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Review: Matthew Bourne shifts 'Romeo and Juliet' into an asylum for maximum menace

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Review: Matthew Bourne shifts 'Romeo and Juliet' into an asylum for maximum menace

Choreographer Matthew Bourne transposes Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” to an asylum for young people. Ostensibly disturbed, the inhabitants of the Verona Institute seem normal enough, if perhaps understandably forlorn for having been discarded by parents who didn’t want to deal with their challenges.

The youngsters sulk, stomp and scamper, pull pranks and horse around. Eluding authority is a game — a dangerous one. They are united in their experience of oppression and their longing for justice, as seen in the way they quickly come to one another’s defense.

In short, they’re like adolescents anywhere, wild at heart and vulnerable beyond their comprehension. At the mercy of their hormones, they find that doing what comes naturally only makes the adults clamp down on them harder.

Rory MacLeod and Monique Jonas in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”

(Johan Persson)

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“Romeo and Juliet,” which had its North American premiere on Wednesday at the Ahmanson Theatre, combines the brooding sexual melancholy of “Spring Awakening” and the nuthouse authoritarianism of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Bourne, as he did to memorable effect in his version of “Swan Lake,” reworks a classic story for maximum menace. Sergei Prokofiev’s score encourages the twisted turns and foreboding touches of Bourne’s imagination.

The set and costumes by Lez Brotherston create a blizzard of institutional white. Tiled walls with built-in ladders conjure an ominous gymnasium, where accidents are meant to happen. An upper level walkway serves as a balcony but worryingly offers itself up as a suicide perch.

Prison bars make clear that freedom is limited and conditional. Participation in the daily routine — morning calisthenics, medical check-ins, recreational hour — isn’t optional. The residents here are inmates, their lives controlled by a medical staff whose orders are enforced by guards.

From left: Richard Winsor, Paris Fitzpatrick, Danny Reubens, Euan Garrett, Rory MacLeod and Cordelia Braithwaite in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”

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(Johan Persson)

Romeo is dropped off by his parents, who seem eager to relinquish all responsibility for their troubled boy. Father and mother act like demagogue politicians, waving at crowds from balconies while relieving themselves of the burden of their impossible son. (The youth in this adaptation are victims of a nonchalant fascism rather than a blood feud.)

Dressed at first in preppy clothes, Romeo (Paris Fitzpatrick at the reviewed performance) is initiated by a group of resident boys before even his paperwork is completed. They strip him, leaving him shivering in his skivvies before donning him in the institute’s requisite ghostly attire.

Romeo has no choice but to play along. The exposure of his flesh embarrasses him. But he’s being welcomed into a band of Lost Boys, gay and straight alike, who find solidarity in their state of rejection.

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The scene pulses with athletic jocularity, good-spirited fun with an edge of danger. The earlier ensemble dance sequences laying out the rituals of the Verona Institute are a bit muddled. Bourne’s choreography here is more striking in smaller groupings.

Monique Jonas in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”

(Johan Persson)

Juliet (performed by Monique Jonas on opening night) immediately seizes his attention. Unfortunately, she’s already activated the predatory interest of Tybalt (Adam Galbraith assumed the role on Wednesday), a Bluto-like guard with an unsavory interest in underage girls.

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Shakespeare’s tragedy is rearranged in a way that rebuffs careful inspection. When Bourne clarifies his story line, the production turns melodramatic, cheesily so on occasion. Villainous Tybalt is a pantomime baddie. Rev. Bernadette Laurence (Daisy May Kemp had the honors at opening night), a go-between for the young lovers, is a hapless goodie.

Best to relieve yourself of textual worries and bask in the fraught lyricism. The balcony scene, following a soiree at the institute designed to let the residents dress up and blow off some steam, is moodily reimagined. If the moment-to-moment meaning of the scene sometimes requires guesswork, the love story at the heart of the tale is achingly clear.

Monique Jonas and Rory Macleod in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”

(Johan Persson)

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Romeo and Juliet are conquered by their mutual ardor, writhing in a pleasure that in the absence of the beloved turns immediately into pain. Desire is borne by them like an affliction.

The somber intensity of romance brings out the best of Bourne. The dancers droop and drag when they’re alone, anxiously turning in on themselves as though they might like to disappear entirely. Reunited, they are restored to life, magnetized into ecstasy, determined to do everything humanly possible to merge into a single organism.

Although they are young, time isn’t on their side, so they race to catch a fleeting glimpse of what is too pure to endure. Bodies contort into poetry. Fitzpatrick and Jonas bring emotional grace to Romeo and Juliet’s ruin. The revised ending narrows the tragedy. Shakespeare knew better, but a sizable portion of the pathos is renewed in Bourne’s vocabulary of stylized torment.

