To those unfamiliar, opera may seem a staid performance art for the aged, stuffy elite.  Of course, aficionados know opera as a hotbed of intrigue, betrayal, and all manner of violent death from murder to war.  And opera played such a profound role in Europe’s culture, especially in the 19^th century, that state and local censors ensured that salacious and potentially disruptive political themes didn’t make it to the stage.

In 1905, with somewhat more relaxed censorship, Richard Strauss’s adaptation of Oscar Wilde’s play Salome premiered.  In his home country of Austria, however, Vienna’s censor forbade it, so that the premiere had to be given in Graz, albeit, with luminaries such as Puccini, Mahler, Berg, and Schoenberg in attendance.  It was initially banned in Britain, at the Met, and elsewhere, but its successes, particularly in Germany, eventually opened doors.

The ban-birds were offended by the vulgarity of the script, which is decadent even within the context of opera.  A summary of the plot, which extrapolates fancifully on the Biblical story, is that the psychopathic Salome’s lust for Iokanaan (John the Baptist) is unrequited and spurned, so she demands that she be brought his head. Her dictate is fulfilled.  The horror of the murder was enough to offend censors in Christian countries, and the erotic “Dance of the Seven Veils,” which precipitates the beheading, added to the calls for redaction or rejection.  And though the music wasn’t a basis for censorship, its dissonant violence challenged accepted norms.

Led by a sizzling soprano in the central role, exquisite supporting players throughout, and a sonorous and responsive orchestra conducted by Jose Luis Moscovich, West Bay Opera offers a compelling rendition of this powerful work.  While it is a traditional production with an attractive period set and costumes, you can already tell, that doesn’t mean it’s tame.

More than most operas, Salome rises and falls on the performance of one artist, the title character, who dominates the action once she makes her appearance.  And Strauss’s music places huge demands on a Salome’s vocal strength, endurance, and range.  In her Bay Area debut, Joanna Parisi gives an enthralling performance with a voice that reaches the outer limits of what a human is capable of.  With house-filling power and crystalline clarity, her Wagnerian dramatic soprano fulfills every need of this role.  Yet, her performance here and her history of diverse roles reflect the young, talented artist’s lyric abilities as well.

In this story, the married but feckless King Herod (steadfast tenor Will Upham in an ambiguous and ambivalent role) yearns for his stepdaughter, the 15-year-old Salome, who disdainfully rejects his approaches.  But when he asks her to perform the dance of the seven veils, the petulant teen agrees if he will grant her a wish.

Of course, Herod is shocked when he learns of her horrific wish, but the question is – what does his acquiescence say about the character of the king when he reviles the command that he gives?  Or what of Herodias (the formidable mezzo Laure de Marcellus who sometimes goes toe-to-toe with Parisi in the high, harsh notes), his bloodthirsty wife and mother to Salome, who revels in the debauchery?

In some productions, the singer of Salome also performs the dance, while in others, a preferably lookalike dancer substitutes.  In this case, Parisi sashays sexually but is also joined by dancer Lydia Lathan, who acts as an attendant in the interesting choreography which plays to orchestral music that reveals both Arabic and Viennese strains.  While Parisi is not as smooth or nimble as Lathan, she is most effective when provocatively twirling her unfurled hip-length blond hair and writhing on the floor.

Parisi’s dramatic acting excels in the closing sequences before the beheading when it is unclear whether she regrets her wish and after in her mad scene.  Conversely, some early missteps with curious actions and posturing by her and others seem somewhat comic and break the dramatic trance.

 Another potential staging issue concerns the offstage singing of Iokanaan, as any singing behind the scenes can get lost.  To begin with, Nathaniel Sullivan as Iokanaan has a strong and agile voice and when bedecked for it, fits the part well (i.e., in real-life he appears more a Clark Kent, but he transforms into primitive-looking Superman type).  The solution is rather than singing from the wings, he sings from the cistern in the middle of the stage in which he is imprisoned.  He also uses a homemade, unamplified megaphone, so that he comes through loud and clear.

