You’re forgiven if your notion of two women sharing tea at a home in a posh Cornish enclave in England evokes matrons of pompous dignity but shallow substance.  In Lee Blessing’s brilliant two-hander, we meet two women of eminence – Dr. Cora Gage, an accomplished and renowned ophthalmologist, and May N’Kame, who has led a largely cloistered life as the well-educated, perceptive, and clever mother of the dictator of a small African country that she insists be referred to as an empire.  But in this empire, as in the real-life vicinity that it represents, bloodshed is rife.  Both her husband and father had been murdered.  Suffering from failing vision and chronic headaches, N’Kame seeks optical laser surgery from Dr. Gage.

The Lower Bottom Playaz’s cast of two provides depictions that are decisive and powerful.  And guided by the sentient hand of Director Cat Brooks, the company offers a near breathtaking realization of the provocative play.  The story is riveting and controversy inducing, but to avoid spoilers, the following discussion will sometimes veer to the obtuse.

N’Kame has been around the block a few times, and one could wonder why she selected a surgeon in Cornwall.  Her research into Dr. Gage led her to believe that the surgeon may have an experience-based prejudice against black people, thus N’Kame is concerned lest the laser err from its intended path.  But Dr. Gage’s possible bias also plays into the ulterior motive for N’Kame’s engaging her.  The African woman will seek an unethical act from the surgeon in return for a favor that the surgeon will value.  The question is whether Dr. Gage will take the bait.

Among the unexpected aspects of the relationship is the dominance exerted by the patient over the doctor.  The compelling ayodele nzinga (who was the founder of Lower Bottom Playaz) is N’Kame, and her imperious condescension is profound.  The wide-mouthed precision of her diction is more British than the British, but with a cool tinge of venom.  Accustomed to palace intrigue and a strategic thinker, she anticipates how issues will evolve.  And cornering her prey on each point of ethics, her impassionate deadpan affect is belied by the expressiveness of her elongated fingers. 

On the surface, the also compelling Teressa Foss as Dr. Gage is a typically reserved and uncomplicated Brit, her precise enunciation and tight body movements restrained by centuries of habit.   But the disagreeable N’Kame gets under her skin, both as a personality and for the awkward position that Gage finds herself in.  Rattled by N’Kame’s unsettling probes into her life’s history; challenges to her ethical beliefs; and by the course of action N’Kame proposes, Foss’s Gage rages repeatedly and utters thoughts that she’d probably like to have back.

Although the plotline hinges on a single act, this many-times nominated and awarded Off-Broadway success reveals many fissures between what the women represent and ponders many social and political issues.  Of course, where one stands on these matters often depends on where one sits.  The protagonists are descendants in societies that were involved in colonialism, which Europeans often view positively for bringing civilization, Christianity, and administration to societies they regard as having been in need, while the recipients (or victims) focus on its demeaning aspects of external rule and the knock-on negative consequences that continue today.

One factor that exists both between and within cultures is the notion of friendship.  While friendship is commonly viewed as shared comfort with one another and a desire to be together, what about these two women?  Even when emotionally distant from one another, they share a certain intimacy and life-altering experiences, and in the end can understand and empathize with one another.  Yet one of them feels this as a bond of friendship and the other not.

A central ethical issue in the narrative is the matter of justified killing.  Can murder be excused on the premise that many others have died and will be killed otherwise?  Again, the women disagree on what civilization should allow.

A related question is the consequence of one dramatic act that in the cases of these women involves sacrifice.  Does such a decision forever change who a person is and all actions that follow from it? Should or will regret or remorse forever dim their horizons or can redemption brighten the skies ahead?

A final matter of interest to voluntary, involuntary, and would-be immigrants is “What is home?” and “Where do I want to be?”  Each woman will face this choice for very different reasons.

As a final commendation, not only were the directing and acting superlative, but the scenic design by Stephen Jones is noteworthy.  It has become uncommon in small theaters to invest in multiple sets to represent different venues, but the Cat Brooks led production has, and it makes a difference.

Going to St. Ives, written by Lee Blessing is produced by Lower Bottom Playaz, and plays at BAM House, 1540 Broadway, Oakland, CA through July 26, 2026.

Year after year, Georges Bizet’s Carmen ranks as one of the several most produced operas in the world.  And why not?  Its music, based largely on Spanish folk tunes, is perhaps the most familiar and hummable of any opera.  Patrons in many countries, especially throughout Latin America, can relate to the Spanish culture, while the admix of Carmen’s Roma community yields an international exoticism.  Its heroine is one of the most dynamic and demonstrative in the idiom.  And the triangle created by her suitors, the complex soldier Don José, both hot headed and an infatuated puppy dog, and Escamillo, a renowned and adulated bullfighter, careens inevitably to tragedy.

In 1981, famed minimalist theater and film director Peter Brook engaged composer Marius Constant to abridge the score of Carmen to reduce the storyline to its essence.  The resulting 80-minute opera focuses on the intimate and psychological moments of Prosper Mérimée’s source novel.  Merola Opera, the highly-vaunted apprenticeship program associated with San Francisco Opera, has produced the adaptation with a highly successful version driven by a cast of fine voices.

Unlike Puccini’s heroines from other “Top 10” most popular operas, Mimi, CioCio San, and Tosca, Carmen is independent and unruly, with an imperiousness more like another Puccini heroine, Turandot.  Carmen’s freedom from entanglements that she can’t control makes this in a sense a very feminist story, which is one of the draws to Director Mo Zhou who tries to de-sanitize the traditional patriarchal opera scrim.

