Mythburgh: Round 2 with 12 Peers

21752367_1973464016000784_6131844286900303418_nI reviewed the first installment of 12 Peers Theater’s Mythburgh series last month. The second in this three-part series of Pittsburgh-focused stories was also staged at the Brillobox. Last time, the bar turned theatre venue for a night meant it was mostly standing room only. This time was no different, except I leveraged my lessons learned and wore flats instead of the 4-inch heels I chose last time. A simple, low stage was slung across the front of the bar space under towering windows rimmed by dizzying red wallpaper.

Part of Mythburgh’s intrigue is all of the plays are Pittsburgh-specific in some way, but Amy Hartman’s Lettuce & Loss seems to elude that criterion, which ends up being the least of its flaws. The play is like a mixed drink itself: one part reader’s theatre (everyone was reading from scripts clasped in 3-ring binders), two parts theatre of the absurd (the basic plot is a man forced to choose repeatedly between parting with his wife or a chair), plus a splash of classical Greek (the play also featured a needless Greek chorus). The missing ingredient is Pittsburgh, which is supposed to be the flavor that unites these shows. Just as a Long Island Iced Tea loses its appeal post-college when you realize the diminishing returns of mixing five kinds of alcohol, so too does Lettuce & Loss suffer from the ad hoc blend of many genres, leaving you a bit hung over.

Lettuce & Loss ends up being the kind of play you might imagine if you think about theatre with a capital T taking itself too seriously as director Michael Goldberg has all of the actors dress in black and default to over enunciation, as if you’re watching a caricature of a play – or certainly one that lacked adequate rehearsal time. The wife, Meg (Carrie Martz) clutches a taxidermied chicken at the start of the show, and Martz’s role mostly calls for hysterics, which she executes efficiently. The husband’s (Vince Ventura) repeated proclamations of love for the chair he built and admires for its “supple curves, intuitive curves” come across as forced and contrived. This effectively cuts off access to any deeper commentary on materialism or the desire to shape and control one’s love objects, which could have been as interesting to peel back as the chair’s lovingly crafted birch wood. The play does start on a high note as the bartender (Brittany Tague) welcomes the first black-ensembled actress (Mary Quinlan) by offering her a drink. Tague eyerolls when the woman launches into woeful dramatics over an unspecified loss. You sympathize with the bartender playing not just drink jockey but the unwilling role of psychologist.

Starting with the title, Don’t Look Now: The Tale of the Pittsburgh Shuffler, the second play compensates for the lack of Pittsburgh essence in the first. In this casual romp, two Point Park University students Taylor (Caitlin Dobronz) and Jessica (Hope Anthony) hit the bar for a night on the town. They come in with focus, immediately ordering and downing two cherry bombs, shots as red as the Brillobox’s vibrant interior. Playwright Matt Henderson brilliantly captures both the timeless quality of them – they are there playing the age-old procrastination game of delaying the inevitable writing of an anthropology paper due the next day, and their time-specific presence as they banter about Tinder and Taylor Swift, both clad in skinny jeans and high-heeled boots. Dobronz is a delight to watch as she encapsulates a modern-day mean girl, clearly the leader of the duo. Dobronz also directs the show and has both girls bouncing between their phones and scanning the room for action, centering a cultivated and feigned indifference. Anthony gives Jessica her moments of strength, but they quickly fade under Dobronz’s withering looks and ringleader authority.

For anyone who attended the first installment of Mythburgh, there are a few hidden Easter eggs to delight the careful observer. Henderson played fortuneteller Swami Matt in one of the plays, and Taylor refers to Matt when she talks about seeing a psychic. This leads into a discussion of the “green being of Pittsburgh” who physically manifests as Ray (Jim Froehlich), although both girls misread him as dressed in Halloween costume as green juices ooze through white gauze mummifying his head. Dobronz has the girls fittingly nod to Halloween in the most noncommittal and stereotypical of female ways; Taylor dons bunny ears, and Jessica wears cat ears. Henderson weaves in the supernatural as a through element as Ray can communicate with both the girls and Pinky (Natalia Rose), a ghost who travels with Taylor and clearly distains her.

