An invite to the Dutch countryside turns into a trip from Hell in Speak No Evil.
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While researching the Icelandic landscape for her film The Seer and the Unseen (2019), director Sara Dosa and her team came across spectacular footage from volcanologists Katia and Maurice Krafft, which led to Dara digging further into their work, lives and deaths, and Fire of Love.
Deep in the Krafft rabbit hole, Dosa learned a profound lesson from the couple that she shared with the Sundance audience:
“They taught me that loving the earth also helps us to love each other.”
Fire of Love builds up to the couple’s death, doing what they love, but that is just a small part of the narrative, which instead focuses primarily on their lives and relationship.
The film tells their story through their own photos and video footage from around the world. The majestic, and often frightening, footage is expertly paired with music, animation and narration from indie film star Miranda July, who sounds more low-key and honest than your typical nature-doc “voice of God.”
We learn the several ways the couple may have met, how they first became fascinated by volcanoes (Etna and Stromboli early on) and witness the subtle differences in the ways they approach their work. While Katia prefers taking still photos, focusing on the small details of their science, and writing the books; Maurice shoots video so no aspect is lost, focuses on the grandiose and does most of the public speaking. Maurice also comes off bolder in his research methods, even paddling with a fellow scientist onto an acid lake at one point.
We learn that one won’t work without the other.
Viewers also witness a change in their approach overall, as they turn their attention from the less-dangerous “red” volcanoes to the highly dangerous “grey” volcanoes (think St. Helen’s and Unzen), with a goal of sharing their findings to help save those in the path of destruction.
Add this to your list. With 200-ish hours of footage edited down to about an hour and a half, we can only imagine the sights left on the cutting room floor.
Fire of Love will show again Jan. 21 at 8 a.m. at Sundance online.
Perhaps you’ve heard this story. How, once upon a time, a beautiful, young woman—a nanny of all things!—met and married a prince in an incredibly lavish ceremony observed by the whole world. And wasn’t it amazing, dreamy, romantic? The spectacle, the procession, the dress, that girl! Just like a fairy tale, they said. We said. And then the not-so-happily-ever-after followed, and we continued to watch, at least sometimes, wondering, maybe, what’s wrong with them? What’s wrong with her?
But oh, there’s a son! And here’s another one! Splendid. And then things got even worse, and then they were splitting up, sort of, separating, not divorcing, because for some reason his family couldn’t allow that, and, really, it was for the boys, and were we still paying attention? Because there’s another woman and another man in the story now—but which came first, and that’s not how these things go, right? I mean, maybe in our lives, people’s lives, but not in this story, not for them (or forget him, he’s always been sort of odd and definitely not charming), not for her. That’s not how we wanted it to be. Or, actually, all this business about affairs and her feeling trapped sort of maybe makes her more interesting, doesn’t it? Which has always been the case, yes, that she, the seeming outsider, was the most approachable of all of them, that ancient, cold, symbolic family she married into. She’s the most compelling, the one we really loved because those eyes, that voice, that style—and also she had problems we could identify with and she cared a lot and she could express that.
And then they were divorced and she was free of him and his controlling family—great!—and then she was dead, killed in a car crash we never saw, while she and some guy were being chased by a buzzing swarm of paparazzi, trying, as they always had, to catch the latest, most intimate glimpse of her face, her most private expression that would tell us everything we wanted to know, about—
What did we still want to know? What was it we’d wanted from her? What did she mean, after all?
Maybe you lived through this saga, getting up before dawn to watch the coverage of its beginning and its end. Or maybe you only know part of it. Or you’ve immersed yourself in all the pages and hours of analysis, the told-to biographies and secret histories, as well as the searching, speculating dramatizations of The Queen, The Crown and Spencer. So why, at this point, would you bother to sit down and watch one more documentary about her—unless you’re just a glutton?
Director Ed Perkins is well aware of your saturation and skepticism, but he doesn’t accept the possibility of your total exhaustion. Or rather, he knows you haven’t yet considered the implications of your own interest. The Princess is what he calls an archive film, constructed in the editing room from thousands of hours of video and audio documenting and analyzing the marriage of Charles and Diana, the most basic materials of their narrative. His choices purposefully avoid the mostly familiar, entangling and enhancing the known with video outtakes and the often passionate and sometimes cruel assessments of royal observers, talk show hosts and ordinary citizens from around the world. There are very few moments of surprise in The Princess (Princess Anne’s stunningly bitchy response to a question about her sister-in-law’s new baby is one), but that’s not really the point. The film’s drama lies, rather, in Perkins’s deft aggregation of the frequently absurd, sometimes pathos-laden, but always authentic images and sounds of people watching and caring—the expressions of affirmation in the street celebrations during the wedding; the constructed melancholy in the coverage of Diana contemplating the Taj Mahal solo; the inevitable phalanxes of slavering photographers and videographers; Diana’s increasingly intentional and savvy manipulation of the media through more and less subtle glances, refusals and riddle-like statements; and, finally, the tearful, even rageful crowds slowly converging on Buckingham Palace, seemingly to mourn some greater coming apart.
