Evangelia Kingsley

October 5, 2013

“Dance Me to the End of Love”

Metropolitan Room  –  September 22, 30

Evangelia Kingsley“Dance Me to the End of Love,” Evangelia Kingsley’s show at the Metropolitan Room (directed by Eliza Beckwith), brought to my mind the familiar image of the twin masks of comedy and tragedy, one paralyzed with hilarity, the other frozen in agony. Kingsley’s program zigzags between Bea Lillie-worthy zaniness and explorations of dark, somber themes. Kingsley has the authoritative stage presence to pull it all into a cohesive whole; she makes us remember that the two theatrical masks represent different aspects of the same face.

As the title suggests, the unifying theme of the show is dance, and it’s a good one for the kind of extremes of human experience Kingsley explores. Under this umbrella she can include everything from danses macabres to lessons at the local Arthur Murray studio. And while in a raucous early number, “By Way of Introduction” (Adam Overett), she claims that her terpsichorean skills are sorely limited, she has the vocal range, not to mention the acting chops, to evoke the settings for a whole range of dance moves. (By the way, when she actually does execute a few steps, she proves that her protestation of klutziness is baseless.)

You know right from her entrance that Kingsley is not going to serve up an ordinary cabaret act. She starts with an eerily disturbing mash-up of Tom Waits’s “Tango Till They’re Sore” and Lerner and Loewe’s “I Could Have Danced All Night.” Kingsley moves slowly to the stage without formal introduction, as musical director, arranger, and pianist Chip Prince begins playing odd notes that sound as though they’re staggering around looking for a chord to rest on. “I’ll tell you all my secrets but I lie about my past,” Kingsley sings—not exactly an Eliza Dolittle sentiment. Soon, though, she migrates to Lerner’s familiar lyrics, which—eventually—connect with Loewe’s melody. Finally Kingsley’s voice cuts through the dissonant, dreamlike accompaniment and begins to soar with the grace one expects from the song. It’s quite the opener.

Kingsley seems to enjoy letting disparate musical selections play off one another. She does it again with Francesco Durante’s lovely 18th-century art song, “Danza, danza fanciulla gentile,” which segues into the show’s haunting title song by Leonard Cohen. Kingsley’s voice savors the beauty and pain in Cohen’s lyrics. When her voice dips down to deliver some impossibly low notes, it’s the sound of a passion-riddled Clytemnestra railing against a decades-old betrayal.

Another standout moment in Kingsley’s darker mode is Karl Straub’s hard-bitten character song “They Dance Real Close There,” which relocates the singer’s Olympian passions to the prairie. Here Kingsley chews her “R”s as if they were gristle as her character contemplates the wickedness of city life. Later she takes the audience to the brink of the abyss with the Greek folk song “Dance of Zalongu,” in which she conjures images of a mad dance culminating in mass suicide.

On the comic side of the ledger are the aforementioned “By Way of Introduction” and an amusing reworking of Rodgers and Hart’s “Johnny One Note” called “Johnny One Step” (with special lyrics by Kingsley herself). “Johnny” features a tap performance by Jeff Casper, who shows up in other numbers as well, along with Kurt Kingsley. The show’s grand finale is the Gershwins’ dippy “Just Another Rhumba,” which is memorable for Prince’s clever musical quotation in his piano intro, and for its pervasive spirit of silliness.

For me, the only low point of the show was “Young and Free” (Elise Morris). The song was sung well, but it seemed drab and unremarkable when compared with the show’s more pyrotechnic turns. The high point of my evening was an exquisitely tender “Begin the Beguine” (Cole Porter). “Beguine” suggested that even if Kingsley were to do a straightforward, conventional cabaret show, she would likely deliver something special. But I appreciate greatly her effort to create a program brimming with inspired, original, and frequently outrageous moments. What might seem gimmicky and pretentious coming from other performers somehow fits this singer perfectly.

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About the Author

Mark Dundas Wood is an arts/entertainment journalist and dramaturg. He began writing reviews for BistroAwards.com in 2011. More recently he has contributed "Cabaret Setlist" articles about cabaret repertoire. Other reviews and articles have appeared in theaterscene.net and clydefitchreport.com, as well as in American Theatre and Back Stage. As a dramaturg, he has worked with New Professional Theatre and the New York Musical Theatre Festival. He is currently literary manager for Broad Horizons Theatre Company.