During the event, I ended up standing at a table and chatting with a friend of the actress who played the bartender. There we were, a couple of strangers who struck up a conversation; she was from Erie and had acted in some plays there. I recently moved back to the Burgh after many years in California, and a similar situation there would generally mean both parties would tacitly agree not to converse, or even make eye contact. People tend to stay in the safe space of being heads-down with their phone. I was reminded such moments are Pittsburgh stories in themselves – casual, genuine conversation evolving between two people who walked into a bar as strangers and came out enriched in some small way after connecting with someone else. The warmth of Pittsburghers is no myth, and it’s no small part of the city’s charm. Mythburgh ultimately reminds us our stories as individuals are inevitably about place, and they’re more interwoven with our city than we realize.

There will be one more installment of 12 Peers’ Mythburgh presented at the Brillobox on November 19th. Tickets to Mythburgh are always Name Your Own Price, but you can find out more here.

12 Peers Presents Pittsburgh Plays in First Installment of Mythburgh

21752367_1973464016000784_6131844286900303418_nWhile I grew up in southwestern Pennsylvania, I moved away as a teenager and only moved back to Pittsburgh-proper this year after a long interregnum. My relationship with the city kind of feels like that aunt you see every other Thanksgiving – somewhat familiar and you know you’re related, but it’s a little awkward as you’re lacking on shared experiences and knowing each other’s nuances.

Given this, I was wondering just how much of an outsider I’d feel like at 12 Peers Theater’s inaugural production of their new Mythburgh series that focuses on Pittsburgh-specific stories. My concerns eased as soon as I walked into the Brillobox. This is the first play I’ve seen in a bar, and there was something immediately relaxing about the setting. People were warmly mingling, and there was the usual din of bar chatter, nothing to indicate this was about to become a theatrical space beyond the regular performance antics of people with alcohol. There was no territoriality in staking out your assigned bingo-like seat number or squeezing past knees to claim a vacant spot as the space was mostly stand-rooming only, another theatrical first for me.

It was easy to gloss over the simple, makeshift stage with two chairs and a small table nestled in front of three towering windows separated by panels of Dr. Seuss-inspired red polka dot wallpaper. In a delightful surprise turn, director Nick Mitchell chose to stage the first play, Brian Edward’s Close Encounters of the Yinzer Kind or Super Bowl Forty, not on the stage but at a ledge-like table jutting out from a side wall, an appropriate choice given the play’s focus is two Southside locals sharing a story in a bar.

In another thoughtful directorial decision, Mitchell has the play start in media res. There was no formal announcement or sign the play was commencing, so most people missed the actual opening as twin brothers Donny (Joe York) and Melvin (Hank Fodor) lumber into the bar and order beer. They shout to be heard, and the gathered crowd gradually quieted in the collective realization this must be the play starting. York and Fodor are well-cast. They believably convey the casual ease between brothers that allows you to call each other jagoffs while still finishing each other’s sentences. They dominate the space both physically, bushy beards and shirts straining over their XXL heft, and verbally, locals who flick off the play’s attendee occupying their table with a casual “Get the fuck outta here.” Edward as a Pittsburgh native clearly has an ear for regional tones that he captures in the brothers’ speech, and also liberally peppers his work with local references from Primanti Brothers and PennDOT to Giant Eagle and CoGo’s.

Edward’s narrative comfortably vacillates between the broader story of the twin brothers, their shared 26-year tenure with PennDOT on the 4 am deer removal shift, and the specific story they share, which takes place at their house during Super Bowl XL. Edward wisely realizes he doesn’t even need to mention for this audience that the Steelers creamed the Seahawks, but for Donny and Melvin, the game is memorably interrupted by the arrival of an extraterrestrial visitor.

The supernatural carries over to the second play, Molly Rice’s Swami Matt and the Ghost Kiss. In the break between Close Encounters and Swami Matt, fortuneteller’s assistant Stella (played by Moira Quigley) circulated the room, chatting up attendees as she cracked her gum. While Rice draws Stella’s character a bit one-dimensionally, director Rusty Thelin helps Quigley hits that note well. Quigley elicits easy laughter as she memorably squeezes the accordion at key moments. Her croptop with the lipstick kiss print is hard to forget, a literal visual imprint of the love she’s seeking and a foreshadowing of the play’s ending where she hits on, then leaves with, the bartender.

