St. Louis Eats and Drinks With Joe and Ann Pollack

The Double Bass

People can strike up intimate, and often strange, relationships with whatever is closest and usually warmest--a blanket, a pacifier, a puppy, a parent, a human being, a baseball glove, a musical instrument. Rarely a double bass, but it's possible. "The Double Bass," by German playwright Patrick Suskind, is a strange but entertaining play that examines the possibility. It opened last night as an Upstream Theater production at the Kranzberg Theatre, and will run through Feb. 14.

J. Samuel Davis is alone as a man who plays the standup bass in a symphony orchestra. None of this jazz, or rap, "or the anarchy of improvisation" for him. He supposedly owns the instrument, but there are times when it seems to own him. Neither of those leading players has a name. As a matter of fact, the only character with a name is an unseen, unheard mezzo-soprano named Sarah. "That's Sarah with an 'h,'" Davis tells us several times.

Suskind's play, often very funny, was first performed in 1981, and looks at the relationship between man and instrument. Davis, a fine actor who seems to thrive under the direction of Philip Boehm, is excellent in every way. As a single man, close to 36, who has not had sex in at least two years, he finds that the tall, smooth, curvy bass tends to easily--maybe too easily--interfere with the relationship he would like to have with Sarah. But as a man in the third or fourth seat among bassists, he feels as if he does not deserve her, though he loves her, just as Marlon Brando loves the similarly named Stella in Tennessee Williams' "A Streetcar Named Desire."

-photo by Peter Wochniak 

Davis discusses his life, his parents, the non-musical father, the "weak" mother. Suskind opens a door to a long and mysterious psychological road that we can follow down a long and winding primrose path, but he is funnier and more effective with the non-speaking title character and the unseen Sarah. And Davis' early discussion of the bass, and how important it can be to then orchestra, is a highlight. Generally good entertainment.

At the Kranzberg Black Box Theater through Feb. 14

-Joe

Fires In The Mirror

When Anna Deveare Smith first put "Fires in the Mirror" on a stage in New York, only a few months after the Crown Heights riots of August, 1991, she portrayed 26 characters in a 90-minute play that was staggering in its impact. The riots began when a van driven by a Lubavitcher man (an ultra-conservative Jewish sect whose world headquarters are in the neighborhood) went out of control, veered onto a sidewalk and killed a seven-year-old Caribbean-American boy. On a hot summer night, tensions--including racial ones--were high, and besides, the Jews who had lived in the neighborhood for almost a century were extremely protective of their turf, and as many resented the politics and religiosity of the Lubavitchers as were bothered by the changing racial mix of the neighborhood. (A personal note: I was born in that neighborhood and lived there the first 16 years of my life.)

A few hours later, with a background of rock-throwing, fires and breaking glass, a group of young black men stabbed to death a Jewish student visiting from Australia. For four days, fires and fights raged. Almost 200 people were injured, about half that many were arrested, property damage was in the millions.

Smith interviewed people on both sides of the divide, wrote 29 separate monologues (three people spoke twice) and went on stage. The monologues represented people on both sides, some famous or important, a few anonymous, many just residents.

Mustard Seed Theatre opened the fierce, angry drama last night on its Fontbonne University stage, with Lori Adams keeping everything very taut and passionate. The number of monologues and the running time have been reduced by about a third, and Michelle Hand and Rory Lipede divide the monologues. Both are excellent; Lipede, a Fontbonne alum now working and living in New York, delivers beautifully as Al Sharpton, and if she occasionally sounds like a caricature, well, given Al, caricatureization (a newly made-up word) is difficult to avoid. She's also strong as nasty activist Sonny Carson and the angry Norman Rosenbaum, brother to Yankel, the murdered student.

Hand, one of the organizers of the late--and mourned--Orange Girls, speaks as two Lubavitcher rabbis, Joseph Spielman and Shea Hecht, who are sorry that the little boy was killed, but that accidents happen, and an accident should not cause such rage and passionate desire for revenge. She's fine there, and in several other guises, but seemed strongest as Roz Malamud, who lives in the neighborhood and is a Lubavitcher. She points out that "they want what we want," to live quietly and peacefully in a nice house, to have a job and food on the table and school for their children. But she wonders if that is possible.

