Raúl Esparza in ‘The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui,’ by Bertolt Brecht, directed by John Doyle for CSC (Joan Marcus)
Bertolt Brecht’s The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, directed by John Doyle and currently at Classic Stage, presents the quintessential diagram of how authoritarianism may evolve and devour all in its path. Brecht’s ironic verse shows that the road most despots take escalates demagoguery through fear, intimidation, public acceptance of blatant criminality, and government acquiescence via malfeasance.
Using George Tabori’s translation, Doyle explores with startling clarity how the political tactics of scapegoating, smear campaigns, and bullying terror can anesthetize the public into submission. Doyle’s clear-eyed rendering and Raúl Esparza’s performance mesmerize and appall with Brechtian truths. Huge plaudits go to Esparza’s authentic, brilliantly charged Chicago gangster, Arturo Ui. Everyone who sees this triumph by Doyle and cast will be galvanized. Whether to insure that every citizen’s vote counts or to speak out and redress civil rights abuses, this work encourages the audience to actively participate and strengthen their democracy against invidious government rule by thuggery.
Seminally, Doyle’s production reveals that the core of social and cultural depravity lies in the will of the people. The director conveys this through expert shepherding of the actors. And thematically he threads it throughout the sets, staging, and costumes. As the production underscores, the people hold the power. And they must “resist.” Their participation in upholding the moral and social good remains paramount.
(L to R): Christopher Gurr, Raúl Esparza in ‘The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui,’ by Bertolt Brecht, directed by John Doyle for CSC (Joan Marcus)
Surely, Arturo Ui’s (a satirical caricature of Hitler) rise could have been prevented. The production signals the obvious turning points where the people faltered and allowed malfeasance to spread its rot, even in such a benign business as the cauliflower trade. When individuals in power cave to amorality, they promote a climate where calumny promoted by the media, political malfeasance, and chicanery infect the society and gain a foothold. With the avid assistance of sycophants, toadies, and other compromised, morally vacant human beings, a Hitler, an Arturo Ui, a Vladimir Putin, a Donald Trump gains power. Otherwise, the culture and its supporting tentacles (media, charitable institutions, businesses, non-profits, etc.), would take a stand. Grounded in principles of honor, they would repudiate political, dictatorial criminality with civil rights measures.
Elizabeth A. Davis, ‘The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui’ by Bertolt Brecht, directed by John Doyle for CSC (Joan Marcus)
Brecht’s play and Doyle’s iteration of it reveal what happens if oppressors ascend to the top of the political pyramid, compromising the “incorruptible” (in the play Dogsborough represents German Chancellor Hindenberg) and gaining control. Unless people are willing to fight hard and sometimes die to push back against such treason to the nation-state, removal of the despot becomes impossible. In Doyle’s precisely executed Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui we see the interplay among corporations, criminals, and political parties. Often, they meld into one. When each collapses from inner decay, ethics dissolves for the body politic. Right becomes wrong, up becomes down, left becomes right. Then the autocrat, whether it be an Ui, a Hitler, or a Trump defines what “ethical,” “legal” and “legitimate” mean.
Ever the self-dealer, Ui pounces when news leaks that the honorable Dogsborough (the excellent Christopher Gurr) can be compromised. Because Dogsborough allows himself to be tricked, he disintegrates everything moral and noble within. When he vouches for the Cauliflower Trust in a loan deal gone sour, Ui capitalizes. And he makes “the deal” into a stepping stone to seize power.
Ui’s scandalous story of lies and smears about Dogsborough caves in a once viable business network. Through a reign of terror and murder, which the courts overlook and a corrupted law enforcement upholds, Ui takes over the Trust. Eventually, the town of Cicero succumbs to his regime as he moves to seize all in his path. Parallel to Ui’s rants, Brecht/Doyle describes how Hitler invades Austria. Both legitimize their actions as a common good. How can folks take these despots at their word? Indeed, how?