Though there are a few moments (as in a hunting sequence) where the editing of the film indulges its own myth-reinforcing metaphors and resonances, The Princess mostly avoids pushing its own commentary on its subjects, letting the footage it frames—its assumptions and claims—raise critical questions. And the film draws no grand conclusions about our persistent, reciprocal participation in an intoxicating and frequently destructive celebrity culture. Instead it presents abundant and provocative evidence supporting a single and singular case. Whether or not we have been caught up in the story (as millions of others here testify that they were), the attention The Princess asks us to bring to its montage of images and dialogue and to the personal act of meaning-making we perform on these make it a worthy and uniquely reflective addition to the vast commentary on Diana’s life and death.
Filling the home with lush greenery has been proven to boost moods, lower stress and improve focus. So it’s no wonder many of us looked to our houseplants to provide sanctuary over the past few years. The growing craze surrounding indoor houseplants is expected to continue as we enter 2022, and local experts are chiming in with their own green predictions. Horticulturist and Thyme and Place owner Melinda Meservy has welcomed shoppers into her botanical boutique since 2018 and has developed a keen sense in houseplant trends. Here, she shares her forecast for what 2022 has in store for green-thumbed enthusiasts.
Aroids Are The New “It” Plant
Move over succulents, aroid plants are here to stay. Aroid plants include many of your favorite greenery like pothos, monsteras and philodendrons. These plants are notorious for their easy and forgiving nature, perfect for novice gardeners looking for low maintenance greenery. But don’t mistake their soft temper for dullness—aroids are known for their vibrant color and quick growth rate. “I’m seeing people gravitate toward aroids because they want to see their plant actually progress and grow,” says Meservy.
Houseplant Parents Will Improve Their Skills, But Others Will Lose Their Green Thumb
In 2021, many rushed to their nearest plant shop to bring a piece of the outdoors inside. Now, Meservy expects some of those early enthusiasts to lose interest. “As with any trend, I think there might be a bit of a pendulum swing back,” she says.” I think I’m going to see some people get discouraged and give up.” Of course, other houseplant parents will have sparked an attraction that will only keep growing. “The people that have really connected with their plants and found a benefit will keep loving them, and start learning how to best care for them,” says Meservy.
Supply Chain Disruptions Will Endure
The stop-and-go of the global supply chain has touched all corners of industry, including the houseplant community. Meservy has experienced difficulty in stocking her shop with new species and products since the pandemic began, and is settling in for another year of solution solving. The easiest way to avoid supply chain obstacles? Shop small. Instead of sourcing plants at big-box stores like The Home Depot or Lowe’s, support local nurseries and shops where you’ll find plenty of items made right here in the beehive state.
Pots and Containers Will Find the Spotlight
In 2022, people will find meaning in pots and containers as much as in the plants themselves. “I think we are going to see plant lovers spending time and effort to find the right containers for their plants that they really love,” says Meservy. Her favorite trending pieces? Midcentury modern pieces with cylindrical features.
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During a climactic scene of The Messenger, a world premiere now at Pioneer Theatre Company, my friend leaned over to me and whispered “this is like if doomscrolling were a play.” To our internet-addled brains, by this point the play only registered as TMI—too many opinions, too many people yelling, too many serious issues to pay attention to all at once.
To be fair, the dialogue by playwright Jeff Talbott is smarter than what you’d find on your average online echo chamber. Loosely adapting Henrik Ibsen’s play An Enemy of the People for modern audiences, Talbott maintains the 19th century setting while reimagining the plot to comment on contemporary issues. The concept is promising—Ibsen’s tale of a whistleblower at odds with his community has plenty of details that feel sadly relevant to 2022. In its execution, though, The Messenger falls flat, as neither the issue-driven narrative nor the characters register.
In 1882, a small Norwegian town excitedly anticipates the opening of the nearby baths, which promise to save the town from financial ruin. As the official launch approaches, Dr. Therese Stockman (Ora Jones), who lives with her daughter Petra (Turna Mete), begins noticing a string of unexplained illnesses in town. Her preliminary research concludes that something in the baths is causing the health problems, which she fears could spread widely. She shares this information with her friend Kristine (Meredith Holzman), who wants to publish the findings in her newspaper. This news upsets Therese’s brother Peter (Mark H. Dold), the town mayor whose financial and political fortunes depend on the baths’ success. As both Therese and Peter double down on their opinions, a painful, personal ethical debate threatens both their relationship and the entire town.
In the play’s quieter scenes, the relationship between Dr. Stockman and Kristine is one of the play’s most affecting threads. The women bond over their mutual disappointment in men—relatable—and work to find their place as powerful women living in a restrictive society. Jones and Holzman have an easy chemistry on stage, and director Wes Grantom finds the most success with actors in these intimate, character-focused scenes.
These delicate moments, though, are drowned out by the play’s wandering focus on a whole laundry list of social issues. The Messenger addresses, among other things, public health crises, media bias, political corruption, class tension, gender dynamics, generational divide, political polarization and religious hypocrisy. In just a 90 minute running time, it’s impossible for all of these disparate topics to be addressed with nuance, and too often the characters get reduced to talking heads, making arguments that directly, if clumsily, address contemporary debates. The cast was clearly talented, but they were frequently left yelling to get their point across.