Courtney Sanazaro's set, looking a little like a post-Apocalyptic movie, is effective, and a pair of television monitors identify each person as the actress starts the monologue. Kirsten Wylder designed costumes that are easily changed, but provide sufficient information with a hat, or a sweater, to give each person an identity.

"Fires in the Mirror" is strong stuff, but Smith's writing and use of language are such that it's a play that a family can see, if only to learn how relatively small events can mushroom into tragedy.

At the Mustard Seed Theatre, Fontbonne University, through Feb. 7

-Joe

The Beaches of Agnes

Agnes Varda, 81 years old, is considered the Grandmother of the French New Wave film movement. Belgian-born and starting as a still photographer, she has been making films for more than a half-century, counseling other filmmakers and being a vital part of the seminal group that included Alan Resnais, Jean-Luc Godard and, of course, Jacques Demy, to whom she was married for 28 years. "The Beaches of Agnes," an autobiographical and philosophical statement, is often self-promoting, but she's entitled. She also has brought forth an entertaining and fascinating movie that opens today.

Originally named Arlette, she changed her name to Arles as a teenager, crediting the French town in which she says she was conceived, then settled on Agnes when she was 18. Born in Brussels, she and her family moved to France ahead of World War II, spent most of the war living on a sailboat moored on the Mediterranean.

The ocean always has had a strong influence on Varda, and the new film opens with her setting up mirrors on a beach ("old, spotty mirrors," as she describes them) and photographing people and then surf and sand through and around the mirrors.

A free spirit and a political radical, Varda recalls a lot about her life and her great love for Demy. She speaks of him with considerable emotion as she shows clips of him in his final days, when illness controlled him, and of times when their relationship was at its most intense and loving. There also is discussion of the people with whom she worked, in Europe, Hollywood, China and other places. Demy often used Catherine Deneuve in his films, her luminous beauty showing even in casual photographs, and Varda has old clips from her films as well, including a very young Gerard Depardieu.

And she tells a splendid story of wanting to use Harrison Ford, an unknown, in a movie with Anouk Aimee, but being told by a Hollywood producer that Ford had no talent and would never be successful.

Her children, Rosalie and Mathieu, still are an integral part of her life, and the people she knew cover the entire entertainment and art spectrum, and either live or in archive footage, we visit with Alexander Calder, Jane Birkin, Robert De Niro, Michel Piccoli, Philippe Noiret, Jim Morrison, even James Rado and Gerome Ragni, who wrote "Hair."

As Varda talks, we learn a lot about movie-making and the many people with whom she worked, but we learn even more about a woman whose creative light never has dimmed and whose enthusiasm for life never has waned.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

The Grill at the Ritz-Carlton

This is Clayton Restaurant Week, (link is here)  with 17 Clayton restaurants offering three-course dinners for $25 plus tax and tip through Sunday. As people who appreciate both good food and good bargains, we felt obligated to participate. It seemed like a good deal, and when we participated in St. Louis version a few years ago, we were extremely pleased. Besides, when it's going on at a number of restaurants we like, it's easy to decide to take part, though difficult to choose exactly where. The menus often are slimmed down a little for the bargain-hunters, and the same holds true with the portions, but we thought the quality and presentation held up extremely well and we were mostly very happy.

We settled on last night at The Grill at The Ritz-Carlton, and dutifully made our reservations. The room was busy, quite busy for a Tuesday, with diners of all ages. Staff flew by, some repeatedly and a few who roared through and perhaps disappeared into a bottomless pit, because we never saw them again. All was indicative of lots of activity in the kitchen as well as the dining room and bar. Everyone seemed in a hurry, either to serve us or to hustle us along. Our pleasant server was so determined to get things done in a flash that she zoomed off with one drink order before the other of us could form the words. And the appetizers appeared almost immediately. But already on the table was a classy, unusual and delicious bread service, two types, freshly baked. In addition to butter and olive oil, there was an absolutely marvelous warm spread that included some cheese and some olives, blended perfectly with some magical ingredients into something with a color and texture like hummus, with taste that was phenomenal.

Of the two first courses available, the truffle raviolini was definitely superior. Fresh ravioli were sauced in a truffle-laced butter and topped with a single large oyster that sported a bolero of pancetta, grilled enough to crisp the pancetta slightly but not overcook the juicy, salty oyster. Good stuff, to be sure. On the other hand, what was a promised grilled pork belly was a one-inch cube, reasonably tasty, but sitting on macaroni that had been cooked so long it fell apart when one tried to pick it up with a fork. The bread crumbs on top it were unbrowned and soggy, but the cheese and minuscule bits of lobster that appeared here and there through the pasta were at least undamaged.

