Inside Joss' Dollhouse Book Release Party

In just over two weeks, I will be hosting a release party for the first book to be published on Joss Whedon's latest television series, Dollhouse, in New York City!

Inside Joss' Dollhouse: From Alpha to Rossum is an anthology of 18 reflective and critical essays from Smart Pop Books and edited by Jane Espenson (@JaneEspenson), who has written for all of Whedon's shows as well as for Battlestar Galactica and Caprica.

On April 1st I found out that an essay I had written about the character of Claire Saunders in Dollhouse had been accepted into the book as a chapter. Yes, it was on April Fool's Day, but the publisher assured me that it was no joke and now I have the book in hand to prove it! My chapter is called "'I Like My Scars': Claire Saunders and the Narrative of Flesh" and speaks to the way in which Claire's identity is shaped and ultimately redeemed by the physical scars she endures within the television show. It sits amongst some really insightful works including one by Susan Quilty (@SusanQuilty) that uses the concept of negative space to trace the relationship between Caroline and Echo and Tami Anderson's (@witnessaria) chapter about various roles in the Dollhouse and how they fit into a larger, real-world context.

Event Details
The event will be held at Vig 27 at 119 East 27th Street (between Park Ave S & Lexington) in New York on Wednesday, October 13th between 7-10PM. Join us for free giveaways and a chance to socialize with other pop culture and Whedon enthusiasts. A limited quantity of books will be for sale (with cash) at the event. Event entry is FREE. Tweeting about the event? Use #SmartPopDollhouse. RSVP here.

Book Description
In only two short seasons Dollhouse captured the imaginations and of audiences all over the world, rewarding viewer loyalty with mind-blowing plot twists and an extended meditation on the forces that guide our actions and make us who we are.

Inside Joss' Dollhouse covers Dollhouse from anticipated start to explosive finish-from the complexities of identity to the triumph of the human spirit.

Smart Pop Books
Smart Pop is a line of smart, fresh, funny essays on the best of pop culture tv, books, and film, with a particular focus on science fiction and fantasy television and literature.

Our writers are New York Times bestselling authors, television writers, psychologists, philosophers...anyone with a love of pop culture and something worth sharing about it.

I hope you'll join us to celebrate!

On Resident Evil

Earlier this afternoon, the ladies over at Zaxy tweeted a link to their blog post which debates the authenticity of the Resident Evil films. Resident Evil: Afterlife, the fourth film in the eight year old film franchise came to screens everywhere yesterday. The first film premiered in 2002, but the game on which it is based came out almost 15 years ago. I have not played the games, but I can comprehend the feeling one might get when playing them-the mystery, the puzzles, the extensive world-building, the slow-mounting tension. In the years since I saw the first film-a couple years later when it came to DVD-I have developed a great appreciation for these films.

The films, for me are the definition of a phrase I actually hate to use but here it applies, "popcorn entertainment." They first come across as disposable, but there is a certain fondness I have found as a result of the feeling I get that the creators have really embraced their roles in creating this world. Incidentally, Afterlife is the first film after Avatar to use the exact same 3D camera as developed by James Cameron. Regardless of your thoughts on Avatar, its implementation of this new technology was pretty radical and for Paul W.S. Anderson to craft a film with this specifically in mind is admirable rather than going the easy route of post-production 3D which so many genre films have done recently-to less than stellar results.

Last year, during Afterlife's production, I began following Milla Jovovich on Twitter (@MillaJovovich) and I enjoyed experiencing her excitement with every cast announcement, completed stunt, set description and cast and crew interaction. Anyone reading her tweets and seeing her in interviews about Resident Evil, can tell that she loves doing these films. Would she invest 8+ years of her life between raising a kid if she didn't? It soon became clear to me that there is a great passion that come to work on these films possess that later comes through clearly in the films.

Certainly, in different hands, the franchise might be a little more nuanced, but three movies in, I'm all for the fun, spectacle and a little story, which is more than I can say about a lot of sci-fi/fantasy action movies these days.

I'm looking forward to the Afterlife.

So, if you've seen the movies and/or if you've played the games, head on over to Zaxy's post and tell them what you think!

You can follow Zaxy on Twitter at @Zaxydotcom and me at @eincline.