(L to R): Raúl Esparza in ‘The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui,’ by Bertolt Brecht, directed by John Doyle for CSC (Joan Marcus)
From the costumes to the sets Doyle emphasizes the play’s themes. Brecht aligns each juncture of Ui’s takeover with the historic rise of Hitler. First, Hitler attacks German democratic institutions. Opportunistically, he co-opts German Chancellor Hindenburg the year before the old man died. Hindenburg allowed Hitler to seize the government after political infighting insured that Hitler’s Nazi attack dog Ernest Roehm would be ousted/killed. By the end of the play, Hitler annexes Austria with Austrians’ help. In Brecht’s parallel, Cicero’s terrified citizens (like Austria’s) overwhelmingly align with Ui. Gangsterdom emboldened by the whitewash of citizen support casts the usurpation as legitimate.
Arturo Ui’s rise to power from Chicago mobster to elected political “hero” parallels Hitler’s takeover of Germany without the full majority of the German people’s support. Interestingly, we recollect that Trump lost the popular vote. Sadly, almost one-third of the nation neglected to participate in the voting process. Indeed, Trump’s was a minority win. So was Hitler’s! So is Ui’s. Nevertheless, it is this win which opens the floodgates for world domination as the despots ignite mayhem, murder, terror, and genocide.
Kudos to Doyle and the ensemble whose staging clarifies a difficult verse play full of ironic Shakespearean allusions. Doyle’s set encompasses a large wire fence reminiscent of a prison setting, or a detention camp. Interestingly, this fence provides the wire “curtain” or barrier walling in from out, the playing area. Actors also use the area behind the fence for announcements and as a visible holding pen before their entrances. From behind this fence-like curtain, they narrate the prelude of Brecht’s play. A gate in the middle allows ingress and egress. And the central action/paradigm occurs in the inner sanctum (playing area), adjacent to it.
(L to R): Omozé Idehenre, Christopher Gurr, ‘The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui,’ Bertolt Brecht, CSC (Joan Marcus)
I found this setting to be not only functional but thematically rich. Coupled with the lighting design which remains both sinister and symbolic of the characters’ inner emptinesses, its resonance strengthened the overall message and chilling effect. The more internally fenced-in the individual, the greater the tendency toward paranoia and sociopathic dark deeds. The prison and cage metaphor extends Brecht’s messages which upon close inspection reveal a sardonic wiriness.
Sadly, the more powerful the recognition of the analogies that Doyle sets up to our own period of challenged civil liberties in the U.S., the more horrifically ludicrous Arturo Ui and his willing henchmen appear. Indeed, Ui’s and his goons’ caged-in, bound-up souls turn maniacal by Ui’s concluding speech.
The actors perform their roles with precision. Esparza’s weak-minded, Trumpian, whining criminal with mannerisms like Hitler’s brings humor and reality to a role often played as a caricature. His Ui is inimically real and dimensional. His superbly rendered arias justify corruption as legal, enthrall, and hypnotize. His speech about faith and loyalty magnificently, humorously, and hypocritically shows the demagogue’s urges to devour the minds and souls of his followers. Ui imagines himself the savior of the people, calling for them to believe him for he is trustworthy.
Where have we heard this before? Doyle underscores this point when at the conclusion we hear chants of “Lock her up,” and see Ui wearing a long red tie. The parallel sickens because it hits so close to home. And then come the last lines to the effect that, yes, the world powers overthrew Hitler, but this brings no assurances. For the “bitch that bore him is in heat again.” As we consider all the dictators and warlords around the globe who glory in terror, murder, and oppression, Brecht’s truths solidify. Did the populace uphold and understand the vital purpose of the social contract to a healthy government? Do we?
George Abud in ‘The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui,’ by Bertolt Brecht, directed by John Doyle for CSC (Joan Marcus)
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In a moral, self-sustaining world of plenty, those in power would rebuff Ui in the fictional Cicero. But in an economic depression when resources become scarce, ethics collapse with individuals’ desperation. Economic deprivations create despots who promise to return the society to safety, “greatness,” and prosperity. With the effects of climate change daily narrowing the resources (viable land, food, water) humans rely on to live and prosper, the rise of the thug dictator class threatens more than ever.
