Fat girls aren’t easy: ‘Charm’ works its magic

The MAC, 3120 McKinney Ave. Through Dec. 11. KitchenDogTheater.com.


Margaret Fuller (Tina Parker) was a real person who seemed unreal to the society of her day. She was educated, opinionated, frank and kinda ugly — she hated corsets and the sexual repression of women. By the time she died, at age 40, she had had a child (probably out of wedlock), dated (probably gay) author Henry David Thoreau (Michael Federic0), and dabbled (probably) with lesbianism, all while breaking into the Good Ol’ Boys’ Club of the mid-19th century Transcendentalist Movement.

At least that what Kathleen Cahill suggests in her new play Charm, getting its Texas premiere from Kitchen Dog Theater. The title is ironic, as Margaret, despite her many talents, was totally lacking in charm. She dared challenge Ralph Waldo Emerson (Jeffrey Schmidt, a dead-ringer) and Nathaniel Hawthorne (Brian Witkowicz, hilarious), and irked a traditionalist like Orestes Brownson (John M. Flores). She was a woman outside her time.

KDT’s production — a fun, witty 90 minutes — captures the fairy-tale-like silliness of some very serious matters, especially feminism and sexual liberation of other kinds. Like Circle Theatre’s recent Bach at Leipzig, it tells historical facts with the freedom to turn  into a comedy. Hawthorne is a rabbity weirdo; Thoreau a bug-loving sickly nerd — a repressed closet case who moved to Walden Pond as a way of sublimating his sexual anxiety; Margaret lusts after a boyhood crush by the lake — a vast, blue parachute of rippling water. And the idioms are mostly modern, at once taking us out of its time and reinforcing how contemporary the ideas are (Margaret high-fives one of her friends).

The set, by Chase Floyd Devries, could have been designed for children’s theater: A serious of steps that resemble the books written by the literati that populate the play, in bright, colorful pastels. Just as interesting, though, is Parker as Margaret. Like her performance in Mr. Marmalade, Parker takes a childlike petulance and turns it into high tragedy. Things appear so simple to her — why can’t they really be that way? As with Dawn Weiner in Welcome to the Dollhouse, you sympathize with her even as you want to shake her. She may not have had any charm, byt the play has loads.

—  Arnold Wayne Jones

Customer service: Black Tie edition

I own several tuxedoes plus some nice patent leather shoes, so I rarely rent formalwear anymore. But I had a nice experience at Al’s this week.

One of my tuxes lost a button — the black-satin-wrapped kind. Unlike many suits, which sew “reserve” buttons into the lining, none of my tuxes have extras. I don’t know the first thing about sewing on buttons even if they do. I was  bummed.

But I decided to take a hail Mary: I brought the coat into Al’s on Oak Lawn and asked whether they might have any buttons that matched. The lady behind the counter said, “I’ll look.” She took the coat back with her and emerged a few minutes later with a button that looked like a dead ringer. “That’s perfect!” I said. She snatched it up and said, “Give me a few minutes.” She emerged later with the button, sewed beautifully onto my coat. Exactly what I needed.

“What do I owe you?” I asked, expecting a $20 fee for parts, labor and instant turnaround.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just remember us if you need anything.” (She even offered to re-sew a loose button on another coat I had with me!)

That’s good customer service. Especially for someone who wasn’t even a customer.

—  Arnold Wayne Jones