The shortened opera goes by in no time which appeals to a modern short-attention-span audience.  All of the finest music and wonderful arias are a feast for the ears from José’s “La fleur que tu m’avais jetté” and Carmen’s Habañera (“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle”) to Escamillo’s Toreador Song.  But they come by in such rapid succession that it is like watching a highlights reel rather than a complete work.  Those patrons not already familiar with the story will not realize the richness in the original libretto and may leave with more questions than answers.

Thus, the narrative is bumpy as backstory and motivations are lost and dramatic tension doesn’t build as well as in Bizet’s fully-scripted version.  For instance, Carmen’s fiery temperament in her fight with a co-worker at the cigarette factory is missing; the meet-cute between Carmen and José lacks characterizations or setup; and his friend from his home town, Michaela, twice appears and disappears from the story, the second time without sufficient explanation.

Apart from the music, what makes La Tragédie de Carmen engaging is the cast.  The captivating Ariana Maubach as Carmen offers a rich mezzo voice with pleasant quaver in the mid and upper ranges and a haughty chestiness in the low end, very fitting for the role.  Tenor Charles Styles as José seemed a little underpowered to begin with, especially in the duet with soprano Anna Thompson’s demure Micaela, “Parle-moi de ma mere”, but he impressed as time went on.  Carmen is the unusual opera in which the soprano plays second fiddle to the mezzo, but with Thompson’s powerful and mellifluous voice, she is already booked for bigger things.  Finally, with a resounding bass voice, Raúl Morales Velazco vocally acquitted himself well as Escamillo.

Conductor Stephanie Rhodes Russell leads the orchestra adeptly.  While chamber adaptations to the orchestration that emphasizes soloists works well, the simple piano accompaniment (no reflection on the pianist) sounded empty.  The mandated use of canned music for the overture, presumably because it is supposed to come from inside the arena, adds no value as the orchestra sits on its hands.

One question to be asked is what is unique about Carmen for Brook to create this type of adaptation?   As a wildly successful opera, it wasn’t desperately in need of a facelift, while other cherished operas that drag on and have smaller audiences could benefit more from a little sculpturing.  It should be noted that Brook’s philosophy of theater is from the ancient Greek tradition that all that is needed is actors.  Audience members who value expansive scenery, lavish costumery, and a large cast and chorus will not find them here.

Another matter is why this piece was chosen by Merola.  One appeal must be that the cost and effort of full staging is not required, as the set is comprised of projections on panels plus a few props.  However, the number of principals is reduced from around 16 to 7, meaning that few Merolians perform listed roles.  Also, the elimination of group scene action of the soldiers, cigarette girls, and Roman encampment, means no chorus opportunities for other apprentices.

A final issue is whether this production of this adaptation merits attendance.  Despite its shortcomings, the answer is yes.  Its assets, particularly the music and cast, are compelling and the experience worthwhile.

La Tragédie de Carmen is composed by Georges Bizet, with libretto by Henri Meilhac & Ludovic Halévy, as adapted by Peter Brook & Marius Constant, produced by Merola Opera Company, and plays at San Francisco Conservatory of Music, 50 Oak Street, San Francisco, CA through July 11, 2026.

One can be forgiven for not immediately thinking of England in 1735 as being a source for Italian opera seria, but Georg Frideric Handel composed one of his enduring baroque operas, Alcina, for Covent Garden in that year.  It is important to note that despite the esteem in which they are now held, his operas were virtually unperformed for nearly two centuries before being revived.

Festival Opera offers a fantastic version of the last Handel opera whose libretto was based on magic.  Having a cast of fine voices and some sharp acting, with a stunning lead performance, the production makes the most of Handel’s genius.  But typical of baroque operas, it is full of al capos, and other repetition that stretch the material.

If one word describes the opera, the production, and the cast, it is confusion – especially of the sexual kind.  But before getting to that, let’s lay out the premise.  On her island, Queen Alcina possesses an endless hunger for lovers, whom she tires of.  With her magical power, she then turns them into beasts, rocks, trees, whatever her fancy.  Her current beau is Ruggiero.  Meanwhile, Bradamante arrives on the island searching for her lover.

So, here’s content from Antonio Fanzaglia’s libretto to chew on with some identity confusion.  Ruggiero is the lover that Bradamante seeks, but she has disguised herself as her twin brother Ricciardo, and Ruggiero is not clever enough to realize it even in close contact.  Meanwhile, Alcina’s sister Morgana falls out of love with Oronte and into love with the faux man Ricciardo.

The great thing to come out of Morgana’s being deceived is her wonderful virtuoso aria “Tornami a vagheggiar” (“Turn me to fond desire”), in which Shawnette Sulker as Morgana absolutely sparkles with her bright soprano timbre and all of the aria’s range and coloratura ornamentation.  Director Zachary Gordin has found considerable humor in the first half of the opera, and Sulker titters, tweets, and teases as the charismatic comic center.  Yet she also shows her emotional range and anguish against slow, deep pizzicato strings in her delightful “Ah, mio cor.” (“Oh, my heart.”)

Handel’s casting specifications cause more confusing ambiguity.  Bragamante calls for a contralto, and the distinguished Sara Couden with a big range, big sound, yet with coloratura agility fills the bill.  But much of the time she portrays Ricciardo, a male role.  Ruggiero is specified as a castrato, and of course we don’t have those any more, so it becomes a trousers role with Courtney Miller, a mezzo-soprano, portraying the male.  Finally, Oberto, a boy looking for his lost father, should be a treble, a pre-pubescent boy or girl, but it becomes another trousers role with mezzo-soprano Nina Jones in the part.