Salome is structured as a stage tone-poem, with no set pieces, yet some sequences are separable such as the stunning and energetic duet when the religious Iokanaan emerges from the cistern to Salome’s lascivious appraisal of him and the vigorous quintet of five Jewish men.  While the music is often harsh and dissonant, it is tonal and often in the Romantic vein.  Strauss also uses a number of identifying leitmotifs, as well as some that are murky.

This opera was Strauss’s first success and began a string of hits.  In 90 minutes or so, it is compact dramatically and musically, and West Bay’s production is well worth seeing, with some memorable performances.

Salome, composed by Richard Strauss with libretto by Hedwig Lachmann and based on Oscar Wilde’s play of the same name, is produced by West Bay Opera and performed at the Lucie Stern Theatre, 1305 Middlefield Road, Palo Alto, CA through February 22, 2026.

Stereotypes, heuristics, prejudices, schemas, models, labels, tropes, memes. In different ways, they all help us simplify the world around us. While they can serve the god of efficiency, especially for those pressed for time, they can also close the mind to possibilities and lead to disastrous results.

With M. Butterfly, multi award-winning playwright and opera librettist David Henry Hwang introduces us to a fictionalized real-world relationship that confounds most people. Beginning in the late ‘60s, a French diplomat in China, Rene Gallimard in the play, carries on an intimate affair with Song Liling, a singer in the Chinese opera for over 20 years. But despite having a carnal relationship with this “mistress” and the fact that men perform women’s roles in Chinese opera, Gallimard was (presumably) naive to Song’s gender identity the whole time. Furthermore, he was unaware that she was spying on him for the Chinese government.

San Francisco Playhouse has launched a handsome and winning production of this unique and provocative play with top actors and striking staging. While it earned the Tony Award as Best Play in 1988 and its nomination for the Pulitzer, the play itself is a little long-winded and could easily be trimmed. Like many other plays, much of the text is subject to interpretation, and non-verbal elements can alter tone and even meaning. While some humor is inherent in the text, Director Bridgette Loriaux and her actors have maximized the more comic elements in the play. What results keeps the play from being dark throughout, but the frequent interference with the seriousness of the situations saps the dramatic arc.

Conceptually, the narrative is presented in a series of flashbacks, so the audience knows the denouement from the outset. Before adulthood, we see Gallimard with his best friend Marc, whose amorality and cynicism lead to an obsession with girls as sexual objects. We then see Gallimard as a low-level functionary whose competence lies in research but who lacks the skills to rise to powerful positions. Upon meeting Song, he is enchanted by her feminine delicacy, and though married and not sharing his friend’s predilections, he begins his tryst.

The playwright links the lives of the couple to current affairs in China and elsewhere. Gallimard’s knowledge of the American involvement in Vietnam makes him more important. His flippant ambassador, repeatedly entices him with talk about promotion, and finally she makes him a Vice Consul, but along with increased visibility comes vulnerability. This makes him a more valuable asset to the Chinese government as well, and Song’s handler encourages her to deepen her involvement.

Interspersed and sometimes integrated with the plot line are snippets from Puccini’s opera Madama Butterfly, which enhances the thematic elements of the story. While Gallimard sees conflict in identifying with Lt. Pinkerton, the American naval officer who marries Cio Cio San (Madama Butterfly), he fully sees Song as representing her. Song is Gallimard’s Butterfly.

But rather than focusing on the suspense of what is revealed, Hwang is more concerned with making a socio-psycological commentary on sexual attitudes and behaviors as well as political philosophy. At one level, the playwright sees this as a war of the sexes, with the female perspective largely represented by the crossdressing Song. The Occidental view of Orientals, and their women in particular, is that they are compliant and subordinate. Though Gallimard in no way seems macho, he does feel his masculinity rewarded by having dominion over a delicate female, especially an Asian – finally succumbing to lasciviousness like Marc’s. He would see women as butterflies to be collected and seen as adornments.