 

Only 30 seconds after the appetizer plates were removed, someone else brought our main courses--and put them down in front of the wrong person. Tandoori-spiced sea bass, perfectly cooked and lightly seasoned, sat atop beluga lentils and posed next to a swirl of cilantro puree, with a chutney-like mix of mango and pepper topside. It looked more exotic than it tasted, nothing to offend a cautious palate, but everything in harmony. A plate of sliced, grilled flatiron steak was more assertive, the steak robust and quite tender for a flatiron, and its side, a faux-risotto made of toasted barley with gorgonzola cheese stirred in, made for some serious excitement. The texture was better than a lot of risotti we've eaten, just slightly chewy, the liquid perfectly unctuous.

 
At least there was an inquiry about whether we were ready for dessert. No, we explained, we weren't in a particular hurry, give us a few minutes. And they did. An individual pineapple tart and a wee scoop of coconut sorbet were made for each other, good pastry shattering everywhere with the touch of a fork. A few strawberries in a syrup that may have had a little kir in it, and a tuile cookie completed things nicely. The Mexican chocolate bread pudding resembled a muffin, but tasted better, a texture that was perhaps slightly too fork-resistant, but flavor that charmed with chocolate and cinnamon, and a dazzling caramel sauce, thick and dark. The cinnamon ice cream side was pleasant but superfluous.

Two $7 wines by the glass from Chile are available; the by-the-glass collection on the regular wine list begins at $10 and rises rapidly from there, but a large glass of Australian Shiraz was a winner, as was a California Zin. And the Cigar Club, which is right next door, has the correct ventilation so that its distinctive aromas don't waft into the dining room and its entry hall.

The check appeared unbidden, but with a smile, and we were out in an hour and five minutes with no one was waiting for a table as we left. Good food, well worth its price, but near-manic service. And for a lovely parting gift, free valet parking, a rarity in Clayton.

The Grill at The Ritz-Carlton

100 Carondelet Plaza, Clayton

314-863-6300

Dinner Tues-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $24-$45

Crazy Heart

We've seen it, or its very close relatives, dozens of times through the years, with Bruce Beresford's "Tender Mercies," probably the best example, but "Crazy Heart" is an entertaining, well-made movie, as comfortable as an old shirt and as familiar as an old friend, and featuring Jeff Bridges in an Oscar-contending role.

That doesn't make it a great movie. Its plot line is excruciatingly reminiscent of stories we've read, heard and seen -- talent is self-destructive (alcohol, drugs, sex, whatever) and our hero is on a direct path to Death and Damnation, but love of a Good Woman, and a Small Child, and a warning issued by a Greater Power, and help from an Old Friend, and Determination, and Gee Whiz, it's the closing credits rolling already.

And of course, what better background music than classic country from Waylon and Willie, and Townes Van Zandt and T Bone Burnett, with Burnett as music director.

In the end, like John Ford westerns and Busby Berkeley musicals, this is a classic-style, optimistic, everything-will-work-out-for-the-best American movie. Scott Cooper wrote and directed, simply and without apparent effort, but with all the details meshing together nicely to provide a feeling of real satisfaction. The film is based on a Thomas Cobb novel.

Bridges, 60, has been making good movies since he was a small boy, working with his older brother, Beau, and their father, Lloyd. His character, Bad Blake, is a generation past famous and only a step or two from being washed up, is drunk at night, hung over in the morning, now driving a battered pickup truck from one miserable gig to another across the American southwest. He eats in greasy diners, sleeps in run-down motels, usually with an aging groupie alongside. He plays in bowling alleys (a nod to "The Big Lebowski"?) with local bands, gulps medicine to keep his worn-out stomach more-or-less in line, but still skips out the back door to vomit into a trash can during too many numbers.

Enter Jean (Maggie Gyllenhaal), much younger and with much less baggage. An incipient journalist for a small-city paper, she interviews Blake, her father having interceded in her behalf. On a professional level, it really isn't a very good interview, but he's interested. In the movie's hokey spirit, he goes to her house to cook pancakes for her and her son, showing us that he still is looking for roots (for emphasis, he also has a house in Houston).