June is Pride month, and the public gender positions of some cast members are noteworthy and non-traditional.  Both Nikola Printz as Alcina and Nina Jones present as non-binary and use gender neutral pronouns.  And for now, Sara Couden, though using female pronouns, identifies as a “Boring Pansexual.”

Not a point of confusion, but another comment on the score.  Male parts are underwritten.  Bass Isaiah Musik-Ayala as Melisso and Tenor Spencer Greene as Oronte, like the rest of the cast, offer fine voices but are underutilized.

Now for the main event.  Though Alcina disappears for long periods, this is her opera.  Nikola Printz absolutely owns it and dominates the stage with every appearance.  Printz’s voice could not be more suited to the role.  Handel actually specifies Alcina as a soprano, and Printz is a mezzo.  But particularly the long Act 2 soliloquy calls for sustained powerful mid-range vocalization, and Printz excels both there as well as with high-end wailing.  During the feverish, impassioned portrayal, the audience at opening was dead silent and transfixed at the flawless virtuosity of the performance.

A bit of an irony is that as a non-binary, Printz portrays the most female of characters, a queen.  Okay, I know you modern thinkers are snickering.  But think of 18^th century definitions, not 20^th!

Derek Tam’s orchestra provides lush accompaniment, including period instruments – harpsichord, theorbo, continuo, and recorder.  Special recognition among the creative designers goes to Marina Polakoff for her sterling costumery.  And while Peter Crompton’s backwall projections compensate for the otherwise spare scenery, their busyness and intensity sometimes compete too much visually with the characters and their garb.

Comic relief and the intense vocal highlights in the first two acts keep the interest level high.  By Act 3, and with the absence of comedic elements until closure, the action does drag a bit, but it’s still all worthwhile.

Alcina, with music by Georg Frideric Handel and libretto by Antonio Fanzaglia and based on the poem Orlando furioso by Lodovico Ariosto, is produced by Festival Opera in cooperation with The San Francisco Early Music Society and plays at Lesher Center for the Arts, 1601 Civic Avenue, Walnut Creek CA through June 21, 2026.

Joyous nostalgia with foot-stompin’, finger-snappin’ sing alongs of some of the most memorable music of an era.  It’s all part of Ain’t Too Proud, the story of the rise, challenges, and sunset of the Temptations, perhaps the greatest rhythm-and-blues vocal group of all time.  But more than that, it is also a story of multiple personal tragedies to members of the group and their loved ones, many self-inflicted.  The story unfolds against an unkind political landscape rife with racism at the individual level and racial incidents at the national level that scarred the American psyche.  Even in their peak popularity, the Temptations dealt with shooting incidents, and as one of them sagely noted, “You never know who’s singing along to your records and hating you.”

Who better to document that history through his group biography than the founder, leader, and only surviving original member of the Temptations, Otis Williams.  And who better to translate it to the stage than one of America’s finest playwrights, Dominique Morrisseau, who not only comes from Detroit, which is the home of the Motown music saga, but who had already produced a rich trove of plays about Black life in the city.

Proudly, the musical returns to the region where the Tony Award winning musical was birthed by Berkeley Rep in 2017.  Transcendence Theatre with its Broadway Under the Stars series, now housed at the Field of Dreams in the town of Sonoma, offers a captivating production that entertains with exemplary singing and musicianship as well as fine acting throughout extracts the emotional power of the personal conflicts that befell the group.

The Temptations emerged at Barry Gordy’s Motown Records.  Along with The Supremes, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and The Four Tops, they were the foundation of Motown music.  In addition to a likeable sound, Gordy assured that the groups presented images that would make white people feel comfortable supporting their music.  All of the groups competed to get assigned songs from the stable of Motown songwriters, most notably, Barrett Strong & Norman Whitfield and Holland, Dozier, & Holland.  In the end, it was The Temptations that rose to the top, and many fine tunes were crafted for them.

The play consists of many well-designed, fast-moving vignettes, punctuated with 30 high energy songs from the Motown catalog, some poignantly relating to the storyline.  Most were performed by The Temps, but some by others, including a medley from the Supremes and chart topper “War” by Edwin Starr, which was denied the Temptations out of concern that the song would taint their image.   The story begins with the collaborations that led to the fivesome from Detroit who became the “classic” Temptations.  The inflection came in 1964 with their first chart hit “The Way You Do the Things You Do” and their first Number 1, “My Girl,” both sweet numbers nicely performed on stage, as were all of the famous songs.

There was a pre-existing familiarity among the five that also extended to the whole Motown Records community, many of whom knew one another as teens.  While everything seemed copacetic at the outset, success often breeds competition, ego, excessive behavior, and contempt.  Behind the public façade of the smiling, uniformly dressed, highly polished performers lurked a turbulence that contributed to the destruction of most of the players.  Victors write history, and in this case, survival was winning.  The conciliatory but determined Otis Williams lived to tell the stories, which in the musical, his highly effective portrayer, Conroe Brooks, conveys directly to the audience.

Although he depicts himself as the adult in the room, much corroboration validates that Otis was the leader who always put the group first and that most of the others went off the deep end in one way or another.  The vocally gifted but self-centered and self-damaging David Ruffin (Kyle Parks) seemed to have inherited demons which tormented the group and himself.  At the other extreme, the milk-drinking Paul Williams (Tyrick Wiltez Jones), who was also the creator of the early Temptations dance moves, became an alcoholic, perhaps in response to his diminishing status in the group.  In both cases, a sympathetic audience has difficulty comprehending what they did to themselves and wishes to change history.