Yet in many ways, Gallimard is subservient to her, as his lust seems less controlled than Song’s, and in important ways, he will become the Butterfly. But another dimension of the personal relationship is explored after Song is exposed as being male. Song is no different than before, but can Gallimard be drawn to him in the same way as before? Is it fantasy or reality that acts as the magnet? And did Song really have an affinity for Gallimard, or was the only draw for Song that a homosexual could lead a life style that is otherwise illegal but endorsed by the government?

Overlying this dyad is the greater issue of the political realm. Westerners also conceive eastern countries to be aged and weak, and the gentility of eastern women is also imputed onto their whole societies. The result of western thinking results in condescension toward Asians and their countries, which may work over long periods of time. But ultimately, acting on mistaken impressions is a trap that can lead to dreadful mistakes. Westerners fail to grasp the longer term thinking of Asians; their willingness to allow westerners to delude themselves; and their patience in achieving their objectives. These factors come to play in the Gallimard-Song relationship and in the broader political events of the time.

The two leads dominate the action. In Dean Linnard’s portrayal, Gallimard’s contradictions come through. Concise in diction and precise in thought, he is still stumbling and ineffectual. Edric Young captures Song’s fraudulence with grace and conviction, playing the modest and shy card to great effect. They both break the fourth wall frequently which enhances the connectedness of the audience with their characters. Supporting roles are well acted, though they are almost all one-note characters. Andre Amarotico is ebullient as the rascally Marc, while Stacy Ross is breezy and smarmy as the ambassador.

Production values in M. Butterfly are superb. Randy Wong-Westbrooke’s scenic design draws from Chinese black lacquer-work. Mimicking lacquer screens, three concentric black arches with gold designs frame the proscenium, with slick black steps and other angular features dominating the stage. Michael Oesch’s often stark lighting highlights the action, while Keiko Carreiro’s costumes stand on their own and provide sharp contrast with the background. Often, stage wigs can look very phony, but Alexander Class’s wigs for Song are most appropriate. Final kudos go to Sound Designer James Ard who joins the Asian and Western sound elements into a harmonious whole.

Most theatergoers should find M. Butterfly an exotic, thoughtful, and satisfying experience.

M. Butterfly, written by David Henry Hwang, is produced by San Francisco Playhouse, and is performed on its stage at 450 Post Street, San Francisco, CA through March 14, 2026.

The decade of the ‘60s was one of the most tumultuous in the modern history of the United States – Vietnam; activism for civil, women’s, and gay rights; music and pop culture appropriated by youth; hippiedom and the Summer of Love.  It was also the season of assassination, with four noted national leaders, led by President John F. Kennedy, dying from gunfire.  The great civil rights martyr, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whose influence continues unabated after his death, was also among them.  Not only is MLK memorialized by a federal holiday in his name, but multitudinous cities have streets honoring his name, including the location of this production on MLK Jr. Way in Oakland.

The image that public figures of all types present is often carefully curated and may be at variance with their private personas.  Pulitzer Prize winning playwright Katori Hall explores that contrast in her magnificent two-hander The Mountaintop.  Oakland Theater Project presents a stunning production of the play co-directed by James Mercer II and Michael Socrates Moran with non plus ultra performances from two of the Bay Area’s finest actors, William Hodgson and Sam Jackson. 

The playwright’s conceit is a fictionalization of 90 minutes of King’s life on April 3, 1968. the night before his murder on the balcony of Room 306 of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee.  Alone in his room on a rainy night, he orders a cup of coffee, which is delivered by a beautiful, sexy, sassy young black maid called Camae.  The perennially lonely King asks her to keep him company for a while, and he soon finds that her insights and verbal expression belie her employment and presumed education.

To MLK’s surprise, Camae reveals detailed knowledge of him, including his dalliances, though he is also shown having a warm phone conversation with his family.  When King repeatedly asks how Camae could know such things, her response is always that “Negro talk is faster than lightning.”  But when she inadvertently calls him Michael, his birth name, he becomes suspicious.  Is this a set up?  Is he dreaming?  Indeed, the narrative does a splendid job of balancing comedy, drama, and fantasy.

