The Realistic Joneses and Palm

A four-character drama, taking place in the country where two couples – both named Jones – are neighbors. Tall pines and a hooting owl frame their next-door lawn furniture. It’s a dream to live in the country like this, and Will Eno‘s new play, The Realistic Joneses, let’s you hold on to that dream, even to see it more clearly.

When John and Pony Jones (Michael C. Hall of “Six Feet Under” and “Dexter,” and Marisa Tomei, stripper with a heart of gold in The Wrestler and the mother of Jonah Hill in Cyrus) wander over one night to the yard of Bob and Jennifer Jones, it feels a little menacing that they invade the privacy of the more conservative neighbors (acting superstars Tracy Letts and Toni Collette). 

The couples live there to be near Dr. Leavey, one half of the experimentally-treated Harriman Leavey Syndrome. The husbands have been diagnosed with this (fictional) degenerative condition that is not yet recognized by AMA. They’re four talkative people navigating murky waters and carrying on inventive conversations. The play has many laughs, which you wouldn’t guess from this plot summary.

What’s great is seeing four stellar actors go at it body and soul. Toni Collette anchors the ensemble with her “realistic” presence. Having loved her on television and in films, onstage Toni Collette is out of this world. Stalwart Tracy Letts adds interest to the role of cranky Bob Jones, though this character seemed borderline abusive to his wife (our beloved Toni Collette). Oscar-winning Marisa Tomei is excellent here, however playing a ditz with lines including malapropisms worthy of Gracie Allen. Apart from the zingers, Tomei is fun.

We never dream these two couples could have anything in common. They do. They briefly switch horses midstream, affairs that are offstage and too quickly swept under the rug. But perhaps we saw Betrayal too recently. Pony Jones did not seem lost enough to agree to a romantic interaction with Bob. Toni Collette, on the other hand, was totally believable as likely to get it on with the Michael C. Hall character. She’s a superb actor and makes even her role as Bob’s bookkeeper wife soulful, especially when she put her hand on John's thigh.

Michael C. Hall is John Jones, a not-too-bright electrician afflicted with the uncharted disease. Hall’s unexpected magnetism onstage makes losing one’s marbles seem a sort of adventure or, at least, nothing to be angry about, as Bob was. Maybe the moral is that with the diagnosis of a terminal disease there are many ways to respond.

The original Palm restaurant on Second Avenue opened in 1926 and reporters, especially from the nearby Daily News, and Times restaurant critic Mimi Sheraton, wrote their columns while eating steak and lobster there. That is so believable when you see the big portions at the Palm. Consumed at a reasonable pace, one could write a novella over dinner. Or even over the iceberg lettuce wedge salad topped with blue cheese and onion rings. Or the bacon-wrapped sea scallops.

As if surf and turf were not enough, chicken parmigiana and pasta are on the menu. We went to a pre-matinee business lunch, an extensive prix fixe, including filet mignon medallions à la Oscar: on an asparagus spear raft, with a topping of jumbo lump crabmeat, and frothy Hollandaise on the side. Signature desserts include carrot cake with cream cheese icing and crisp pecans, and a remarkable dark-chocolate layer cake that you will remember always.

Clubby fittings of the theatre-district Palm imitate the Palm on Second, where the original caricature drawings by Jolly Bill Steike reside, duplicated in the wallpaper in its other restaurants. Many famous cartoon characters were drawn there by their makers, including The Phantom, Popeye, Felix the Cat, and Mr. Magoo. The current caricaturist is Al Evcimen.

The Palm is still owned by the same family and serves a menu that looks the way it did when brilliant Daily News columnist Jimmy Breslin began eating and writing there.

Love and Information and Monte's Trattoria

Love and Information. Say what?

Caryl Churchill’s brilliant 1982 Top Girls is a feminist touchstone comparable to Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale and Simone de Beauvoir's Le Deuxième Sexe. Wherever Top Girls was produced it drew the finest actresses around (kind of like Vagina Monologues today) to embody the most exceptional “top girls” from history, and seated them around a table for a banquet. In the Off-Broadway New York production, Linda Hunt was sensational as Pope Joan, from the Middle Ages, history’s only female pope, who gave birth while riding a horse. Martha Plimpton was also amazing in the role.

Churchill is still Off-Broadway, if you can imagine, though you’d never guess from the genius set and production at the Minetta Lane Theatre, in association with the Royal Court Theatre. Her gift for dialogue and speeches shines, whether between strangers or close family members—the “love” of the title. A widow, played by Maria Tucci (a top girl in any role she has ever played), sadly packs up her husband’s clothing to give away. The younger woman asks, “Did he mean everything to you?” “Well, we’ll see!” comes the spritely answer.