The play ends up being a hybrid of improvisation and the scripted, and it’s abundantly more successful in its scripted portion. In the first two sequences, fortuneteller Swami Matt (played by Matt Henderson) visibly struggles with improvisation. The woman next to me was the first called on-stage when the fortuneteller conjures a reference to the “fighting Quakers” (the woman’s school mascot) from a slip of paper Stella hands him. Swami Matt closes each session with a rushed utterance of “Okay thanks,” and there’s palpable relief in those words.

In the third and final sequence, which is clearly all scripted, Henderson is better able to find his stride once he can focus on form over content creation. It’s a Groundhog Day narrative where Swami Matt gets the same name and is forced to retell the same story each night. As the story progresses, the emotion valence deepens. Although Henderson struggles to make it fully believable, you realize it’s not a mythical tale. This is a veiled story about Matt himself.

This past May, I ran my first marathon, and I was surprised to find the Pittsburgh marathon was as much about Pittsburgh as the running. There was something unexpectedly powerful and pride-inducing in running past Pittsburgh landmarks and across the city’s bridges, a heightened awareness that you’re part of something bigger. Similarly, Mythburgh connects you to our city, engendering pride and reminding us as we look around and laugh together that we’re more similar than different, a comforting reminder in a world that can feel divisive as you scroll your newsfeed. We not only get it – pierogies, chipped ham and Steeler nation – it’s part of us.

There will be 2 more installments of 12 Peer’s Mythburgh presented at Brillobox October 22 and November 19. Tickets to Mythburgh are always Name Your Own Price but you can find out more here. 

Mr. Burns, a Post-Electric Play

Mr. Burns Image12 Peers’ production of Mr. Burns reminds me how theatre is actually a sickness: an uncontrollable urge for group chemistry to elucidate collaboration, values and to define social archetypes.   It’s a phenomenon that spans cultures for a reason; a desperate need to create Culture and expose the excitement of live spectacle, meaning, and catharsis.  Lessons come from theatre, so we see it evolve within this play from a distinct form of mythology, a past that is our present.  The shared experience is a communal and biological drug, such that trauma can be translated into release.

As this play begins, we are given traumatized strangers.  They all have stories, survivors of a looming, severe apocalypse.  Their pasts are reflected in the subtle hints and subtext; big reveals between the distractions of dialogue, really.  A great power this text imbues is its subtext.  It’s a treat actually, the guessing game, trying to figure out the lines-between of a character like Gayle Pazerski’s Jenny.  A great deal of the first act is just straight-up talking about a Simpsons episode.  But it’s so clearly a shiny, little cat toy.  Nostalgia is a bit of a painkiller, lightly treating symptoms.  You’re seeing this a bit in other actors, like Cassidy Adkins’ Maria or Joe York’s Matt.  But with Pazerski, there’s something about the other narrative that’s not revealed.  There are certain moments of stock, silent horror that comes down to looks.

The brilliance of this play is that it’s aggressively esoteric.  It won’t have the same effect 20 years from now when seasons 1-10 of the Simpsons don’t hit home to our millennial sensibilities, as they’re wont to do now.  When you are introduced to these characters, you can easily place yourself within them trying desperately to grapple the latent utopian feel when television characters’ conflicts were the brunt of thought and conversation.  It’s what people talk about these days, as if these fictional characters were their actual friends.

mr burns production photoI strongly encourage people to check out 12 Peers’ Facebook page and look at the profiles and questionnaires of each actor in the show. These actors have become aware of their characters’ pasts.  It reminds me of the research done with Uta Hagen’s process, where the character-on-stage is more fully realized by the actor making choices about said character’s necessary past.  There is a healthy amount of investigation that these actors have compiled for themselves, and the brilliance of Mr Burns is it only reveals so much.  The audience is allowed to answer for themselves what holocaust these players have gone through.