‘Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet’

Where: Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., L.A.

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When: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, 1 and 6:30 p.m. Sundays. (Check for exceptions.) Ends Feb. 25.

Tickets: Start at $35

Information: (213) 628-2772 or CenterTheatreGroup.org

Running time: 2 hours, including intermission

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Movie Reviews

‘Hoppers’ review: Who can argue with hilarious talking animals?

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‘Hoppers’ review: Who can argue with hilarious talking animals?

Just when you think Pixar’s petting-zoo cute new movie “Hoppers” is flagrantly ripping off James Cameron, the characters come clean.


movie review

HOPPERS

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Running time: 105 minutes. Rated PG (action/peril, some scary images and mild language). In theaters March 6.

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“You guys, this is like ‘Avatar’!,” squeals 19-year-old Mabel (Piper Curda), the studio’s rare college-age heroine. 

Shoots back her nutty professor, Dr. Fairfax (Kathy Kajimy): “This is nothing like ‘Avatar!’”

Sorry, Doc, it definitely is. And that’s fine. Placing the smart sci-fi story atop an animated family film feels right for Pixar, which has long fused the technological, the fantastical and the natural into a warm signature blend. Also, come on, “Avatar” is “Dances With Wolves” via “E.T.”

What separates “Hoppers” from the pack of recent Pix flix, which have been wholesome as a church bake sale, is its comic irreverence. 

Director Daniel Chong’s original movie is terribly funny, and often in an unfamiliar, warped way for the cerebral and mushy studio. For example, I’ve never witnessed so many speaking characters be killed off in a Pixar movie — and laughed heartily at their offings to boot.

What’s the parallel to Pandora? Mabel, a budding environmental activist, has stumbled on a secret laboratory where her kooky teachers can beam their minds into realistic robot animals in order to study them. They call the devices “hoppers.”  

In Pixar’s “Hoppers,” a teen girl discovers a secret device that can turn her into a talking beaver. AP

Bold and fiery Mabel — PETA, but palatable — sees an opportunity. 

The mayor of Beaverton, Jerry (Jon Hamm), plans to destroy her beloved local pond that’s teeming with wildlife to build an expressway. And the only thing stopping the egomaniacal pol — a more upbeat version of President Business from “The Lego Movie” — is the water’s critters, who have all mysteriously disappeared. 

So, Mabel avatars into beaver-bot, and sets off in search of the lost creatures to discover why they’ve left.

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From there, the movie written by Jesse Andrews (“Luca”) toys with “Toy Story.” Here’s what mischief fuzzy mammals, birds, reptiles and insects get up to when humans aren’t snooping around. Dance aerobics, it turns out. 

Mabel (Piper Curda) meets King George (Bobby Moynihan). AP

Per the usual, “Hoppers” goes deep inside their intricate society. The beasts have a formal political system of antagonistic “Game of Thrones”-like royal houses. The most menacing are the Insect Queen (Meryl Streep — I’d call her a chameleon, but she’s playing a bug), a staunch monarch butterfly and her conniving caterpillar kid (Dave Franco). They’re scheming for power. 

Perfectly content with his station is Mabel’s new best furry friend King George (Bobby Moynihan), a gullible beaver who ascended to the throne unexpectedly. He happily enforces “pond rules,” such as, “When you gotta eat, eat.”   

That means predators have free rein to nosh on prey, and everybody’s cool with it. Because of bone-dry deliveries, like exhausted office drones, the four-legged cast members are hilarious as they go about their Animal Planet activities. 

Mayor Jerry (Jon Hamm) plans to destroy a local pond to build an expressway. AP

No surprise — talking lizards, sharks, bears, geese and frogs are the real stars here. They far outshine Mabel, even when she dons beaver attire. Much like a 19-year-old in a job interview, she doesn’t leave much of an impression. 

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Yes, the teen has a heartfelt motivation: The embattled pond was her late grandma’s favorite place. Mabel promised her that she’d protect it. 

But in personality she doesn’t rank as one of Pixar’s most engaging leads, perhaps because she’s past voting age. Mabel is nestled in a nebulous phase between teenage rebellion and adulthood that’s pretty blasé, even if a touch of tension comes from her hiding her Homo sapien identity from her new diminutive pals. When animated, kids make better adventurers, plain and simple.

