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A season’s worth of sitcom plots in two hours

The patriarch of the Altman family, an atheist, had one deathbed request: that his family sit Shiva for him. His four surprised children pack up their families and their issues to spend the seven days mourning as one big dysfunctional family.
    Matriarch Hillary (Jane Fonda: The Newsroom), a therapist who mined her children’s adolescent transgressions for book material, is thrilled to have her family united. The kids are less happy.
    Eldest son Paul (Corey Stoll: The Strain) has taken over the family business and is struggling to conceive a child with his baby-crazed wife. Middle child Judd (Jason Bateman: Bad Words) has just lost his job and his cheating wife. Wendy (Tina Fey: Muppets Most Wanted) is trapped in an unhappy marriage and consumed with motherhood. Youngest Phillip (Adam Driver: Girls), is a screw-up who dates his therapist and shirks every responsibility.
    In close quarters, the Altmans feud, laugh and heal — not because of any earned character development but because that’s what the protagonists do in movies of this sort.
    “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way,” Tolstoy wrote, and it may have been true in the age of Anna Karenina. Now This Is Where I Leave You proves that unhappiness has become a cliché.
    All these Altmans are stereotypes. Paul believes that he’s inherited his father’s authority. Phillip is the perpetual baby. Wendy is the sardonic sister. Judd is the everyman bewildered by crazy relatives. If these characters seem familiar, it’s because you’ve seen them in Modern Family, Parenthood, August: Osage County, The Royal Tenenbaums and many more.
    The experience is much like watching a condensed sitcom with a season’s worth of plots crammed into a two-hour package. Director Shawn Levy (The Internship) is content to film the script this style. He also misuses the brilliantly talented women he’s cast, relegating them to wisecracking side characters who help the men resolve their issues.
    Performances give this dull slog its only fun.
    Bateman works overtime to make Judd, the protagonist, a relatable character. Fey, an experienced comedian, finds the funny beat in each line. Who wouldn’t want to watch a sitcom starring Jane Fonda? Always game for wry readings, she makes her matriarch funny. Driver is the breakout star of the film, using his manic energy to wring laughs out of ridiculous situations and lines.
    Because of them, This Is Where I Leave You is an entertaining diversion.

Good Comedy • R • 103 mins.

Blood and booze flow through Brooklyn

To most of the people who haunt the tattered stools of Cousin Marv’s Bar, Bob Saginowski (Tom Hardy: Locke) is just a shy face behind the taps. He quietly tends bar, slips into daily mass and suffers his cousin and business partner, Marv (James Gandolfini: Enough Said).
    A former loan shark, Marv is brooding about the Chechen mob that muscled into the neighborhood and his bar. Now his dive is a drop, one of dozens of Brooklyn bars where the Chechens launder dirty money.
    When masked men rob the bar and make off with the mob’s money, Bob and Marv have another problem.
    The Drop is a departure for writer Dennis Lehane (Boardwalk Empire), who adapted his short story for the screen. Lehane turns The Drop into a poignant tale of misspent lives.
    Director Michaël Roskam (Bullhead) forgoes fancy camera work for simple, understated shots. The sparse shooting style emphasizes the cold world Bob and Marv navigate. The result is an actor’s film, where performances are the focus.
    In his final film role, Gandolfini plays to the type that made him a star: a tough-talking New Yorker who has deep connections to the city’s criminal underbelly. His Marv is a sneering ball of insecurities, a deeply dissatisfied man whose bitterness manifests in violent deeds and angry words. It’s an engaging performance, but after eight years playing Tony Soprano, it’s a performance Gandolfini could have done in his sleep.
    Hardy is the star, offering an elegant, nuanced performance as quiet, unassuming Bob. Though his accent is more generically American than Brooklynesque, Hardy works around this impairment, imbuing Bob with depth. He’s a man who can both cuddle a puppy and get rid of a body part left on his doorstep.
    A crime thriller with a soft side, The Drop exemplifies the power of subtle filmmaking. You’ll find no big car chases nor dramatic shootouts, just a brilliantly acted film about mob bagmen struggling to get by.

Good Drama • R • 106 mins.

