West End Players Guild closes their season with a complex and cerebral retelling of the tragedy of Oedipus. Their commissioned production Oedipus Apparatus delves into mythology and death -- what it means to humans to ponder their existence and how they feel about that final moment -- in heady fashion. In a clever twist, the fact Oedipus consciously tried to avoid his fate and is therefore blind to the truth before him is replayed and examined from differing perspectives until clarity is, presumably, achieved.
Oedipus, the brave warrior who accidentally killed his father and married his mother, fulfilling the gods' curse while calling forth a plague on the city of Thebes, is trying to end the curse on the city he now rules. The storytelling is one part the class work of daughter Antigone, one part a psychic hotline show in the free flowing conversational style of The View, and one part soap opera-esque melodrama. The equation adds up, creating a cohesive, thought provoking show.
Alicen Moser is cheerful and inquisitive as Antigone. She is creating a mechanical family tree as a class project and traces her history back to early mythology. Perpetually perky and hopeful, she is increasingly startled as she sees the story evolve. Her father Oedipus, played with a naturally overconfident swagger by Mitch Eagles, is stubborn, certain, and wrong. Mother Jocasta, a wonderfully hazy Maggie Conroy, nearly floats through her scenes, her voice a soft whisper with a languid cadence.
Will Bonfiglio is part diplomat, part playboy as Creon, and genuinely distraught. There's a sense of punctiliousness about him that is both appropriate and disarming, and he and Eagles spar with verbal precision in turns witty, defensive, and assertive. Carl Overly, Jr. as Tiresius, Ellie Schwetye as the Sphinx, Cara Barresi as Artemis, Michael Cassidy Flynn as Dr. Freud, and Rachel Tibbetts as Athena and a priestess are engagingly funny and perceptive as our psychic talk show, and Joe Taylor provides music as well as portraying Apollo. The cast is continually moving back and forward in time, almost as if Taylor's Apollo is editing a filmed version of the drama unfolding.
The dialogue shifts with each repetition, sometimes the actors speak in geometry and physics terms, other times they delve into the psychologically of dreams and the hubris of man in the face of unpleasant realities. The show demands your constant attention, enticing you to look in other corners and think about a different perspective without losing your way. Where the machine is all science, construction, and logic, the psychology is fluid, guileless, and open to interpretation.
The set, designed and built by Kristin Cassidy and Lucy Cashion, with additional show design by Joe Taylor, Jacob Francois, and Ben Lewis, is a marvel to behold. Expanding from the stage to well beyond the company's usual footprint, it consists of a giant Rube Goldberg-like machine in an almost continual state of movement or addition, bookended by Jocasta's bedroom suite and the set of the televisions show.
At times, this hodge-podge of disparate ideas -- the history project, the machine, the talk show -- feels like it's about to lose its connecting thread, but it never does, much to the delight of this reviewer. Cashion and her talented ensemble of actors and technicians appear in perfect synchronicity, expertly shifting and resetting our attention while ensuring we remain entertained in each iteration. The story of Oedipus is the constant around which all the elements balance, enabling the machine to stay on track in its ceaseless repetition.
At just under two hours without an intermission, there are likely scenes that can be shortened, and a little overall tightening might help keep the pace from occasionally lagging, but I honestly can't pinpoint the necessary cuts. The characters are interesting, a well-constructed pastiche of vaguely familiar archetypes and antagonists, each serving a specific purpose in the show. The overarching introduction at the top of the show may be a bit pretentious, but the clever premise works, creating captivating theater that stimulates your senses and intellect.
Oedipus Apparatus, running through April 30, 2017 at West End Players Guild, won't please all audiences. Some may find the long opening monologue in a dark theater a bit uncomfortable; others may feel lost in the script's mathematically driven prose. For me, mixing philosophy, science, and mathematics with questionably sourced history and a televised talk show is wickedly fabulous entertainment.