His drinking causes a major trauma with Gyllenhaal, pleasant enough in a role a hundred actresses could play, then helps cause an accident. An old friend, bartender and confidant, played with fine style by Robert Duvall, then gets involved.

And then Blake's surrogate son, super-star Tommy Sweet (Colin Farrell), rejoins his one-time mentor; their relationship has a fine, edgy quality. Another splendid relationship and some of the movie highlights, come between Bridges and Jame Keane, as his manager, with some lovely, profane conversations across a telephone line.

"Crazy Heart" is a movie that shows off American optimism. H. L. Mencken would have scorned it, but I found it enjoyable and relaxing, the latter because the story is so predictable that there's not a single scene in which to wonder what is coming next.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac.

-Joe

William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe

William Kunstler, an activist attorney in the days that activists took to the streets, eventually seemed to believe that he was more important than the people he represented, an action that led him from defending those who were fighting for their rights to defending those who would help him into the headlines.

"William Kunstler: Disturbing the Universe," a documentary made by his two youngest daughters, Emily and Sarah, leans in favor of the flamboyant attorney (he is their father, after all), but often shows the difficulties caused by his actions, his clients and his ego, and they discuss some of the problems they faced because of that.

Kunstler, a New Yorker who had a quiet little law firm, became involved in civil rights work after a local housing case in New York's Westchester County in 1960, and when he discovered he really liked the news spotlight, his career changed. He represented the Catonsville 9, the Chicago 7, the inmates at Attica, the Native Americans at Wounded Knee, but as the '60s became the '80s, and his clients included dealing with such as Larry Davis, who shot six policemen; El Sayyid Nosair, who killed Meir Kahana; and John Gotti, his popularity paled.

The Kunstler girls co-directed, Sarah, 33, wrote it and Emily, 31 narrates. They admit that they told protesters outside their Greenwich Village home that they did not live there and speak of living in fear, and while they love and admire their father, who died when they were teenagers, they admit some of his shortcomings. The documentary also includes archuival footage and/or interviews with such as Jimmy Breslin, Bobby Seale, Tom Hayden, Fred Hampton, Alan Dershowitz and Julian Bond and is an interesting look at an interesting time. Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac.

-Joe

Tooth Fairy

With a wrestler known as the Rock turning hockey player, several cute kids, Julie Andrews as Spenser's Fairie Queen come to 21st-century life and a screenplay by Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel, who mine the same slag pile for more repetitive nonsense in every one of their many movies, what arrives in "Tooth Fairy" is exactly what one might expect -- a dull, turgid, totally predictable comedy of the type to give "family entertainment" a bad name.

Dwayne Johnson goes from ring to rink as a minor-league hockey enforcer named Derek who slams opponents into the boards, separating them from their teeth while a pair of ninnies in the broadcast booth scream orgasmically at the violence.

Away from the ice, he is busily courting Carly (Ashley Judd), who is a mother of two, a pre-adolescent boy (Chase Ellison) who plays guitar and hates Derek, and a younger girl (Destiny Grace Whitlock) who likes the pumped-up athlete, who looks as if he just stepped out of a tanning booth.

And then Derek makes a disparaging remark about tooth fairies, and suddenly he is one, complete with wings and tutu, taking orders from Andrews and Stephen Merchant, both of whom have English accents (they're English, but still. . . .). The comedy, both verbal and physical, and situations are tired and familiar and the movie drags on like an entire year of second-rate sit-coms.

Opens today at multiple theaters

-Joe

Haveli

If Chinese food is almost as much about texture as taste, we believe that Indian food is almost as much about aroma as taste.

That struck us as we were enjoying a meal at Haveli, a new Indian restaurant that's an offshoot of Bombay Grill in O'Fallon, MO. Owner Hema Patel has brought her chef, Piara Ram, closer to the city, and Mrs. Patel herself was on hand the nights we visited. Her presence, as she answers questions and describes dishes, is a nice change from some of the dour-faced servers we've had at other Indian restaurants, here and in other cities.