This production and the play remain a guiding watchtower for our times, for all times. By revealing what has happened, they guide us as to what citizens must not do. Notably, they must not resort to resignation and disengagement. They must speak out, demand redress, and vilify corruption, even to the point of sacrifice and death. Laissez-faire approaches perpetrate oppression for all, for despots expect no reaction to their appalling behavior. But legitimized bullying cannot abide when citizens resist it. Save for the social contract between citizens and government officials, which strengthens the bonds between our rights and responsibilities and enforcement of government accountability, we are lost.
The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui directed and designed by John Doyle runs at CSC until 22 December. The cast includes George Abud, Eddie Cooper, Elizabeth A. Davis, Thom Sesma, Omozé Idehenre, Mahira Kakkar, and Christopher Gurr. Kudos go to Ann Hould-Ward (Costume Design), Jane Cox and Tess James (Lighting Design), and Matt Stine (Sound Design). For tickets visit CSC’s website.
(L to R): Glenn Close, Grace Van Patten in ‘Mother of The Maid,’ directed by Matthew Penn, written by Jane Anderson (Joan Marcus)
Joan of Arc lived for about 19 years on this earth. However brief her life, Joan enthralled artists. In every century, they have made her the subject of works of literature, painting, sculpture, film, plays, even operas. She was a darling of the Catholic Church, which canonized her in 1920. And the French declared her one of the country’s nine secondary patron saints. If we view her inimitable character, dramatic adventures, visions, and brutal death, Joan of Arc remains “larger than life.” Indeed, her mysterious divinity inspires us. But it is her humanity that infuses Jane Anderson’s Mother of the Maid directed by Matthew Penn, currently at the Public Theater.
What does a mother (the ineffable Glenn Close) do with a forthright, determined, headstrong daughter? (Grace Van Patten’s Joan is solid throughout.) She pushes back. Until one retreats or the other relents and acquiesces, sturm und drang will characterize their relationship. Anderson sustains the pressure and strain between Isabelle and Joan throughout this intense drama spinning the human relationship between mother and daughter that created an icon and established Isabelle d’Arc as a woman of power in her own right.
Joan’s reckoning with destiny, touches off a veritable cataclysm of agony for Isabelle. Only after death does their conflict pivot and become rerouted in another direction. When Isabelle recovers from her daughter’s and her husband Jacques’ death, she gains her own identity, burnished by the flames of Joan’s immolation. It is then that she charges into history and writes her own exalted epilogue. With persistence and the strength that she demonstrated throughout her life, Isabelle memorializes her great love for her amazing Joannie and acquires justice at the hands of the Catholic Church.
Anderson reveals the mother/daughter conflict at the outset of the play. And Matthew Penn shepherds Glenn Close as Isabelle and Grace Van Patten as the maid of Orleans with directorial precision and energy. Anderson’s logic, economy, and adroitly crafted portrayals, elucidate the women’s disparate natures. Close and Van Patten are perfectly suited for their emotional jousting matches. As Isabelle attempts to interpret Joan’s behavior, we understand the dynamic between the divinely called Joan, and the earthly-minded Isabelle. Indeed, Anderson capitalizes upon our knowledge of Joan of Arc’s canonization by the Catholic Church. At the very least we find humorous, Isabelle’s doubts about Joan’s “wild” determination to “lead an army and drive the English out of France.”
The playwright ingeniously lays bare how Joan must persuade her parents to support her on the divine mission. Following the scripture’s admonition to “honor thy father and mother,” Joan allows them to beat her. She does not run away, nor resist their recriminations, but she affirms her identity as a servant of God. Joan assures them she will remain steadfast unto death, even if they kill her to forestall her crazy plans. Ironically, her parents give her a worse time accepting her divine unction than the “captain up at the castle,” who will escort her to the Dauphin (heir apparent). Because she becomes persuaded that Joan lives in God’s will, Isabelle finally acknowledges the beatings have no impact. Indeed, she may suffer God’s wrath if she tries to prevent Joan from living in her obedience to God’s plans.