Kwame Michael Remy portrays Eddie Kendricks and excels at his penetrating falsetto, which played big in lead singing both before and after Ruffin’s stint with the Temps.  While Kendricks became the architect of his own downfall, Melvin Franklin, the bass singer played by Topher Yengbeh, remarkably winsome in a professional debut, was committed to the Temptations like Otis, but he became diminished by rheumatoid arthritis.

With each depiction of coordinated song and dance, the performers strut their stuff as if the real Temps.  Between the on-point vocal performances that had much of the audience lip-syncing along much of the time came the conflicts that were exacerbated by being on the road, which led to inordinate togetherness and temptations of every kind.  Probably the least vulnerable, Otis still suffered a divorce and missed most of the growing up of his son Lamont.  When he promised Lamont as a teen that he would now have time, the son reacted by saying, “The only thing that you can re-wind is a song.”

Solid acting and singing, great music, and abundant drama are supported by fine theatrical design.  Vasthy Mompoint directs an immense undertaking with great skill.  Other special kudos go to Music Director Richard Baskin, Jr., who deals with a vast array of harmonic arrangements for groups and chorus as well as orchestration.  Lighting Designer Paul Hudson and especially Sound Designer Wes Shippee best all of the special obstacles of dealing with an outdoor production.  Perhaps because of the many different venues to be represented, corners seemed to be cut a bit in the set design, and some of the period wig looks were a bit cheesy.  Neither of these, however, were major distractors.

Transcendence deserves a special shout out for its courage for two reasons.  Sonoma’s already lightly populated area has a very low percentage of Black residents, so that a core audience is lacking.  And since the large cast is 95% Black, the company must cast a wide net and incur all of the extra expenses of hiring from other markets.

Happily, a near capacity audience was in attendance at opening, and audience response was overwhelmingly positive.

Ain’t Too Proud, with music and lyrics from The Legendary Motown Catalog and book by Dominique Morrisseau based on the account The Temptations by Otis Williams with Patricia Romanowski, is produced by Transcendence Theatre and plays at Field of Dreams, 151 1^st Street West, Sonoma, CA through June 28, 2026.

Along with Giacomo Puccini, his contemporary, Richard Strauss was perhaps the most successful and influential of opera composers in the 20^th century.  The two also shared an affinity for the female voice, and in Strauss’s masterpiece Elektra, a man does not appear for the first hour.  The lesser male players that later arise, including her brother Orest, perform in the service of the title character.  However, while most of Puccini’s heroines are lyrical and feminine, in Elektra, Strauss’s are harsh and extreme in their singing and actions.

Where the two maestros depart is in the idioms of their operas.  Puccini remained unapologetically Romantic throughout his works, while Strauss, with Salome and then Elektra, set the course for modern atonalism, but then in an unusual artistic evolution retreated to more conventional melodic composition in his later operas.  Following in the footsteps of Richard Wagner, Strauss also favored continuous-music composition in Elektra, and in the same vein, the vocals produce pyrotechnics, but little in the way of hummable memorability.

San Francisco Opera has revived its 2017 production of Elektra that provides a suitable visual backdrop for the acoustic fireworks that the composer specifies.  The conceit is that the action occurs in a museum after closure.  The stunningly handsome, subtle, bluish-purple hued angular staging works, albeit with time period contradictions of costumery.  But so would a more traditional stage look work with the same bells and whistles, which include contrast lighting, double decking, and rooms that slide on and off stage obviating the need for separate sets.

Strauss poses two particularly big challenges.  Although the opera is only 100 minutes long, Elektra is a massive role requiring immense stamina, opening with a long soliloquy and testing the dramatic cred of the interpreter of the role throughout with high volume and high tessitura.  Soprano Elena Pankratova meets the requirements, embracing the harsh and steely vocal volatility as well as the more nuanced requirements.

The other test is for Conductor Eun Sun Kim, who must corral an orchestra of 95 performers, perhaps the largest specified in the opera canon.  Having twice the number of players of many instruments is exponentially more difficult to manage, but thanks to fine direction, the result is astounding.  From the opening unbalanced Agammemnon motif, to the final unresolved ending, the orchestra excels.  Not only is the resonance of the orchestra exceedingly potent, but it creates a rich embracing surround-sound unlike a smaller one.

Librettist Hugo von Hofmannsthal drew from the Sophocles version of this Greek tragedy but with one major deviation.  He fails to mention that Agammemnon sacrificed his daughter Iphigenia to the Gods, therefore lending sympathy to his wife Klytemnestra, mother of Iphigenia and Elektra, who is kept under house arrest.  Thus, when the frenzied Elektra seeks to murder Klytemnestra and her paramour Aegisth in retribution for their having murdered Agammemnon, Elektra’s deed is rationalized by the librettist, but not Klytemnestra’s.  Note that non-verbal action in this production, including projection display, does not always conform to the text of the opera.

Until the fiery later scenes, the narrative is largely comprised of heated conversations, each between two women and underpinned by psychological revelation.  At first, the audacious Elektra tries to lure her sister Chrysothemis, played by Elza van den Heever, to join her murder plot.  However, the sister with normal human appetites demurs to Elektra’s disdain.  Van den Heever not only mixes well and competes with Pandratova’s dramatic vocalization, but at the top of her range, van den Heever is able to cut through the orchestral din.

Klytemnestra is mezzo-soprano Michaela Schuster, who offers another strong voice but in vocal contrast to Pankratova with even darker timbre.  The mother, damaged by guilt and doubt, enters the proceedings to share her foreboding nightmares with Elektra, but looking for solace from the daughter whose father she’s murdered does not go well.