Scottsboro Boys does Injustice to Injustice

The dainty brass tune that floats down from the orchestra platform at the upper left of the auditorium of the Vineyard Theatre seems particularly subdued for this highly anticipated musical from the songwriting duo John Kander and Fred Ebb. When an unnamed woman—who will remain so for the great majority of the one hour and 45 minute production, should you happen to ceaselessly wonder as I did—walks out on stage to a pile of chairs in a pool of mottled blue and yellow lights and sits at the side of a road the audience’s anticipation is not quelled. As she waits there with the sound of buzzing traffic, we anxiously wait with her. Where is the “flash”? The high kicks?

After a few long moments, the performers stream in from the aisles with a surfeit of energy. Grinning and spinning their way to the stage, the room is transformed into a carnivalesque music hall. From behind the footlights steps our requisite master of ceremonies, the only white performer, John Cullum, who is also granted the duty of playing two other administrative positions, a Judge and the Governor of Alabama. The performers swing and stack simple silver chairs to represent a courtroom while boldly proclaiming, “everyone’s a minstrel tonight.” And for this first colorful, physically demanding first number, we believe them.


Reality sets in when the banner announcing the play’s title falls away and a series of ominous drum beats rupture the overwhelming cheer. Those drum beats, which echo throughout the show, also serve as early evidence of the production’s difficult task of staging a musical based on the repeated trials of nine black men accused of raping two white women. History has all but proven their innocence, but it is not the kind of story one would immediately propose as the subject for a song and dance spectacle. I suspect this is why the tone and choreography of the show are so uneven responsibility for which falls on Director and Choreographer, Susan Stroman (“The Producers”).

Stroman’s challenge here lies in making injustice entertaining—and not just any injustice. The trials depicted here are based on one of the most high profile cases in the history of American racism. Unlike Kander and Ebb’s “Chicago” from which this book and production borrow heavily, “Scottsboro” portrays a justice system just as ridiculous but lacking in the theatrical humor associated with courtroom manipulation. Following the rousing minstrel chorus, when the lights come up on the modernist set, I already miss the flash and the kicks. The second number is strangely static, which is ironic, now that the chairs have been arranged as a traveling boxcar.


Even when the show makes a rare return to the kind of big-band, Fosse-inspired style of the opener, the atmosphere is never so lighthearted and hopeful, lacking in vivacity and hindered by a bleak outlook for the story’s characters. When the youngest member of the accused has a freakish nightmare about the electric chair, the accompanying tap dance is appropriately frenetic, bizarre and sinister. This sequence, by the way, has more than enough flash with incessant strobe effects and a sparking chair; “What a fabulous way to die” indeed. “Electric Chair” spends a lot of time and energy on a particularly horrific notion. The number certainly serves the narrative at this point, but goes on just long enough for the audience to question its enjoyment of it.

Still, it’s one of the few moments in the production that sticks out for its spectacle if not innovation. The story gets buried under too-slick staging, repetitive action and a whole mess of derivation. Brandon Victor Dixon’s character, Haywood Patterson has one number which might as well be “Mr. Cellophane” from “Chicago” stuck in the score as a placeholder. In a number more than reminiscent of Billy Flynn’s “Razzle Dazzle”, Forrest McClendon as Samuel Leibowitz sings “Financial Advice”. I suspect they even recycled the confetti. That “Scottsboro” is another Kander and Ebb musical does not excuse this sloppy, unoriginal writing.

What’s even sadder is that “Scottsboro” has an extremely talented cast. Dixon belts a “honeysuckle-sweet” ballad from his prison cell and the ensemble dances are clean and precise. There is a sense, though, that Stroman is doing this all by the book. Much of the problem lies in the subject matter, which does not befit a musical adaptation. While the repeated trials are part of the story, by the seventh, we’re ready for the gavel to fall for the last time. I suppose the prisoners grew tired of waiting too, but there’s not enough here to keep us interested. When the performers dressed as interlocutors come out in blackface and announce the finale, the cumulative effect is disingenuous. At least I knew it would be over soon.

Inside Joss' Dollhouse: From Alpha to Rossum

The book I've contributed to is now available for pre-order on Amazon.