Another stand-out is Everett Lowe’s Gibson.  He powerfully exacts an exhausted person with a booming strength being tested to its limits.  We get glimpses of where he’s been.  But not so much that we know him.  He tethers the line well between imposing and comforting, setting up the dichotomy that is between architects of a new civilization coming from those who had survived the apocalypse.  Kudos to the actor for pulling off this duality.

The acts are divided between “Now”, “7 Years Later” and “75 Years Later”.  It’s the evolution of what the accumulated memories of a specific Simpsons episode come to mean culturally.

What Mr Burns epitomizes so well is the burn of claustrophobia; cabin fever.  It plays with the apocalyptic fears we obsess with as a culture and puts them into play.  Post-electric: how do we mythologize?

That Third Act, the “75 Years Later”; that’s got to be earned.  How do you even get a remote idea of what life might be like, “post-electric”, when it comes to 75 years later?

Probably the most interesting arc of the show belongs to Brittany Tague, who also shows her talent as the show’s choreographer.  Her character Colleen goes from shell-shocked stranger to company manager within a new economy built on compiling culture.  To allow this frame to materialize in what becomes a Greek tragedy/opera, built upon the vestiges of what elements from the 90’s can be remembered, allows a very grave part of the brain to be tickled.  What we illusorily imagine to be warm satire can be easily contrived as hollow or obsolete relics.  Think of the Parthenon’s white columns having the same white shade as a mausoleum.  It’s as if the culture it was created for is dead.  That’s exactly what it is: dead.  And yet we still have the relic.

What’s created 75 years later, is a testament to human need; using “The Simpsons” as a crude vehicle to get there.  I liked this production.  I would have liked it more with no stage lights and only “post-electric” scenic design; but that’s a nit-picky request, I know.  Still, I believe that the 3rd Act is earned.  It’s well-choreographed, well-sung and well-performed.  It left me with the sticky-sweet feel of a deep, non-superficial future that has its own sense of the past.  Rather than Futurama, it’s built into the new tribalism with a new set of Gods: an elegant regression.  I thought the drama of it was nauseous in the best way possible, turning my childish nostalgia into the effective tragedy of memory.  Vince Ventura did a great job as director and the singing was surprising for the limiting capabilities of the University of Pittsburgh’s black box.  Still, a stand out performance by Sara Ashley Fisher as Bart Simpson; as well as the whole ensemble.  The surprise of the sharp choreography shows a serious texture and is well-rehearsed.  It shows the intimacy this cast must have had with one another, which is important to the whole Das Boot of the entire concept.

This play plays on two very important features of today’s culture: the need for great comedy and the fear of the end.  It’s perfect in that regard, and this is a very decent, swelling performance.  Cromulent, as it needs to be.

Mr. Burns, a Post-Electric Play runs at the Studio Theatre at the University of Pittsburgh through August 20. For tickets and more information, click here

Thom Pain (based on nothing)

Thom Pain12 Peers Theater’s production of Thom Pain (based on nothing) is prefaced by this note from director Vince Ventura:

When I first read Thom Pain, I was struck by the density of the language, the specificity of the images, and the raw emotion of the character.  While I had not experienced the exact circumstances that Thom had, this play had a way of cutting to the core of the “loss of innocence” experience.  For me, this play is a meditation on the universal experience of loss, maturing, and realizing exactly how little time we all have on this earth.

This play can be painful.  I believe Thom is trying to mythologize his own pain, with you, to help you find a way to process your own.  Thom will ask you to confront your deepest, darkest, most painful experiences; to define fear for yourself.  To see, at the end, that there was never anything to be afraid of in the first place.

This is your guide.  This, I believe, you should know going in: look for catharsis.  It’s here within the folds of this man’s narcissism.

Because it’s hard to watch a man talk about himself for an hour.  Thom Pain seems to want to investigate his past with the audience as spectator, having an impressive dedication to his own self-importance.  Does this make the show hard to watch?  Yes.  Does Ventura, then, suggest that you occupy this task as a challenge rather than a burden?  I believe so.

Thom Pain begs the challenge of the audience: Don’t say you were out watching someone be clever, a smartmouth nobody working himself into a frenzy.  Rather, say you were watching somebody trying.

