KINGS-X TYRANNOSAURUS REX CONSTANTINOPLE
When Jenny Magnus burst into the performance space at N.A.M.E., giggling, twisting, and trying to fend off an invisible tickling attacker, there was something nearly orgasmic, and just about unbearable, about the moment. That she regained her composure was inevitable. But that she managed to retain that harrowing tension between pleasure and pain–to revel in it, to practically cry with it–that was brilliant.
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Performing on a nearly bare stage, wearing simple, loose black clothing and round-toed men’s shoes, Magnus dances, spins, sings, and mesmerizes. Ably but unobtrusively assisted by Anita Stenger and Mark Comiskey, Magnus offers 16 short pieces that play with words and irony but never cease to make her vulnerable. No stone is left unturned. Magnus picks at her fears as if they were deliciously tempting scabs. No matter how intimate the revelations, she perseveres, without a smidgen of sentimentality, sensationalism, or self-pity. Her ability to face uncertainty, to look it right in the eye, is devastating.
Many of the pieces are simply hilarious. “Owning” and “Torture” are the performance equivalents of one-liners. Mercifully, Magnus knows how to tell her jokes–she never repeats a joke or drags one out. She respects her audience, expecting us to be as smart as she is. “Tell Me What You Know Johnnie,” a mini-opera in which she sings all the roles, delights and surprises–her intelligence carries us, and we suspend our disbelief.
The title of the program, at first confusing and clumsy, becomes clear by the end. The phrase “Kings-X Tyrannosaurus Rex Constantinople” is a Magnus family invention to make tormenting ticklers stop–if you can actually spit it out. Magnus uses it only once during the program, and it’s perfect.