Grace Van Patten, Andrew Hovelson in ‘Mother of The Maid,’ directed by Matthew Penn, written by Jane Anderson (Joan Marcus)
This turning point defines the family’s enlightenment and support of Joan’s Godly purpose. Furthermore, Isabelle makes it clear to Joan that she recognizes and admires her piety and determination as an outgrowth of Isabelle’s fervent relationship to God. When Isabelle and Jacques give their permission, with humility, they acknowledge she is in God’s grace.
Anderson’s characterization and Penn’s measured direction of Close’s and Van Patten’s moment-to-moment acting keep us on the edge of our seats. Together they make the reality of her parents’ s acceptance of Joan’s mission miraculous. Anderson’s detailed revelations of her conflict with her parents actually heighten Joan of Arc’s humanity. And it is this that encourages us to understand that the potential for courage and strength is rooted in every human being. However, Joan’s affirmation and belief that her mission is divinely guided separates the rest of us from her. How her divinity is tested against her humanity, then, Anderson sets up in the second half of the play.
Joan’s greatness spins off at this juncture of having to deal with mom and dad. After she leaves her home and confronts the passion of God’s plans for France, her earthly persona gradually dissolves. Through various interactions with her mom both progress along an emotional and spiritual journey. We and Isabelle watch in awe how Joan becomes the Maid of Orleans. Yet, Jacques and Isabelle fear and doubt Joan’s every step. Reluctantly, after her successful battles against the British, they join her to celebrate the Dauphin’s coronation as Charles VII, King of France. Afterward, the situation worsens as the King’s enemies threaten. Jacques’ and Isabelle’s fears escalate, unabated by circumstances, faith or the King’s recognition of Joan’s favor with God.
We discover in the first segment that the actions her parents take to stop her, ironically strengthen Joan’s will. Eventually, her persistence and faith and their final spiritual illumination bring them to agreement, but only momentarily. We see the importance of Joan’s family to her character, and how their doubts and misgivings buffet her. Her father distrusts the soldiers, her cause, the church, the King, the English. And Joan must counter his arguments with reason and faith. Likewise, she and her mother develop as they abrade each other’s wits and souls. From these scourges, Joan’s mind and spirit become tempered to confront her enemy accusers. Brilliant, strengthened, resolved by faith, her answers to their entrapping questions during her trial astound them. As a result in historical archives, her trial and her death sentence appear unjustly ludicrous and political in the face of her innocence and agile mental acumen.
Dermot Crowley, Glenn Close in ‘Mother of The Maid,’ written by Jane Anderson, directed by Matthew Penn (Joan Marcus)
To the very end, Joan chooses to carve out her own path with passionate enthusiasm. Though sometimes misery caves in her energy, she always remains in defiance of her mother’s doubts This courage to overcome her parents’ fears helps her overcome her own. As Anderson draws her, we glean how parental forces, primarily Isabelle’s, shape this illiterate teenage girl’s extraordinary character.
Surmounting each plateau of the suspenseful emotional/spiritual journey, Isabelle shifts between the joy of seeing her daughter’s success and the pain of fearing her injury and torture by the British. When Joan is captured Isabelle embarks on her own path to greatness and individuality. Walking for miles over the rough country through the darkness, the difficult terrain and the fear of encounters with enemy soldiers, Isabelle finally arrives at Joan’s prison. And she insists with the guards that she be allowed to minister to her daughter. Though happy to receive her mother, Joan is unhappy to hear her protestations and argues with her, once more. For the last time Joan calls off her mother’s adjurations to recant and save herself from the fires.
This will be the last time the earthly Isabelle strives against the divinely inspired Joan who chooses death over hypocrisy. For her there is no turning. Close and Van Patten engage us in the arguments so that we empathize with both and even cheer on Close’s Isabelle in our hearts. However, we know the outcome and cheer on Joan for remaining courageous in the face of the coming brutality. Ultimately, this tension between immerses them in the feelings of love, sorrow, fear.