18815115_1832532426760611_6123170761970490382_oMatt Henderson‘s performance as the solo man on stage grates in just the right way.  A bit of Woody Allen and a bit of Artaud.  I like the way he smiles throughout the show.  Eyes squinted and lips pulling, cheeks twined—smirking.  A madman assumes you don’t understand.  His talent in the character is that you never quite know where he’s coming from, as if his origin doesn’t even make sense to himself.  He’s lost, so you get lost with him.  But he’s a very sensible man!  He speaks in lofty phrases and riddles, allowing for laughter where it’s evident his jokes are a defense mechanism.

Henderson should be praised for holding the line between comedy and tragedy, a veritable marionettist lingering over the audience the vanity of his self-subject matter.  You are forced into the zone of his pain and his mind, which processes absurdity with the same lust for hope.  You are put into a room where a man yells at a wall.  You’re the fly on the wall.  Occasionally he’ll pluck an audience member to be his insinuation of another person.  You are also a figment of his memory, then.  So he toys with plucking your wings.

I’s more than the limp vaudeville of a sad man telling jokes.  As has been stated: it’s an investigation.  A man’s existential plight into the madness of his memory through anecdote and metaphor, cute helplessness and rage.  And it’s all about the man.  There’s very little staging.  Very little prop work.  That’s alright, though.  Feel like a psychologist for an hour.  Be silent.  Listen.  Try.

For a one man show, it implores you to be uncomfortable, to push past the boredom to feel restless.

Though, understand that this is a clever show.  It’s lovely with it’s word-play and it’s sprawl of stories and jokes.  It’s filled with distinct, classic one-liners:

I’m someone you might not hear from for a long time, then ‘Boom!’ you never hear from me again.

“you’ve changed.” she said on the night we met.

She wasn’t from here, so I had to talk to her with the international language of love: English. 

But I think it’s also important to understand this isn’t a typical theatre experience meant merely for entertainment.  It asks to invoke.  To journey.  Henderson’s animated characterization begs a question of the past and he does a great job of towing the line between charming and scary.

Of course, one-man shows are a bit of a trap of captivity for the audience.  When they’re painful, it’s as if you step into the broken elevator and the true reward is the relief that comes with finally making it out.  After all, at the end of this show your reminder is that all is ephemeral, but life moves on.

I do believe we have to understand pain better.  Everyone’s pain has value.  And to see it bleed a bit. To see a stand-up tragedian self-flagellate for the sake of expressing a question in the most charming way possible; I’d say: check it out.  Henderson’s brilliant.  He’s very much in the role.  It’s a bit of a downer, but there’s a lesson inside.

Special thanks to 12 Peers Theater for complimentary press tickets. Thom Pain (based on nothing) runs at the Studio Theatre at the University of Pittsburgh Cathedral of Learning through June 18. For tickets and more information, click here. 

Photo courtesy of 12 Peers.

The New In The Mythical: 12 Peers Theater’s Latest Season To Seek Unity In Discord

Artistic director Vince Ventura and Literary Manager Matt Henderson of 12 Peers Theater do not want you to feel as if you’re on familiar ground once you leave their upcoming shows. While we were speaking about the theater’s newest productions, Ventura asked if I was familiar with any of the plays being put on; I was not.

“Good,” he laughed, “we don’t want to do anything you’ve seen in Pittsburgh.”

However familiar (or not) the works onstage are, the circumstances and themes at the heart of 12 Peers’ upcoming season are deeply culturally relevant. Their independently produced podcast, Modern Myths, produced a full audio play in July titled “The Curse of Atreus,” a Jim Knable-penned play that remixes the titular Greek myth with a conflict between a white police officer, a black mechanic and her son, whom the police officer suspects is a car thief, feels as if its pulled from the headlines.

“When I select plays for the podcast series, I’m always looking at two things: I want the play to have some sort of mythical aspect to it, and to also have contemporary relevance. When I read [The Curse of Atreus] I knew it had to be in the series,” said Henderson.

The podcast, which will continue to produce new material in 2017, also focuses on the works of women and people of color, a distribution of voices that is somewhat uncommon in the world of audio drama.

