(Photo: Russ Rowland)
It’s been a long voyage for Erin Treadway, the sole actor onstage during Spaceman. The play—which, this week, is finishing up its run at the Wild Project theater on East 3rd Street—was originally supposed to have had a full run last year. But it was cut short when, during a curtain call, Treadway tripped over a speaker and broke both her arms.
(Photo: Dave Wood)At a Switch n’ Play show at Branded Saloon earlier this month, Poison Ivory gave one of her last burlesque performances for a while. Des’ree’s “Kissing You” poured through the speakers, and she treated her captive Brooklyn audience to a classical fan dance (you know the kind: it pairs sultry, languid limbs with the brisk fluttering of oversized feathers). Less classic was her belly, which made a bold appearance each time the two massive fans parted ways. She was, then, 32 weeks pregnant.
(Photo: Teresa Mathew)
Nola Hanson finds boxing to be an intrinsically mindful sport. There is “a framework of spiritual discipline” to it, even if people tend not to think of boxing as a particularly introspective physical practice.
(Photo: Daniel Pagan)
Princess Goes to the Butterfly Museum, who will be giving their third-ever live show next Tuesday at Trans-Pecos, has such little online presence, it almost feels like they’re trying to keep their existence a secret. But for a pretty new band you’ve probably never heard of, their members might surprise you: they’re Matt Katz-Bohen, who since 2008 has toured with Blondie; Peter Yanowitz, of The Wallflowers and Morningwood; and Michael C. Hall, who you might remember from your nightmares, in the years Dexter was on.
(Photo: Tanner Abel)
West Dakota is sculptural. She often embraces angles: the blunt edges of bobbed wigs, the sleekly structured silhouettes she dons onstage. And then there are those sharp cheekbones. I wasn’t surprised to learn that her drag is influenced by visual artists—Cindy Sherman and Nadia Lee Cohen are among her favorites—and by the fashion world, where she once thought she’d make a living. “I worked a couple of jobs and was disillusioned by the whole thing,” she said. “It was bringing someone else’s vision to life. I wanted to bring my own vision to life.”
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Eugenics is often associated with Nazi Germany, but the pseudo-scientific movement is a dark and often-overlooked part of our national past. “The Nazis came to America to learn,” notes Judy Tate of the American Slavery Project. And the epicenter of American eugenics research was very closeby.
The Haunted Files, coming Wednesday to the Sheen Center, is a one-night immersive experience that draws on real files from the Eugenics Records Office, on Long Island’s North Shore. It will ask theatergoers to look deeply at some very difficult history in our backyard. Work conducted at the ERO helped to codify and provide “scientific” underpinning to many still-prevalent concepts: racial hierarchies, IQ testing, strict border divisions, and even the idea of “illegal” personhood.
Valentine’s Day is for lovers, and also for haters. If you’re looking to celebrate on February 14th—or to abscond entirely, laughing or screaming—our local art house theaters are here to provide.
(Photo: Amanda Feinman)
Unable to keep up with “extreme costs,” downtown comedy staple UCB East will be shuttering this weekend, with final shows on Saturday night. The Upright Citizens Brigade theater made the announcement about its satellite location in mid-January, but other lower Manhattan venues are still digesting the news.
(Photo: @patrickisphotographer on Instagram)
“I’m not going to look at you while we talk,” says Kelindah Schuster, settling down at a brightly backlit vanity, brush in hand. “I hope that’s not weird.” I sit a few feet behind the fully-equipped makeup station in Schuster’s small bedroom, in Bed-Stuy. Everywhere, amid the amber glass bottles of essential oils and the purple yoga mat on the floor, there are signs of the theatricality that bursts from this room on a near-nightly basis: mannequin heads in colorful wigs; jars of brushes, every size; bottles of cosmetics I can’t identify; a standing rack of platform heels at the foot of the bed. We talk through the mirror, our eyes meeting only occasionally. I watch, transfixed, as the makeup gets painted on in thick swaths: red brushstroke-brows, panels of gold on the lids, contoured cheekbones and matte black lips.