Two comedians prove dining out is an art

Comedians Steve Coogan (Philomena) and Rob Brydon (Underdogs) aren’t really friends, but they converse well together. Following up on a successful series of restaurant reviews (covered in The Trip), they translate the series to Italy.
    From the moment they squeeze into their rented Mini Cooper, competition kicks in. Through six sumptuous meals, the comedians war over who does the best impressions, has the least satisfying home life and the better career.
    On paper, it doesn’t sound like a riveting film, but director Michael Winterbottom (The Look of Love) proves that good dinner conversation is an art.
    Like the first Trip film, The Trip to Italy is actually a summation of a British television show, editing six episodes into a nearly two-hour film.
    Playing exaggerated versions of themselves, Coogan and Brydon are brilliant at playing up their worst traits for comedy. Brydon makes himself desperate for attention and deeply insecure about his regional fame compared to Coogan’s wider stardom. He can’t turn off. Even alone in his room or on the phone with his wife, he whirls through impressions. He is exhausting to watch, but there’s tragedy in a man so afraid of being himself.
    Coogan uses smugness as a shield against his insecurities. He presents himself as an international celebrity, adored in America, partly to twist the blade in his pal Brydon and partly to disguise the fact that he’s lonely and dissatisfied with his career. When Brydon mentions a career triumph, Coogan becomes so despondent he loses interest in the competition.
    In spite of the two actors’ sometimes prickly interactions, there’s magic whenever they converse. Seeking to top each other, they speed through a flurry of impressions and improvisations. It’s hilarious. The moments when Coogan and Brydon manage to crack each other up are best of all.
    The Trip to Italy isn’t a movie for the popcorn crowd. But if you’re in the market for a fascinating look into the mind of a comedian and some inspired cuisine, you’ll adore the second helping of this series.

Good Dramedy • NR • 108 mins.

There’s a window of time when things must happen. If we let that window close, it’s gone and we don’t get it back.

Fasten your seatbelts as we blast off for Colonial Players’ 66th season with Rocket Man, Steven Dietz’s 1998 serious comedy about the road not taken.
    Act I counts down like a comedy sketch with a disturbing undercurrent.    Act II is a space shuttle with frequent stops between grim reality and a fifth dimension of beautiful and bittersweet extremes where life runs backward and youth presages the end of possibilities.
    In this surreal postcard from another dimension, you’ll meet Donny (Ben Carr), a landscape architect in the midst of a midlife crisis; his ex-wife Rita (Laura E. Gayvert); their resentful teen Trisha (Paige Miller); Donny’s best friend Buck (Timothy Sayles), a widower with a Noah complex; and Donny’s unacknowledged soul-mate Louise (Shirley Panek), a former co-worker turned divinity student.
    Donny thinks that in another world it could have all turned out differently. To make the most of his remaining time, he has quit his job and jettisoned his worldly possessions to dedicate himself to studying the stars through his attic skylight. He is strangely calm for a man on the brink.
    Given a second chance at life, Rita thinks we’d all make the same mistakes in new and interesting ways. She rants about Donny’s self-centered forgetfulness, while Trisha rants about finding her possessions strewn across the lawn for strangers to take.
    Who is right, Donny or Rita?
    Does he travel to another world, another time or a dream? Does our personality destine us to repeat history?
    The playwright isn’t saying, but everyone has a theory, the cast included. That’s why all are so invested in their roles.
    Carr doesn’t so much act the character of Donny as inhabit him, his face a palette of moods and thoughts that transcend words.
    As Donny’s friend, Sayles is sweet comic relief with perfect timing and a quirky manner to foil the sad insanity that surrounds him. He is miscast only in that his full head of hair lends absurdity to his bald jokes.
    As the insomniac sage Louise, Panek appreciates her character’s inability to transcend the careful detachment she cultivates.
    As daughter Trisha, Miller melds maternalism with emotional distance.        As ex-wife Rita, Gayvert demonstrates an unexpected girlishness in her reunion with Donny, though before that change of personality in Act II, it’s hard to understand why Donny might miss her.
    In life “we demand the illusion of involvement,” Donny says, and that’s what the technical aspect of this show provides. With a set deliberately barren and depressing, designers achieve stunning moods with a soundtrack of space-inspired hits from Donny’s youth and a light grid that debuts with this show. When Donny blasts off into the heavens to the title tune, bathed in a visual wash of dancing galactic blue pinpoints, the gasping audience is also transported.
    In this trip to the road not taken, we are encouraged to “travel further, dig deeper, live more and sing life.” If you can handle ambiguity, you’ll love the play. If not, bring a philosophical friend to help resolve questions.


