Metamorphoses The more things change, the more they stay the same. Myths that were written by a Roman poet hundreds of years ago can still speak to our human emotions of wrath, insecurity, lust and despair. They can still show us what kind of change we willingly or unwillingly undergo at the mercy of our behavior. But rather than simply mount these myths in classic form, writer/director Mary Zimmerman chose to take Ovid's epic work, Metamorphoses, and give it a superbly distinct tone and staging. Ovid may have not known what a Tony Award was, but no doubt he'd be proud that his work, in Zimmerman's über-creative hands, was a 2002 nominee for Best Play and winner of the Best Director Award. If there were an award for best use of a gigantic pool in the middle of the stage, this play would have won that, too. Taking up ninety percent of the stage, the pool in Bayou City Theatrics' production has a square-shaped interior deep-ish end (the water is about knee length) surrounded by an outer square of shallow wading depth, fronted on the audience side by a banquet table covered with various clear glass receptacles half filled with water. None of this is simply for show; the pool/water serves the production in many forms. Water is the symbol of transformation for all the characters as they wade and wash and are drowned or reborn in it throughout the play. It is the visual grounding of a set design that has little to no props. It provides the sometimes soothing, sometimes maudlin and often melancholy sound effects as the cast splashes about in the various scenes. It is at once beautiful and harrowing and comes very close to stealing the spotlight. Thankfully, director and designer Colton Berry has such a firm grasp on the feel, look and meaning of this show that no matter how downright cool it is to see a humongous pool of water onstage, our attention isn't merely focused on the effect. Instead, Berry's superb finesse with the emotions in Zimmerman's adaptation of Ovid's work captures our rapt attention as we follow the 11 myths in this two-hour production that flies by in a series of short scenes. Alternating between comedy and tragedy, modern dialogue and something closer to the way Ovid himself would have spoken, the show is narrated by a rotating cast of black-dressed washerwomen and performed in ensemble format with the ten cast members playing several roles. Each scene tells a myth in which one or all of the characters undergo some kind of water-enabled change, imparting eerily relevant takeaways for our own non-mythical lives. Some of the characters we're already familiar with (Midas, Orpheus and Eurydice, Cupid and Psyche), and others will probably be new to most audience members (selfish Erysichthon, cursed Myrrha and the heartwarming Baucis and Philemon). But regardless of your level of knowledge about Roman mythology, the show is an embarrassment of riches when it comes to visual enthrallment, moving storyline and brain-engaging change-ups in style. The feel of the stories seesaws from modern Kim Kardashian/Valley girl-sounding narration to Freudian analysis to splendidly classically told tales. But the one thing the scenes have in common (besides terrifically moody lighting and wonderfully eclectic sound design) is a uniformly talented cast that makes splashing about in water and often being soaked head to toe at turns sexy, horrific, upsetting and lovely. Here's the thing about a good myth about change: It doesn't matter if it's hundreds of years old or was written by some Roman dude who never had a Frappuccino. If the lesson is a good one, it stands the test of time. The thing about a play about transformation myths? Well, if it embraces the old and makes it new by taking risks in the writing, thereby forcing a jaded audience to look at their own personal paths and decisions, then it too is good. Finally, what about a production of a new play about change based on old myths? In this case, under the superlative design and direction of Colton Berry and his merry band of standout performers who take us on a journey as gorgeous as it is meaningful, we get a night in the theater that is nothing short of life-changing. Or, at the very least, theater life-changing. Through February 1. The Kaleidoscope, 705 Main at Capitol, Suite B, BayouCityTheatrics.com. — JG
My Name Is Asher Lev In his 1972 semiautobiographical novel, My Name Is Asher Lev, American author, artist and rabbi Chaim Potok tells the tale of a Hassidic Jewish boy whose love of drawing comes into sharp conflict with his ultrareligious family and community. In adapting it for the stage in 2009, Aaron Posner took Potok's beloved and acclaimed novel and himself made some artistic magic. Posner's adaptation was a hit Off Broadway, where it won the Outer Critics Circle Award for Outstanding New Play as well as the prestigious John Gassner Playwriting Award. Posner's 90-minute, intermissionless, three-actor play, here under Ed Muth's hit-and-miss direction, tells a culturally specific story with a fairly universal theme, namely the conflict between desire, responsibility and faith. The story takes place in 1950s Brooklyn, and Asher Lev (an emotionally thorough Adam Gibbs) is the boy obsessed with drawing. It becomes a problem for Asher when he comes home from a trip to the art museum at the age of six and begins to sketch the images of Jesus and the nude women he saw hanging on the gallery walls. In spite of the boy's obvious talent, his parents try their best to put an end to Asher's drawing, which they label "narishkeit," or foolishness — which is just the tip of the somewhat overused Yiddish sayings and words the audience hears in the production. Asher's mother, Rivkeh Lev (Kara Greenberg in a warm but slightly overeager performance), and his father, Aryeh Lev (an overly stiff and too crisply consonantal-sounding Bradley Winkler), are members of the strict and cloistered Hassidic sect of Judaism who don't believe art is an acceptable or respectable profession for one of their own. Despite their disapproval, Asher can't and won't give up his art. Had Potok left it at that, we would have had a simple but somewhat clichéd parent/child culture-clash story. Instead, we're given an added twist to Asher's dilemma that zings the story back to life when he turns 18 and his art becomes decidedly dark and deeply controversial. No spoilers here on what he paints or who, but the work lands Asher a major gallery showing in Manhattan. The lead-up to his big show in which he reveals the work to his parents for the first time is a wonderfully tension-filled piece of writing that Muth stages beautifully for maximum gut-wrenching effect, without one ounce of heartstring manipulation. It's a very bright spot among Muth's otherwise fair to middling direction. The adaptation depends heavily on monologue from Asher to move the play along, and Muth manages this with economical but pleasing enough fashion. But scenes that have Asher on the floor and out of sight for anyone past the first row frustrate. Unable to tease believable heightened emotion from Winkler, Muth goes over the top in places with Greenberg as Rivkeh, most notably after she hears of her brother's death. Here Muth has Greenberg wail like the dickens for a couple of seconds and then abruptly stop, without any breathing room before or after to let the emotion sink in for his actor or his audience. What does easily sink in is the color palette of the set design, which can best be described as 50 shades of brown. Light, muddy walls and sparse brown wood furniture consisting of a desk, chairs, wardrobe cabinet and a wooden easel make one think the design team's artistic inspiration was dirt. Not only is it terribly unattractive, but the depressing nature of the design threatens to bring the whole energy of the show down with it. Still, this production has moments of beauty in it even if the play is at times marred by weakness in staging, design, performances and repetitive dialogue that relies too heavily on Yiddish to assert its authenticity. As Asher, Gibbs carries the play, and it's a standout performance that truly captures Potok's vision. Make no mistake, it's a Jewish vision, but that doesn't mean that the play isn't accessible to all. Everyone can either empathize or sympathize with the conflict between faith, family and personal passion. Sure, it's a heady subject, but Posner makes sure there are more than a few chuckles along the way to lighten things up, and Muth holds true to the terrifically uncertain nature of the play's conclusion. No hermetically sealed, nicely packaged endings here. And for that, let us all join hands and say amen! Through February 1. Obsidian Art Space, 3522 White Oak Houston, thelabhou.org. — JG