In all of these debates, Talbott refuses to take sides—in fact, one character often explicitly states that more of us need to meet in the middle and find common understanding. It’s an admirable impulse to let audiences come to their own conclusions. But in The Messenger, all of these attempts to add complexity muddles the social commentary, and audiences are left with an ever-growing pile of interesting ideas devoid of any clear point-of-view.
Though Talbott actually wrote The Messenger before the COVID-19 pandemic, the parallels between the health crisis on stage (which the characters ignore and politicize) and our world today are impossible to miss. This gives the play an added relevance, but it also, through the fault of no one in the creative team, makes it tougher to sit through. My reaction very well could be an “it’s not you, it’s me situation”—after two years of pandemic discourse and endless bad news, I admit my appetite for seeing the same thing on stage was low. In 2022, you don’t need to go to the theater for high-stakes ethical debates; you can just pick up your phone.
The Messenger will play at Pioneer Theater Company through Jan. 29. For tickets and more information, visit their website. Read more about arts and entertainment in Utah.
In Utah County, the jokes have been rated G for all audiences.
A Mormon, a Catholic and an atheist walk into a comedy club…and the Diet Cokes they order are the dirtiest punchlines in this story because this club is in Utah County. Ask anyone who has made their final exodus from Utah County and they’ll tell you the culture of Happy Valley leaves much to be desired, but the strange milieu of prevalent cultural influences were the perfect conditions to create a petri dish in which the bacteria of a burgeoning comedy scene can grow. A squeaky clean comedy scene, the germs of which have become Utah County’s main cultural export, partially thanks to the viral nature of social media. We endeavored to discover the secret of the scene’s evolution and laud the success of the comedians, performers and content creators at its core.
Tanner Rahlf
How did Tanner Rahlf get into stand-up? He needed friends. His first lonely year at BYU-Idaho, Rahlf found his way to open mic nights in Rexburg where he found his birds of a feather.
“There is something wrong with every comedian,” he says. “When I started doing comedy in Rexburg, the college had started a club for people with depression and we all joked that there was already a club for people with depression. It was everyone doing stand-up at open mic nights.”
From there, he moved on to BYU in Provo and once again, not knowing a soul, found his way in the then-flourishing stand-up, sketch comedy and improv scenes. With friends he met at ImprovBroadway, Rahlf co-founded a sketch comedy group called The Darned. And, as the name implies, the group mostly works clean.
“Sure, offensive humor can be very clever,” he says and often works blue, but he understands the culture that creates an audience for clean comedy. “I grew up Mormon, having to censor myself, and so I know there are people who won’t like a certain kind of joke and I can work within those parameters.”
But, like all of the comedians we talked to, he doesn’t think clean comedy is lesser than other types of humor.
“I kind of love and hate Jim Gaffigan fans,” he says of the famous comedian known for his all-audiences brand of humor. “They’re like ‘he’s just so clean,’ but I watch what he does as a comedian myself. He’s not good because he plays clean. He’s good because he’s a great comedian.”
These days, he hosts the standup nights at ImprovBroadway and believes that just as sketch and improv comedy in Utah County have blown up, stand-up is the next big thing.
“You can feel it in Provo,” he says. “There’s something about to burst. I’m seeing some of the funniest stuff at the open mics that I’ve ever seen. It’s palpable. Audiences are craving more standup. There is a joy and a rush for the audience and the comedians. Like we’re all in on the same joke together.” —Jeremy Pugh
Naomi Winders
Naomi Winders came up through what is now an established channel. The writer, actor and comedian is in her second season on Studio C, a wildly popular show on BYUtv that is considered the gold standard of clean sketch comedy. She got her start in Divine Comedy, a student-run BYU campus group that is often scouted by Studio C producers.
“Not everyone who is in Divine Comedy goes on to appear on Studio C,” she says. “But the Studio C producers often look at Divine Comedy actors when they are casting because they know we perform clean comedy at BYU.”
Winders hasn’t ever played blue. All of her comedy has been in the family-friendly realm.
“I work with a lot of people from Los Angeles and New York that have struggled to transfer to clean comedy,” she says. “But that’s the only kind of comedy I’ve done. It’s not a lesser form of comedy. It actually opens up even more topics. Raunchy humor falls into cliche easily. Jokes tend to be about sex, drugs, drinking. In the clean comedy realm, we’re mining other subjects and looking for the absurdity of everyday life.”
A lot of the appeal for clean comedy audiences is that the whole family can enjoy it together, but that doesn’t mean it’s “little kid” humor.
“You see the type of jokes that are being fed to kids on Disney or Nickelodeon,” she says. “They’re not very clever. It’s like they think the things that adults think are funny kids won’t. But kids are smarter than you think and creating a comedy show that doesn’t rely on raunchy humor creates a universal type of comedy that anyone can relate to.” —JP
Dry Humor @ Dry Bar Comedy Club
If you share the wrong thing with the wrong person online, you can get into trouble. That was one of the modern pitfalls Dry Bar Comedy was trying to avoid when it started bringing shareable, comedic content to social media. Dry Bar produces one-hour, “clean” stand-up comedy specials at their club (also dry) in Provo, takes their top comics on tour around the country, and in August launched a streaming app (Dry Bar Comedy+) where you can watch them all.
