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You don't need an economic crisis to appreciate some good theatre at less than the price of a top shelf martini but at $15 a pop the Fifth Annual Under The Radar Festival (running through Sunday at various venues, but mostly at The Public Theater) can keep you stimulated all day with an international grab bag of adventurous productions for less than the price of freezing your butt off on line to buy a TKTS twofer.

This past Saturday I caught the festival's darkly funny and entertaining offering from Gare St. Lazare Players Ireland , a company that specializes in recitals of prose texts by Samuel Beckett.  Their production of First Love is the complete text of Beckett's same-named 1946 short story, performed as a monologue by Conor Lovett under the direction of his wife, Judy Hegarty Lovett.  For those who enjoy utilizing their attention span after the house lights dim, this is a good one.

"The mistake one makes is to speak to people," says the unnamed narrator who feels more comfortable spending his days picnicking at cemeteries ("My banana tastes sweeter when sitting on a tomb.") and observing the grief of widows at funerals.   Shortly after the death of his father, an event that strikes him indifferently, he finds himself locked out of his family home and takes refuge on a public bench.  Though at first he's annoyed when his privacy is disturbed by a woman sitting next to him, natural urges take over ("...man is still today, at the age of twenty-five, at the mercy of an erection...") and his association with her pits self-involved instincts against the social expectations when acting upon them.

Playing an uncomplicated, emotionally aloof character, director Lovett has actor Lovett standing near motionless at center stage with his hands to his side for much of the 80 minute piece.   She teases the audience at one point by having him take down one of the two benches that have been standing on edge nearby and then has him reconsider and just put it back up again and continue in his assigned spot.

His taught, angular face sticking out of the blue hoodie he wears under a dark suit, Lovitt's slow, ill-at-ease speech draws the audience in with a rather fatalistic simplicity, giving him an amusing pathos.  It's a fine, intimate expression of Beckett's exploration of a man's obsession with his own mortality and quite captivating theatre.

Photo of Conor Lovett by Ros Kavanagh

Although no one under 16 is permitted to enter the Duo Theatre for Company XIV's playfully sexy theatre/dance piece, The Judgment of Paris, there's really, as they say in Texas, nothing dirty going on.  Perfectly placed within the faded elegance of the cozy 4^th Street venue, conceiver/director/choreographer Austin McCormick's literary frolic taken from Greek mythology (he, along with Toby Burns and company members, adapted the text from several sources)  mixes aspects of baroque dance with some pop culture and several spirited can-cans to prove one undeniable fact; guys go nuts over blondes.

Despite the frisky Moulin Rouge atmosphere (evocatively expressed by Olivera Gajic's silky costumes, Rumiko Ishii's clamshell footlighted stage and Leigh Allen's soft, dim lighting), the Paris in question is actually the Prince of Troy (Seth Numrich plays all the male roles) who, in what McCormick calls "the first ever beauty contest," selects Aphrodite (Gioia Marchese) as the hottest of all the goddesses in exchange for the undying love of the Spartan Queen, Helen (Elyssa Dole).  As a result, the Trojan War is declared, a thousand ships are launched and the legend of the "blonde bombshell" is born.

There are sly references to Marlene Dietrich, The Busby Berkeley Girls, Marilyn Monroe and other icons of blonde glorification, but the piece turns dangerously serious when lustful worship turns to brutal and dehumanizing objectification.  Not wanting to end on a sour note, everyone rallies up the smiles for a few choruses of Cole Porter's "Can-Can."  Other recorded musical selections come from Offenbach, Vivaldi, Dietrich and others.

The bulk of the spoken text in the hour-long production is delivered as narration, with Numrich and Marchese serving as stylish hosts.  They, along with the rest of the fine dancing ensemble (Doyle, Laura Careless, Yeva Glover and the muscular Davon Rainey, who dances as a woman without a spec of camp) work with terrific precision and are quite adorable as they wink, flirt and mingle with audiences members both before and during the show.  It's a little arty, a little erotic and great fun.

Photo of Laura Careless, Yeva Glover and Gioia Marchese by Steven Schreiber.

Yesterday I blogged lil Lucas giving his all singing Popular. Today I stumbled upon this terrific video of Kendall Claire perfoming "Broadway Baby" with gusto and style!  So great to see so many VERY young peple have a taste for theater at their age.  Sing out Kendall!