The Guardian
Review by Leo Benedictus
December 20
Don't Feed the Lions
How does it feel to be locked in a theatre for a week, with no clocks, phones or daylight - all in the name of art?
In a few moments, two actors from the Zecora Ura company will be shut into a small, black theatre space. They will not be allowed to leave for a week. They will have no clock, phone or any other form of contact with the outside world, except for once each night, from Tuesday onwards, when they will be visited by an audience, for whom they will perform in exchange for food.
Nobody involved with the project can put their finger on exactly why they're doing this. It is, after all, experimental theatre.
"It's impossible to predict, which I like," says Sammy Metcalfe, 22, one of the actors. "Peace and quiet might be nice, and I'm looking forward to not having clocks or a phone." Extremely thin, with tousled hair, inch-long fingernails and a caveman beard, he looks as if he has already been locked in here for most of the year. I wish him luck as he steps into his new home. "Right now, I don't feel I'm going to miss anything," he says, rather rashly. "It's not a huge length of time."
The project, called Don't Feed the Lions, is the latest stage in a piece that began in November 2001, explains the director, George Lopez. "They're allowed one half-hour toilet break each day," he says, "unless there is a toilet emergency." For the remaining 23-and-a-half hours each day, Sammy and his co-star, 27-year-old Unai Lopez de Armentia, will be confined to the black, windowless theatre and its adjoining green room. "It's so they can be away from each other," says Lopez, "and so they can have some daylight."
Tuesday, 19.29
After two days of confinement, things are good, says Unai. "We've been rehearsing from 10 o'clock in the morning each day, so we've been comfortable." He is wearing a bowler hat, a 20ft tie and a pair of black faux-satin shorts. The show begins in half an hour.
"But yesterday," he adds, "when we had our half-hour out, we went downstairs, where there was a conference going on, with lots of people, and everything felt really bright. Too noisy. Me and Sammy just looked at each other and came back upstairs. It felt really weird." Leaving them to prepare themselves, I rejoin the audience for the start of the show.
It is hard to say exactly what effect the actors' confinement has had on their performance. Don't Feed the Lions casts them as semi-human Beckettish characters, who chew over paradoxes together when they're not licking people's hands, worshipping plastic camels or giving birth to miniature tents. Food is plentiful, but Sammy and Unai are unimpressed with the tub of salt I provide and sell it back to somebody else. "They smell a bit," observes the girl next to me to her friend.
Thursday, 11.44
The theatre space is in total darkness when I open the door. I speak into it, but there is no response. At last, I find a light switch and discover Unai fast asleep on a lilo in the middle of the stage. There is an abandoned cauliflower on the floor.
Unai does not stir while I inspect the jottings that he and Sammy have chalked on to the walls. "Everything I have ever forgotten gathers here when I sleep," says a sign beside one patch of floor. There is a scorecard: "Good dreams 4, bad dreams 6, ghosts 2, rats 3." Two large shapes dominate the wall at the back of the stage; these, says the inscription, are "gods that control the need for the toilet".
"Who are you?" asks Unai suddenly, sitting up in his sleeping bag. Next door, Sammy is asleep, too. After a swift wash and brush-up, the boys are ready to talk. They are cheerful, and remain committed to the project, but a number of good reasons have begun to emerge why most actors choose to go home after the show.
"The performance has become very precious to us," says Sammy, "so when things go wrong it does affect you quite a lot. And because you're here all the time, it stays in the air." They must long for those two hours each evening? "Yes," says Unai, "but it's less exciting, because you are here, just thinking of it and seeing the space all the time." How about not having a clock - is that liberating? "I actually find that annoying," says Unai, who has been accidentally warming up for the show two hours too soon.
Food fortunes have been mixed. Hits so far include homemade brownies, strawberry laces, mini swiss rolls and satsumas. But there have been misses, such as a raw chicken and a parsnip. "We gave that away free to the audience yesterday," says Sammy. "And then they gave it back."
Saturday, 22.10
A light is on at Unai and Sammy's window as I approach for the final performance. Tonight, instead of being a food-bringing tourist member of the audience, I have been designated a prop-bringing "scientist". Entering the theatre, I worry that my prop, an unwanted cigarette lighter, lacks imagination. I stop worrying when the man next to me produces a broken plastic coat-hanger.
As a piece of theatre, Don't Feed the Lions is still not what you'd call entertaining, but the improved chemistry between Sammy and Unai is obvious. At no point is the actors' confinement mentioned explicitly, so I conduct a quick poll in the audience and find, alarmingly, that a few of them aren't even aware of it.
As Sammy and Unai pack up for the last time, I ask them how they feel. "Scared," says Unai. Sammy agrees. "I'm quite anxious about going out the door," he says. I escort him downstairs and watch. He steps into the night air and gazes up at the Oval cricket ground. "It looks like a set. It doesn't look real." We quickly go back inside. "I don't think my eyes can focus properly," Sammy says, at which point his mother approaches, carrying a plate of food.
Backstage West Southern CA
Review by Les Spindle
October 20
Heart of a Dog presented by Elephant Stage Works at the Lillian Theatre, 1076 N. Lillian Way, Hollywood. Fri.-Sat 8 p.m., Sun. 7 p.m. Oct. 15-Nov. 21. $15-25. (323) 960-5563.
