Theatre Reviews Limited: "The Black Rider: The casting of the Magic Bullets"

3rd Annual New York International Fringe Festival
**Awarded Excellence in Direction**

"The Black Rider: The Casting of the Magic Bullets"
at the Henry Street Settlement

A Gentlewoman and a Scholar present the American English Premiere of
"The Black Rider: The Casting of the Magic Bullets" by Robert Wilson, Tom Waits, and William S. Burroughs, text: William S. Burroughs (with Tom Waits) Music and Lyrics: Tom Waits, Directed by R. M. Jenkins, Musical Directors Corrinne Kessel & Jeff Unger, as part of the
New York International Fringe Theater Festival at the Henry Street Settlement.

Reviewed by Antonio Sacre for for Theatre Reviews Limited

I'm the wrong person to review the operetta "The Black Rider", because I just don't understand Tom Waits. While his musical style is clearly distinctive and wonderfully unique in the true sense of the word, when I can decipher his lyrics from his soulful, smoky, boozy, soothing rattle of a voice, I have no idea what they mean or what the hell he's saying. So I couldn't appreciate the mob scene that formed around Wednesday night's show, completely selling out the Playhouse, prompting producing director Elena Holy of the Fringe to come to Thursday's show and kick some butt.

But after experiencing "The Black Rider", I still don't understand Tom Waits (or William S. Burroughs or Robert Wilson) any more than before, but I feel like I have been to hell and back and enjoyed every minute of the ride.

"The Devil's bargain is always a fool's bargain" we are told at the onset of our descent, and it's possible that every character on stage is willing to make that bargain. Based on an old folktale, a man was tortured unfairly by being strapped to a stag, and the Duke decreed who ever could kill the stag without harming the man would be richly rewarded, but if he harmed the man he would be soundly punished. A hunter made the shot, and generations later, his great great grandson is growing old, with no one to continue his line. He chooses a hunter for his daughter, but she is in love with a poet, and the father forbids her from marrying the poet unless the poet can hunt ("You can't eat love, he must be a hunter" he tells his daughter).

There is an incredible sense of style throughout. The costumes are a sumptuous black, the makeup a deathly white, the music a dense blend of Cabaret, music hall, and Tom Waits, and the acting a clearly stated commedia del arte style, each actor reaching the heights and depths of pain, happiness, and angst with excruciating precision.

The poet gets six magic bullets from the devil (a stunning Michael Scholar Jr., think "Cabaret's" MC with a lot more malice) and shoots all the game he wants. All the devil asks for in return is his happiness. That's all. Will there be hell to pay later? You bet.

The story is about death and addiction. After returning to the forest repeatedly for more and more bullets, we are told that "just like marijuana leads to heroin . . . soon you find you can't hit for shit, and the more magic you use, the more all of your days end up being bad with out the bullets, and you're hooked . . . a man figures it's his bullet and I'll hit what I chose" but the bullets have a way of hitting what they want to hit.

Many of the lyrics I didn't understand, some of the references were lost on me, the singing was solid but not inspirational, the movement was thrilling, and the band was exceptional. But the totality of the show is much greater than the sum of its parts. This disburbing operetta may be the Fringe's only 'must see'.

We watch a man's descent into addiction, and we wonder if we would make the same bargain. A sure fire hit in exchange for our own happiness? The only price is that generations from now somebody has to pay the price? Hell yeah, give me my roaring Dow Jones, give me my SUV's, give me my Budget Surplus, I earned it. It's my magic, and I can use it when I want to. I'm not hooked, and besides, I can always use the magic against any future problem I want to. Right? Devil be damned, "The Black Rider" be praised.