Not surprisingly, the end of the Greek tragedy is bloody, including a severed head.

Elektra holds a special place in opera history and should be on every aficionado’s list of operas to see.  This version offers everything that should be expected from it, with musical precision and high drama.  Like many works of its ilk, the music is more appreciated intellectually with its complex overlapped chord structures and motifs, rather than for aesthetic beauty, although much of the orchestral music is compelling and quite pleasing.

Elektra, composed by Richard Strauss with libretto by Hugo von Hofmannsthal, is produced by San Francisco Opera and plays at War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco, CA through June 27, 2026.

Is it all smoke and mirrors this life that we live?  Superficially, the groomed estates of immaculate communities like Greenwich, Connecticut shelter perfect families living ideal existences.  But when we scratch the surface and observe the incidence of drug use, divorce, fractured morality, and even felonies, the mirror cracks.

In 1995, Alanis Morissette released her angst-driven, award-winning, top-selling album Jagged Little Pill, which secured her place in pop-rock stardom.  Almost a quarter of a century later, the core tracks became the basis for a musical of the same name.  With a book written by Diablo Cody it explores the corrupt underbelly of the world of success and familial bliss that most people aspire to along with the teen rebellion that accompanies it.  In the cynical words of Phoenix, one of the teen characters in the play, “Happy families exist only in orange juice commercials and Utah.”

Unfortunately, Jagged Little Pill’s appearance on Broadway occurred immediately before and after the Covid-19 pandemic, resulting in an unsuccessful run.  With little competition, it did receive 15 Tony nominations, and deservedly, the show has had legs with numerous successful productions elsewhere.

Center Rep’s high-caliber, attention-grabbing realization directed by Matt M. Morrow captures all of the energy of the music and the hidden discord of life in chic suburbs.  The captivating subtext of the narrative overflows with universal social commentary set against Morissette’s raw and defiant song lyrics.

The premise is that Steve and Mary Jane Healy appear to lead the near perfect life.  In this handsome family, he has a successful career, while she is the model homemaker.  Son Nick has just been accepted into Harvard, and adopted daughter Frankie leads an active extracurricular life.

But we soon learn that as a result of an accident, MJ has become addicted to pain killers which she hides from the family; Steve’s billing 60 hours per week means that in providing a gracious way of life for his family, that he misses family activities and connectedness; going to Harvard is MJ’s obsession, not Nick’s; and it turns out that Frankie has become gay.  And by the way, she is black, which creates its own set of issues.

The clashes between pristine appearances and hidden secrets unravel on a blank stage save for frequently moved pastel models of houses that look like board game pieces on steroids.  Do they represent the American Dream?  Are they the bright “little boxes of ticky tacky” (from the Malvina Reynolds folk song) hiding the corruption within? Or are they the boxes for jagged little pills?

Mary Jane is the central character, and Molly Bell is the ideal interpreter with a thoroughly credible presence as the pretty and perky wife and mother who appears to have it all.  Perhaps because women like MJ live through the successes of their family members, MJ’s demands on them become insistent, and she accepts moral compromise as a price of success.  Nick will face a moral dilemma in which doing the right thing could be damaging to his future and thus the family’s, a sacrifice that MJ does not want to suffer.

An also compelling Chanel Tilghman is Frankie, who like many teens doesn’t see her parents as people.  Especially because of her race, she sees every action and every motivation of her mother through an unforgiving lens, evidenced in the lyrics of Frankie’s protest “All I really want” and in the plaintive trio with friends Jo and Phoenix seeking unrequited parental acceptance in “That I would be good.”

Almost constant consternation is punctuated by poignant songs.  While all of the characters have their highlights, Frankie’s girlfriend Jo has the strongest portfolio of songs and the strongest voice to go along with it.  As Jo, Mickey Hanano Skinner wailed and throttled the bad breakup song “You oughta know” to great audience delight on opening night. 

The weaknesses in the show both relate to sound.  Some singers did not seem warmed up sufficiently at the outset and were stressed in their upper ranges.  Throughout, understanding lyrics was challenging, and in a musical when significant thoughts and actions are revealed in the songs, it is important.  A continuing problem was the sound mixing, which was poor at the beginning, with lead singers being washed out by ensemble and orchestra.  While it improved over the course of the show, it was still problematic and in need of correction.

Irrespective, the impressive Jagged Little Pill covers a lot of ground with gripping events and entertaining music presented in a highly professional production.

Jagged Little Pill with lyrics by Alanis Morissette, music by Alanis Morissette and Glen Ballard, and book by Diablo Cody, is produced by Center Rep and performed at Lesher Center for the Arts, 1601 Civic Drive, Walnut Creek, CA through June 28, 2026.

Few authors have exploited a literary niche with the skill and success of Agatha Christie, whose core of 66 short detective novels crafted during the middle years of the 20^th century were wildly popular and made her the most translated author of all time.  Indeed, when my wife and I lived in Singapore, our bookshelves were festooned with tens of Christie paperbacks long before ubiquitous devices brought the world to screens electronically.

Christie’s And Then There Were None is her most popular novel, and her play The Mousetrap is the longest running play in history, but the British Crime Writers Association regards The Murder of Roger Ackroyd (1926) as the greatest crime story of all time.   Although the story engages throughout, its praise derives largely from a plot twist that was unique in its time.

The novel consolidated Hercule Poirot, the fastidious Belgian sleuth who solves murders using his “little gray cells,” as Christie’s central and most memorable character.  Ironically, in Ackroyd’s first adaptation to the stage, her favorite character, the mature Caroline Sheppard, was rewritten as a young woman.  This offense prompted Christie to create another detective, Miss Jane Marple, based largely on the original Sheppard character, in turn based on a montage of friends of Christie’s mother.  This Mark Shanahan stage adaptation returns Caroline to her intended age.

