Word: hoaglands
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...changes, for which the play is often criticized. Stark, clean lighting reemphasizes the harshness of the graphic all-white sets. The set design, also by Burkle, is so strikingly minimalist that the walls seem like blank canvases. In fact, when Berenger’s friend Jean (Michael B. Hoagland ’07) throws up during his sickness, the green vomit becomes art as it drips down the wall in abstract expressionistic splendor...
...excellence reaches beyond the lead performances. Michael B. Hoagland ’07 convincingly expands his range to include perverse bloodlust as Orestes, though Carla M. Borras ’05 re-deploys her penchant for the shrill as his sister Elektra. In fact, Borras strikes an incredibly emotional chord in addressing, in her Yorick-style, the head of her slain stepfather; however, despite her wit elsewhere, Borras really could ratchet down the decibel level and spread her laudable energy a little more thinly...
...excellent, playing Caligula as a sort of maniacal Holden Caulfied. He is extremely skilled at laughing like he is completely insane. He had to beat himself up about 12 times during the play and he did so with an unabashed physicality that was truly awe-inspiring. Mike B. Hoagland ’06, who played senator Cherea, was also good as a man bent on destroying what he sees as the embodiment of evil. Curtis, the mistress, is a little anemic, but has strong moments of charcterization...
Josh M. Brener ’07 is hilarious as the completely over-the-top Sir Isaac Newton: Brener conjures a preposterous manner and has a knack for physical hijinks that make him a sure-fire crowd pleaser and great fun to watch. Mike B. Hoagland ’07 is a subtle presence as Einstein, giving the character a nuanced believability not at odds with the regular and well-turned delivery of funny lines. Mary E. Birnbaum ’07 displays an excellent comedic timing and projects an overall enthralling presence as the deranged, megalomaniacal Fraulein Doktor...
...Hoagland more than holds his own, doing limber and sonorous work, but the show really belongs to Broadwater and Hodgson. They’re always on stage, ceaselessly searching for life’s secrets even though they wouldn’t recognize a secret if it bit them in the codpiece. And both actors telegraph their dumb anxiety with skill: their practiced spontaneity doesn’t seem practiced in the least—every laugh line feels unforced, each note of despair feels natural...