Welcome to Dottie Hope dot Com! It's a tough town for a tender spirit.


Dottie Hope
Review by Sydney Gold. Who and what is Dottie Hope? There is no easy answer. Well, yes, this is a one-woman show, poignantly written, skillfully acted and even produced by Laurie Sanderson. This is an artist who definitely knows how to multitask. The show, I was told, dealt with coming of age in the Studio 54 era. This description did not even begin to do the show justice; it was far more substantial than that. Yes, she does come of age in the shadow of Studio 54, even gaining entrée to Andy Warhol’s elite circle. This happens on the heels of a massive faux pas. But Dottie Hope is not your average dive dimwit. She is a true survivor and her story shows how the failed dreams of a man can rip his daughter’s sanity to shreds. And it is a portrait of an era in New York’s history – Ms. Sanderson captures the period with great precision. And ultimately, it is a story of reconciliation and the healing power of love. Did I mention it’s also very, very funny? It is indeed. Sometimes it was straightforward, laugh-out-loud funny, sometimes we’d-better-laugh-so-we-don’t-cry funny. There is not one false note in the whole show. Dottie Hope at five years old at the beginning of the play. She seems a happy, exuberant Daddy’s Girl. You might be tempted to dismiss this as a heartwarming, Hallmark-y saga of a childhood in Hell’s Kitchen. And you would be wrong. Some very dark threads are woven into Dottie’s young life, even if she can’t see them. Give it a moment. These threads will consolidate into some very sinister and even life-threatening patterns for this openhearted child. Not only is she growing up in Hell’s Kitchen, she’s actually on the stove. It’s not really her name, we are told early on. It’s the name she signs to the countless letters she writes to God, tucking them into her bible. The letter, of course, has always been a time-honored, theatrical device. However, this is deeper than a stage device – this is how Dottie prays – these letters are her spiritual journal, where she reveals her heart and all its yearning. And they do not just reach out for divine guidance; they foreshadow and then document the storms that are brewing in her home. Dottie is an absolute innocent, unaware that going to the pool-halls is an unorthodox father/daughter outing. She ignores hunger and other biological discomforts, waiting patiently for a crumb of attention from her father; a little wink now and then. Ms. Sanderson’s body language is right on target here, right down to the slightly pigeon-toed dangling foot of a bored, tired child who loves her father too much to see how neglected she really is. This is part of Ms. Sanderson’s skill – she does not judge her characters, comment on them or even take sides. She lets them speak for themselves, through her. Then she lets them hash it out themselves, no matter how messy it gets. Dottie also encounters some unusual mentors, including a Playboy bunny, Warhol, a drag queen and Dana, a transsexual, who is an aspiring fashion designer. It’s Dana’s story of her near-death by beating and how she reinvented herself as a result, that puts Dottie on the path to healing. This show reminds us over and over again, that healing and grace come from the most unexpected places. There are times in this show that I forgot there was only one actress on stage, so completely did the mercurial Ms. Sanderson transform herself back and forth and populate Dottie’s world. This is a one-woman show with a cast, if not of thousands, certainly dozens. Body posture, facial expression and vocal tonality brought each one distinctly into being. The setting was simple and the use of props and costumes kept sparing. The focus remained on Ms. Sanderson, where it rightfully belonged. All characterizations were vividly drawn. Whether a pool-hall waitress, a Native American shaman, Jackie Kennedy or Andy Warhol – all precisely observed, never cliché. The father is an especially difficult character – it would be so easy to make him a one-note villain. However, Ms. Sanderson brings varied shadings to the portrait of this man who was at once Dottie’s hero and her nemesis. He initially appears as a lovable rogue in the Damon Runyon tradition, gradually deteriorating into an abusive madman and finally a pathetic wreck. It is an unsparing, honest portrait both of his addiction and its effect on Dottie. There is compassion in there as well for this wounded soul who couldn’t beat his fatal flaw, not even for the daughter he loved. Another theme winding through this saga, is the redemptive power of art, specifically dance. Dottie’s “Nana” was a vaudevillian and Zeigfeld Girl, thrilling her granddaughters with tales of her glory days. Dottie’s mother is a would-be Rockette, settling for dancing the “Huki-Lau” (forgive any misspelling) in a tacky Hawaiian restaurant. Dottie seeks her salvation in the glitzy disco world and has her 15 minutes of fame as the Fiorucci Girl, dancing in their window as the personification of 80’s glamour. So, finally – who is Dottie Hope, really? Perhaps Dottie Hope is the true Karma Chameleon of her favorite song. She is a survivor who takes on the colors of her environment and makes it her own. She reminds us to keep on hoping, keep on loving, no matter how hard it gets. She is that small voice in all of us whispering to hold on no matter how rough it gets. Let’s all vote to extend her 15 minutes of fame to a few decades at least, OK?