A Theatre Critic’s Review Of Children’s Fake Crying Performances
Casey Cole in I Don’t Want to Go To The Museum
From his past performances in Who Let My Sister Out of the Dryer?, Who Let My Sister Out of The Dog Cage?, and Why Can’t I Lick These Batteries?, Casey Cole stars as yet another quintessential, iron-willed five-year-old.
In I Don’t Want to Go to The Museum, no one can deny Cole doesn’t hit his marks — he lies on the floor, rips off his shirt, hurls his shoe at his father — and yet, he lacks the emotional undercurrent this performance so desperately requires. To convince is to commit. I don’t need to see a snapshot of misery. I need to feel it. I need to know this children’s museum is the worst thing these parents could ever do to this child.
However, there were no voice cracks or breath quivers. No red noses or puffy eyes. Not even a sniffle. He spat rather than sobbed, coughed rather than choked up. His high-pitch wails fell flat just like his mother’s purse when he knocked it out of her hands. It gave me no choice but to question: Was he even trying to emotionally manipulate his parents or was this a typical Tuesday where he felt he could phone it in for another day? ★★☆☆☆
The Lenore Sisters in She’s Pulling My Hair!
I would rather be devoured by the sharp teeth of a swamp beast than watch five more seconds of the Lenore sisters’ melodramatic mockery of crocodile tears. One must understand — if you’re going to deliver a line as in “She’s pulling my hair,” one must also be within hair-pulling distance of each other. Perhaps, the Lenore sisters should have focused more on stage directions than pausing every minute to check if their mother was buying what they were selling — let me save you the trouble, she wasn’t and neither was I. ★☆☆☆☆
Audrey Faye in I Wanted a Pink Stuffy Pig, Not a Blue Stuffy Cat
As she clawed the store’s sold-out shelves for the pink stuffy pig she liked to call ‘Peppa,’ Faye displayed a fear so palpable even the balcony could see it. Her only option? A blue stuffy cat. My toes curled the moment Faye cried out, “But I hate Pete the Cat!” and didn’t unclench until the fiery four-year-old surprised us all by ripping the blue stuffy cat from her baby brother’s itty-bitty fingers and declared, “My stuffy!” ★★★☆☆
Ramona Milan in Mom Said I Could Watch YouTube All Day
Once the iPad was seized, Blippi could be seen no more. As Milan crossed her crestfallen elbows and grumbled, “I wish Blippi was my real dad,” it reminded me of Shirley Temple in “Animal Crackers in My Soup.” Except for the fact that Shirley Temple had talent. And a believable pouty face. ★★☆☆☆
Miles Covington in But I Was Going To Open That!
Miles Covington is not having a mere moment — he’s making a comeback. Three years ago, Covington was the comedic force in such hits as Look at Me, Walking in Dad’s Big-Ass Shoes and Honey, Guess Who’s Holding Your Phone and Already Making Amazon Purchases.
Since then, he’s receded to a series of banal roles in Hide and Seek 2: Let’s Hide Behind the Chair Again, Hide and Seek 4: This Lamp Shade Should Do — and the godforsaken prequel, Now You See Me, Now My Eyes Are Closed.
I’ll admit it: I was not optimistic going into Covington’s first dramatic role. However, the second his mother untwisted the applesauce cap without Covington’s approval, I witnessed a timeless yet ephemeral sense of chaos. It was almost as though I was waiting for this moment — as if an old friend stopped by the neighborhood to scream at the top of his lungs and demand you hand him a new applesauce pouch, one he could untwist himself. ★★★★☆
The Grayberson Twins in No, the Yellow Cup with a Blue Lid is My Favorite!
I understand there is an undeniable charm about a yellow cup with a blue lid that makes it the most irresistible of all, but to call the Graybersons’s incompatible caterwauls “egregious” would be an understatement. It’s an insult to any child who has ever uttered a whimper. It made me yearn for the days of the Lenore Sisters. ☆☆☆☆☆
Marliyn Reed in One More Cookie
There comes a time in every critic’s life where they happen upon a performance that not only changes their entire perception of art but awakens a fragment of themselves they thought perished long, long ago. Allow me to introduce you to the greatest actor you’ve never heard of — Miss Marilyn Reed. Only a true Meisner thespian could deliver the line, “One more cookie” thirty-seven times on repeat without losing any vitality. The breath control alone.
As Reed rubbed her puppy dog eyes and wiped the drizzling snot on her sleeves, I, too, found myself pondering: Could the plea for “one more” be more than a minor craving? Could it be a reminder we all mask our fears of an inevitable death with a daily distraction of a sweet treat?
It wasn’t until Reed bit into that victory cookie did I notice a sugar-coated smirk — so small you could miss it — yet, so mighty nothing else needed to be said.
For it was all an act. ★★★★★