She starts diners off with papadum, the crisp lentil wafers that have a touch of cilantro here and there, and the Haveli papadum are tightly rolled into a narrow cylinder, almost like a tan napkin that spreads crumbs when squeezed. They're accompanied by two dipping sauces, called chutneys, with a sweet-tart brown tamarind and a particularly tasty cilantro, bright and citrusy, different from any we've had. And since it's been soup weather recently, a bowl of dal soup, dal being the orange lentils that turn yellow when cooked, was just the thing. Light rather than sludgy, it was steamy hot and satisfying with bits of vegetable dotted throughout, and with its tantalizing scent wafting upwards.

One of the nice things about Haveli's appetizers is that not everything is deep-fried. Plenty of pakoras and samosas, the vegetables and stuffed dumplings that are fried, of course, but also things like aloo chana chat, more or less a warm salad of chickpeas, potatoes and a few nuggets of cucumber. The chat is a mixture of seasonings often used for snack foods. Its predominant note is amchoor, dried powdered green mango, which means it's sweet-sour, with a somewhat lemony aroma. Our venture into tandoori was with some large, moist chicken wings that arrived on a sizzling platter with just-past raw onions nestled alongside, along with a fresh lime for both flavor and aroma. Cooking onions always smell good, of course. Tandoori, which refers to a very hot clay oven is always a most proper introduction to Indian food, and we'd suggest this dish to anyone, novice or otherwise. Chili paneer is described as fried Indian cheese, but it's not battered and deep-fried. It's more like a stir fry with chili, onion and tomato, different from most Indian appetizers but definitely delicious.

Chicken 65 has been around for a while but still isn't on many St. Louis menus. Despite the name, it really isn't a “tourist dish.” Marinated in spices and quickly fried, the boneless chicken is full of ginger and garlic, and comes with sweet peppers, more onion, a little zucchini and a drift of cilantro, full-flavored without being incendiary. Speaking of “tourist dishes,” most serious food lovers know that chicken tikka masala was named the national dish of England a couple of years ago. Like mulligatawny soup, masala grew out of the Anglo-Indian connection to become a world-wide constant on Indian restaurant menus, and like so many dishes, everyone does it a little differently. We tried the fish tikka masala variation, and were thrilled with the result. The tomato sauce is rich and complexly spiced with a layer that made us think that perhaps cashews had been added to the ground-up aromatics that begin such sauces. The fish was tilapia, with the sauce complementing but not overwhelming its flavor. There's a chicken version available, too, of course, and a vegetarian one. The aromas of turmeric and fenugreek also were noticeable, along with cumin.

 

Mushroom mattar(above, left) brought peas and mushrooms in a completely different tomato gravy, a little sour and with a nice hit of red pepper. We'd asked for this one to be spicy, and it turned out to be an excellent contrast to the tikka masala. Another contrast came from lamb with spinach, lamb saag (above, right), its sauce golden from turmeric, with a touch of sweetness from the vegetables that heightened the flavors of the spinach and the extremely tender lamb.

A constant at the better Indian restaurants is plethora of difference, delicious breads, leading us once again to a discussion of a future meal of nothing but the breads; there are 13 on the menu at Haveli – but we stuck to the buttery nan, warm, light and very flavorful.

As to dessert, it was a case of something old, something new. The former was the familiar gulab jamun, the doughnut-hole-like cakes that arrived fresh, hot and melt-in-the-mouth delicious. These babies were obviously fried to order and arrived in just a little bit of warm syrup, bringing great delight to. And new to both of us was a flavor of Indian ice cream called falooda. Indian ice cream, by the way, is not churned, but frozen undisturbed, rather like a Fudgesicle, so the texture is different. Falooda itself is a drink/dessert served in summer, and the ice cream incorporates the ingredients, like small, chewy noodles and a few black seeds, which are known as falooda seeds. Colored a pale rose pink and flavored with rosewater, the falooda ice cream is different, refreshing, something else to explore.

Mrs. Patel seems to be doing much of the serving herself, but this is a good-sized dining room, with a large buffet at lunch. Still, she lends a homey air, especially if she understands that a guest is interested in what's being offered. And there are plenty of things we'd like to explore, like the scrambled egg appetizer and the keema biryani.

Haveli

9720 Page Blvd., Overland

314-423-7300

www.havelistl.com

Lunch and Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $10-$20

Caroline's Cakes

With the approaching Super Bowl, we're about to wrap up the winter eating season. This last day-long orgy of eating is by far the most casual of the season, Thanksgiving and Christmas generally involve sit-down dinners; New Year's Eve, if it's not a dinner, usually is a time for lighter food that goes well with sparkling wine, and New Year's Day is right for some sort of brunchiness. But for Super Bowl, we're thinking pots of chili, hundreds of chicken wings and oceans of onion dip, right?

