene.

In my mind, I stood up in the aisle and shouted, “Stop! Ring the curtain back up. Back up. Nobody leave his seat. This is 2013 and I’m going to rewrite!”

The cast and some members of the audience took out their IPads.

“Take this down,” I cried.

MARVIN: She had six margaritas and a bottle of vodka.

MILLIE: Are you kidding me? What the hell’s the matter with you? No wonder the poor girl can’t wake up. She’s dangerously dehydrated and probably has alcohol poisoning! Call 911! Now!

               (Marvin calls 911. Millie pulls the covers back and leans into Bunny.)

Bunny. The hooker does have a name. I’ll give Mr. Simon that.

MILLIE: Don’t you worry, Bunny. We’re calling a doctor. We’re going to take care of you. You’ll be all right.

            (She takes her hand and Bunny gives her a weak smile.)

It wouldn’t be funny, but it would be the right thing to do.