Orinda Starlight Village Players traditionally opens their season, played under the stars, with an Agatha Christie play.  Last year it was Murder on the Orient Express, and virtuoso Patrick Atkinson returns again as the formidable crime solver Poirot, endowed with the perfect Frenchified accent and the customary look of the meticulously waxed and finely curled moustache.  Atkinson also captures Poirot’s many contradictions, at one time noting that others do the heavy lifting in uncovering evidence but later politely avering that he has all of the answers.  This time, the crime guru has retired to the English village of King’s Abbott.  Soon after the presumed suicide of his fiancée, Ackroyd, who was the hamlet’s gentry, is found murdered, with a knife to the throat.  Of course, Poirot is drawn into the case.

Like a number of Christie’s other novels, the cast is replete with characters associated with the murdered man, most of whom have a motive to want him dead.  In this case, it is mostly employees and relatives.  While the one who is most implicated and has disappeared, prospective son-in-law Ralph Paton, is the only one who can be safely dismissed from consideration.  The search for clues revolves mostly around the specifics of the time line of where each person was when.  In customary fashion, Poirot will herd the suspects into a drawing room at the end to reveal how each has hidden information, made misrepresentations, or has a dodgy alibi, yet, only one, perhaps, is guilty.

An unusual device is the inclusion of a very active narrator, who often speaks directly to the audience.  He is the other lead character with more stage time than Poirot, Dr. James Sheppard, a jack-of-all-trades country doctor who also files death certificates and is the expert in dealing with these sudden deaths.  Portrayed by another OSVP regular, Wayne Goodman, like the rest of the cast, he possesses a well-practiced English accent.  In addition, he demonstrates fine theatrical flair with vocal lilt and broad gesticulation.

The production holds the attention throughout.  Beyond the strong leads, acting is uneven but serviceable.  The most theatrical performer who seems a stage natural is Maya Rath, who plays Gertrude, Ackroyd’s bitter and indignant sister-in-law who has found that she is the only person close to Ackroyd who was left out of his will.

Two special shout outs are deserved, first to the one-armed-paperhanger Matt Cardigan-Smith.  A true factotum, he keeps the action moving and takes advantage of the whole performing space with adept direction.  But in addition, he designed the attractive set and costumes as well.

The second is to Orinda Starlight Village Players as an exemplar of community theater.  In its 43^rd season and averaging three productions a year, it offers tickets that cost barely more than going to the movies.  And this is a volunteer organization with over 30 contributors to this play.  The cast alone endured 33 rehearsals, driving a total of 428 round trip miles per rehearsal, while the set required 13 almost full days of workshopping.  Congratulations and thanks to all of these folks who contribute so much time and love for the relaxed entertainment of the patrons.

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, written by Mark Shanahan and adapted from the novel by Agatha Christie, is produced by Orinda Starlight Village Players and performed at Orinda Community Center Park Amphitheater, Orinda, CA through July 3, 2026.

Although its origins rest in ancient times, the notion of “innocent until proven guilty,” with the additional caveat “beyond a reasonable doubt,” has been the cornerstone of American jurisprudence since 1895.  In conjunction with jury verdicts in criminal proceedings that must be unanimous, it provides protection from official abuse that separates enlightened democracies from oppressive authoritarianism.

Sadly, this protection does not extend beyond criminal trials.  “He said, she said” civil suits seem to rest on the relative credibility of the complainants.  Major league sports associations are quick to suspend players without recourse who are simply accused of illegal or unsavory activity, with the argument that the presumed behavior unpunished sullies the reputation of the league.  And, of course, employers and other organizations often penalize individuals on the basis of questionable evidence and with perhaps no due process allowed for the defendant.

Playwright John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt: A Parable won the 2005 Pulitzer Prize as well as the Tony Award for Best Play.  Composer Douglas J. Cuomo, along with the playwright as librettist, premiered the opera Doubt in 2013.  Now, the always innovative Opera Parallèle has premiered a new version with chamber orchestration.

Not only does this version retain the riveting drama and humanity of previous realizations, but the smaller orchestra suits the intimate nature of the drama, with a cast of four mostly confined to a single setting.  The vocal score is in the modern idiom, but reasonably listenable, while the mellifluous orchestral music in support is very pleasant with warm strings, occasional heralding from brass and winds, and versatile percussion.  In an agreeable nod to an instrumentalist, the lead violist twice stood apart from the orchestra for solos.

The story is simple but gripping.  At a Catholic school in the Bronx in 1964, School Principal Sister Aloysius suspects that the Parish Priest Father Flynn has sexually abused Donald, a 12-year-old boy student.  Being of inflexible attitudes and values, she dislikes the priest because he uses a ballpoint pen (!) and keeps his fingernails too long.  Driven by unreasoned certitude, she seeks to destroy Flynn by any means.  And though she is a stickler for rules, she breaks them when they serve her purpose.

While whatever outcome will most affect Father Flynn, the narrative is really a character study of Sister Aloysius and a metaphor for larger society.  In a sense, she was of her time, when the Catholic Church expected lockstep adherence to its principles, but she represents the excesses of the “true believer,” like the thoughtless followers of charismatic leaders in the political world whose beliefs are guided by what they want rather than by facts.  Her practices are so extreme as to be fanatical and of the sort, whether in despotic religion or tyrannical politics, that breed adverse reaction and rejection.

