What kind of comedy cuts of Brandon Roberts’ head and tosses it on stage? Well, it’s one that doesn’t get done very often and only counts as a comedy in the technical sense that the hero and leading lady are together at the end. Your first warning this might challenge the audience as well as the cast is the suspiciously large amount of exposition unloaded in the very first lines: kidnapped children, an aging king, fading roman power, false poison, bitter revenge, and unexpected reunions. It’s more of a Shakespearean sampler than a coherent whole.

King Cymbeline (Wynn Harmon) rules Britain and owes the Romans some back tribute. His brother Belarius (Johnny Lee Davenport) is banished but kidnapped two of Cymbeline’s sons on his way out. That leaves Imogen (Urban) who is madly in love with hubby Posthumous (Hardie). Posthumous heads to Rome on business and makes a bet with Iachimo (Geoffrey Kent) that Imogen is incorruptible. Not a bad start for a comedy, Iachimo heads up to jolly old England and while he doesn’t actually seduce Imogen, he gets close enough to tell a good story. Meanwhile the jealous stepmother and Queen (Anne Herring) orders up some poison to kill Imogen but the pharmacist gives her sleeping pills instead. She passes it a snivling servant (Michael Raver) with the orders to give it to Imogen whenever she’s feeling out of sorts. Soon we’re hunting with Belarius and Cymbeline’s lost sons (Bradford B Frost and Michael Shenefelt) and Imogen is pretending to be a man and not doing all that badly. You can guess what’s next – murder, mayhem and a loving reunion.

Look closely and you’ll spot a bit of Lear, a good chuck of Othello, a drop of R&J, and the lumber of all the comedies tossed in this blender. Despite the confounding plot and gruesome murder, the cast all has moment to shine. Hardie may tend toward overwrought, but he makes an effective speech closing the first act, and seems genuine hurt when Iachimo tells him about the mole on Imogen’s left breast. Johnny Lee Davenport wields yoga against the elements as the exiled royal, and while I hate to typecast Ms Hering, if I could pick anyone to attempt to poison me, I’d just as soon have her do the job. Urban as Imogen rides thought the Shakespearean antifeminist wringer – bad things happen to her, she never despairs and never asks “why me?” or even “Why at all?” All the complexity plays out on a luminous set: the center stage lift problems last week’s R&J had were greased away, and the opening scene with the Book of Cymbeline on a stand was one of the most beautiful tableaus I’ve seen.

Yes, this is a tough piece to pick through, it’s not Shakespeare’s best but it does incorporate nearly all of his tricks and techniques. It’s rarely done but if you can keep everyone straight it’s not a stock comedy that relies on improbable mistaking identities. I am glad the Shakespeare artistic director is bringing these lesser known pieces to stage, despite the difficulties in staging and viewing, they need to be set out in public for us to all enjoy. And now I only have one more comedy to see in my attempt to get my Shakespeare card completely punched.

For more information on Orlando Shakespeare Theater, visit
http://www.orlandoshakes.org

There’s nothing wrong with the Airport Hyatt, so long as you’re a flight crew or a businessman with an early flight tomorrow. But up in room 7114, there was a small slice of elegance. A bartender passed out good wine, a keyboard warmed up in the corner, and trendy high intensity LED lighting gave the room a martini bar ambiance. Underneath a poly fill quilt and a hypoallergenic sheet lay Brian Feldman decked out in his shorts and an LED head lamp. As the bouncer seated the audience, quite a few familiar faces appeared. I’ll say this about the Orlando Arts Scene: It’s just a bit incestuous.

Feldman wows the crowd.

This is Mr. Feldman’s last Orlando event for a while, he’s moving up to Washington D.C. where for all we know he might read the entire Congressional Record or try to filibuster Abe Lincoln as he sits looking at the Mall. But tonight were in that special place called “Cabaret” and Feldman’s going to sing our requests. Of course, he’s a bit shy, so he’s hiding and you can see the covers rising and falling as he hyperventilates. It’s show time! The keyboards swell, an introduction flows, and Feldman open with “Some Enchanted Evening”. He’s not a bad singer for a balding Jewish performance artist, but his shtick of singing under the covers makes the bed look like a Mr. Snuffleupagus is attempting to rape Big Bird. The songs flow quickly, he works though the cabaret favorites “Working in a Coal Mine” and Disney’s “Tiki Room” and then into the smarmy “Wherever You Go, Whatever You Do” and a saxophone enhanced “Kokomo.” It’s hard work singing in bed, and not everyone showed up tonight, but that’s OK – its blowout closer time, and Feldman leaves us wanting more, even if it’s Wham’s “Careless.” I’ve been in longer cabarets, but none funnier.

After the big event.

After the show, we hung out in the hall like groupies. Feldman appearing a white sheet, drained but energetic, and he thanks us all as the hotels entertainment staff looked on in confusion. Down in the lobby, we look out over the TSA screening area, now nearly empty. It’s a lonely feeling, like something neat has ended, and will never come back.

