I suspect that I must have missed a memo, an e-mail, or some sort of notice regarding Yo-Yo Ma’s performance with the Philadelphia Orchestra when its summer season at the Mann Center started up on Monday: His name was at the top of every bill, and a full-length bio was included in the text of the program, but he was on stage for only one piece.

The first two songs passed without even the slightest hint that Ma might be performing. There was no riser. There was no chair. Really, the sole bit of information that was even the slightest bit reassuring that I hadn’t picked the wrong night to attend was a listing for Camille Saint-Saëns’ Cello Concerto No. 1 in A minor.

With the conclusion of Aaron Copland’s Appalachian Spring Suite (a piece that featured a breathtaking ascending cello line that assumed qualities of the human voice and a particularly loquacious sparrow outside the theater), the dream world the music had created was torn asunder as the crowds came piling in through the aisles, chattering their teeth and sipping their drinks. The drone of conversation continued as Yo-Yo Ma’s chair and riser were brought across the stage and placed next to the conductor’s. It continued during the tuning. Then, finally, there was applause as Yo-Yo Ma walked across the stage and sat down and started to play.

A rush of raw emotion emanated from the stage. Patterns of heart-felt sensation went crossing over his face, as fluid as the notes that poured from his instrument. He would smile then quickly frown, glare for a moment before turning a knowing glance toward the conductor on his podium as cadenzas and 32nd-note triplets (perhaps even further subdivided) went up and down the strings. He alternately bowed and reclined, his movements following the phrases and rhythm. And every lithe gesture of passion was injected right into the heart of the audience.

At the conclusion of the piece, the crowd rose to its feet in an extended applause. And then Yo-Yo Ma was gone for the remainder of the evening. I’ll admit that while I had been absolutely dying to hear the introduction of a solo cello to Stravinsky’s Suite from The Firebird, his solitary performance was nonetheless the most moving of any I’ve ever heard. — Jordan Hickey

Seven (or more) great ways to put off Monday …

• Sultry Philly songstress Joanna Pascale (pictured) celebrates the release of her second CD, Through My Eyes, at the Loews’ Millennium Hall on Sunday night. $25 gets you in and a copy of the CD, which you can sample here. If you need your jazz a little more interesting, don’t miss Grazyna Auguscik & Eastern Blok at Chris’ Jazz Cafe tonight.

• It doesn’t have the panache of, say, Body Worlds, or the nostalgic fun of Star Wars, but the Franklin Institute’s new Real Pirates exhibit (opening Saturday) should keep the kids happy, though you might have to watch Pirates of the Caribbean again as a result. Be sure to look out for the weird pirate fetishists that will undoubtedly turn up. (What, you’ve never been invited to a “pirate party”?)

• Burlesque troupe Peek-a-Boo Revue sexes up Silk City on Spring Garden with the Striptease Orchestra on Sunday night. This is Peek-a-Boo’s final Philly performance before heading to Miss Exotic World 2008 in Vegas. Read our Q&A with Peek-a-Boo director Lulu Lollipop.

• On Sunday afternoon, in a departure from their normal repertoire (like Saturday night’s Metal Meltdown, which I am ashamed to say that I have a hand in), Fishtown’s Johnny Brenda’s presents the Big Horn Cavaliers, a 15-piece big band in the tradition of Charles Mingus. While at JB’s, don’t miss the pork tacos and oyster stew from their newish menu.

• As the theater scene winds down for the summer, we still have the Arden’s production of Our Town (reviewed here) to keep us going, soon to be followed by the Oprah-backed Color Purple, which I mention because tickets are moving quickly and you don’t want to get caught without, assuming that you’re not anti-Oprah like me.

• Yes, it’s true that you have seen the Wizard of Oz something like 34 times, but any chance you have to watch it on film on a gigantic movie screen, the way it was originally intended, you’ve gotta do it, and the Colonial in Phoenixville offers such a chance on Saturday. Speaking of repertory flicks, the Bryn Mawr Film Institute still has space in its four-week Hitchcock film education series, which begins next Wednesday.

• If you just haven’t heard enough about the 2008 presidential election, Bill Maher does his political comedy thing at the Borgata on Saturday. Also at the Borgata, you’ve got that annoying redhead Kathy Griffin. I was told that all of her shows were sold out, but now I’m hearing that you might be able to scare up some tickets to tonight’s late show.