Keith Stubbs is the person responsible for booking the slew of comedians necessary to support the release of three new specials each week. Stubbs is a stand-up himself—with his own Dry Bar special—and owns the Utah comedy institution Wiseguys Comedy, which he’s run for a couple of decades now. It’s that experience that tells Stubbs when a comic has what it takes.
“I book Dry Bar comedians that honed their craft at places like Wiseguys open mic nights,” says Stubbs. You get just three minutes to make an audience laugh at their open mic nights. “It sounds like nothing until you’re up there, then it feels like forever,” says Stubbs. “It takes a lot of work to become a good comic. And a lot of rejection. After they’ve worked hard and had some success, Dry Bar gets the comedians that take off.”
While Wiseguys takes all kinds, including some big-name, potty-mouthed headliners, Dry Bar deals exclusively in the clean stuff. But for Stubbs, himself a “funny for everyone” kind of comic, it’s not about dirty or clean, “It’s just funny. That’s the idea.”
After 10 seasons, Stubbs says Dry Bar is looking to expand into other projects beyond stand-up specials, like scripted, sketch and improv comedy.
295 W. Center St., Provo
Salt Lake City, Ogden, West Jordan and Las Vegas locations
Dallin Blankenship
If you are a parent of young children, the dilemma that brothers Peter and Tyler McKellar faced will feel familiar.
“We both have kids and realized that there was something missing from our lives,” Peter says. “Parents often get stuck watching kid shows and, as adults, it’s mostly painful. We wanted to make something that would make both kids and parents laugh.”
The McKellars dabble in stand-up and improv but their day job work is in advertising. They had been producing commercials that involved puppets. That’s right. Puppets. A light bulb went on.
“We set out to make something for parents like us,” Peter says. “Something with puppets.”
That something was Nine Years to Neptune on BYUtv, a show with a cast of 11 puppets and two humans who set out on an expedition to Neptune. Sort of.
“The space thing is really just a way for us to confine a number of characters in one space,” Tyler says. “It’s a workplace comedy that throws together a bunch of strangers who have zero experience or qualifications for being in space. It’s basically a mash-up of Gilligan’s Island and The Office.”
The tradition of creating universal humor through the universal silliness of puppetry goes back to Sesame Street and The Muppet Show, says Dallin Blankenship, Nine Years to Neptune’s puppet captain (yes, that’s an actual job title). Blankenship studied under Micheal Earl, the Muppeteer (also a job title) who you would only recognize as the front half of Snuffleupagus. (Snuffy requires two Muppeteers.)
“I learned from Earl that there are two kinds of Muppets, order and chaos. Neptune offers this juxtaposition between humans and puppets, Blankenship says. “The humans are creating order and the puppets are creating chaos.”
And, that battle between chaos and order, Blankenship says, is something we can all laugh at. —JP
Chris Miller
Chris Miller is the preeminent historian of the clean comedy scene in Utah, although he prefers to call it “G-rated Comedy.” In his early 20s, Miller was making his career as a voice and TV and film actor. Lincoln Hoppe, a writer and performer in BYU’s first comedy company, The Garrens Comedy Troupe (which performed from 1993 to 2001), invited him down to Provo to teach and coach the students.
“What ended up happening was they taught me improv,” Miller says. “They put me on stage and threw me into the deep end. Apologies to anyone who saw those early shows but things took off. That was 33 years ago, and I was there for all of it.”
Miller moved around the scene and eventually landed at ComedySportz, a franchise with locations in LA, Chicago and, surprise, Provo.
“Provo’s ComedySportz was full to the rafters,” Miller says. “I’d guess I’d call that the tipping point. We had this critical mass of audiences who understood what we were doing and a format that keeps things moving. We had full houses of these enthusiastic audiences who knew why they were there.”
Miller thinks that the appeal of clean comedy is that comics and writers are meeting audiences where they are and not trying to push them into places that they don’t want to go.
“It’s like serving tea,” he says. “If you offer them tea and they say, ‘no thank you,’ you don’t pour it down their throats and insist they will like it. We practice consensual comedy.”—JP
Natalie Madsen
When Natalie Madsen arrived at Brigham Young University as a freshman in 2007, she says there wasn’t much of a comedy scene back then. “That was a while ago,” she says, admitting to aging herself. (She and I are the same age, so at least she didn’t call herself“old.”) “There was ComedySportz, but there wasn’t a lot else…There were certainly no comedy shows on BYUtv.”
“When I first started, it was kind of small, and to watch it grow throughout the years has been rewarding,” she says. Rewarding because Madsen is one of the founding members of the group that, arguably, got the proverbial ball rolling. Along with her compatriots in BYU’s sketch group, Divine Comedy, Madsen helped create the BYUtv show that would become a clean comedy juggernaut: Studio C.
“At the risk of sounding conceited, I think Studio C has helped the comedy scene in the area grow,” says Madsen. “If this would have been the scene when I first came, I would have been surprised. Divine Comedy was so fun, but we never thought we could get paid to do it.”