For more information on Brian Feldman Projects, please visit

I’ve been to a yard sale or two in my career, although Mr. Feldman seems less familiar with the process and the rabid pickers that show up at 6 a.m. All morning long, minivans and pickup trucks cruised the street slowly, looking for the sale but we were holding out until noon. By 11:45, a row of trucks lined up, the pickers chatted, and I became nervous. We had a garage full of mystery boxes, Feldman was freaking out and somehow we had to deploy the remnants of his Florida days on the lawn without being eaten alive. I took the point, and announced we would be putting things out, but NO ONE was allowed in the garage. Someone offered to help us move for $20. I asked for the $20 in cash, and that toned them down. Then the carnage began.

After the carnage...

Pricing was capricious, and I know to round up a bit because buyers always say “will you take X dollars less?” Of course I will; I’m here to help Feldman move stuff out. He looks spiffy in his Washington wizards #48 Jersey, and he’s taped a rather professional looking sign on my long suffering magnolia tree. Feldman explains items while I run the bank for no reason other than I look like I run the bank. “Lite Brites” are popular sellers; a man with Cadillac logo tattooed on his head buys some stuff from the Red Chair Project, and a black man in an orange shirt piles stuff up, but doesn’t produce cash. I sense he’s a real pro. He pushes the price of a Frankenstein looking electronic device from $50 to $40, then tries a bold yet foolish move – “Will you take $20?” I pick it up and move it back to the no man’s land in the garage “Sorry, now its $60″ “What? You said $40?” “Sorry, dude, no hard feelings, but until the cash is my hand…you just pushed too hard.” Ringtones fill the air; Feldman answers his phone “48 hour yard sale!” A woman offers a check – no dice, it takes 3 week s to figure a check is bad. But Feldman has some sort of iPhone iCheck cashing app, and the deal is done. The good stuff goes fast, leaving two inexplicable bowling balls.

Vacuuming the driveway.

12:01 am Saturday. Amazingly, there are 20 people picking through the tables in the dark, some using cell phone as flashlights. There’s a party atmosphere with vegan tacos and discussion ranging from politics to local theatre pricing. Dramtic lighting highlights the magnolia tree sign and buyers who saw posters at local eateries arrive. It’s getting cool, but the crickets are hanging on and the early breezy threat of rain subsides. But no one wants the bowling balls, even though they make great juggling props.

10:45 pm Saturday. Art can be lonely, especially when the bars open and the crowd diminished. Commissioner Bill Segal showed up, didn’t buy anything. Other artists dropped by, the solidarity was nice but cash would be nicer. Small items remain – commemorative cups, vintage soda pop, Alf dolls, and the bowling balls. Paper goods are getting soggy with dew, and sleep deprivation is taking its toll on conversation. I think the energy is spent, but 13 hours remain. Tomorrow’s assignment – find meaning in the chaos. Because there isn’t a unknown Picasso, I checked eBay.

11:00 am Sunday. The sun rises, as it always does, on the remnants of The Feldman Memorabilia Collection. Traffic after midnight was minimal, and the amount of stuff left to sell is dropping asymptotically, not linearly and there’s no question items will remain: The bowling balls. The Edward Scissorhands movie lobby standee. Cups and glasses that have almost no secondary or tertiary markets. Hebrew Homework. You could have guessed this, the bearded antique pickers with their piles and brutal Haitian bargainers and jogging soccer moms will buy this and that but not the others. We all have our obsessions and not all of our line up with Mr. Feldman’s. But he did move a ton off stuff, and somehow this was “Art.”

The 48 Hour Yard Sale” will continue until noon, Sunday February 5, 2012. Click here for directions. http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=566470443

I’ve always believed in Rule 34 and the slide from 8 bit Super Heroes to pasties protected titillation isn’t all that far. Even if your level 3 Gazillion Übermensch on WOW and living in mom’s basement, you still have ‘needs”. Tonight I missed the early show which reportedly featured juggling and Thom Thorspecken sketching, but I got into the video game late night event. While I have passing familiarity with the Mario Brothers, Black Mesa and John Cave and Princesses Peach are complete strangers, but that didn’t dampen the fun factor of this geek friendly hoe down. Hosted by Ruby Darling and an evil genius in a lab coat and rubber boots (guess who I was applying attention to), Video Game themed girls (and a guy) stripped down to the legally allowed latex and G-string limits as specified by His Chalkiness, Our Dear Leader.

The audience was jazzed, and one girl up in the last row stage left made an eye rolling impression on hostess Ruby. Our theme tonight was “Experimenting on flesh bags” but there’s no pop quiz and this certainly isn’t a peer reviewed experiment. Otherwise respectable actors and actress (none of whom I will out) dress as avatars from Mario Brothers and Suite 101 and Half-Life. The music was too loud, the audience was too drunk, and the bartender was in his typical passive / aggressive lovable curmudgeon mode. As the “experiments” stripped a steady stream of nubile alcoholics ran back and forth to the bar, and after each act the lab rats passed the hat in the audience. The Suite 101 girl had the most clothes and padding to get through, Princess Peach took off the fewest clothes, the guy in the foam was the best technical dancer, and Sonic the Hedgehog and her LED infuse hula hoop strip got the best response. My favorite? Well, I like all strippers, and if I play favorites, I might never here the end of it. This a pro show, they may not start on time, but they hit their marks and get a well deserved response.

For the next Skill Focus Burlesque event, watch http://www.facebook.com/skillfocusburlesque

For more information on Theatre Downtown events, please visit http://www.theatredowntown.net