St. Louis Actors Studio puts the drama in dramedy with its production of Tracy Letts' unsettling story about life, death, and family secrets. August: Osage County is ripe with an abundance of dark humor and more than the normal surprises. The dysfunctional Weston family constantly scratches at wounds that never really heal and fight battles that can't be won. The three-act show is intense, unrelenting, and impossibly compelling -- even when the story makes you cringe, you absolutely want to know what will happen next.
Matriarch Violet Weston has called her daughters and sister to the family's Oklahoma homestead after husband Bev, in a small but effective turn by Larry Dell, disappears. Professor Barbara, librarian Ivy, and dreamer Karen do not have a close relationship, a fact emphasized repeatedly during the family emergency. Violet's sister, Mattie Fay, tries to be supportive in her own way, but she's harsh at times, a lesser evil to Violet's viciously mean-spirited candor. Barbara's husband and daughter, Mattie Fay's husband and grown son, and Karen's sleazy fiancée, as well as the newly hired housekeeper Johnna and local sheriff, have all come along for this bumpy, uncertain ride.
The remarkable Kari Ely gives Violet a steely grip, caustic wit, and unrestrained temperament. She commands and demands attention, whether slurring and falling off a chair in a stupor, or attacking her daughters with "the truth." Delivering her lines with a sniper's accuracy, she breaks down every character she encounters with a venomous tongue. Ely is not afraid of being unlikeable; her natural charisma fights this in a way that simply increases the turmoil. You want to see Vi change, soften just a bit; and at times you think you see a gentler side of her, but it's just another of Vi's calculated manipulations.
Meghan Baker, as daughter Barbara, matches her blow for blow, but she doesn't have Violet's tenacity. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, saying as much with a resigned shrug or pointed look, Emily Baker, as Ivy, is quiet but filled with steely resolve that can't be broken, her desperately fleeting expressions telling much. Always observant and seemingly obedient, she displays a fiercely protective nature when threatened. Rachel Fenton flits about brightly as Karen, appropriately self-absorbed, blind to her own truths, and out-of-touch with the emotions of the rest of the family in a performance that speaks volumes about the character's coping mechanisms.
The women get sterling support from the men in their lives: Dell, David Wassilak, Stephen Peirick, and Drew Battles. Dell is drunk but sharp in his opening scene, ensuring Meaghan Baker's mirroring of his movements at the end of the play resonates loudly, one of many small but brilliant moments orchestrated by the sure hand of director Wayne Solomon. Wassilak, as Barbara's husband Bill, plays a man trying to do the right thing but losing patience and making it clear he'd rather be somewhere else. Peirick is awkward, clumsy, and endearingly sweet natured as Little Charles, Mattie Fay's much beleaguered son. He beams with genuine happiness in his scenes with Emily Baker, and stumbles and blushes when anyone else pays him attention. Battles slithers through the show, suggesting a man constantly on the prowl for his next amusement and accustomed to breaking rules without consequence, in a way that makes your skin crawl.
Bridget Basa is convincingly uninterested in the family drama as Barbara and Bill's daughter. Kim Furlow and William Roth squabble lovingly as sister Matty Fay and her husband Charles, and the two have a powerful moment when Charles finally stands up to Mattie Fay's brow beating. Wendy Renee Farmer and GP Hunsaker are effective in smaller supporting roles, and Farmer's consolation of Ely as the curtain falls is surprisingly tender. The ensemble crowds the stage in a way that expertly reflects and intensifies the inherent tension in the darkly comic tragedy creating a captivating, at times horrifying, story that deeply unsettles and satisfies.
The stage, by Patrick Huber, is a marvel in and of itself, and its compact, densely constructed three-story frame ensures the cast is uncomfortably close, yet frequently just out of reach. Dalton Robison's lights and Carla Landis' costumes and props and just the right ambiance and details to keep the scenes, spaces, and characters crisp and clear, not always easy to do with so many characters in such tight quarters.
The family dynamic is almost always compelling material, even more so when it's dangerously explosive. Letts captures that tension, and the related necessary releases of pressure, in a way that commands your attention. St. Louis Actors Studio's production of August: Osage County, running through April 30, 2017 is fantastically prickly and exceptionally well acted, creating a powerful evening of satisfying drama.