Director: Scott Nichols. Set designer: Edd Miller. Sound: Kaelynn Miller. Lights: Terry Averill. Costumes: Hannah Sturm. Stage manager: Herb Elkin. Music designer: Jim Reiter.

Playing thru Sept. 27: ThFSa 8pm; Su 2pm (plus 7:30 Sept. 14) at Colonial Players Theatre in the Round, East St., Annapolis; $20 w/discounts; rsvp: 410-268-7373; www.thecolonialplayers.org.

Neither scary nor inventive, this horror should have stayed buried

Deep below the streets of Paris is a city of bones. Most of the catacombs are well mapped out tourist spots, but a secret section of the tunnels obsesses alchemist professor Dr. Scarlett Marlowe (Perdita Weeks: The Invisible Woman). She believes these tombs house Nicolas Flamel’s famed philosopher’s stone, which holds the key to knowledge and immortality.
    Scarlett’s father spent his career searching for the stone before committing suicide when his theories were mocked. She has dedicated her life to proving his beliefs. To take her into the catacombs, she recruits language expert George (Ben Feldman: Mad Men), documentary filmmaker Benji (Edwin Hodge: The Purge: Anarchy) and three French spelunkers.
    In uncharted parts of the crypts, a cave-in forces the team into a cavern declared sinister by locals. As they crawl among the bones searching for a way out, Scarlett notices odd things. As team members die, she acknowledges that they may have descended into a realm of evil.
    Will they realize in time the Philosopher’s Stone is really at Hogwarts? Or are all destined to add new piles of bones to the crypts?
    Yet another mockumentary horror film, As Above, So Below deals with themes of hell, mysticism and guilt. Unfortunately, each is handled poorly. Director John Erick Dowdle (Devil) substitutes shaky cam action for tension. Whenever the team comes across a scare, he whips the camera back and forth so that we see blurred images. It’s an endurance challenge for viewers with weak stomachs.
    Dowdle squanders even the most inherently frightening part of his movie: the setting. Claustrophobic sequences are few; if Paris were built on such a spacious sewer system, the City of Love would be at the same elevation as Denver.
    The actors do what they can with weak material. As the fanatical leader, Weeks’ Scarlett is eerily calm in the face of disaster. She manipulates, cajoles and forces her group to bend to her will. Weeks also convincingly sells Scarlett’s haunted past and her determination to clear her father’s name.
    As a mildly claustrophobic nerd who has a crush on Scarlett, naturally charismatic Feldman has little to do.
    With no scares, poor cinematography and a weak script, the only thing frightening about this movie is paying to see it.

Poor Horror • R • 93 mins.

See this flick and you might wish you were dead

In the bowels of Basin City, there are no happy endings. So don’t look for any in these four stories of sex, death and violence.
    Barfly thug Marv (Mickey Rourke: Java Heat) hasn’t made a man bleed in days. It’s starting to get to him. As his impulse toward violence grows, he seeks an outlet to vent his rage.
    Gambler Johnny (Joseph Gordon-Levitt: Don Jon) is looking to make a score. Never having lost a game of chance, he buys into the richest card game in the city, playing police chiefs, senators and high rollers to take home millions.
    Private Eye Dwight (Josh Brolin: Guardians of the Galaxy) meets his long-lost love Ava (Eva Green: Penny Dreadful) at a bar. She promises love and fidelity if Dwight helps extract her from her marriage to the rich sadist for whom she left him.
    Stripper Nancy (Jessica Alba: The Spoils of Babylon) lost the love of her life because of the threats of a powerful senator (Powers Boothe: Nashville). Now an alcoholic with a tenuous grip on sanity, she vows revenge.
    Director Robert Rodriguez made the first Sin City film — adapted from Frank Miller’s popular graphic novels — in black and white so it looked ripped from the pages of a comic book. In this sequel, he seems to have forgotten what made the original a success. This sequel is so bad that it taints the memory of its predecessor.
    Despite graphic violence, near constant nudity and plenty of pulpy dramatic dialog, this movie is so dull that it could be used in a sleep study.
    The four story lines are smashed together rather than interwoven. The painterly quality so visually arresting in the first is replaced with shots of naked women framed as high art.
    Actors could save this one — were not most of them woefully inept or miscast. Jessica Alba continues to prove she’s one of the worst actresses working today. Gordon-Levitt’s slight frame is dwarfed in Miller’s world of hulking men.
    Only Rourke understands how to work with the pulpy dialog and plot. His Marv — who impressed in the first Sin City — is a sweet lunk who happens to be a dangerous psychotic. Rourke generates both sympathy and fear.
    With nothing but Mickey Rourke’s 20 minutes of screen time to recommend it, Sin City: A Dame to Kill For fails on three counts: film, action and cheap pornographic thrills.

