"Werewolf" has teeth

Rarely Done Productions’ latest show “Werewolf” proves that the size of the venue does not reflect the amount of meat in a production. Performed to a sold-out crowd at Jazz Central, “Werewolf” explores the darkness of a student’s family history and the fear he produces in a teacher trying to help him. Though Len Fonte’s script waxes and wanes in two acts, the principle actors, coupled with a glorious ‘70s cardigan sweater and McGraw-Hill Literature books, keep hold of at least a sliver of moon throughout their performances.

The looming question around “Werewolf” is a supernatural one – Is Cal Blaine actually a werewolf? Keegan Lounsberry, an actor just a few years out of the woods of the adolescent crises his character faces, handles this two-fold idea with acumen. He has to balance the belief that Cal actually is a werewolf with the reason he needs to believe in the fantasy, all the while keeping his long curly hair out of his eyes. He connects with Mark Austin as his teacher Mr. Alessandro truthfully, even if his longer monologues cross into territory eerier than a werewolf’s lair – Lounsberry doesn’t seem to need to blink.

Austin’s challenges stemmed more from the play’s structure than from acting difficulty – he has to be on stage with himself, 30 years older. The play blends the past and present, an older Mr. Alessandro telling his role in Cal’s story through the eyes of a younger Alessandro. Tom Minion plays the older Alessandro and with Austin successfully creates a man unable to forget the poor boy-wolf who couldn’t get over his past. While both Austin and Minion gave Alessandro the energy and care of a great teacher, it’s really Fonte’s script that allows them to give the character a full mythology. From the relationship with Alessandro’s wife, to the occasional throb from a “dog’s” bite, Fonte includes such specific details that Alessandro could be a long-time friend.

The play loses momentum after intermission, however, when the older Alessandro meets another troubled student, a black baby-Daddy whose sole purpose seems to be modernizing the plot. The playwright’s inclination is a good one; the incident allows the audience to understand what Alessandro thought he did wrong with Cal. But Jeffrey Owens as Tequan Adkins lisps expressionlessly through the powerful dialogue, a harrowing story of a dysfunctional family with drug ties, seeming to disregard the emotional weight of his role. He crosses his arms around the over-sized thug sweatshirt, paces in a circle and ends up feeling more superfluous than illuminating.

Had the first act been a play on it’s own, Fonte could be praised and Rarely Done lauded for choosing something to both celebrate the Halloween season and comment on a serious topic like mental illness in those who have experienced trauma. Fonte untangles the facts of Cal’s life one at a time, tossing out his bait and reeling the audience in like a willing fish. But the key player in this production’s second act left much – like diction – to be desired.

"Glee"-ful musings

“Glee” could have been a stale idea. The hour-long comedy about a group of misfits and their teacher trying to revive the floundering Glee Club harkens back to the “Fame” TV show and jumps on the multi-million dollar “High School Musical” bandwagon with mid-episode vocal numbers and choreography. The pilot aired in May following the “American Idol” finale, delivered to a ready-made audience of music lovers, amateur singing critics and performer hopefuls who would need an “Idol”-like fix before January’s new season.

But “Glee’s” fresh spin on high school resembles the quirks of “Freaks and Geeks” more than Disney’s squeaky-clean “HSM” and has something “Idol” has to manufacture in many of its contestants: personality.

Listed among the creators of the show, Brian Murphy might be credited with “Glee’s” bite. Murphy’s past work (“Nip/Tuck,” “Popular”) is known for dark, spiteful characters and plotlines. “Glee” retains the complexity of these shows, but has a more upbeat tone that focuses more on the characters being their best than their worst. Messages about being yourself are introduced with heart – a boy coming out to his father for the first time – but “Glee” inherits Murphy’s darkness through vicious humor – “That Rachel girl makes me want to light myself on fire. But she can sing.” The show foils “Nip/Tuck;” the characters are misfits who feel beautiful on stage, even without plastic surgery.

Almost.

The underdogs in “Glee” – a fashionista who joins the football team to make his dad proud (Chris Colfer), a wheel chair-bound guitar player (Kevin McHale), a Whitney-caliber diva (Amber Riley) – believe in their performance abilities, but not in their social skills. The episodes chronicle their trials, but the teen trauma doesn’t just bring about story lines, it drives character growth. Finn Hudson, played by the rosy-cheeked Cory Monteith, exemplifies evolution in the pilot episode, first watching as Colfer gets thrown into a dumpster, then, after befriending him in Glee Club, helping McHale out of a porta-potty locked by his football teammates. Rather than molding their misfit characters to fit the into the airbrushed world of Zac Efron and Vanessa Hudgens, the creators are embracing distinctiveness, whether that be Finn’s realization that he’d rather follow his intuition than the crowd or an impressive vocal range.

“Glee’s” winning cast, some with notable performing resumes already, deserve the show’s focus. Matthew Morrison, who plays the Glee Club director Will Schuster with a sexy half-smile, was nominated for a 2005 Tony award for his role in “The Light in the Piazza.” Lea Michele, playing Glee Club’s star singer Rachel Berry, started performing on Broadway at age 8 and was nominated for a Drama Desk Award for her leading role in “Spring Awakening” in 2007. Michele shows off her range in songs like Rihanna’s “Take A Bow” and even spars with Tony-winner Kristin Chenoweth in “Maybe This Time” from “Cabaret.” Not every actor has such imposing presence, though. Monteith’s Finn is supposed to be Michele’s vocal equal, but his verses of “Don’t Stop Believing” sound more like Nick Carter than Steve Perry. Still, when he and Rachel lock eyes, his endearing awkwardness makes up for his high notes.

Cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester provides the best comedy, scheming against the self-esteem Mr. Shuster instills in his students with doses of distorted, hilarious reality, as her coaching attitude proves: “I empower my Cheerios to live in fear by creating an environment of irrational, random terror.” Jane Lynch plays Sue with vitriol and deadpan sarcasm reprised from “Role Models” and “40-Year-Old Virgin.” Her absurd proclamations and jogging suits continually upstage her co-stars – and she doesn’t even sing.

As the show progresses, the misfits of McKinley High School have started to find their niche, just as “Glee” has carved one from the imprints of popular movie musicals and performance contests. But the music Glee Club members sing means more to them than notes on a page – and to viewers, the singers matter more than the songs.