"The Hotch." It's the A.E. Hotchner Playwriting Competition at Washington University, and it's open to all Wash U students. The 2016 winner is a beautiful play by Andie Berry. It's called Son of Soil. As winner of the competition the play received a full (and very fine) production in the Hotchner studio theatre. The actors are all students, and they are supported by some of our very best professionals in directing and design.
The play is set in a strange and vague sort of American dystopia. It's in the near future -- or ninety years in the past -- or perhaps right now. It's set in a small town which, one feels, should be in the South--but, no, it's in Ohio. A little town called Peak.
Peak is a town which resonates with the Nina Simone song, "Strange Fruit." The trees in the town's orchard strain under the weight of young black men.
We meet three black women--mothers all, and friends: Ruth and Sage and Patricia.
The town is doom for young blacks. We find that Nia has never been to church because years ago the churches were all burnt down "when they became targets". The custom is, when a youth is lynched, to give the noose to the mother to hang by her door as a sort of "Gold Star Mother" sign. After the lynching the black community burns down that particular tree in the orchard.
As the play progresses we learn, in subtle tiny bits, of a pact that these (and other?) black women made long ago: rather than let their children be killed by whites they would throw their babies into the river. And they did. (More or less).
But playwright Andie Berry chooses not to explore this dystopic scene in detail. Instead we follow the strains and conflicts of the three women and their children as they face the immediate challenges of the pregnancy and the son-become-cop--and of the attentions of two white men:
The cast is very strong. Michell Miller is superb as Ruth. Her lovely voice carries an authentic warm southern sound. She holds our hearts as she blends her mourning for her son with her nurturant compassion for young Nia.
Sage is played by Ebby Offord, who gives her wonderful power. Patricia is level-headed and somehow more modern and practical than her friends; she is beautifully played by Tiffany Powell. Angela Alexander plays the daughter Nia and makes her both strong and vulnerable.
Zack Schultz gives us a loving but troubled Haverford. Alex Felder plays Noah, the policeman son, and clearly shows his pain and frustration in his efforts to reconcile with his mother. Noah Weiner adds the brightest touch of comedy as Kyle; his animated adolescent awkwardness when he brings a pie to the family after the lynching is most endearing.
The remarkable set is by Yin Li, a senior architecture student. We see the kitchen, a bedroom and the front stoop of Ruth's home -- different levels, no walls. Thus far it's a conventional modern stage design. But draping over the entire house is a tangle of what look like massive intertwined mangrove roots. They look so very real! They convey a sense of swamp, of net, of entanglement. It is a quite unforgettable image.
The play's scenes occur in several different locations--Ruth's home, Patricia's home, the police station, and (I think) Sage's home. So it's just a tad confusing to use one set, with almost no changes. Also the script suffers a little from that common affliction of young modern playwrights--the proliferation of many short scenes in various locations. It's a cinematic impulse. But under the skilled hand of director Annamaria Pileggi these considerations constitute no major problem.
The play is lyrical, sometimes touching the poetic. (A few speeches have just a tinge of "purple.") In the opening moments the entire cast participates in a kind of choral reading standing still as statues. There is lovely inclusion of music; at one point Ms. Miller sings a kind of Spiritual: "There's a man goin' 'round takin' names." It's deeply moving.
Often, during scene breaks, we hear running water: the river that carried away those babies.
Son of Soil is not a didactic play. It's not even a protest play in the normal sense. Some things in it are merely sketched: the details and extent of the lynching culture, the fate of the churches, the origin and the abandoning of the baby-drowning pact, the history of the relationship between Haverford and Ruth. But sometimes a brief touch, a hint can pique our interest and can be dramatically very effective. It's a thought-provoking play. How do the motives and social effects of abortion compare to the mothers drowning their babies?
Overall Son of Soil by Andie Berry is a very fine piece of theater. It played at the Hotchner Studio Theater at Washington University March 30 through April 2, 2017.