After eight years on the air as part of Studio C, Madsen and some of her other castmates are still getting paid to do it. They went on to create JK! Studios and the comedy web series Freelancers. Because of Madsen and company’s family-friendly jokes, they’ve attracted an army of devoted young followers.
“We’ve always had the philosophy that we just write what we think is funny. It just so happens that kids and teens really like it. But, we never sat down and said ‘let’s write a show for 13-year-olds.’” Madsen says their young followers are highly effective fan ambassadors, proliferating the clean comedy content on social media and converting friends and family. “It’s one of the best things about doing comedy—seeing how many people we can reach.”
As far as what they deem “appropriate” for their particular brand of comedy, Madsen confesses, “It’s a gut check. We were all raised in religious backgrounds, so we wanted to stay away from swearing and sexual content, and stick with things that our parents, siblings and kids could watch.”
Still, no matter how squeaky clean your comedy is, there’s always someone who wants it to be even more sanitized. “We did a sketch with a homeschooled character, and we got opposite reactions from people who had been homeschooled. Some said ‘Oh gosh, this is hilarious and dead-on,’ but others were offended that we were perpetuating a stereotype.”
When Studio C did, arguably, their biggest sketch—Scott Sterling hit in the face with the soccer ball—people complained about that, too. “They told us, ‘this is too bloody, this is too realistic,’ but we were really proud of it,” says Madsen.
Madsen’s philosophy? “If we get feedback from people who are offended, I just kind of forget. Don’t paint yourself into a corner. Everyone has different standards. If we catered to our audience’s standards, we wouldn’t even be able to make a show.”—Christie Porter
This article was included in our January/February 2022 print issue. Subscribe for more.
Hi baby gorgeouses! Before digging into this week’s episode of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City, an important update from the recently filmed Season 2 reunion: Mary did not show up. Whether she was busy picking out 47 new fonts for another Instagram apology or just didn’t want to answer honest questions about her church and racism (probably the latter,) she did not subject herself to what probably would have been a brutal reunion. As far as I know, this is not allowed by the Bravo gods, which likely means she won’t be coming back for the third season. We also got a first look at the reunion outfits, which are, let’s just say, interesting. Meredith in particular stands out for doubling down on feather-forward fashion statements, which has inspired Twitter to compare her to Sam Eagle, Rosita and Sulley. Someone tell Jen’s social media assistant to not like any of these tweets, or we won’t hear the end of it until Season 25.
Now to the actual episode. Maybe the healing ceremony Whitney dragged the group to actually made an impact, because the climax of this episode was the first fight in a while that felt more cathartic than chaotic. Yes, this group of friends is more dysfunctional than ever. But for us watching at home, there were clear stakes, some great lines and actual dramatic tension, unlike the pho luncheon, which quickly devolved into unsatisfying word vomit. Things are looking up as we approach this season’s final act.
From the moment the husbands took a break from talking about boobs to announce their Mother’s Day gift, the Housewives knew instinctively that a girls’ trip with all seven of them under the same roof would probably go spectacularly wrong. (The men are either scarily oblivious or the producers put bugs in their ears.) I, for one, am shocked that anybody would willingly board the same cursed party bus again after Vail. But board the party bus (conspicuously without Meredith and Mary) they did, and we begin where we left off last week—with Lisa and Jen coming thiiiiis close to a full-out physical brawl. After listening to Jen yell about Meredith and loyalty and whatever else, Lisa finally snaps, and soon both a producer and Whitney are physically pulling them apart as Lisa, unleashing her inner New Yorker, yells “wanna fucking go?” The exasperated producer corrals Jen to the other side of the bus who, after hurling a few more accusations, breaks down into sobs. Lisa, of all people, goes to comfort her, and for the rest of the trip, the others tiptoe gently and treat Jen like a toddler who just threw a tantrum, which is basically what happened. The same dynamic continues: Jen has all of the power because she is shameless enough to scare everyone into submission. The others may claim they are going easy because they have compassion for her situation, but I just think they are (understandably) terrified of setting her off.
After yet another grueling, possibly traumatizing car trip, they finally arrive at Red Rock Villa. While trying desperately to salvage this already tense vacation, the Housewives get a chance to show off their (mostly accidental) physical comedy chops. In just one afternoon, we’re blessed with footage of an already drunk Jen doing a fan kick alone in her bed, a slapstick routine with Jen and Jennie on a pool floatie and a very tense Heather screaming because she’s startled by the sound of Whitney’s hairspray. Somewhere between Whitney showing off her bikini body and Jen (playfully) throwing her wet hair extensions at Lisa, you might be fooled into thinking this trip could actually be a success.
That is until Meredith and Mary finally arrive. I have realized, for better and worse, that I am a Whitney on vacation. I like an itinerary, I don’t want to lay by the pool all day and I do not appreciate deviations. For my fellow Whitneys and I, it is a struggle to travel with Marys, who want a full day to unpack and are physically, spiritually and psychologically incapable of being rushed.