The rendering of the prickly mother-and-daughter relationship is the crux of the production. Anderson’s characterizations inspire us to see underneath the icon that the Catholic Church has deified. Yet, in the playwright’s reveal of these simple yet profound human souls, we learn of another miracle: that of human love ranged against the ineffable love and belief in God which cannot be quantified nor understood. Joan’s conscience is her own. Her mother can empathize and attempt to understand, but Joan must walk this walk of faith alone. And if Joan is to succeed, her mother, her father, her brother may sharpen her determination, but must ultimately get out of her way and let her go into the flames.
What parent cannot identify with the heartbreak of saying goodbye to their child and hello to the unrecognizable adult burgeoning before them? It is a bitter reckoning, more so when the parents must relent and let their beloved child whom they put their hopes in, fulfill these hopes in death. That Isabelle did not argue her daughter’s insanity before the authorities speaks to Anderson’s adroit characterization. For at this point, Close’s Isabelle though desperate, turns to God for His help, knowing it may be to no avail. It is apparent to us that she doubts and believes Joan will die. We intuit that Isabelle senses that Joan, fatally Christ-like, will be martyred for France. Whether divinely willed or not, Isabelle is out of it. This is between God and Joan. And France.
(L to R): Glenn Close, Grace Van Patten, ‘Mother of The Maid,’ written by Jane Anderson, directed by Matthew Penn (Joan Marcus)
The scenes ground the miraculous past, present, and future trenchantly in logic. Eagerly, we throw ourselves into this soul journey with Isabelle. And we hope against hope that God and St. Catherine will see Joanie through, knowing the opposite will occur. Anderson’s delicious infusion of Joan’s divinity with reality and the elevation of Isabelle and Jacques from their mundane existence is inspired! Shepherded by the sterling direction of Matthew Penn, Close and Van Patten enthrall us as they fiercely breathe life into a legend we find hard to fathom. Yet because of Anderson’s craft and superb rationale, we are closer to that legend because we see Joan from Isabelle’s perspective. She is her daughter, regardless of how divine.
Isabelle evolves as a mother mentored by Joan’s calling. Indeed, at the court ,and visiting Joan in prison, she becomes her handmaiden. While Close inhabits this “mother for all time,” Van Patten wears Joan’s anointing and humanity credibly. Through their profound, enlightened and thought-provoking portrayals, we understand the complexity of their relationship and the powerful impact of their love for one another. Isabelle demonstrates great faith, courage, and humility in navigating the pretensions of the royal court. And we become immersed in her torment as she assists Joan through the sham trial and pronouncement of the fearful death sentence. The second act is particularly chilling and suspenseful, driven by Isabelle’s urgency.
(L to R): Kate Jennings Grant, Olivia Gilliatt, Glenn Close in ‘Mother of The Maid’ The Public Theater (Joan Marcus)
Close’s quicksilver acting leaves one experiencing a torrent of emotions. She portrays the affirmative, down-to-earth, fiercely maternal Isabelle as if by second nature. With methodical calculation and matter-of-fact counter-arguments, Van Patten’s Joan extinguishes mom’s reality to justify what becomes unknowable except by faith. Her parents come to know that the tragedy of Joan’s calling is not of her choosing. Thus, they distrust and doubt her for it, not able to understand her dense faith. How the ensemble and the director establish this arc of realization, doubt, torment, sorrow, and exaltation is breathtaking.
As Close works through Isabelle’s evolution toward believing in her daughter, we experience Joan’s affirmation of all she believes in her successes at the court. These are snatched away when she falls from grace into the malevolent hands of political enemies. Both Van Patten and Close are acutely present throughout. With nuanced emotions, each of Isabelle’s intentions sharpens with clarity as the women strike like flint against one another.
By the conclusion, it is because of Close’s investment in truth that we experience Isabelle’s painful resolution, affirmation, and final ascendance into autonomy and empowerment. With Joan’s death, Isabelle comes into her own. The flames that destroyed her daughter’s body kindle a renewed and even greater courage and love in Isabell. It is a love which allows her to rage against the very God who gloriously martyred her daughter with an ignominious and unjust end. Thus, with passion Isabelle will shake the very heavens until Joan achieves through an eternal justice, a public vindication and glorification.