Awful Action • R • 102 mins.

Theater al fresco at Reynolds Tavern, where the humor is bawdy, the medicine primitive and the fun timeless

     Annapolis Shakespeare Company keeps the comedy in the courtyard coming. After a successful run with Molière’s The Schemings of Scapin, now on tap outdoors at Reynolds Tavern is a lively and very funny Imaginary Invalid. Molière’s final play was written by the tuberculosis-wracked playwright/actor to star himself and reflect his disdain for the medical mores. He indeed played the lead to great acclaim before succumbing to his malady soon after the curtain went down on a show for King Louis XIV.
    Adapted by Tim Mooney and directed by Kristen Clippard, Annapolis Shakespeare Company’s Imaginary Invalid is three riveting acts of fast-paced fun, with a stellar cast reveling in every rhyming couplet. But don’t let the three acts worry you about a long night ahead; the 7:30pm start gets you out just a bit after 9pm.
    The imaginary invalid is Argan (Kim Curtis), a well-to-do hypochondriac who wants to marry his daughter Angelique (Ashlyn Thompson) off to a soon-to-be-doctor (Zachary Roberts), son of Diafoirus (John Stange), already a doctor, so one will always be around. Meanwhile, his second wife Beline (Amber Gibson) wants both her stepdaughters, Angelique and Louison (Roberts again), put into a nunnery so she can claim Argan’s riches when he dies. But Angelique is in love with the handsome, romantic and oh so dim Cleante (Keegan Cassady). Argan’s maidservant Toinette (Briana Manente) has no qualms about setting Argan straight on why a forced marriage is a bad idea, as does his brother Beralde (Stange again), who also is getting a little fed up with the whole ­hypochondria thing.
    Got all that? Thanks to a cast of actors who know how to deliver lines with their bodies as well as their voices, the action is easy to follow. Which brings up a personal nitpick: How many times have you gone to the theater and missed lines because the actors weren’t speaking up? Nine times out of 10 it’s not the volume that’s the problem, it’s the diction. Other local theaters would do well to emulate Annapolis Shakespeare Company’s focus on enunciation because nary a line was lost, even in this outside setting. Speak the speech, I pray thee.
    The other thing that often gets between the actor and the audience’s ability to follow what’s happening is the blocking — the placement and movement of the actors — a challenge especially in a round setting such as the Reynolds courtyard. Again, director Clippard’s focus on the details pays off. Despite the small space, the action does not feel limited or cramped, and no back is turned to any of us for more than a few seconds.
    In the less-is-more category, this is all done with a single chair and one chair-side table with a few apothecary bottles. That’s because the top-notch acting and efficient use of space eliminate the need for anything more than the very clever costumes. So, reserve a Tuesday evening and watch some very talented actors pull you away from Annapolis 2014 and into 1600s’ France, where the humor is bawdy, the medicine primitive and the fun timeless.


Costume coordinator: Maggie Cason. Stage manager: Sara K. Smith. Assistant stage management intern: Shannon McGovern.

Playing thru October 7 Tu at 7:30pm at Reynolds Tavern. 7 Church Circle, Annapolis. $20 w/advance discounts:
410-415-3513; www.annapolisshakespeare.org.