There are 57 exchanges inside a white cube that transforms into 57 sets, each different, that include two heavy sofas, bicycles, patio furniture, several beds, and a piano. Loud, distracting transitional music and sounds define the scene and cover scene changes that happen all too quickly. It’s a surprise to see a couple in bed and two boys on a grass patch, both vertical. 

Sometimes there’s too much information, as in the date with a biologist or the info that has no relevance, as in the waiting room of people applying for green cards, where a boyfriend prompts his girlfriend with possible test questions about the U.S. The format takes some getting used to, but when you do, the scenes are little gems. Extended through April 6.

A toast between top girls, Churchill's 1982 game changer

Downstairs Monte’s vintage Italian restaurant hasn’t changed since it was opened in 1918. The waiters are charming and friendly, the food is reliable rich and delicious, the prices reassuringly mid-range. Plus, you’re in the heart of Greenwich Village, the heart of arty New York.  They hold a Tony Awards night with a wide screen TV. Maybe we’ll go!

Hot Italian bread and long-stemmed artichoke hearts, in lemon and light breading were tutti bella. Fruitti di mare linguini was magnificent, heavy on seafood rather than pasta. Tender linguini is homemade. You can get a half portion of pasta. Grilled trout was fresh tasting—not overwhelmed by garlic or butter—and a double portion compared to what you get in some restaurants (Momofuku). Our waiter, Tomas, was a prince, and kissed us as we left. We only wish we had time for his Tartufo.
 

The Tribute Artist and L'Entrecôte

Charles Busch is a cherished New York actor and playwright specializing in playing Hollywood leading ladies. In The Tribute Artist, directed by Carl Andress, a longtime collaborator, he plays a drag artist who can no longer find work in a Las Vegas that would rather see a drag Beyoncé than a Marilyn. In retirement, though coiffed and in a gown, he visits with reclusive widow Adriana (Cynthia Harris). Busch does his signature late sweeping entrance, looking impossibly glam. They relive old times and old loves with Rita, a lesbian real estate shark played full-throttle by clotheshorse and Busch star Julie Halston.

The modern art-filled, bookish parlor of Adriana’s elegant house in the West Village has wedding-cake walls and ceiling, as Rita points out. It’s every New Yorker’s fantasy to own such digs. They drink too much and sleep over. When they wake up, they find Adriana has sadly expired in her sleep. Estranged from family, she left no will. Well, the tribute artist can impersonate the widow! The real estate agent can sell the house for millions! But wait—the widow’s beautician niece (Mary Bacon) arrives from Wisconsin with her transgender son. Fortunately, they haven’t seen the aunt since childhood. The tribute artist looks just enough like the old moneybags to convince them.

Thanks to a Facebook connection, the widow’s much younger boyfriend of yore appears. He also has not seen the widow for years and buys the hoax for a while. Jonathan Walker is full of surprises. Keira Keeley as the transgender Oliver is adorable and smart, and just wait until you see her in a tuxedo. It’s all good—as long as nobody looks in the fur vault in the cellar.

Charles Busch has always been outrageously ahead of his time. The Tribute Artist suggests the world may be trying to catch up. Crisp, original music by Lewis Flinn enhances the fun.

Not far from the midtown 59E59 theater is Le Relais de Venise L'Entrecôte, a French brasserie with branches in London and Paris. There is no menu—the steak frites is all there is. Le Relais label vin rouge is only $25 a bottle, and the prix-fixe dinner costs only a couple of dollars more. No reservations, so go there at an off hour.

You start with a beautiful green salad with walnuts in a sharp, mustardy vinaigrette. The entrecote, lean sirloin, is best rare or bleu (bloody) and is served sliced, in a pale, tarragon-inflected sauce that has a secret recipe. Half of the tender meat is kept hot on a chafing dish while you eat.

You'll think you are in Paris. The all-female staff is dazzlingly efficient. You're in good hands! With the second half of your perfect steak comes another portion of heavenly crisp, hot, skinny frites such as you've only enjoyed in Europe (or French Canada). The house steak sauce will make you never want catsup with your fries again, which is a good thing, because you can’t get catsup here even if you asked for it—or mayonnaise, or butter for your baguette.

Although there isn’t a main-course menu, the dessert menu has a huge selection, including a cheese platter with nuts that works as a main course. (That and the walnut salad is a tip-top selection for vegetarians.) The most ordered desserts are the profiteroles in Belgian chocolate and the 8" meringue tower.

Twelfth Night and Rye House

"Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better."

The Globe production of Twelfth Night: or What You Will has men playing women’s roles like in Shakespeare’s day. Come early and you’ll find the actors on stage milling about, dancing and applying makeup to splendid live Renaissance music: hurdy gurdy, cittern, recorders, bagpipe, pipe and tabor, and field drum. In imitation of the Globe theatre, there is double-decker audience seating on either side of the stage.