Fans of the show can look forward to “Ink Trap,” an original work by Pittsburgh-based playwright Clare Drobot sometime this year, and the release of “The Far Travelers” by Sharon Dilworth sometime in 2018.

Like the theater itself, the podcast is an eclectic mix of new voices and ideas interlaced with the familiar in the service of cultural commentary. But eclectic doesn’t do well to describe the 12 Peers lineup, or at least, not exactly. All four upcoming shows skirt a series of parallels: absurdism to combat grim societal issues, shows never before premiered in Pittsburgh that are familiar somehow, shows that find the personal in impersonality.

12 Peers’ unconventional season begins with Mythburgh, the most ambitious project of the bunch. A series of original, contemporary stories that pay homage to the mythos of the city, Mythburgh will play like a live sitcom; the stories will be influenced by audience participation, and will be replete with recurring characters and subplots.

Even more than that, many of the characters will be played by local actors, whose characters will have their own, real social media accounts, continuing the story between shows.

“I wanted to find a project that could really use artists from Pittsburgh in a specific way. I want use the actors’ personas in the actual show…[and] focus on the actual identities of the people involved,” said Henderson.

In terms of plot, the show will feature a deep focus on Pittsburgh’s individuality as a city and culture. “These stories are epic and extremely Pittsburgh. [They are] stories about local myths, inspiring local stories, stories about communities coming together.”

The show will feature a name your own price structure, and debuts at Brillo Box in the east end.

12 Peers’ second show, Thom Pain (Based on Nothing), written by Will Eno and directed by Ventura, premiers June 1st at The University of Pittsburgh Studio Theatre. Contrasting Mythburg’s sense of togetherness, Thom Paine is a manic one man show that reflect on moments of struggle big and small, and how those struggles inform who we are as individuals.

“I think Tom Paine is about how we mythologize those moments in our lives…that moment when you stop being a child when you realize that the iron is hot. Those are defining moments, they happen to us over and over,” Ventura elaborated.

Partially a response to a sense of mass confusion and anxiety following the 2016 Presidential Election, for the plays sense of “…fear, and of being overwhelmed.” Henderson, who will be performing, plays the eponymous Thom Pain as he dives deep into his personal psyche, filled with sudden interjections of memory, to come to terms with the shift from childhood to adulthood.

Conversely to Thom Paine’s inner turmoil, Mr. Burns: A Post-Electric Play, is about how we mythologize the events around us. Written by Anne Washburn and directed by Ventura, Mr. Burns is a dramatically weird retelling of the Cape Feare episodes of the long-running series The Simpsons (you know – the one where sideshow Bob plays Robert DeNiro).

Mr. Burns is the most complicated show 12 Peers has ever produced. Featuring an eight person cast, Mr. Burns utilizes music, elaborate costume design, mask work, action sequences and nuclear fallout. While the show will indeed feature real-life Simpsons-people, but Ventura and Henderson assured me that the story and characters we see in the first act may not entirely resemble what we see in the third.

Theatergoers and Simpsons fans that are creative-bent can look forward to attending Mr. Burns: A Post Electric Play on August 3rd to the 20th at the University of Pittsburgh Studio Theatre.

If Thom Paine and Mr. Burns are indirect responses to a divisive cultural landscape, 12 Peers’ season-closer, “White Rabbit, Red Rabbit,” a one man show written by Nassim Soleimanpour, is the theaters’ most direct political response.

“There’s something to be said, without over-politicizing the play…the questions it raises about manipulation, acquiescence and cultural hegemony rule by consent…these are huge themes within White Rabbit Red Rabbit.”

To discuss the play’s plot at length would be to miss the point – even the actors aren’t clued in on the script before they walk onstage. Henderson, who has performed the play in the past, explains:

“It’s the only show I’ve ever done where I felt like I was in the audience when I


was in the show. I kept wanting to turn the page and see what happens next, but it was weird because I was doing it. It’s trippy for the performer. Part of the fun for the audience is seeing them experience this all for the first time and having no clue.”