William Hodgson captures King’s persona from an appropriate look to his ambiguities and contradictions.  King’s gravitas is largely held in reserve, while Hodgson explores his struggles.  He is earnest and emotional.  One of history’s truly courageous and committed individuals, having delivered ringing speeches and sermons with exemplary confidence and dignity, in private, he is sometimes depicted as frozen by paranoia.  Hodgson feverishly overturns chairs and tables looking for electronic bugs.

Frequent thunder triggers heart palpitations as if it were bullets.  In the real world, though he died at age 39, MLK’s autopsy specified that his heart was that of a 60-year-old, suggesting that stress had taken its toll.

Hodgson’s King maintains a superior but warm relationship with Camae, being flirtatious and even making advances that are interrupted by thunder.  Yet we are led to feel that his intentions are playful rather than adulterous.  His conversation with her is both personal and of national issues.

Of course, the weighty focus is on race relations and the challenges of interacting with the white race whose cooperation is needed to overcome discrimination, but who collectively have been contemptible and criminal in their behavior.  King respects her comments, asking what she would say in his place in a coming speech, which is suggestive of the notion that anyone can have the acumen to discern problems and envision solutions.  Yet they differ on fundamental philosophy with her arguing that “to speak by love is to die by hate” while he practices passive resistance and insists that “to live by the sword is to die by the sword.”  In her other departure from his beliefs, Camae’s God is a black woman.

Meanwhile, Sam Jackson as Camae devours the role with gusto.  She postures and sashays and smiles with a come-hither look and repeatedly puts King off kilter.  Jackson relishes delivering the irreverent, combative, foul-mouthed repartee, with an occasional innocent-looking-and-sounding apology.  She is also demeaningly blunt with him about his feet smelling from so many long marches and his even having body odor.

MLK presciently reflects on his own mortality and wonders if he has done the right things in life and if he has done enough.  We can all ask ourselves those questions and answer them by action.  As Dr. King said, “Pick up the baton.”

The Mountaintop, written by Katori Hall, is produced by Oakland Theater Project and is performed on its stage at FLAX art & design, 1501 Martin Luther King Jr. Way, Oakland, CA through February 15, 2026.

Along with his other masterpieces, Uncle Vanya, Three Sisters, and The Seagull, Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard resides in the pantheon of international theater.  The last of his plays, published in 1904, it appeared just before the emergence of revolutionary activities, but over a decade before the Russian Revolution of 1917.  Yet it seems to anticipate sea change in so many ways with its depiction of the precipitous decline of the privileged classes, the successes of many who descended from serfdom, and the influence of idealistic intellectuals in framing the shape of the new society.

Like some of Chekhov’s other works, one of the challenges of launching The Cherry Orchard is its duality.  Is it a comedy or a drama?  Director Carey Perloff’s interpretation of the handsome and engaging Marin Theatre production is clear from the outset, as characters flounce about the stage breezily with exaggerated gestures and expressions.  Though the script shows some weaknesses, a brilliant cast and energetic direction make the best of it.  And perhaps one of the ensemble’s strengths is that it reunites the director and several of the actors who appeared last year in Marin’s production of the Edwardian play Waste, which shares some similar themes and comes from the same era.

The action revolves around a single event.  Liubov (portrayed by Liz Sklar) is a widowed petite-aristocrate who has returned from several years in Paris as her estate with her beloved cherry orchard is failing and is set to be foreclosed and sold at auction.  Lopakhin (Lance Gardner) is the wealthy son of a peasant who worked on the estate.  Though it is perhaps a stretch to say that Lopakhin was modeled on Chekhov himself, both were grandsons of serfs, abused as children, and were involved in a sale of property that was life changing.  In this case, Lopakhin offers a way to preserve a bit of the property and ensure wealth to secure the lifestyle of Liubov and her brother Gayev (Anthony Fusco).