Guest reviewer K.R. McGrath considers the Arden’s new two-venue production of Thornton Wilder’s classic.

In any production of Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, silence and stillness are key. They are in the writing, in the measured universality of the language, in the rhythm of the piece. There is a flow from act to act, and in certain places — the graveyard of act three in particular — a communal holding of breath.

The Arden Theatre celebrates its first 20 years (and may there be many more) with a beautiful, if somewhat disjointed, production staged at both the F. Otto Haas Theatre and nearby Christ Church. The audience moves from one to the other during two intermissions, and is forced to make adjustments (aided by body mics for the actors and supplemental theatrical lighting for the stunning sanctuary) for the different spaces. Now deprived of clear sight lines, we cheerfully stand for the entrance of the bride and are urged to sing a hymn, since, of course, we really are in church. The stop-start quality of the evening is eventually soothed by a heartbreaking act three back at the theatre, and a lovely and pristine performance by the luminous Rebecca Blumhagen as Emily.

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Our new theater critic MB Case takes a look at Azuka’s stab at cult classic Hedwig and the Angry Inch. It should be noted that the performance she attended was a preview. The play opens tonight.

Take a musical about a fictional glam rock band fronted by a transgendered singer who has an “angry inch” thanks to a botched sex-change operation, throw in Dito van Reigersberg – one of Philadelphia’s most beloved actors and drag queens – and expect, rightly in this case, a good show. Azuka Theatre’s production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, under the direction of Kevin Glaccum, delivers in this rock opera that has been a cult favorite since its off-Broadway debut in 1998.

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Please welcome Impresario’s new theater critic, M.B. Case, to the mix. This week, M.B. takes a look at InterAct Theatre Company’s Frozen.

Absolution is at the center of Bryony Lavery’s Frozen, directed by Whit MacLaughlin and making its Philadelphia debut at InterAct Theatre. Three divergent and broken lives are forced into the slow crawl toward remorse, reconciliation, and forgiveness in this Tony-nominated play exploring the question of whether people are born evil or whether evil is born in people.

Psychiatrist Agnetha studies serial killers, Ralph is a serial killer and pedophile, and Nancy is the mother of a daughter gone missing for 20 years. The play opens with Agnetha — played by Catharine Slusar — preparing to fly to England to interview Ralph and present a paper on crimes perpetrated due to mental illness. Hers is a character whose brokenness lies just under the surface — one senses a hairline fracture about to crack wide open. This is difficult psychological ground to tread, and Slusar’s performance feels a bit forced and self-conscious at times.

Jeb Kreager is bone-chilling in his portrayal of Ralph, the serial-killing pedophile. His study of a broken, remorseless man is near flawless. Kreager’s performance positively dares one to take a second look and consider feeling something resembling kindness toward a person who has committed heinous crimes. in the role of Nancy, Mary Martello also turns in a solid performance. She’s the character most audience members will find themselves empathizing with, recognizing. Upon realizing — accepting, rather — that her child who has been missing 20 years is actually dead, Martello delivers the line — with astute candor — “all this time I’ve been growing her up.” The moment is wrenching and reels the audience along in the search for something — anything — to cling to now that this, Nancy’s last vestige of hope, is gone.

Matt Saunders’s set is befitting in its sparseness, but the play is ill-served by needless (and far too numerous) sound effects smattered throughout. A lightning crack, then thunderstorm — timed at the onset of horrific news — made me immediately think “What knockers!” “Oh, thank you, doctor!” Silence would much better serve this play.

It is hard to imagine where such an intersection of minds and emotions will end up, and Lavery’s second act rushes towards a conclusion too soon, making the inevitable “thawing” a little unbelievable. But despite some of its shortcomings, InterAct’s production of Frozen has its electric moments; and, with strong performances effectively getting under the skin of its audience, it is theater very much worth seeing. Forgiveness is, after all, a difficult thing, for oneself or others. But it is a worthwhile endeavor, and one that eludes most of us. — M.B. Case

Performances through May 4th. InterAct Theatre Company, 2030 Sansom Street; box office/information: 215-568-8079.