This atypical approach to storytelling not only imbues the show with a sense of discovery, but disarms the performer in such a way that they reveal something deeper about themselves in the process. Ventura told me about a time when an actor who had recently survived a car crash had brought a sense of renewed celebration of life to the script. “Every actor inevitably brings something personal to the script because you’re performing immediately.”

White Rabbit, Red Rabbit will be a benefit show for 12 Peers, and will be performed on March 27. Tickets will be 25$.

The play is a fitting season closer, as it encompasses the two themes that are the spirit of 12 Peers’ 2017 season.

“Community, and stories,” Ventura said. “What stories are we telling our community, and what are they telling us?”

This theater-as-community mentality carries through to the show’s ticket prices. Mainstage shows performed on Sunday nights, as well as a  special Monday night performance of Mr. Burns: A Post-Electric Play, are name-your-own-price.

For more information about 12 Peers, click here. 

The Birds

The Birds Text-1

“Daphne du Maurier’s short story, also the basis for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic film, is boldly adapted by Conor McPherson—a gripping, unsettling, and moving look at human relationships in the face of societal collapse. In an isolated house, strangers Nat and Diane take shelter from relentless masses of attacking birds. They find relative sanctuary but not comfort or peace; there’s no electricity, little food, and a nearby neighbor may still be alive and watching them. Another refugee, the young and attractive Julia, arrives with some news of the outside world, but her presence also brings discord. Their survival becomes even more doubtful when paranoia takes hold of the makeshift fortress—an internal threat to match that of the birds outside.”

For tickets and more information, click here

The Birds

The Birds Text-1

“Daphne du Maurier’s short story, also the basis for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic film, is boldly adapted by Conor McPherson—a gripping, unsettling, and moving look at human relationships in the face of societal collapse. In an isolated house, strangers Nat and Diane take shelter from relentless masses of attacking birds. They find relative sanctuary but not comfort or peace; there’s no electricity, little food, and a nearby neighbor may still be alive and watching them. Another refugee, the young and attractive Julia, arrives with some news of the outside world, but her presence also brings discord. Their survival becomes even more doubtful when paranoia takes hold of the makeshift fortress—an internal threat to match that of the birds outside.”

For tickets and more information, click here

The Birds

The Birds Text-1

“Daphne du Maurier’s short story, also the basis for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic film, is boldly adapted by Conor McPherson—a gripping, unsettling, and moving look at human relationships in the face of societal collapse. In an isolated house, strangers Nat and Diane take shelter from relentless masses of attacking birds. They find relative sanctuary but not comfort or peace; there’s no electricity, little food, and a nearby neighbor may still be alive and watching them. Another refugee, the young and attractive Julia, arrives with some news of the outside world, but her presence also brings discord. Their survival becomes even more doubtful when paranoia takes hold of the makeshift fortress—an internal threat to match that of the birds outside.”

For tickets and more information, click here

The Birds

The Birds Text-1

“Daphne du Maurier’s short story, also the basis for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic film, is boldly adapted by Conor McPherson—a gripping, unsettling, and moving look at human relationships in the face of societal collapse. In an isolated house, strangers Nat and Diane take shelter from relentless masses of attacking birds. They find relative sanctuary but not comfort or peace; there’s no electricity, little food, and a nearby neighbor may still be alive and watching them. Another refugee, the young and attractive Julia, arrives with some news of the outside world, but her presence also brings discord. Their survival becomes even more doubtful when paranoia takes hold of the makeshift fortress—an internal threat to match that of the birds outside.”

For tickets and more information, click here

The Birds

The Birds Text-1

“Daphne du Maurier’s short story, also the basis for Alfred Hitchcock’s classic film, is boldly adapted by Conor McPherson—a gripping, unsettling, and moving look at human relationships in the face of societal collapse. In an isolated house, strangers Nat and Diane take shelter from relentless masses of attacking birds. They find relative sanctuary but not comfort or peace; there’s no electricity, little food, and a nearby neighbor may still be alive and watching them. Another refugee, the young and attractive Julia, arrives with some news of the outside world, but her presence also brings discord. Their survival becomes even more doubtful when paranoia takes hold of the makeshift fortress—an internal threat to match that of the birds outside.”

For tickets and more information, click here