 Over the holidays, we discovered one of the most remarkable mail-order foods we've ever had. Our daughter-in-law, who lives in Virginia, found a bakery in Annapolis, MD, that does traditional Southern cakes. Caroline's Cakes offers several types, but the headliner and by far the most popular is a 7-layer caramel cake.

The cake itself is a tender yellow, astonishing to those whose idea of yellow cake is the stuff Twinkies are made of. And the frosting...well, it's dense, creamy, clearly a cooked candy-like sort of icing, reminding us of nothing so much as pralines. Some might argue that it's more like butterscotch than caramel, but that's quibbling. No fancy decorations that could be smooshed in the shipping, just a classic layer cake style.

The 9” cake serves 14-20, which seems impossible, but this is rich, rich, rich and should be sliced thinly.

The cake arrives frozen, and can be returned to the freezer if only part of it is eaten. It' keeps that way for six months. We left it at room temperature, since we knew it was going to be eaten fairly quickly; the baker doesn't recommend refrigerating it.

Yes, additional flavors, too, and a few other items including a delightful cupcake necklace. And if you're in the neighborhood, they have a retail operation, plus a breakfast and lunch menu.

Caroline's Cakes

1580 Whitehall Rd.,

Annapolis, MD

410-349-2212

toll-free 888-801-CAKE

www.carolinescakes.com

Romeo and Juliet

 

It's probably the greatest love story ever written. It's surely the play that more people know, or know a line from, than any other. It's "Romeo and Juliet," of course, and it receives a rich, charming, delightful production from the Black Rep. It opened Friday at the Grandel Theatre, where it will run through Feb. 14.

Directed by Chris Anthony, and set in 1968 in what the program describes as "Verona (A city much like St. Louis)," the Shakespeare classic adopts a few 20th-century touches like casual garb designed by Jennifer (JC) Krajicek, often a sharp and fascinating contrast to the Shakespearean language of the late 16th century. Equally striking, but more entertaining, are several dance scenes, including a glorious rendition of the Madison of the 1960s, led by Drummond Crenshaw and Linda Kennedy, with outstanding choreography by Heather Beal. And young Chauncy Thomas stopped the show with his rendition of Louis Jordan's 1945 song hit, "Cal'donia (What makes your big head so hard?)" It was even more successful because he sang it to Andrea Frye, who played the Nurse with a lusty, bawdy quality rarely seen in the part. Frye showed a humorous, dynamic quality all night, then went to the opposite end of the emotional continuum with a breaking, heart-breaking quality when she says to Juliet, "We are undone," as she discovers that the deaths are piling up too fast to count.

Jim Burwinkel's set, simple backdrops on a bare stage, adapts to the many scene changes with little effort except for that needed from the audience.

With a cast of 18, the Black Rep used actors across its many years, ranging from founder Ron Himes (Capulet), and company veterans like Erik Kilpatrick (Montague), Kennedy (Lady Montague, an anonymous party guest and a single, brilliant scene as an uncredited apothecary), Crenshaw (the Prince of Verona) and Robert A. Mitchell (the Friar). All were solid under Anthony's careful, well-paced direction.

Younger generation standouts included Sharisa Whatley (Juliet), Khnemu Menu-Ra (Benvolio), Patrese D. McClain (Lady Montague), Nic Few (a studly Romeo), Tim Norman (Tybalt), Jonathan Ellison (Balthasar) and Sean Walton (Paris). Most of them played as friends, relatives and hangers-on to the rival Capulet and Montague families, and the fight scenes were excellent, with credit to Andrew Keller as fight choreographer and Mitchell as fight captain.

It's a fine production by the company, a little slower in the second act as the action lessens and as Shakespeare showed symptoms of the well-known playwrights' malady of struggling to bring everything to a well-constructed conclusion. As always, Shakespeare has something to entertain and teach everyone, from the display of the English language as the beautiful thing it can be, to showing off that, sadly, the human condition does not change, and serving, along then way, as the inspiration for plays and movies that have entertained us for centuries.

"Romeo and Juliet," by the St. Louis Black Repertory Company; at the Grandel Theatre through Feb. 14

-Joe