Grandpa, tell me about the good old days

    In the bygone era of 1980s’ movies, a hero’s worth was determined by the circumference of his biceps, the length of his cigars and the heft of his gun. It was a simple time of bloody shootouts, car chases and cheesy lines.
    Three decades later, these pumped-up monosyllabic heroes are well past their prime but determined to relive their glory days in the Expendables series. Most of the stars are too old for this stuff, but even action heroes have house payments. So every few years Sylvester Stallone (Grudge Match) writes a new Expendables script and trots out his buddies for a quick paycheck and a trip down memory lane.
    In the third geri-action installment, we follow Barney Ross (Stallone) and his mercenary team, the Expendables, on a seemingly routine interruption of an arms deal. The mission goes spectacularly wrong when Barney catches the arms dealer in the crosshairs. The dealer is Expendables’ co-founder Conrad Stonebanks (Mel Gibson: Machete Kills), who Barney believed he’d killed decades ago.
    Stonebanks catches Barney and the rest of the Expendables off guard, wounding them and making off with the money. Obsessed with killing Stonebanks and terrified that his aging mercenaries will die on the mission, Barney fires his team to seek a new, younger crew.
    Young audiences may miss the appeal of seeing wrinkled men mutter lame jokes, hit on women 20 years younger and beat each other bloody. But for audiences who grew up watching Cobra, Commando and Masters of the Universe, there is a certain nostalgic fun to these mindless action throwbacks.
    Filled with hokey lines, a ridiculous plot and low-budget action sequences, The Expendables 3 rises with its cast. Or falls, as Stallone’s new team of young pretty boys are pretty dull.
    When the veterans get their chance, each delivers. Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger (Sabotage) are old hands at charming their way through terrible material. Dolph Lundgren (SAF3) entertains by vacillating between imposing psychotic and goofy weirdo. Wesley Snipes (Gallowwalkers) proves that he still has a magnetic screen presence. Jason Statham (Homefront), who deserves so much better than this dreck, is the odd man out, too young to fit in with the old guard, too grizzled to join the boys.
    The only acting tragedy among the old guys is the villain. Gibson’s legal and PR troubles have made him an ideal bad guy for movies, but his wild-eyed performance shows that this once-great star has fallen.
    With a horrid plot, spotty acting and odd casting, The Expendables 3 is a bad movie. Yet I enjoyed it. Seeing these stars pick up their guns and get back to work is a little like touring Jurassic Park. There’s something magical about watching these dinosaurs in their natural element.


Fair Action • PG-13 • 126 mins.
 

An Indian family spices up French haute cuisine

     Kadam family life is built around food. In India, young Hassan learns how to taste and create unique flavors from his mother, an intuitive cook. When a riot leads to her death and the destruction of their restaurant, the family decides to try their luck in Europe.
    When the family car breaks down in a remote French village, Fearless Patriarch (Om Puri: Welcome Back) sees not tragedy but fate. He spends the family’s savings on a broken-down building that he deems perfect for an Indian restaurant. The family is confident that their gifted Hassan (Manish Dayal: California Scheming) can convert French villagers to Indian cuisine.
    Their enterprise stands only a hundred feet from a famed restaurant with a coveted Michelin star. Its proprietor, Madame Mallory (Helen Mirren: Red 2), doesn’t like competition.
    She bristles at the Kadam family’s music, gripes at their colorful decorations and sneers at what she deems “ethnic food.” Soon the Kadams and Mme. Mallory are locked in culinary war.
    The Hundred-Foot Journey is a cinematic meringue: Light, sweet and without much substance. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but this serving doesn’t make for a very memorable cinema experience. Director Lasse Hallstrom (Safe Haven) has made a name directing fluffy romances and family dramas. This sweetly predictable fish-out-of-water tale stays close to what he knows. You know immediately how the story will end and which characters will be paired up before the credits roll. Issues like racism, death and classism are touched only briefly. This is a movie about pretty people making attractive food and finding equally comely life partners.
    On the plus side, Hallstrom’s cinematography is beyond compare. He lovingly captures the creamy peaks of a perfect hollandaise sauce and the bright colors of a chicken tikka, making food a sumptuous, nearly sensual, experience. A bag of popcorn and a soda will be a disappointment during this two hours of exotic, delectable cooking.
    Though there’s not much flavor to the story, actors work hard to imbue their characters with charm and charisma. Mirren does an excellent Maggie Smith impression as a stuffy patrician who learns to open her heart. Veteran Bollywood actor Puri gives dignity and kindness to what could be a horribly stereotypical role.
    The real find is Manish Dayal. His Hassan is naïve yet confident in his own abilities, a sympathetic character you hope succeeds.
Fair Drama/Great Cooking • PG • 122 mins.