This is a Bloody Review

The Public Theater’s Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson comes complete with an audience proviso—and it’s not just that the performance contains fog and strobe effects. “You have to bring some ass to get some ass,” declares Benjamin Walker (Les Liaisons Dangereuses) as President-to-be, Andrew Jackson. “I’m going to put it in you,” he continues. Whether “it” refers to a fast and flashy depiction of history, a rollicking alt-rock score or an intelligent yet ironic sense of humor is ultimately irrelevant. Whatever “it” is, we take it.

Bloody Bloody is one of the most immersive theatrical experiences I’ve had this year and it doesn’t even require audience participation—except for bringing your ass into the theatre—but that it’s hard not to want to participate in the frenzied, pop-infused storytelling. At the launch of the show, the always-appreciated nerdy-girl-in-wheelchair, glasses and thrift store knitwear serves as its narrator. That is, until Jackson shoots her in the neck. Goodbye, framed narrative. Hello, blood. Jackson states, “I think I can take it from here.”

We don’t miss the narrator—though she is played with a tremendous comic awareness by Colleen Werthmann (Gone Missing). Walker and his talented entourage manage to tell the story with color, flair and style on their own. Even while on his knees—representing his childhood—as he witnesses the deaths of his family members by way of Indians’ arrows, Walker commands the stage. Following this tragedy, Jackson becomes a kind of juice box wielding Fess Parker in a coonskin cap as he tries to navigate the wild frontier in the “era of whoop-assing.” As far as history lessons go, Bloody Bloody is incredibly detailed, surprisingly relevant and excitingly modern. As the production unfolds, Bloody Bloody proves itself to be extremely smart political satire in its portrayal of the blood-smeared rocker Jackson and his pursuit of a “brand of maverick egalitarian democracy.” Hip, radical and sexually charged, Bloody Bloody’s brand of politics isn’t just “populism”, it’s, as per the song, “popujizm”.


Adding to the appeal of Jackson’s exploration of populism and his rise to presidency is the visually riveting emo-fantasy world in which the events of his life are played out on stage. The set is an Urban Outfitters accessory whore’s dream. Hipster regalia dazzle and intrigue the eye in every direction. The hazy, rouge-tinted room is accented with chandeliers, framed portraits, plastic-wrapped animal heads, Christmas lights, chandeliers, candles, and the must-have-hipster-accessory, duct tape. With every scene change and music number comes a new discovery; the set is in a constant state of flux with surprising lighting choices and clever design. The overall effect of Bloody Bloody’s staging is eclectic and energetic. This is a rockstar’s paradise—a nexus of cultural appropriation and entrancing social defiance.

The fact that Bloody Bloody relies so much on poaching elements of popular culture is not a hindrance to the historical narrative. Instead, these pieces act as relatable signposts and shorthand for human behavior. Notably, Bloody Bloody contains perhaps the best use of the music of Cher in a dramatic narrative form. It’s a glimpse into an alt-glam pastiche world that works particularly well in its combination of stage spectacle and over-the-top melodrama. There a good number of original, well-crafted, often hilarious songs too accompanied by tight and amusing choreography—when was the last time you saw a dance number with muskets or a good ol’ fashioned bar brawl with barrels? Overall the production’s aesthetic synthesis of modern and 19th century is clear, appropriate to the story and absolutely entertaining. Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson proves you can have your history and fuck it too.

The Wooster Group's Atlantic Antics

Walking into the performance space at the Baryshnikov Arts Center, one feels like he is entering the cavernous belly of an aircraft carrier, the setting of The Wooster Group’s NAVY-themed musical, North Atlantic, now playing through April 25th. The multi-leveled industrial construction of the set with its catwalks, chrome ladders and giant sloped platform—like the curved inner hull of a ship—serves as the perfect backdrop for the boisterous display of wit, surprising musical numbers and provocative action.

Minutes into the show, I realized the production intended to stimulate the audience on multiple, simultaneous levels. In the beginning of the play, Captain Chizzum, played by the handsome and brawny, Ari Fliakos, speaks to the audience at a rapid pace like an auctioneer or used car salesman. At one point he tells General Benders, “not so fast with the hot sauce” as if channeling the audience’s reaction to his hurried speech. Like dealing with auctioneers and salesmen, you may not know what you’re being sold until you’ve bought. It is ironic that though the play centers on the exploits—read sexploits—of a group of word processing girls, including Frances McDormand as Sergeant Bryzynsky, the audience cannot always process the words said on stage. Chizzum’s opening performance is just the first indication as to the production’s proclivity to overwhelm the senses .