Rhoslyn Jones is a lockcinch fit for Sister Aloysius.  In look, posture, and gesticulation, she conveys the imperiousness of her character and her disdain for others, especially Father Flynn.  Though Jones has a resumé that includes lyric roles, her singing here is accurate but harsh in the style of a dramatic soprano, as suits her character.

Her nemesis, Father Flynn, is portrayed by Matthew Worth who originated the role in the Minnesota Opera premiere with full orchestration, so he clearly excels in it.  With a warm but full-bodied baritone that fills the hall and easy-going mannerisms, he is credible as a sympathetic priest who would be liked and trusted by young people.  He even relates to the audience by breaking the fourth wall and delivering a sermon as if it were his flock

But the questions remain.  Did he give altar wine to Donald?  Did he have or attempt to have sexual contact with him?  Because Donald is a lonely black boy in an Irish and Italian community school, Sister Aloysius’s antenna are particularly sensitive that Father Flynn’s sympathy may lead to inappropriate contact.  And Worth’s expressions of Father Flynn’s ambiguities heighten the drama.

The other two performers delight as well.  Naomi Steele, as school teacher Sister James, is sweet in affect and voice.  Her observation which led to Sister Aloysius’s suspicions will be something she regrets, but as the latter is her boss, she feels trapped.  Deborah Nansteel is a bit of a surprise as Donald’s mother, Mrs. Miller, because while the role is important, it is small – a single meeting with Sister Aloysius.  But Nansteel’s vocal power commands the attention as does her acting.  While sharing private matters with the principal, she expresses concern that Donald graduate middle school and move on to public high school.  Dubious about her motivations, Mrs. Miller is quite candid in questioning whether the principal is on her son’s side.

Doubt played at the renovated Presidio Theatre, a beautiful space and part of the transition of the military post to private use.  However, the performance area is on the small side, and having the orchestra on stage intrudes on the set, with the result creating the sense of a dressed concert version of an opera.  Some compensation comes from extensive use of projections that even extend to the side walls to enhance the look.

As expected, Conductor Nicole Paiement on the musical side, and Director Brian Staufenbiel on the staging side, combine to produce a wonderful operatic experience.

Doubt, an opera composed by Douglas J. Cuomo with libretto by John Patrick Shanley, was a world premiere chamber orchestration produced by Opera Parallèle, and performed at Presidio Theatre, 99 Moraga Avenue, San Francisco, CA through May 31, 2026.

In 1969, singer Peggy Lee popularized the Leiber and Stoller song “Is That All There Is?” which reflects on the storyteller’s house burning down along with all her possessions and history.  Answering her own question, she adds “Then let’s keep dancing.”  Most people with desultory or even tragic lives would figuratively respond the same way.  Not so Jessie in ‘night Mother.  Even though her epilepsy has been held in check by medication for a year, she has decided that her time has come.

Playwright Marsha Norman’s two hander won the Pulitzer Prize for Literature in 1983 along with other nominations and awards, and its various realizations have attracted some of Broadway and Hollywood’s finest actresses to participate in this intense drama which takes place in real time.  The premise of the play, plausible but unlikely, opens the door to many philosophical and religious questions.  It is a quieting play but undeniably thoughtful and provocative.

Altarena Playhouse courageously takes up the gauntlet and gets a fine performance from a placid, reconciled, and determined Kelly Rinehart as Jessie, whose glazed detachment is disarming.  Equally engaging is an agitated Billie J. Simmons as her mother Thelma who wavers between despair and rage, trying to find what is really behind Jessie’s decision and hoping to disarm it.  Their gripping exchanges will fully satisfy patrons who seek theater that goes beyond taking a funny pill.  Shawnj West directs the claustrophobic and breathsucking story.

Thelma, Jessie’s mother who relies on Jessie for a number of things is first in denial and then disbelief when hearing her daughter’s plan and its closeness – that night.  But Jessie is resolute.  She has suffered the condition that has contributed to her inability to keep a job.  She has no friends.  Her husband left her long ago.  Her son is worse than a no-count and a prime prospect for prison time.  Her father, whom she loved more than her mother did has died.  Even though her situation has become pretty static, it is at a quality of life that offers her no joy, and in her opinion there is no realistic prospect for betterment.  Deciding on her death is the only matter of consequence that she exercises control over.

While Thelma objects to Jessie’s plan, she is unable to take the high moral ground.  Among the revelations that occur in these last minutes before the scheduled event, we find that she has actually contributed to Jessie’s distress in multiple ways.  Meanwhile, the clock on the wall ticks on inexorably. Yet, maybe like Scheherazade who saved her own life with nightly storytelling in One Thousand and One Nights, Thelma can delay Jessie’s plan indefinitely.

Jessie speaks of death as being quiet and peaceful, but the fact is that nobody on earth has any insight into a “soul’s” cognition in death, as by definition, nobody has died and then lived to talk about it.  To non-believers however, many feel that we die each night, going to sleep without knowing if we will awaken.  Thelma’s arguments are feeble, though one that resonates concerns uncertainty.  Her disrupter is sharing with Jessie the possibility that being dead might be like having an alarm go off in the morning that you can’t get to stop ringing.

The existential issues that can arise in this situation are reminiscent of all night talk-a-thons that college students have (or, at least, did back in the day).  First is the matter of agency and the legality of suicide, though it doesn’t get consideration in the play.  While most states have abandoned the notion of suicide being illegal, attempted suicide, i.e., failure to succeed, is.  So is assisting suicide in most venues, but defining assistance is a slippery slope.  In any event, why should individuals not have the authority to decide whether to live or die?