Angus Wright’s Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Paul Chadihi’s Maria give strong performances. All actors perform the Bard with ease, humor and clarity. Stephen Fry is a hoot as a lovesick swain, in yellow tights.

Mark Rylance steals the show as young Olivia, countess in mourning. He is both measured and over the top as a young girl in love. Much has been made of his athleticism. We saw Jerusalem on the West End, in which he played a down-and-out. Rylance entered with a handstand over a water trough, doused his head, and thereafter anything he did seemed incredible. As Olivia, he is comically graceful—and pretty.

Clothing is hand-stitched and a close match to the costumes worn in the 16^th-century. As the curtain closes, the six massive chandeliers over the stage are lowered and candles snuffed. Even this was fantastic to watch. Twelfth Night is performed in rep with King Richard the Third. Shakespeare diehards can see both shows in one day.

After Twelfth Night, we felt in the mood to go to a

Paper-thin beef jerky at Rye House

classic pub. What would a British pub be like if reinterpreted here? It might serve truffle popcorn, deep-fried pickles, sloppy joe sliders, fish tacos, and a truly unique version of macaroni and cheese. A juicy steak would be on the menu, and for dessert, molten brownie with vanilla ice cream.

Rye House, in the Flatiron District, turns out all of these dishes and others, including a sizzling pepper steak with extra-crispy fries. It is the classic American pub menu. Their mixologist is famous for the Wake-Up Call and the Perfect Storm. We found the Fall Breeze (house lavender syrup, bitters, cucumber, mint, vodka) to be perfect.

Kale caesar with WI parm

Robert Lombardi and Michael Jannetta have created attractive bars (their other is Sala One Nine) that are crowded every evening. We sat in the woody dining room where music and lighting were pleasantly ambient. Our young critic, Arden, found the deep-fried mac and cheese, served in three baseball-size orbs, “crunchy and creamy” and the medium-rare steak irresistible. Kale caesar salad—a brand new restaurant standby—was topped with Wisconsin parmesan. Made in-house beef jerky is served in sheets in a paper cone. This was a revelation to us: well-seasoned, sweet and salty, and something we haven’t seen anywhere else.

Moonwork and Katz's Delicatessen

After losing their lease and a three-year hiatus, Moonwork is back with $20 evenings of stand-up comedy and musicians and pop-up celebrity guests. You never know who is in town and will appear to try out new material. Moonwork is a well-kept secret quickly gaining momentum. Get there early. They often sell out.

Jim Gaffigan

Jim Gaffigan of The Late Show fame did not disappoint with his fat talk and quiet, clever, edgy delivery. Also noteworthy were Mazz Swift on electric violin, versatile comedians Jeffrey Joseph, Christian Finnegan, and Moonwork's closing act, the epic storyteller Tom Shillue, who took us on a journey back to his college days and paper airplanes, probability theories and haunted stairwells set to music. It was hilarious.

Moonwork is followed by comedy scouts and insiders. Join them on the mailing list to find out when there's a show and who'll be in it. New locale:  Clemente Soto Vélez Cultural and Education Center, 107 Suffolk Street. Moonwork is Gregory Wolfe, James Manzi, Carol Hartsell, and James Wolfe.

Katz's Delicatessen, established in 1888, was where to find actors from the thriving Yiddish theatre scene on the Lower East Side. More recently, it was the set for Meg Ryan's theatrical orgasm in Nora Ephron's When Harry Met Sally. The restaurant supported the war effort (three Katz sons fought in WWII). Their trademark slogan, posted throughout, "Send a Salami to Your Boy in the Army" still holds true. Katz's ships gift packages to the troops in Iraq.

"I'll have what she's having."

Sour pickles, creamy coleslaw, crispy fries, pastrami and corned beef are heaven, but the plain brisket is too. It's casual at Katz's, so expect tea in a paper cup and plates smeared with mustard and catsup to languish until the pick-up cart swings by. Take home cheesecake, chopped liver, and fresh bagels.

Perfect for before or after late-night comedy, Katz's never closes on Fridays and Saturdays. You can stay as long as you like. It's not cheap, for instance, the best pastrami sandwich you'll ever eat is $16.95, but worth it.

The Surrender and Chez Josephine

Laura Campbell in Toni Bentley's The Surrender. Photo by Paul Kolnik.

Toni Bentley’s 2004 memoir challenged assumptions. She took control of her soul and her physical self like no one else had done before, and found joy and empowerment through sex that was paid for, massage included. (At least that was my take on it.) The dancer heroine in the one-woman stage production finds her bliss in an obsession with a lover that she shares with a jealous actress known as “the blonde.” This is to say the story has been restyled a bit, not softened. The Surrender is way kinkier than Kinky Boots.