There is a key difference between Whitney and I: she uses her vacation time trying to inspire a spiritual awakening. (Remember when she nearly started a Civil War by surprising everyone with a trip to the hypnotherapist?) Whitney almost gives herself an ulcer trying to get everyone in the bus on time to meet Betina, a shaman, in time for sunset, and they eventually leave without Mary, who needs extra time to bitch about her closet space. To both Whitney’s and Betina’s credit, this whole experience seems much more healing than that Las Vegas hypnotist’s horror house. They hold gratitude bundles, do a labyrinth walk to release “whatever doesn’t serve them” and chant their names in a drum circle. Mary, meanwhile, shows up 34 minutes late with a bad attitude and refuses to participate. (This woman is in NO position to judge someone else’s spiritual practice, but Mary is not known for self-awareness.) On the ride home, some of the women are feeling the love, but Whitney’s good vibes are soured because the group was too late to do fire burning, a key part of the ceremony.
Back at the house for dinner, Whitney uses her toast as an opportunity to call out Meredith and Mary’s tardiness, and then says now is the time to “put it all out on the line.” Uh-oh. Meredith is annoyed but apologies, Mary refuses to apologize, Jen calls Meredith fake for apologizing and the mess has officially begun. Meredith continues her tirade that everyone else should be better friends with Jen, which I simply never understand. Is it a master plan to rile up Jen? A way to passive aggressively poke Lisa? Or does she simply have a moral code I have no hope of untangling? Whitney then asks Meredith directly why she continues to be friends with Mary, who is the most offensive of the group, while holding a permanent grudge against Jen for calling Brooks a twink. It’s a necessary conversation, but it quickly turns into a round of pot and kettle as Meredith questions everybody else’s friendship with Jen. (Which isn’t entirely unwarranted either. Nobody is blameless here.)
It wouldn’t be an RHOSLC argument without some dramatic exits. Jen, who was already sloppy by the time Lisa finished her morning Big Gulp, drunkenly wanders into the kitchen, steals food from a tray and offers to help the cooks because, in her words, “these bitches are fake as fuck out there.” Meanwhile, Jennie has extremely valid gripes about Meredith “I Don’t Know If It’s Offensive” Marks’ waffling on if racist comments are actually racist. Now, it’s Meredith turn to storm away, which is her usual MO. Meredith may pass this off as emotional maturity, but this time, it sure looks like she’s just refusing to consider honest criticisms about her behavior. Everybody recruits Mary (notably, not Lisa) to retrieve Meredith.
Meredith’s return to the table gives Jen the opportunity she’s been waiting for. She calls out Jen for hiring a PI, but Meredith clarifies the PI wasn’t to dig up dirt on Jen; it was to investigate anonymous threats, which, it turned out, were most likely Jen. Considering that Jen literally just tried to physically attack a woman who is ostensibly her good friend, this all seems quite plausible. Somehow, Vaginagate is re-litigated for the umpteenth time, but I don’t even care because we finally get to enjoy Meredith on our screens again. Watching Meredith double down on her friendship with Mary has been a bummer, because she is the most fun when she has the moral high ground. Luckily, pretty much everyone has the moral high ground over Jen. Jen gets increasingly upset and asks Meredith if she had anything to do with the arrest—Heather should have never planted this seed in the first place—which Meredith denies because, again, this theory makes no sense. Jen is riled up, though, and Meredith finally makes a well-timed exit, wine glass in hand, as Jen sputters that she is a fraud. Perfectly, iconically, Meredith replies, “Who’s calling who a fraud? Love you baby!” and slams the door. Even after Jen drops an accusation that Meredith has “10 boyfriends,” Meredith has the last laugh. For now.
Random observations:
- Let’s take a moment and express our gratitude to Shanae, the producer who restrained Jen from ripping Lisa’s hair out. We appreciate our brave essential workers!
- After Jen throws a wet clump of hair extensions at Lisa, all she can do is reply “wow” repeatedly. What else is there to say?
- Heather realizes, far too late, that she needs to fly private for all future trips: “Whatever alliance Meredith and Mary are in, I would like to be a part of. I will chant whatever they want around the boiling cauldron. I just don’t want to ride on the sprinter van again.”
Catch up on Season 2 of RHOSLC with all of our episode recaps.
On Main
Scott Evans shook up his restaurant portfolio last year to scale down but couldn’t resist scaling up when the former J. Dawgs spot on Main Street opened up. (Why so much space for hot dogs?) The menu by Chef Phelix Gardner is a more casual version of the flagship Pago and was originally designed for an airport location that fell through.
On Ninth and Ninth
Pago at Ninth and Ninth was at the forefront of a new era of restaurants and food in SLC. Scott Evans, with his partners in the Pago Group, grew that success into many more restaurants and a much larger endeavor than the group’s original nookish namesake restaurant and Pago Group became a key player in the SLC dining scene. But then, of course, pandemic. Owning and operating hospitality businesses without any business threatened to bring the whole enterprise down.
“We had seven closed restaurants with no idea how long we’d have to stay closed,” Evans says. “It was a matter of finding a way to survive.”