Our no-BS guide to the newest movies …

FLAWLESS
Period crime drama
Rated PG-13, 100 minutes
(with the once-so-luscious Demi Moore and the aged-but-still-reliable Michael Caine)

In 10 words or less: Old janitor + hot woman = diamond heist.

The critics, abridged:
• “exceedingly cloudy,” “[a] false gem,” “a movie that barely sparkles” — Entertainment Weekly
• “a perfectly entertaining small crime picture, until the end,” “botched with 11th-hour moralistic nonsense” — Baltimore City Paper
• “Demi Moore can’t move face or movie” — Seattle Weekly
• “Not the jolly sort of heist film (Gambit, The Italian Job) that Caine fronted in the ’60s, this one plods a bit, but it makes fine use of the actor’s sweet gravity and rueful charm.” — Time

RUN, FATBOY, RUN
Comedy
Rated PG-13, 97 Minutes
(directed by former Friend David Schwimmer, with Shaun of the Dead’s Simon Pegg, Thandie Newton, and Hank Azaria)

In 10 words or less: Left pregnant fiancee at altar? Run marathon to win back.

The critics, abridged:
• “stays out of sitcom quicksand long enough to make you think that Schwimmer has a knack for this comedy-directing thing” — Rolling Stone
• “Overplayed manchild genre gets no help from this lackluster comedy” — msnbc.com
• “Schwimmer gives the movie a warm, slightly scuffed look that suits its spirit” — Denver Westword
• “Run, don’t walk, from mindless comedy” — Chicago Sun Times

STOP-LOSS
Drama
Rated R, 113 Minutes
(directed by Kimberly Peirce, whose Boys Don’t Cry won an Oscar, with Deadwood’s Timothy Olyphant and the goofy-looking but still desired Ryan Phillippe)

In 10 words or less: Young soldiers and that sucky war in Iraq.

The critics, abridged:
• “pro-soldier, anti-bureaucrat, war-neutral, and deeply, deeply affecting” — Inquirer (Carrie Rickey)
• “[the] promising premise runs into a rut of incompatible accents and melodramatic excess” — New York magazine
• “Ryan Phillippe has undermined yet another promising film” — austin360.com
• “one of the best of the many Iraq War/War on Terror dramas … built on a career-making performance by Ryan Phillippe” — Orlando Sentinel

21
Crime drama
Rated PG-13, 123 minutes
(with Across the Universe’s Jim Sturgess, Laurence Fishburne, Kevin Spacey, Kate Bosworth)

In 10 words or less: Math geniuses play blackjack in Vegas. Somebody’s getting whacked.

The critics, abridged:
• “isn’t pretentious, exactly, but it’s damn close, and in trying to whip up a melodramatic morality tale the film becomes an increasingly flabby slog” — Chicago Tribune
• “escapist fun,” “a glossy, engrossing yarn” — Inquirer (Steven Rea)
• “Lack of originality is where 21 really deals a losing hand” — starpulse.com
• “In a multiplex of dumb-luck hits, it’s a kick to watch Spacey and a gifted young cast use smarts to deal audiences a winning hand” — Rolling Stone

Our no-BS guide to the newest movies …

PARANOID PARK
Psychological thriller
Rated R, 84 minutes
(with unknown, nonprofessional actors found via MySpace; directed by Gus Van Sant, who brought you such uplifting ditties as Elephant and My Own Private Idaho)

In 10 words or less: Teen (accidentally) kills man with his skateboard. Extreme stress follows.

The critics, abridged:
• “fluid, graceful camera-work,” “soundtrack choices are beyond eclectic, veering chaotically from thrash metal to classical, country and western to orchestral jazz” — Times Online (London)
• “intriguing and obliquely involving” — Carrie Rickey (Inquirer)
• “a haunting tone poem laced with violent death,” “a defiant slap at slick Hollywood formula” — Rolling Stone
• “I have to wonder when — or if — the fierce filmmaking of his earlier career will return” — Cinematical.com

DRILLBIT TAYLOR
Comedy
Rated PG-13, 102 Minutes
(produced by Judd Apatow; with Owen Wilson and absolutely no one else worth mentioning, Wilson himself barely making the cut)

In 10 words or less: Bullied teens hire Wilson for protection. My Bodyguard it’s not.