If Chizzum sounds a lot like “jizm,” it’s likely not a coincidence, which should be a clue as to the age appropriateness of this show. Several music numbers are adult takes on folk songs and other classic selections of aural Americana that tend to spring out of the performers with such spontaneity. So, don't take the kids. I suspect you don't want your child singing a sexually explicit version of "Yankee Doodle" while making suggestive hand-to-microphone gestures.

The production is scored not only by music but also by mechanical sounds, overlapping dialogue, jet engines and other blaring soundscapes creating a cacophonous chorus. The accompanying choreography also subverts typical notions of the musical. While much of it is folksy like the music, it and other movement is restrained both in physicality and through the limits imposed by the set. Though impressive in scale, the multi-angled set is not conducive to dance so much as continuous relocation along an X-Y axis particularly along the sloped back platform along which the actors stand, slide and climb throughout.

Over the course of the 90-minute performance, notions of isolation, individuality and life outside the armed forces rise above the sensory overload prompting the question: how does the NAVY disrupt one’s personal narrative? And on the contrary, how might it contribute to one’s own history? As for the show’s narrative, these existential queries may be as close as Atlantic gets to possessing a story. What Atlantic lacks in story, however, it makes up for with a talented cast, inventive staging and more than a few cleverly placed double entendres.

Even though the theatre is located on the third floor of a quiet New York City block, Atlantic takes its audience on a raucous ride with the U.S. military through the open seas on a big, burly boat. Civilians, welcome aboard.

Memory Making with "Moon"

“Ages of the Moon” now playing at the Atlantic Theater Company's Linda Gross Theater will inevitably be compared to the work of another modern Samuel—that of the Beckett variety—and while the play does lean precariously toward an over-awareness of Beckett’s work, particularly “Waiting for Godot”, Sam Shepard’s latest play avoids a potential miasma of derivation. If “Godot’s” primary concern is the anticipation of an entity that never actually appears, “Moon” is about waiting for an event that is a cosmic certainty. That the pending eclipse is, in fact, pending, grounds the play and its two characters Ames (Stephen Rea) and Byron (Sean McGinley) in a greater sense of reality and immediacy. As a result, “Moon” never reaches the level of Beckett’s extreme existential exchanges and the two friends are able to focus on not what might come to pass, but rather what was.

Byron has invited Ames to his porch for the purpose of drinking Woodford Bourbon Whiskey and waiting for the aforementioned lunar eclipse. It will be many hours before the celestial event is to occur—Ames arrives in the morning and according to Byron’s almanac, the eclipse will be at 5:00AM. Audiences may thank Shepard and Irish director Jimmy Fay that the eclipse arrives in a swift, but full, 75 minutes. Meanwhile, Ames and Byron synchronously swill bourbon and attempt to make conversation. Reminiscing—if not remembering—should come easy for these decades-old friends, but this proves as difficult to do as getting the porch ceiling fan to function properly with any amount of consistency.

“Why do you keep trying to insinuate yourself in my past?” Ames accuses Byron whose later line, “I remember, I remember” seems to echo major themes of the play: the insistence of memory and the prevailing need to assure one’s presence in the world and within history. “What age do you think we’re living in?” Byron asks Ames who uses the literal ages of the moon as written in the almanac to try and prove the rarity of this event and perhaps by extension, the rarity of their friendship.

As with any friendship, however, tempers do erupt. In one scene, as tension mounts, the fan speeds up, whirring violently above their heads. When their feisty natures are expressed in fists, the ensuing fight is difficult to take seriously—but maybe we are not supposed to given the vaudevillian, absurdist qualities of their characters.

After sparks fly—and they do, literally—Ames and Byron settle down for the eclipse. Their speech begins to mirror one another’s and they begin to remember their pasts as one. As they watch the eclipse they begin to build a new memory together. Seeing “Moon,” is not a bad way to make one too.

"Moon" has been extended through March 21st!