 

Always look on the bright si-ide of life …
 

     There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who get Monty Python, and those who don’t. The dividing chasm is willingness to accept silliness. Python’s humor is physical (Google Silly Walk), yet it has an underlying winking, silly intelligence that the don’t-gets … well, don’t get.
    Fortunately for Annapolis Summer Garden Theatre, the opening night audience for Monty Python’s Spamalot was filled mostly with gets. Based largely on the 1975 film Monty Python and the Holy Grail — but borrowing from plenty of other Python hits — the Mike Nichols-directed Spamalot premiered on Broadway in 2005 and won three Tonys, including Best Musical. Some of the humor that is directly aimed at a Broadway audience full of Python fanatics fell a little flat in Annapolis (case in point: the Mel Brooks-ish “You Won’t Succeed on Broadway … if you don’t have any Jews”). Some noticeable opening night tentativeness between orchestra and chorus will tighten up over the five-week run. But this is already a delightful production creatively directed by Jeffrey Lesniak and highlighted by stellar individual performances.
    Even if you haven’t seen the movie (and by all means, do, it’s timeless!), you’re in for a silly good time.
    As some Broadway musicals use a thin plot to string together strong songs, Spamalot uses its thin plot — Arthur and his knights searching for the Holy Grail — to string together classic Python comedy bits and a few songs. The songs are meant as much to skewer Broadway musicals as to push along said plot. Python founder and writer Eric Idle wrote the lyrics and book. A parody of Arthurian times, Spamalot revolves around King Arthur (a droll Ruben Vellekoop) and his knights of the “very round” table. The knights are the stars of this show.
    Each plays several roles with comic timing and delivery — not to mention the various speaking and singing voices — all spot on. Standing out in the voice department is David Merrill, whose Sir (Dennis) Galahad gets things moving with a hilarious diatribe about the woes of the working class. He then joins the Lady of the Lake (Alice Goldberg) for a satirical yet lyrical jab at formulaic Broadway called “The Song That Goes Like This.” Merrill’s tenor is a treat. Later he shines as the famed Black Knight, insisting “it’s just a flesh wound” after losing his limbs to his challenger. He reappears as Prince Herbert’s overbearing father, getting into a hilarious back and forth with two guards who can’t quite grasp the concept of “stay here.”
    The other knights — Sir Robin (Fred Fletcher-Jackson), Sir Lancelot (Joshua Mooney) and Sir Bedevere (DJ Wojciehowski) — each contribute several comedic turns. Notable is Mooney as the French Taunter (“I fart in your general direction!”), the Knight of Ni and, of course, Lancelot, whose sexuality is confirmed for him by the singers of “His Name Is Lancelot’ (“he likes to dance a lot; he wears tight pants a lot”). Other standouts: a very funny Steven Baird as Patsy, the king’s dedicated coconut-clopping sound effects toadie; and Austin Heemstra, who narrates things as the historian and gets his own laughs as Not Dead Fred, the Minstrel and Prince Herbert.
    In addition to the very effective duet with Merrill on “The Song That Goes Like This,” Goldberg’s Lady of the Lake takes another shot at Broadway tunes when she returns to the stage in “The Diva’s Lament” (“whatever happened to my part? It was exciting at the start …”).
    Perhaps the most famous Python song of them all, “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” opens Act II (and returns very effectively after the curtain call) exclaiming “When you’re chewing on life’s gristle, don’t grumble, give a whistle.” Originally sung in Life of Brian by a chorus of the crucified, it works, very well, here.
    Also working very well is the multi-level castle set by Dan Lavanga and the wide variety of colorful costumes by Linda Swann. Only God and Eric Idle (one and the same in this show) know what was going on behind the scenes during those quick changes.
    Don’t think that because Spamalot runs through August 31 you can just gallop on over and secure a seat. Annapolis Summer Garden Theatre has a hit in this one, so the Holy Grail around Annapolis this month may be securing two tickets, not one chalice.


Music director: Steve Przybyiski. Choreographer: Rikki Howie Lacewell. Stage manager: John Nunemaker. Lighting designer: Matt Tillett. Sound designer: Dan Caughran. About 2 hours and 15 minutes including intermission.

Playing thru Aug. 31: Th-Su 8:30pm at Annapolis Summer Garden Theatre. $20; rsvp: 410-268-9212;
www.summergarden.com.