AP

“Hoppers” continues Pixar’s run of humble, charming originals (“Luca,” “Elio”) in between billion-dollar-grossing, idea-starved sequels (“Inside Out 2,” probably “Toy Story 5”). The Disney-owned studio’s days of irrepressible innovation and unmatched imagination are well behind it. No one’s awed by anything anymore. “Coco,” almost 10 years ago, was their last new property to wow on the scale of peak Pixar.

Look, the new movie is likable and has a brain, heart and ample laughs. That’s more than I can say for most family fare. “A Minecraft Movie” made me wanna hop right out of the theater.

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Ulysses Jenkins, Los Angeles artist and pioneer of Black experimental video, dies at 79

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Ulysses Jenkins, Los Angeles artist and pioneer of Black experimental video, dies at 79

Ulysses Jenkins, the pioneering Los Angeles-born video artist whose avant-garde compositions embodied Black experimentalism, has died. He was 79.

Jenkins’ death was confirmed by his alma mater Otis College, where he studied under renowned painter and printmaker Charles White in the late 1970s and returned as an instructor years later. The Los Angeles art and design school shared a statement from the Charles White Archive, which said, “Jenkins had a profound impact on contemporary art and media practices.”

“A trailblazing figure in Black experimental video, he was widely recognized for works that used image, sound, and cultural iconography to examine representation, race, gender, ritual, history, and power,” the statement said.

A self-proclaimed “griot,” Jenkins throughout his decades-spanning career maintained an art practice grounded in the tradition of those West African oral historians who came before him. Through archival documentaries like “The Nomadics” and surrealist murals like “1848: Bandaide,” he leveraged alternative media to challenge Eurocentric representations of Black Americans in popular culture.

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He was both an artist and a storyteller who sought to “reassert the history and the culture,” he told The Times in 2022. That year, the Hammer Museum presented Jenkins’ first major retrospective, “Ulysses Jenkins: Without Your Interpretation.”

“Early video art was about the problems with the media that we are still having today: the notions of truth,” Jenkins said. “To that extent, early video art was a construct that was anti-media … a critical analysis of the media that we were viewing every night.”

Born in 1946 to Los Angeles transplants from the South, Jenkins was ambivalent about the city, which offered his parents some refuge from the blatant systemic racism they encountered in their hometowns, but housed an entertainment industry that had long perpetuated anti-Black sentiment.

“What Hollywood represents, especially in my work, is the classic plantation mentality,” Jenkins told The Times in 1986. “Although people aren’t necessarily enslaved by it, people enslave themselves to it because they’re told how fantastic it is to help manifest these illusions for a corporate sponsor.”

Jenkins, who participated in a group of artists committed to spontaneous action called Studio Z, was naturally drawn to video art over Hollywood filmmaking. “I can address any issue and I don’t have to wait for [the studios’] big OK. I thought this was a land of freedom, and video allows me that freedom and opportunity that I can create for myself and at least feel that part of being an American,” he said.

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Jenkins went on to deconstruct Hollywood’s vision of the Black diaspora in experimental video compositions including “Mass of Images,” which incorporates clips from D.W. Griffith’s notoriously racist “The Birth of a Nation,” and “Two-Tone Transfer,” which depicts, in Jenkins’ words, a “dreamscape in which the dreamer awakens to a visitation of three minstrels who tell the story of the development of African American stereotypes in the American entertainment industry.”

Jenkins’ legacy is not only artistic but institutional, with the luminary having held teaching appointments at UCSD and UCI, where he co-founded the digital filmmaking minor with fellow Southern California-based artists Bruce Yonemoto and Bryan Jackson.

As artist and educator Suzanne Lacy penned in her social media tribute to Jenkins, which showed him speaking to students at REDCAT in L.A., “he has been an important part of our histories here in Southern California as video and performance artists evolved their practices.”

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Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar

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Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar

4/5 stars

Bounding into cinemas just in time for spring, the latest Pixar animation is a pleasingly charming tale of man vs nature, with a bit of crazy robot tech thrown in.

The star of Hoppers is Mabel Tanaka (voiced by Piper Curda), a young animal-lover leading a one-girl protest over a freeway being built through the tranquil countryside near her hometown of Beaverton.

Because the freeway is the pet project of the town’s popular mayor, Jerry (Jon Hamm), who is vying for re-election, Mabel’s protests fall on deaf ears.

Everything changes when she stumbles upon top-secret research by her biology professor, Dr Sam Fairfax (Kathy Najimy), that allows for the human consciousness to be linked to robotic animals. This lets users get up close and personal with other species.

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“This is like Avatar,” Mabel coos, and, in truth, it is. Plugged into a headset, Mabel is reborn inside a robotic beaver. She plans to recruit a real beaver to help populate the glade, which is set to be destroyed by Jerry’s proposed road.
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