Mother of the Maid should not be missed. It must be seen for Glenn Close’s electrifying performance and for Grace Van Patten’s humanly realized Joan. As for the adroit staging and direction and the superb ensemble (Dermot Crowley, Andrew Hovelson, Kate Jennings Grant, Daniel Pearce, Olivia Gilliatt), all contribute to make this a must-see.
The set design (John Lee Beatty), costume design (Jane Greenwood), lighting design (Lap Chi Chu), sound design & original music (Alexander Sovronsky), and sound design (Joanna Lynne Staub) aptly enhance the development of the action with stylized grace.
The Untitled Theater Company No. 61 presents Julia Hoffmann, Trav SD in ‘The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley,’ written/directed by Edward Einhorn (photo from the production)
The FringeNYC Festival shuttered with its last production performances on 28 October: The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley, Edward Einhorn’s take-off on a Bertol Brecht classic served as the festivals’ apt exclamation point. Brecht’s Resistible Rise of Umberto Ui (that Einhorn’s work parallels), satirizes Hitler’s alarming rise to power. Like Brecht Einhorn employs sardonic humor to reveal human avarice and fandom at its worst.
Divergently, Einhorn’s stylistic parody of Brecht’s work uses period music (1900-1920s), with lyrics he wrote to chronicle another incredible “rise.” Notably, the two-act hybrid musical, comedy, satire, absurdist bio-drama characterizes the American Dream, Horatio Alger “rags-to -riches” prototype. However, the prototype is turned on its head in the shape and form of one real-life JR Brinkley. JR’s misplaced ambitions destined him to millionaire stardom and fraudulent bankruptcy. Incalculably, this gentleman (who was far from one), lived and died in the American outback of the Mid-West during a period of few government regulations. Traveling the country to find a “home,” JR settled in Kansas where he thrived as a medical doctor (with no credible license or medical schooling).
Einhorn spins out Brinkley’s unbelievable adventures with a structure similar to Brecht’s. Indeed, his narrator (the fine John Blaylock), with guitar in hand, opens the play advising what events will follow. As he introduces each of the characters and advances a chronological narrative, mini-scenes unfold. In them Einhorn illustrates the key events which relate how Brinkley navigates the highbrow and lowbrow society in Kansas. Additionally, Einhorn calculates with absurdist stylistic treatment how and why Brinkley achieved success, amassed an adoring and gullible audience of followers, then debased himself in infamy.
With madcap music (on guitar, violin, clarinet, banjo, pennywhistle), the actors act, sing, and perform their characters’ foibles and fabulousnesses. The excellent Trav SD dishes up the loquacious, extroverted, con man Brinkley. His great good will fronts for an unprecedented amorality, corruption and greed. Taken alone, Brinkley’s avariciousness would have raised the suspicions of the most naive. However, through the narrator, Einhorn, with wit and whimsy reveals Brinkley’s illustrious masking qualities and manipulations.
(L to R): John Blaylock, Craig Anderson, Julia Hoffmann, Trav SD, Jenny Lee Mitchell in ‘The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley,’ written/directed by Edward Einhorn (photo from the production)
First, as a self-proclaimed entrepreneur with an organized eye for expansion, Brinkley excels. In fact his creative promotional abilities guide him to envision every opportunity to defraud others with impunity. He develops the idea to treat erectile dysfunction and “sterility” with surgical implantations of goat glands. When the procedure works for one man (most probably through the placebo effect), he capitalizes on this unrelated “success.” With a keen sales savvy for the depression era, Brinkley like a circus barker, twists male egos against themselves. Indeed, he advertises his goat gland surgical cure to tremendous male response. Additionally, he develops a handy mail order product catalogue for a myriad of cures also using goat glands and other concoctions. All the procedures and healing tinctures prove ineffective! However, despite tragedies and deaths along the way, Brinkley becomes the doctor sensation of Kansas with his clinic and hospital.