Wash U's Performing Arts Department has revived Gossip, a 1977 comic spoof by Canada's prolific George F. Walker. And I'm not exactly sure why.
Gossip deals with the murder of Jane "The Bitch" Nelson -- a particularly obnoxious celebrity. She is poisoned at a very tony art exhibition and falls dead into a tire swing -- one of the objets d'art on display. (In some productions her body remains there throughout the play.)
Well, who dunnit?
T.M. Power is a serious, hard-hitting political reporter and when his boss, Baxter, assigns him to investigate the case he at first refuses; this assignment into the world of scandal and gossip is beneath him. But Baxter insists and Power begins his investigation. In a dozen or more brief scenes in six different locations, Power meets the following bizarre members of the glitterati and their hangers-on:
All of these folks are sheer cartoons, and the plot is simply beyond comprehension. But that's not important, because we're not intended to comprehend. This is not a mystery, it's a spoof of all those noire murder mysteries. As with the enormously popular TV series Poirot and Midsomer Murders, the play ends with all the suspects gathered in the drawing room (or wherever) as the detective gives an expository monologue detailing the motives and actions and, finally, identifying the killer. The detective somehow magically knows all this. (Those "little gray cells" must be amazingly powerful.)
In Gossip, as T.M. Power delivers this final monologue, it is simply impossible to follow the Byzantine convolutions of murders, disguises, non-existent characters, mysterious things that may or may not have happened in Argentina, the discovery of a mystical tribe of tiny people, dreams of Utopia, hidden motives, and people who are not dead after all. And, actually, Power really never has found the killer of Jane "The Bitch".
Goofy? Well, yes!
But why revive this play? Now, I believe that America's worship of celebrity -- our obsession with the manufacture, merchandizing and monetizing of celebrity -- is one of our greatest problems. But this play is not a satire on celebrity-worship. No, it is merely a spoof of that noire mystery genre with all its prickly hard-boiled dialogue and its Hollywood character types. As a spoof it could have been quite funny. (There were frequent laughs but there should have been many more.) To be a spoof it requires a far brisker pace. It requires a vaudeville pace. That final monologue should be just as presto as a Gilbert and Sullivan patter song. To hell with making each word understood; we should be swept away in the vast silliness of it all. In this production the pace is too often leisurely, the acting too naturalistic. The show should have been maybe twenty minutes shorter. As it is I'm afraid I must say that it often sags into tedium.
It's not just the acting that slowed things down. The set, by Lindsay Eisold, is very, very beautiful: simple, spare, elegant, all golds and tans with a sort of monochrome-Mondrian pattern on the floor. The minimalist art exhibition in the first scene is stunning: clean, bright, clear. Wonderful work. There's not a lot of furniture -- some benches, a desk or two, a table, a bed -- but for this play to work as a fast-paced spoof there's just too much. Scene changes are swift, but still the time needed for the shifting of even those few pieces of furniture slows things down. The cinematic style -- many short scenes -- is better served with perhaps just pools of light.
Director William Whitaker wisely chose to do the play in three-quarter round, with the audience on the stage. This intimacy is really helpful if the audience is to follow really fast-paced dialogue. But, alas, there was very little fast-paced dialogue.
So, despite yeoman's work by the entire cast, a failure in pace and acting style scuttles this revival of Gossip. It played at Wash U's Edison Theatre April 20 through 23.
You're a normal middle-class minion working in a boring office job, too tired to hope, too lazy to kill yourself, drinking a little too much. And suddenly people start turning into rhinoceros. (Or is it rhinoceroses? Actually either is correct.)
The Webster Conservatory presented a lively, thought-provoking and very wild production of Eugène Ionesco's 1960 play, Rhinoceros. The French-Romanian Ionesco was one of the founding fathers of what has been called the "Theatre of the Absurd."
Poor Berenger! He just doesn't fit in. He's in love with Daisy, his office receptionist, but he hasn't the nerve to approach her. His best friend, Jean, constantly berates him for his slovenliness and his drinking. He's in trouble for always being late for work. Then . . . a rhinoceros thunders through the town square! Then another!! Can it be?