Another matter is the religious one.  For those who believe in heaven and hell specifically, perhaps the fear of eternal damnation keeps some people from pulling their own plug.  Plus, there is the concern about irreversibility.  Why not wait and see what happens here on earth?

So if a person does make the decision to end their own life, what then as the clock counts down?  Do they reflect only on the great issues of existence?  Do they leave instructions or supportive messages to loved ones?  Do they focus on mundane things just to pass the time?  Do they reveal those things that had remained hidden?  Whatever thoughts and discussions that mother and daughter will have will play out in ‘night Mother within a 90-minute run time.

On the surface, Jessie is at peace with her decision.  The fact is that if she enters her bedroom with the intent of shooting herself, several outcomes are possible, from success to damaging failure or from change of heart to declaring that her scheme was just a scare tactic.  Which will it be?

‘night Mother, written by Marsha Norman, is produced by Altarena Playhouse and performed on its stage at 1409 High Street, Alameda, CA through June 28, 2026.

By 1816, opera buffa had about a century under its belt.  Composer Gioachino Rossini had something new in mind, to lift the comic level of the action from the subtle to raucous.  His vehicle was The Barber of Seville, based on French playwright Pierre Beaumarchais’ play of the same name, and in effect, a prequel to Mozart’s opera The Marriage of Figaro.  These two works not only remain in the repertory after more than two centuries, but both are perennially in the top ten of operas performed worldwide.

Along with other music, Rossini produced 39 operas and retired wealthy at the age of 37.   A highly gifted composer who made an art form of reprising and stitching together bits of scores from previous use, he hit his zenith at 24-years-of-age with The Barber of Seville.  Its music, written in a mere 13 days, is bright and melodic and its characters well drawn and memorable.  And for those who appreciate bel canto, it offers every element of expression of beautiful singing.

Unsurprisingly given its popularity, in the 101 years since San Francisco Opera first performed The Barber of Seville, the current offering is its 29th production.  And what a production!  The one versatile “building” in Llorenç Corbella’s set rests on a slanted ramp and takes on various looks with changes in enhancements and lighting.  The ramp even serves as a comic mouth when a passel of military men crawl out from underneath it or when a bodyless long arm extends a guitar to Figaro.  And the closing is spectacular with accentuated colors added to the neutral look preceding and with the addition of projections and even a stunning 1971 Morgan Plus 8 Convertible as a conveyance for the wedded couple.

Of course, the magic begins with the music and the comedy, which integrate wonderfully.  Highlights from the score start early on when explosive music introduces Figaro in the person of baritone Joshua Hopkins who delivers a fine rapid-patter rendering of “Largo al factotum,” (“Make way for the handyman”), Figaro’s signature aria that even watchers of cartoons know.  Unlike most title characters, however, Figaro becomes a facilitator, who nonetheless takes credit for all of the good that happens.  The remaining showcases are for other performers or shared with them.

The central plot issue is that Dr. Bartolo is guardian to Rosina, whom he wishes to marry – but quick.  Rosina falls for Count Almaviva, who wants her love to be genuine and not based on his position.  Thus, he engages in the disguise of a student, Lindoro, to attract her affection.  Mezzo-soprano Maria Kataeva is Rosina, and her showstopper is “Una voce poco fa” (“A voice from the past”), both beautiful and bombastic, in which she at once claims to be docile but gives allegiance to Lindoro and vows to be a viper if impeded.  Kataeva embraces the highly challenging coloratura aria with flourishes, replete with dramatic shifts in dynamics and thrilling runs.

Levy Sekgapane portrays Count Almaviva and his various guises.  His roles demand tremendous coloratura skills, and the high tenor with glimmering timbre answers the bell with the same breadth and precision of trills and ornamentation as provided by the distaff part.

Almaviva does face treachery in his quest however. Bartolo’s accomplice Don Basilio suggests that a little slander will go a long way to discredit Almaviva in his mock-serious “La colunnia” (“Slander”).  Riccardo Fassi delivers the ominous but humorous message with precision, but the effect would be stronger if the voice were more powerful.  The final aria of the opera, Almaviva’s “Cessa di più resistere” (“Stop resisting”), is pure embellishment for overachievers with a soaring tessitura, but Sekgapane conquers it with grace.

The other key player, is Dr. Bartolo, played by veteran Renato Girolami who sets the standard of comic brilliance in the production, with matching warm vocal quality in his mid-and-upper ranges.  Perhaps opening was an off night for him, but he lost considerable volume in the bottom of his range and in some of the rapid patter.

Of course, a lot happens between individual highlights, and the opera is full of ensemble moments, especially the multi-staged Act 1 conclusion.  Generous use of chorus and dancers creates a lively atmosphere, and the snippets of flamenco, so strongly associated with Seville, are welcomed.

One criticism is that like so many operas from previous eras, a lot of filler seems designed to make for a longer evening that patrons particularly appreciated back then.  That would apply to Almaviva’s last aria as well as Berta, the housekeeper’s.  Notwithstanding, a couple of comments on Berta.  Local legend Catherine Cook will perform the role going forward, meaning that she has played it for every SF Opera production since 1996.  Her illness at opening allowed Adler Fellow Mary Hoskins to stand in and display her considerable talent.

In all, the Emilio Sagi directed production hits all the right notes and makes for a rewarding evening.

The Barber of Seville, composed by Gioachino Rossini with libretto by Cesare Sterbini and based on Pierre-Augustin Beaumarchais’ play of the same name, is produced by San Francisco Opera and plays at War Memorial Opera House, 301 Van Ness Avenue, San Francisco, CA through June 21, 2026.