So the band broke up, in a sense. Together the partners decided to split up and sell off the holdings. “We were trying to buy time,” Evans says. “We figured if we could reduce the risk to the whole group we’d add stability for everyone.” George, East Liberty Tap House and the ill-fated Birdhouse were sold off. Hub and Spoke went to a partner and Evans assumed full ownership of Pago (the original) and Trestle Tavern.
It was a painful and frantic time, Evans recalls. But through pain comes understanding, and Evans says he learned a lot.
“It was the first time in 15 years that I’d actually been able to stop and reflect on life and business,” he says.
Now, Evans says he is able to focus on smaller spaces, less administration and supporting his staff. All this self-work, of course, didn’t stop him from opening a second, more casual version of Pago on Main Street, reopening Trestle Tavern on 15th and 15th as his beloved Finca and, gasp, preparing to open a small “wine-forward” neighborhood bar, called Casot, also at 15th and 15th. Evans is not exactly a “sit-still” kind of person, after all.
If You Go
Pago 878 S. 900 East, SLC, 801-532-0777, pagoslc.com
Pago on Main 341 S. Main St., SLC, 801-441-2955, pagoslc.com
Finca (Formerly Trestle Tavern) 1513 S. 1500 East, SLC,
801-532-3372, fincaslc.com
Casote (opening in Spring 2022) 1512 S. 1500 East, SLC
Read more Eat & Drink here. Subscribe to Salt Lake.
When Jeff Talbott was writing his new play The Messenger, he had contemporary issues in mind, from political polarization to media bias to gender dynamics. But even he never could have predicted just how relevant the play would be.
Now a world premiere at Pioneer Theatre Company, The Messenger was previously seen at PTC as part of the company’s Play-By-Play series, which stages public readings of new, developing works. In fact, the play was the last thing on PTC’s stage before the pandemic upended live theater. For Talbott, this was an especially surreal moment, as The Messenger follows a small town that begins to unravel in the face of a rapidly spreading public health crisis. “The play and our current world are so intertwined in ways that I never anticipated or intended,” he says.
Talbott, working with director Wes Grantom, first found inspiration in Henrik Ibsen’s 1882 play An Enemy of the People. Though the final product still follows the basic outline of Ibsen’s work, Talbott decided to take his play in a new direction. “I sat down to start that process and pretty instantly abandoned just a straight adaptation of his work,” he says. Still, Talbott still aimed to replicate Ibsen’s mix of social commentary and engrossing interpersonal drama with his own interpretation. “He was so interested in exploring serious issues in an entertaining way,” Talbott says of Ibsen.
The Messenger follows Therese Stockman (Ora Jones), a respected doctor in a small Norwegian town. Her brother, Mayor Peter Stockman (Mark H. Dold,) is thrilled to open the town’s baths, a natural spa that will revitalize the economically depressed town. Therese, though, has made a troubling discovery—she believes that a recent string of unexplained illnesses can be linked to a problem with the baths. When she shares this news with Kristine Hovstad (Meredith Holzman), the editor of a local newspaper, a passionate debate explodes about the power of the press and everyday corruption.
Though The Messenger addresses present-day concerns using contemporary language, Talbott maintained the source material’s 19th century setting. He also changed two of the central characters to be played by female actors. (“Presenting a play with a bunch of men on stage yelling at each other is not a useful use of theater currently,” he said.) This choice allows Talbott to depict the challenges faced by women in power, both in 1882 and 2022. Talbott was especially interested in exploring the interaction between journalists and the public. “I really wanted to focus on our relationship with the press when dealing with a crisis,” he said. The Messenger depicts what happens “when a group of people start picking and choosing not only what information they take in, but who they talk to about the information that they take in.” In an age of increased polarization and misinformation, the questions Talbott raises are especially timely.
Though Talbott wrote the play before the COVID-19 pandemic, the subject matter carries an eerie relevance in 2022. “We happened to develop it in March [2020], when a health crisis was developing in this nation,” Talbott says. Though certain lines in the production may feel like direct commentary about the pandemic, Talbott insists that these moments were always a part of his work. “None of it has changed since last March. It all was there in the play before any of this hit.” In fact, he chose to play down the public health subject matter: “I don’t want audiences to be distracted by any trauma,” he said.
As the characters face debates that we’re still having 140 years later, Talbott intends for the audience to leave with more questions than answers. “What I really love is if the lights come up at the end of the play and I can see people turn to the person next to them and start talking about what just happened.”
The Messenger will be at Pioneer Theatre Company through Jan. 29. For tickets and more information, visit PTC’s website. Read more about Utah theater.
If you have a ticket to see the touring Broadway performance of Hamilton at the Eccles Theater this week (Jan. 12–16), hang onto it. Broadway Across America said in a statement that they have rescheduled those postponed performances and will honor those tickets. In other words, you’re not going to miss your shot to see Hamilton at home.