In between songs performed by John Blaylock and the ensemble like “It’s a Lie,” “Ain’t Nobody’s Business,” and “Brinkley, You’re the Man for Us,” Trav SD’s Brinkley hoodwinks and shills his way to the top. Cleverly, he purchases a radio station. For his programming he hires the first “country and western” type performers to soothe and entertain. In between he hawks the “success” of his “guaranteed” home remedies.
Through his propagandistic Trump-style radio infomercials, sales skyrocket. Creatively maintaining control, Brinkley produces, directs, script-writes and performs his own radio programs. Eliciting loyalty, Brinkley and his cast of actors and musicians entertain and convince with “down-home” folksy, “bless your sweet little Christian heart” cheer. And to assist he brings in his sugary wife Minnie (the equally outrageous Jenny Lee Mitchell). His crew includes the singing Blind Cowbody (John Blaylock). And when necessary, Brinkley hires many other performers (played by Craig Anderson, Julia Hoffmann). Indeed, one of them reputedly was Gene Autry who started his career with Brinkley’s radio shows.
Jenny Lee Mitchell, Trav SD in ‘The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley,’ written/directed by Edward Einhorn (photo from the production)
Einhorn’s comparison to today’s rise of Trump is right on. He reveals that Brinkley, et. al., like most sociopaths, politicians, and con men, knows how to manipulate his audience. Thus, he creates his fandom and star power by tailoring his programs and products to what the folks want to see and hear, regardless of their efficacy. Ironically, the fact that supporters purchase garbage that in many instances makes them sick, poisons them or kills them, matters little. If Brinkley says it, it must be true.
Yes, Brinkley’s huckster’s soul is rotted-out with corruption. Indeed, where the fictional Horatio Alger was aspiring and noble in his pursuit of the American dream, the real-life Brinkley was of the criminal, amoral class. Einhorn’s plot development shows that Brinkley’s followers swallow Brinkley’s charlatanism whole. At the same time we gaze in horror recognizing that history repeats itself. For Brinkley could be Donald Trump’s twin, minus a few disparate, demented and desperate details.
Trav SD, Jenny Lee Mitchell in ‘The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley,’ written/directed Edward Einhorn (photo courtesy of the production)
With stylistic brio Einhorn does what he enjoys doing most. He employs absurdist, comedic mayhem to examine outrageous social and cultural behavior. We appreciate the themes (greed inspires criminality). Another theme suggests: “harming others is OK if you never get caught.” Additionally, lying suits up the fraudulent con man beautifully. For by the time the media exposes the lie, the huckster rips out 100 more. You can’t catch a liar who never admits he lies or apologizes for being “wrong.” All of these themes Einhorn crystallizes through the lens of sardonic humor, hyperbole and wit.
As Brinkley’s audacity of mendacity, trickery, and chicanery ripens to its pinnacle, so do his liabilities. Not only does he attract the attention of Morris Fishbine (Julia Hoffmann) of the American Medical Association, but the relatives of many of those who have been killed, injured, and damaged sue Brinkley for monetary awards. Eventually, Fishbein and the press expose his criminality and officials go after Brinkley. As a result, he loses his practice and his radio station.
To gain recourse and change the law in his favor, he runs for Governor of Kansas. Ironically, the current politician allowed Brinkley to practice as a fraud because he enriched politicians’ pockets and helped make the communities thrive. If not for the self-dealing of his political opponents who disqualified ballots, Brinkley would have succeeded. Though he knows how to tickle the ears of his fans to support him, his demise threatens on the horizon. Thus, he picks up his stakes and plants them in a sleepy little town in Texas. And the mansion he built there, remains on the historic register even today.
The thought-provoking The Resistible Rise of Jr Brinkley presented by Untitled Theater Company NO. 61, remains doubly potent considering that JR Brinkley’s story is a true one. Albeit, viewing human behavior in all its “glory” reminds us of our own susceptibility to liars and con artists. Certainly, JR Brinkley would not have been initially successful if males weren’t drawn in by the lure of virility. If men and women saw through him, Brinkley, like Hitler, like Trump, would have been a loser nobody. Why ordinary folks didn’t #resist them boggles the imagination, and remains a clarion call for all time.