Playwright/director Michael Franco took on a formidable task in fashioning a stage adaptation of Mikhail Bulgakov's classic 1925 novella, a scathing satire of the Soviet government in the Stalinist era. Bulgakov's bizarre allegory uses absurd sardonic humor to illuminate the idiocy and terror of the totalitarian regime, satirizing the government's oppressive control mechanisms. The multilayered novella also dealt with eugenic experimentation, which flourished in Russia at the time. Franco's dramatization of this complex material is absorbing, though it will be most accessible to those well-versed in Russian culture and political history.
As the play opens, a beleaguered street mongrel (Joe Fria, crawling around in a partial dog mask, with his face exposed), bemoans his plight and damns the callous society that is oblivious to his ails. He was first scalded by boiling water when scavenging through garbage seeking food and is now freezing in the cold winter night. An upper-class medical expert, Professor Preobrazhensky (Paul Dillon), who experiments with radical hormonal treatments, feeds the dog and takes him to his home. The professor's secret motive is to implant the testicles and pituitary gland of a dead criminal into the dog, but the experiment yields unexpected results. The dog morphs into a rude and obstinate human (an upright Fria, sans dog mask), who begins supporting the efforts of the proletarian faction, threatening to rob the professor of his luxurious privileges.
Franco elicits exemplary work from a committed ensemble. Fria is especially impressive with his technically and intellectually rich portrayals of the canine and human versions of his character. Dillon's intriguing take on the mad scientist underlines the moral ambiguities at the core of Bulgakov's probing parable. Lending splendid support are Loren Lazerine as the doctor performing the surgery, and Laura Pruden and Lara Phillips as assertive servants. Adding to the artfully depicted semi-surrealistic milieu are Joel Daavid's evocative scenic design, Maro Parian's authentic costumes, Bosco Flanagan's beautifully textured lighting, and Veronika Vorel's splendid sound effects. Though the quirky proceedings are occasionally a bit confusing, the overall effort is engaging and thought-provoking-far from your ordinary, everyday dog-becomes-man tale.
ReviewPlays.com
Reviewed by Elizabeth Lopez
Heart of a Dog
At the Lillian Theatre
Written in 1925 by Mikhail Bulgakov, Heart of a Dog is a story about a wealthy medical doctor who’s at odds with the proletariat committee whose sole intent is to force him to share his luxury apartment. At the same time, Dr. Philip Philapovich is planning the most ambitious operation of his career-that of “improving life” by transforming a dog into a human, which he does with dreadful consequences.
The story begins with Sharik, wonderfully played by Joe Fria, a lowly street dog living in the mean streets of Russia, whose misery and suffering comes to an end the day the wealthy but unscrupulous doctor, played by Paul Dillon, adopts him. Sharik narrates the story in some very amusing scenes. Joe Fria is absolutely wonderful in this role, in fact, he reminded me of Jim Carrey, with that rubber face and ever changing voices-the yelping, growling, barking, howling-it was a doggone good representation of man’s best friend.
His performance is truly delightful and entertaining in this physically demanding role. In one scene, he is taken to the operating room for “the change” and my heart wept. I loved this dog and I hated seeing what would turn to be a life altering experience for Sharik. Fria takes full control of the stage and it’s hard to take your eyes off of him. Fria’s performance is the best part of the play. I was anxiously waiting for his reappearance-I couldn’t get enough of this character. Fria steals the show, no doubt about it.
The story unfolds as a street dog is being mistreated by the outside world, but whose life completely changes when Dr. Phillip Philopavich decides to take him in. At first, everything seems wonderful: he now has a wonderful new home, his new adopted master is a very wealthy and respected within the community and overindulges him with affection and (most of all) with food. He rejoices at his presently happy existence. However, all this changes one day when his master decides to go forward on a secret experimental operation, one where Sharif’s life is put on the line-in the name of science.
We see glimpses into the lives of the doctor, his assistants and servants as well as the annoying committee/ neighbors. It’s a snippet of what life was like during the turn of the century in Russia. I found the other characters average and not as funny as the dog. I’d say more than one scene seemed a bit repetitive-and a bit slow for my taste, however the ending fully delivered.
This dark comedy has a very interesting premise: What would happen if you changed a canine to a human being? Is an animal incapable of knowing the difference between right and wrong, good and evil. Is evil learned or is it in our genes? Is it ethical for a man to play God, as did Dr. Phillipalovich? And, is it really Sharik’s fault when he learns to enjoy life’s offerings, as humans do, and then be chastised for it? I recommend that you watch this play to answer these questions for yourself. Its sci-fi feel with a Jim Carrey type lead will make you think about man’s role in creation vs. evolution. It’s also a humorous look into the changing political world of Russia dealing with old political ideologies vs. new and, my favorite, about man’s obsession with playing God.
This amusing and entertaining performance will captivate your attention and transport you to a turn of the century Russia, where the heart of the story takes place. At three hours long, it’s a long ride worth its weight in gold. It’s a doggone good story with a strong acting lead by Fria as Sharik the dog.