The casting is perfect—the dark-haired Laura Campbell, born in Northern Ireland, wise-cracking, self-mocking, with expert eye contact, holds the audience rapt for nearly an hour and a half without intermission. If another actor were to split the task, say, the legendary lover or the blonde, they would inevitably be duds next to her.

Bentley’s heroine is touching when she confides, “It is so difficult to be one’s self in one’s own sex life.” She had looked for a man who combined “the erotic and the spiritual” but typically found only half of the equation. Inspiringly, she finally got what she wanted sexually after recovering from a hip problem. “Bliss is a post-pain zone,” when “death dies and paradise is entered.” Who knows their body better than a dancer? She gives a biology lesson, turning around the vanity mirror to reveal a diagram of the female body.

Besides being a brilliant Guggenheim-winning writer, Toni Bentley is a former New York City ballet dancer, who co-wrote the sensational 1996 memoir of choreographer Balanchine muse, Suzanne Farrell. No one who reads it forgets that Balanchine proscribed his dancers’ weight-loss diet this way: one apple, halved—all day. The sex life described in The Surrender is of course extreme. Bentley’s play makes a case for that.

Josephine Baker, 1906-1975

The fabulous Baker boys, Jean-Claude and Jarry

Named for the most famous and shocking dancer of Paris in the Jazz Age, who was written about by Hemingway and Janet Flanner, Chez Josephine is right next door to the Harold Clurman Theatre. A riotous scene since it opened in the mid-80s, in a building that originally housed a massage parlor, Chez Josephine offers a French menu with large portions, hot sweet potato fries served in a paper cone, and romantically named cocktails—like A Kiss in the Rain: Tanqueray gin, peach schnapps, Amaretto and cranberry juice.

It seems incredible that two youthful and charming sons of Josephine Baker run Chez Josephine. Jean-Claude and Jarry do her proud, creating a mood that is opulent and unstuffy. There’re chandeliers, candlelight, red velvet drapes, piano music, and naked pictures of mother on every wall. As you depart for the eight o’clock curtain, you might be kissed on each cheek.

The Heath and Sleep No More

The Heath, under the High Line, is a massive old nightclub full of actors in period evening attire and featuring the best music of the past. As you enter, a haze of cigarette smoke in the air – but it’s only a subtle stagecraft to plunge you back in time. It's where you want to be, but didn't know it. 

Every table was filled on a Thursday night in this restaurant only two months old. By the summer outdoor seating on a roof garden will be added.

The confident, continental menu features Yorkshire fry-up, quail, meat pies, fish pie, lamb and beef: classics from another era. The Picked and Smoked platter – smoked salmon, blue fish and shrimp, with caper berries, pickled pears and beets – was a stunner (pictured, above right). Grilled scallops with endive, dates and blood orange was our favorite, though everything looked good. People around us all seemed to be ordering three courses, which you don’t often see in New York restaurants. But at the Heath, you want to extend the experience for as long as possible, the better to listen to the sensational 5-piece band and to watch a glamorous couple twirl on the dance floor.

Remember how in old movies, at restaurants like these, a tuxedoed waiter would appear at the table and say, “There’s a phone call for you?” That happens here, only the waiter knows precisely how to pronounce your name (culled from your reservation, or perhaps from a card trick with a seductress in a strapless dress).  “Please follow me,” the waiter says, making eye contact. He takes your arm and leads you to one of a series of phone booths. But then, he follows you inside, and … .

Cannot divulge what happens next, and it wasn’t done with every diner, just the ones who seemed receptive to loosen the stays of convention and play along with a brainy form of spin-the-bottle. Other dramas co-exit at the bar and the coat check. Wander around. The Heath, a complete night out in itself, is actually secondary to the theatrical presentation, Sleep No More, reviewed courtesy of our mystery critic:

From the Punchdrunk theatre company, Sleep No More is an immersive experience wherein the audience dons white masks and embarks on a three-hour exploration through 100 rooms in the fully outfitted McKittrick Hotel. Audience members are not allowed to talk throughout the show, but instead chase after the actors as they dart from scene-to-scene.

As you travel through dark outdoor forests, Victorian living rooms and a hospital, you may run into actors as they dance, pantomime, and sometimes scream at other actors. The show is loosely based on Shakespeare’s Macbeth, as well as Hitchcock’s Rebecca, so you may recognize characters or elements from both even without most of the dialogue. If you’re bold enough, as the host stresses, you may be pulled aside for a one-on-one with the character and come away with a memorable story to tell afterwards. The idea of immersive theater may seem intimidating, but after you’ve experienced Sleep No More, you won't stop talking about it.