By Marilyn Lester***For a performer—especially a standup comedian—probably one of the most courageous steps to make its to command a stage solo. Monologist Tulis McCall is completely fearless in that pursuit, and we’re all the better for it. In her latest show, Tulis Talks and Sings, at Don’t Tell Mama, this font of deep thinking, laced with delectable dollops of humor, added singing to her narrative. The result was a collection of keen observations on Life with a gripping yet easy flow from one stand-alone story to the next.
McCall in talk mode possesses a rare gift; think about yourself being read a bedtime story by a parent. The odds are that awaiting this treat was full of excitement, and the delivery of the story full of joy in the hearing, yielding a drift in
to a very contented sleep. There’s no falling asleep on McCall’s watch, but the excitement and joy are palpable. When Tulis Talks, a variety of stories spin out, told by characters she fully inhabits. The opener, an Airbnb host giving a lay-of-the-land tour of the premises, evolves into a delicious description of a mystery staircase, which may or may not go anywhere, and which may or may not result in dire consequences should someone be brave enough to explore it.
As an entr’acte, Tulis Sings. Her first number, as all that follow, has relevance to the story just completed. For “The Staircase Monologue,” the number was “If I Were a RIch Man” (Jerry Bock, Sheldon Harnick), itself delivered as a story, with stellar piano accompaniment by veteran music director, Paul Greenwood. It turns out that McCall hasn’t actively sung for some time. Nor has special guest Betsyann Faiella, who sang “Where Do You Start” (Johnny Mandel, Marilyn and Alan Bergman), and who had a remarkable singing career before she retired from that endeavor. Both comported very well—like that old saw about riding a bike, each took off into their respective vocals as if no time
had passed.
Some of McCall’s monologues dipped into the past. “Love in the Time of Telegrams” moved back to a recollection of World War II, paying off with the most heart-wrenching climax of a loved one “killed in action.” In “Eileen at the Altar,” McCall entered the body of a grammar school girl of the Roman Catholic faith in a time long ago. Humor was laced throughout, such as Eileen receiving from the nuns a mimeographed list of sins (to avoid committing). “Among My Yesterdays” (John Kander, Fred Ebb) was the accompanying number.
Going way back, with Irish accent firmly in place, “Prohibition” told the 1919 story of an Irish bar owner protesting the imminent forced closure of her livelihood due to the 18th
Amendment to the Constitution. The song selection was “Beautiful,” literally recounted as “written by Alan Cumming’s friend Barnaby’s Dad.” Loaded with F-bombs, the tune had ’em practically rolling in the aisles.
In all of Tulis Talks and Sings, a common thread of excellence was the intelligence behind each written piece, coupled with a natural grace in speaking the story. McCall inhabits each character with authenticity, delivering the text with a rarefied and magnificent sense of timing. Directing was the veteran of stage excellence—as an actor and director—Tony-nominated Austin Pendleton. It was he that devised the title of the show—an amusing, delightful economy of words that exactly expressed what was in store.
Photos by David Laundra and Conor Weiss