The proposal is to raze the orchard, subdivide the property, and build dachas, vacation homes for wealthy urbanites.  But Liubov and Gayev are so entrenched in their memories, their way of life, and the fantasy of its never ending, that the idea is so anathema that they are unable to grab the lifeline.

Sklar is delightful as the vivacious Liubov, wearing the perpetual regal smile as she blithely and generously fritters away what little money she has.  Appearing simple and frivolous in many ways, Liubov is a fully-developed character.  At times philosophical and insightful despite her glaring blind spots, her concern for her daughters and others who rely on her largesse, like the servants and workers, is revealed.  Her candor about having had an affair while married surprises, and she is still conflicted by that problematic love link which lies in Paris.  Is she delusional to think that her problems resolve in France, or should she succumb to the pull of her homeland?

One of the weaknesses of the script, however, is that all of those around Liubov are caricatures.   Lopakhin, beautifully played by Gardner, conveys the discomfort of a nouveau riche with the ability to solve the problems of his former liege.  He knows only one measure of success, and that is money, which solves all problems.  Gardner shows nervous surprise when two characters at different times, each of whom are in need of money, deny his offering of cash.  When given the chance to embrace humanity, Lopakhin reverts to his pecuniary instincts.

The restrained Fusco’s somewhat brooding but also affectionate Gayev has one obsession, and that is billiards, which recurs in his conversations.  Totally inert and uncontributing, even more than his sister, he represents the sunset of the Russian aristocracy with his ad hominem rejection of Lopakhin’s idea to save their property from the auction block.  And lacking either motivation or experience, he thinks that a bank job that he has been offered will somehow preserve his station in life.

The interloper into this coterie of tradition is Trofimov, an eternal student, performed with stridency yet charm by Joseph O’Malley.  He captures the know-it-all, idealistic youth who lacks experience and responsibility but somehow thinks that he has all of the answers.  He has the gall to tell Liubov to forget the estate, that it is already dead, though she notes that he has never faced these circumstances.  He even castigates intellectuals for having theories with no action behind them, when he is guilty of the same thing.  I suspect some of us can see a past version of ourselves in him.  He does serve as a love interest who could divide a household, but more importantly, he stands for the prototypical Bolshevik who will totally upend the established order in Russia.

Several notable actors appear in smaller roles and are wonderful in them (see photos and captions).  Though most characters are one-dimensional, the actors avail the opportunity to groove deeply into a particular behavior type.  Some are also involved in subplots that are superfluous, which is another weakness in the script.  Other issues that are common to some Russian novels, but are more difficult for the viewer to deal with in a play, are the inundation of characters at the outset and that they can be variously referred to by surname, given name, and nickname before you even know who they are and how they fit in.

Despite these criticisms, The Cherry Orchard is highly entertaining and well worth seeing.  The overarching themes of evolving society, competing values, living in the past, the delusions that people live by, and love and loss are among those that make it compelling.  Further, the subtlety amidst the raucousness is that the playwright eschews judgment.  Each of the key characters is clearly defined, while possessing good and bad characteristics, and it is up to the individual viewer to decide their worthiness.  As previously noted, the performances and direction are superb, and the production values are great, especially Nina Ball’s scenic design of the nursery room in the manor teeming with dolls and Lydia Tanji’s costumes.

The Cherry Orchard, written by Anton Chekhov, is produced by Marin Theatre and appears on its stage at 397 Miller Ave., Mill Valley, CA through February 22, 2026.

Starting with the Revolutionary War, women have served the armed services of the United States, often as non-military auxiliaries such as nurses, but even as combatants, when a few brave women disguised themselves as men.  The first official female induction into the US military occurred in World War I when the Navy recruited thousands of women for stateside clerical duty to release men to combat.

Simultaneously, the Army recruited women to serve in war zones, but their classification as military or contractors would be contested for decades.  The need was for women who had telephone operator skills and who spoke adequate French to serve in the Signal Corps of General John J. Pershing’s Expeditionary Forces to provide needed communication and translation between the American military and French operators and operatives.