The critics, abridged:
• “wards off laughter,” “goes a long way toward torpedoing all the mojo producer Judd Apatow received last summer with the one-two punch of Knocked Up and Superbad.” — msnbc.com
• “a defeat for Team Apatow” — Time magazine
• “Owen Wilson is nothing less than a national treasure,” “an amusing hour and a half” — South Florida Sun-Sentinel
• “too much of Drillbit Taylor is the kind of formulaic free-for-all that does Wilson no good,” “isn’t super bad, but it’s no Superbad” — Steven Rea (Inquirer)

Sleepwalking
Drama
Rated R, 100 Minutes
(with 14-year old AnnaSophia Robb (Violet Beauregarde in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory remake), Nick Stahl, Charlize Theron, Dennis Hopper, and Woody Harrelson)

In 10 words or less: Mother abandons tween. Tween exploited by Dennis Hopper. Go figure.

The critics, abridged:
• “far too many flaws,” “a tentative, unsatisfying ending” — New York Times
• “Terrific performances and a bleak, riveting look at life on the economic fringes eventually gives way to an overly familiar tale of abuse, denial and catharsis that feels like warmed over Sam Shepard minus the poetry.” — Los Angeles Times
• “a soporific dud, which should have been tossed out of Sundance” — Entertainment Weekly
• “Best advice may be to snooze through banal Sleepwalking” — Salt Lake Tribune

MARRIED LIFE
Drama (of the romantic, crime variety)
Rated PG-13, 90 minutes
(with Pierce Brosnan, Chris Cooper, Patricia Clarkson, and Rachel McAdams)

In 10 words or less: Divorce too humiliating? Just murder her.

The critics, abridged:
• “a period domestic drama that never quite decides if it wants to be a credible marital study, a noirish meller or a sly comedy” — Variety
• “one of those movies that seduces you with great looks and a sexy story, but leaves you feeling empty, and just a little used, once the climax comes — and goes — without realigning the universe” — Canwest News Service
• “a tony, well-upholstered drama that manages to charm” — slate.com
• “bracingly malicious noir for a while, a sort of gray-flannel-suit take on the Coen brothers’ Blood Simple… [but] just when things should be boiling over, the script goes lukewarm.” — New York Post

The critics have spoken, and the Arden’s production of August Wilson’s The Piano Lesson is all the rave, even with the very much last-minute replacement of one of the leads. “The entire cast is superb,” declares the Inky’s Howard Shapiro. Even the stand-in, who had just one day to rehearse the part? “[Her] performance was compelling and sure-footed.” Over at the City Paper, Mark Cofta calls the show “an enthralling revival” and “a superlative production.” Okay, okay, so there is one notable dissenter, PW’s J. Cooper Robb, who says “the Piano Lesson needs some fine tuning.” But then he adds, “Even with its somewhat bloated second act, Lesson is a powerful reminder about the influence history has on the present.”

See for yourself tonight at 8 p.m. Tickets are $16 to $29.

Philly got one notch cooler last night. I know this because my cab driver nearly drove off the Walnut Street bridge after he asked who I was going to see at World Café Live and I shot back with a proud “Wyclef!” (Alas, I couldn’t sneak him in.)

Wired 96.5 threw one hell of a party, inviting the reggae-rap-pop star/songwriter/producer to take the stage for an exclusive group of call-in winners. He performed crowd-pleasers like the old-school “Gone Till November,” some of his myriad joint efforts like Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie,” plus his latest hit, “Sweetest Girl,” and others from new album Carnival II: Memoirs of an Immigrant.

The show was more than intimate — Clef performed three songs with a flock of 40 or so ladies on stage fighting to get closest to him, then took off his jacket and shirts and handed them to said smitten ladies. Along the way, he stumped for his man Obama and freestyled about how we Philadelphians have got to do our part to “stop the fighting” here and end the murder crisis. We’re working on it, Wy. Now get Lauren to quit messing around and bring back our Fugees. — Jessica Remo

The 179th Philadelphia Flower Show — scheduled, as it always is, in early March — has no competition from the flowers of Philadelphia. So the bright, tropical varieties intertwined with an oversize piano keyboard to form the entry arch to this year’s exhibits invariably elicit “oohs” and “ahhs,” no matter how painful it is to press your way through the digital-camera-toting crowd into the convention hall.

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