Despite Its Pedigree, "A Doll's House, Part 2" Is a Fixer-Upper

Holly Twyford and Craig Wallace as the long-separated Nora and Torvald. (Kaley Etzkorn)

I’ve been looking forward to seeing Lucas Hnath’s A Doll’s House, Part 2 for a couple of years. The announcement that the Broadway hit’s DC premiere from Round House Theatre would star the great Holly Twyford as Nora? Music to my ears.

In this week’s Washington City Paper, I try to diagnose why Nicole A. Watson’s production is so bloodless.

Two Dope Queens: "Mary Stuart," reviewed.

Megan Anderson and Eleasha Gamble in Jason Loewith’s update of Mary Stuart for Olney Theatre Center.

There's been no shortage of opportunities to see Mary Stuart, Friedrich Schiller's early 19th century play about mid-16th century skullduggery among queens, in the DMV over the last decade. But Olney Theatre Center honcho Jason Loewith's stripped-down update is good. I reviewed it in last week's Washington City Paper, and discussed it briefly on Around Town, which you can see below.

Depth and Deprivation: "The Children" and "Love's Labor's Lost," reviewed.

I didn't write about Ella Hickson's Oil, the best play I've seen this year. But I did review Lucy Kirkwood's The Children, the second-best. I'm struck by how different two plays with ecological themes written by British women born in the 80s that premiered in 2016 can be. I also wrote about Folger's new production of the seldom-staged Shakespeare comedy, Love's Labor's Lost, and discussed it on Around Town, below.

The Rooms Where It Happened: "JQA," reviewed.

Joshua David Robinson and Jacqueline Correa in JQA.

Here's my Washington City Paper review of JQA, a new historical fiction from playwright-director Aaron Posner featuring two men and two women, all of whom play America's sixth president.

How Men Crumbled: Arena’s "Kleptocracy" and Ford’s "Twelve Angry Men," reviewed.

Christopher Geary is Vladimir Putin in Kenneth Lin’s world-premiere at Arena Stage. (C. Stanley Photography)

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something... something. In this week's Washington City Paper, I review Kleptocracy, an imperfect but intriguing Vladimir Putin origin story by Kenneth Lin at Arena Stage, starring the guy in the cast who looks the second-most Putinlike as Putin. Plus a puzzling new production of Twelve Angry Men at Ford's.

In the Loop: Studio's "Kings," reviewed.

Elliott Bales and Nehassaiu deGannes play a longtime senator and the rookie rep who primaries him. (C. Stanley Photography)

I reviewed Kings, DMV native Sarah Burgess's smart drama about an idealistic freshman Congresswoman, for the Washington City Paper.

Intimate Apparel: STC's "The Panties, the Profit, and The Partner," reviewed.

Kevin Isola takes a liberty with Kimberly Gilbert in The Panties. (Carol Rosegg)

For your Washington City Paper, I reviewed The Panties, the Profit, and the Purse—a series of linked David Ives comedies adapted, with shrinking fidelity, from a trilogy by the 19th century German social critic Carl Sternheim. That sounds awfully highbrow, doesn't it? Ives is better at farce than at satire, and the show is a better document of what he likes than what he thinks. I liked it, but I'd like it more if Ives would—in the words of the 21st century social critic Boots Riley—"Sho[his]Ass." As it were.

Two-Thirds of a Year of Magical Thinking: Remembering Ricky Jay, my most extraordinary boss.

A generous gift from a remarkable man.

I learned of my former boss’s passing last Saturday via a text from my friend Brian just after midnight: “My sincere condolences on your friend Ricky Jay.”

I worked for RJ for eight months, 13 years ago. He was kind to me, and I recall many moments of warmth between us, but it would be disingenuous for me to imply we were buddies. I was his employee. Then again, people who knew him for much longer than I did spoke of being very conscious of minding those kinds of boundaries with him, too.

I didn't think I was going to write anything about him. I didn't see how I could without also writing about me, and a rough patch in my life, which seemed perilously narcissistic/self-pitying/starfucking/all of the above.

Then old buddy Glen, who is also, happily, my editor, prodded me to start and I couldn't stop.