One of his office colleagues has, it seems, turned into a rhino. More and more people are being afflicted with "rhinoceritis"! Now the city is full of the awful beasts! Everybody's doing it! Everybody's joining the herd.
Ionesco was a young intellectual in Romania and saw his friends being drawn into the infamous bloodily nationalistic sect, the Iron Guard. He was a mature writer living in Paris during the Nazi occupation. His play, Rhinoceros, is a stiletto-sharp parody of mankind's innate herd instinct. We so need to join a tribe! We so readily fall in with the trending political fashion, be it on the left or on the right, no matter how irrational it may be, no matter what hideous moral beasts it may turn us into. One by one Berenger's friends yield to the urge to be like everybody else: a rhinoceros. They join the group with the most powerful, vital energy, no matter how destructive.
I commend director Max Friedman for choosing this play for his thesis project. It has such resonance after the recent political campaign, which resembled less an exercise in democracy than a trampling herd of monstrous beasts bent on destruction.
The set by Star Turner at first seemed a little under-decorated: a street scene, a sidewalk café, pale gray walls adorned with a few flowering vines from Michael's discount bin. But then we find that the walls are for projections -- strange, indeterminate moving images -- perhaps large animals. And the set is wonderfully flexible, serving, as it does, for other scenes: an office, Berenger's flat, Jean's flat.
The entire cast does excellent work. Their energy and pace sweep us along. Ian Erbe plays Berenger. Now Berenger is really something of a schlemiel, a downtrodden drudge, until his final stalwart stance defending humanist values. Mr. Erbe is a bit too much of a leading man type to totally convince us. (Gene Wilder played the role in the 1974 film.) But Erbe carries it off.
The dapper Jean was played in the film by Zero Mostel. In this Conservatory production the role is played by the gifted Annie Barbour. I would say that the lean and leggy Miss Barbour is perhaps the very antithesis of Zero Mostel. Who could be more different? I think there must be a clause in her contract stipulating that she be allowed to wear those long, Hollywood glamour slacks as she did in The Miser. However, the fact that she may be the only person in St. Louis who can effectively wear such things does not mean that they are appropriate for every role. And to see, through a scrim, the lovely Miss Barbour in her skivvies in a very strange, bloody rhino-transformation orgy is rather far from Ionesco's intention -- and also from Mostel's transformation, which used no makeup, no prosthetics, just Mostel. (Well, I guess he is a bit more like a rhino to begin with.)
I know that in educational productions there are many reasons to cast a woman in a man's role, but here, I think, it's hard to buy into the gender swap. (A minor point: With the gender-swap why was "Jean" pronounced as the very American "Gene" rather than the properly French "Jeanne"?)
Molly McCaskill, dressed like a buttercup, gives a lovely and lively Daisy. Supporting players, Beavan Waller, Wyatt McCall, Bek Stanley, Sigrid Wise, Michele Yamin, Max Bahneman, and Corbyn Sprayberry all do fine work.
Costumes by Marie Green are bright and often beautiful. But there is far too much sense of vaudeville or clown-show: goofy hats, huge bow ties, a Harpo wig, clashing colors and patterns. There's far too much cartoon. Ionesco presents common, dreary middle-class people. Berenger is a pathetic, gray nonentity. Even the "Logician" (whose logic is quite mad) must be seen as a normal café intellectual. We must see ourselves in these people. Otherwise the parody of herd behavior doesn't bite.
There is a complex and impressive sound plot by Sasha Gonzales. The many rhino heads are realistic and yet just a little abstract. Lovely work. And the moment when the trumpeting of the rhinos becomes almost a chorale is strange and moving.
Ionesco himself must bear blame for one flaw: the play is simply too long. He makes his various points repeatedly. The play's three acts (here presented as two) could very nicely be reduced by some twenty minutes.
Ionesco's Rhinoceros played at he Webster Conservatory April 7 through 9, 2017.