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January 25, 2008 > Arts & Entertainment > Two is not better than one in Alley musical Love, Janis

Two is not better than one in Alley musical Love, Janis

By Julia Bursten | Thresher staff

Inner monologue does not always translate well on stage; sometimes it needs a gimmick. Shakespeare’s Hamlet had the benefit of iambic pentameter and rhyme for his bare-it-all soliloquy. He also kept the speech under three hours long, unlike Randal Myler’s script and direction in the Alley Theatre’s production of Love, Janis. Myler’s gimmick is also painfully stretched: He stages a vaguely Jekyll-and-Hyde portrayal of two Janis Joplins, played by two separate actresses, and the transition from Janis to Janis could use a little of the bipolar doctor’s magic potion. Luckily, the production’s music captivates viewers with a psychedelic splendor that undoubtedly saves the show.

Love, Janis takes its script from the book by the same name, authored by Janis’ sister Laura Joplin, which collects Janis’ letters home during her journey through the 1960s music scene. The premise is awkward for a live show because the family’s replies were lost in Janis’ drug-induced dive into oblivion. So the speaking Janis (Marisa Ryan) struts around a sparse set speaking her letters aloud as she writes them, while the singing Janis (Mary Bridget Davies on the night of the review; some performances feature Katrina Chester) waits in the wings. Then Davies’ Janis attacks a microphone and, with the help of Sam Andrew’s musical direction and a shockingly honest mimicry of Big Brother and the Holding Company, transforms the Alley into a thumping San Francisco benefit show, complete with beaded curtain and swirling neon visualizer.

The two Janises’ eclectic costumes are nearly identical throughout every costume change, and they occasionally recite the same lines simultaneously. The double vision is jarring, and Myler does not offer his audience any aid for orientation. As Ryan closes her first letter and Davies belts the grating “Come on, come on!” that opens “Piece of my Heart,” the singer’s vividly accurate voice cracks and fist-pumps are all but lost in the audience’s confusion. But about two-thirds through the first act, the women settle into a slightly less syncopated rhythm, and the story begins to work with the music instead of against it.

The stumbling soliloquies of “Dear Mom” and “Love, Janis” are rarely interrupted, and only by an anonymous interviewer (Paul Hope) — done in voiceover that is far from subtle.

The questions are not unreasonable ones for a journalist to ask of a musician, but it is painfully obvious that they are only asked to fill the holes the letters leave out of her story. Janis’ relationship with the interviewer evolves, beginning in deference and progressing through a series of scenes full of quippy wit and biting resentment. Ryan’s last dialogue with the interviewer, on the subject of Jimi Hendrix’s fatal overdose, is the most poignant speech in the show.

The production’s setting, and the staging intended to capture it, have split personalities of their own. Fortunately, the double-entendre gimmicks unfold more smoothly than the overarching dual-character concept. Norm Schwab’s set design allows the Janises to flow seamlessly from their San Francisco apartment to a number of stages around the country, and a convenient projector screen invokes the Golden Gate Bridge when it is off duty from displaying a trippy blob of psychedelic goo.

This impressionistic interpretation of Janis’ movement around the country is surprisingly effective, and it helps the audience to suspend their disbelief at imaginary props such as the invisible dogs Ryan plays with throughout the production. The free-flowing set also reflects Janis’ meandering, not-all-there movement through her musical career.

The successes of Love, Janis belong to the show’s production crew and to its musicians’ ability to channel Janis’ various bands with eerie accuracy. Davies flaps around her bands in a perfect reflection of Janis’ idiosyncratic stage persona, and her guitarists (Ben Nieves, Eric Massimino and Stephan Badreau) and drummer (Jim Wall) seamlessly transition from their roles in Big Brother and the Holding Company to Janis’ later backup artists, the Kozmic Blues Band, making audiences wish the performances were just concerts in themselves.

But since the letter-writing Janis is a much less accessible character than the leather-and-feather siren of the ’60s stage, viewers’ frustration with the portrayal of the spoken-word Janis might not be such a bad thing. And if audiences can fight through that frustration, they will be treated to the best Janis Joplin cover band they have ever heard.

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