Now that we’ve got the obligatory Hamilton pun out of the way, here are the rescheduled dates:
Original Dates → New Dates
- Wednesday, January 12, 7:30 pm → Wednesday, February 2, 7:30 pm
- Thursday, January 13, 7:30 pm → Thursday, February 3, 7:30 pm
- Friday, January 14, 8:00 pm → Friday, February 4, 8:00 pm
- Saturday, January 15, 2:00 pm → Saturday, February 5, 2:00 pm
- Saturday, January 15, 8:00 pm → Saturday, February 5, 8:00 pm
- Sunday, January 16, 1:00 pm → Sunday, February 6, 1:00 pm
- Sunday, January 16, 7:00 pm → Sunday, February 6, 7:00 pm
- Tuesday, January 18, 7:30 pm → Tuesday, February 1, 7:30 pm
- Wednesday, January 19, 7:30 pm → Wednesday, February 9, 7:30 pm
- Thursday, January 20, 7:30 pm → Thursday, February 10, 7:30 pm
- Friday, January 21, 8:00 pm → Friday, February 11, 8:00 pm
- Saturday, January 22, 2:00 pm → Saturday, February 12, 2:00 pm
- Saturday, January 22, 8:00 pm → Saturday, February 12, 8:00 pm
- Sunday, January 23, 1:00 pm → Sunday, February 13, 1:00 pm
- Sunday, January 23, 7:00 pm → Sunday, February 13, 7:00 pm
The original statement on the postponement on the Salt Lake County Arts & Culture site reads in full:
“We regret to inform you that all performances from Jan. 12–16, 2022 have been postponed due to positive breakthrough COVID cases within the company of Hamilton. We apologize for the disappointment and inconvenience this scheduling change has caused ticket holders. Please hold onto your tickets while we work to reschedule the show. There is no other action needed on your part at this time. Details will be sent to you by email as soon as they’re available. At this time, all future performances of Hamilton next week (Jan. 18-23, 2022) will go on as planned.”
Salt Lake City Hamilton fans are not alone in having COVID ruin their plans. The Hamilton production in Los Angeles had to cancel performances due to COVID cases, set to resume Feb. 9 at the Hollywood Pantages Theatre.
By now, the smash-hit hip-hop musical has already climbed to the peak of its popularity, when people might have killed over tickets to see the original Broadway cast perform. So, we all know the story: Founding father Alexander Hamilton was an immigrant from the West Indies who became George Washington’s right-hand man during the Revolutionary War and was the new nation’s first Treasury Secretary. After a meteoric rise followed by a tragic fall, the titular Hamilton is shot and killed in a duel by frenemy Aaron Burr.
A recording of a performance by the original cast is available for anyone with a Disney+ subscription to watch, anytime, but Hamilton continues to draw crowds to the touring Broadway shows (even amidst the spread of the Omicron COVID variant), packing theaters across the country—a demonstration of its impressive staying power. And that means a lot of people who are headed to the Eccles Theater have already seen or heard the original in some form or fashion and can compare the two shows.
The Hamilton company performing at the Eccles Theater infuses the show with a fresh and buzzing energy, hitting the dance steps as well as they’re hitting the notes and lyrics. Julius Thomas III (Hamilton) embodies the hungry young upstart with big dreams and a big mouth. Stepping up that night, DeAundre’ Woods,, soulful and earnest, strikes a pitch-perfect contrast as Hamilton’s foil—the more restrained and contemplative Aaron Burr. The two are electric on stage together and serve as the heart of a well-oiled show that moves at an almost dizzying clip.
Other highlights of the performance include Rick Negron’s King George (pictured), who appears to be having the most delightful time with the ridiculousness of the solo spotlight, glittering costume and catchy number “You’ll Be Back.”
Darnell Abraham as George Washington was an audience favorite, practically vibrating the walls of the Eccles with the authority and deep timbre of his low notes.
Also worth a mention: the satisfying harmonies and big belting voices of the Schuyler sisters, played that night by Victoria Ann Scovens (Eliza), Marja Harmon (Angelica) and Milika Cherée (and Peggy).
Everyone on stage, from principles to ensemble, rises to the occasion. Overall, it’s fast-paced, clean and sharp. Sometimes the mics miss the end of the rapid-fire phrases, but there is no fat to trim here, and it’s still a good time.
If you’re seeing the show at the Eccles Theater, Broadway At The Eccles has COVID guidelines in place, saying the event is being planned at full capacity. Masks are required to be worn by all patrons while in the venue and proof of vaccination or a recent negative COVID test could also be required for future performances.
Tickets are available at Broadway-at-the-Eccles.com.
OVERVIEW: HAMILTON is the story of America then, told by America now. Featuring a score that blends hip-hop, jazz, R&B and Broadway, HAMILTON has taken the story of American founding father Alexander Hamilton and created a revolutionary moment in theatre—a musical that has had a profound impact on culture, politics, and education. With book, music, and lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda, direction by Thomas Kail, choreography by Andy Blankenbuehler, and musical supervision and orchestrations by Alex Lacamoire, HAMILTON is based on Ron Chernow’s acclaimed biography. It has won Tony®, Grammy®, and Olivier Awards, the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, and an unprecedented special citation from the Kennedy Center Honors. For information on HAMILTON, visit www.HamiltonOnBroadway.com.
For more Hamilton, Salt Lake magazine talked to Gov. Spencer Cox about his love of the musical You can also check out our review of the last time the show came to town. For more Art and Entertainment, subscribe to receive the latest print issues of Salt Lake Magazine.