These patriotic and courageous women became known as “The Hello Girls,” and their story is memorialized in the Peter C. Mills and Cara Reichel stage musical of the same name which was nominated for numerous Off-Broadway awards.  Ross Valley Players offers a heartfelt and charming rendition of this largely unknown but significant story.

The action is based on the experiences of five of the first wave of Hello Girls led by Grace Banker who was designated as chief of the unit.  Monica Rose Slater portrays Grace who not only has to manage the girls’ professionalism but must act as the boundary spanner between them and her boss, Lt. Riser (Nelson Brown), who, along with many other men in the unit, can’t fully accept women as having equal competence as men.  Yet Grace always wins the day with efficiency that the men can’t match.

Meanwhile, the women who are stationed at Expedition Headquarters in Chaumont, France are itching to get to the front lines but held back by sexism.  Grace handles the conflicts with her superiors and subordinates well, and Slater displays excellent acting and a fine singing voice in the depiction.  The girls, who are gung-ho, are led by multi-talented Grace Margaret Craig as Suzanne and Jaqueline Lee as Louise.  Both act and sing well in their roles.  But further, like some other cast members who must also play musical instruments in some songs, they play the cello and violin with competence respectively.

Another plus is that the French accents are very convincing.  Credit dialect coach John Rustan.  All of the girls have smatterings of dialog in French, but in addition, Louise was born in France and has a French accent in English.

The narrative moves along energetically through 22 well defined scenes, starting with the candidates’ selection process in New Jersey, going through transition and ultimately proving themselves over the many conflicts that they confront with their own comrades.  Toward the end of the war, the girls’ unit engages in the brutal Meuse-Argonne Offensive, witnessed by the telling song “The Lost Battalion.”  The performance concludes with a historical epilog and honoring veterans in the audience with snippets of theme songs from each of the branches.  Four of us, all looking like Viet Nam era vets, rose on cue to The Army Goes (better known as The Caissons Go) Rolling Along.

Musically, virtually all scenes are adorned with song.  From the opening “Answer the Call” and “Connected,” they are melodic, often with delicate harmonies.  They also bounce and drive the plot forward and are replete with appealing lyrical overlaps, counterpoint, and mini-rondo.  In an important song, “Twenty,” Grace enumerates 20 reasons why The Hello Girls are needed at the front.  Very much in the modern Broadway style, a few tunes sound like Company and Follies era Sondheim.  The female leads deliver nice versions of all of their singing parts, while the remaining performers are somewhat uneven.

It is really pleasing to be able to enjoy a production like this.  Although violence and death abound in the play beyond the stage, and a sexism somewhat born of social innocence does pervade, it is still a feel-good musical about the success and progress of women.  We now live in an era in which media coverage of our uniformed public servants often accurately shows them as perpetrators of violence and enemies of democratic process, from police to ICE killing and terrorizing defenseless people.  The chapter of The Hello Girls tells of our history about fighting the good fight and the good guys winning.

In addition to being a plug for women’s rights, the playwrights conspicuously inject an anti-war message into the plot.  Rather gratuitously, a German soldier is taken as a prisoner-of-war, and he is happy with his new status.  In characterizing the premises to war, he notes that countries’ leaders tell lies to the general public and to the military (e.g., you are better dead than taken prisoner by the enemy) that are designed to stir hatred for people from other countries and cultures.  Belief in those lies triggers animosity toward outsiders and fuels the willingness to engage in war at the behest of the privileged class.

The action and movement under Director Maeve Smith’s guidance ensures that the pace is brisk and that interest does not wane.  This is a worthy production concerning these important events in American military history and the evolution of civil rights for all.

The Hello Girls with music, lyrics, and book by Peter C. Mills and book by Cara Reichel is produced by Ross Valley Players and is performed at The Barn Theatre of Marin Art and Garden Center, 30 Sir Francis Drake Blvd, Ross, CA through March 1, 2026.