Considering those who follow Donald Trump as if to the death, Brinkley’s fraud and political bid resonates. We need more not less regulation to protect us from those who use the US taxpayer to self-deal. And we need heavy punishments for top officials, indeed presidents, who would destroy the public good to profit themselves. Indeed, Brinkley’s rush to avoid regulation parallels the Trump presidency’s push to end regulations governing finance, environmental protection, student loan debt and much more.
Look for Einhorn’s The Resistible Rise of JR Brinkley at another venue, perhaps some time in the future in NYC. It deserves a second go-round. You will heartily enjoy it!
L to R): Tim Rush, Jay Ward, Curtis M. Jackson, Tinuke Adetunji, John Dewey in ‘Onaje,’ written by Robert Bowie, Jr., directed by Pat Golden, FringeNYC (ZeCastle Photography)
FringeNYC has been up and running again after a year’s hiatus. It has come roaring back with experimental theater offerings and thought-provoking presentations. One intriguing production out of the 85 or so offered ended its predominately sold-out run on Sunday, 21 October. Among the other productions, it’s a standout and bears revisiting. Onaje, written by Robert Bowie, Jr. and searingly directed by Pat Golden sported a large cast with sterling performances. Overall, the play’s themes resound with currency in this time of social and political divisiveness and hyper rhetoric not witnessed since the early 20th century.
The play takes place in the 1980s. However, the flashbacks that infuse and haunt the mind of the protagonist William/Onaje take place earlier. Onaje/William (portrayed with mesmerizing power and spot-on immediacy by Curtis M. Jackson), suffers a miserable fate. Indeed, a traumatic event that happened during the 1967 Maryland riots affects him emotionally and chains him to a bondage of self-recrimination. Sadly, racism and bigotry force him to leave his loving family (the fine Jay Ward, Mary E. Hodges, Tinuke Adetunji).
Dislocated from his former life as a result of this event, fear drives William to seek refuge and healing on the open road. Subsequently, he attempts to evolve beyond the tragic events of the past by creating another persona, Onaje. It is Onaje that Bowie, Jr. introduces us to at the play’s opening. And as the play unfolds, we learn about the devastating events that might have driven a less enlightened person than William/Onaje to suicide or murder.
Through his interactions with fellow travelers, the couple Richard and Belle, the revelation of Onaje’s humanity unfolds. Richard (Adam Couperthwaite in a dynamic and edgy performance), and Belle (the feisty, humorous, down-to-earth Sheila Joon Ostadazim), are happy Onaje accompanies them on their road trip.
Apparently, Onaje has traveled the highways of the United States since he left his family on the Eastern shore of Maryland fifteen years ago. Unbeknownst to Onaje, fate has thrown him in with this couple, and he will accompany them to return him full circle to the place of the traumatic experience. Ironically, Richard and he come from the same area. Because Richard intends to settle his accounts with his father and seek affirmation, he must return home. But Richard’s father, Middleman Sr. (Bristol Pomeroy), witnessed what happened to Onaje fifteen years before. Though he doesn’t know it yet, nor do we, a reckoning comes for Richard, his father, and Onaje. But unlike most reckonings, this one distills hope, peace, and unity.
From his conversations with Belle, we learn the extent to which Onaje has evolved. Thus, the wisdom and strength he developed on his travels transformed him into the admirable Onaje. As Onaje he has purified himself on his life journey. However, the old William and the events that devastated him still lurk within. Eventually, he must confront what occurred to expiate his guilt and self-torment and completely heal.
Sheila Joon Ostadazim, Curtis M. Jackson in ‘Onaje,’ FringeNYC, written by Robert Bowie, Jr, directed by Pat Golden (ZeCastle Photography)
Though Belle intuits Onaje, she remains clueless about his, at times, gorgeous poetic language and philosophical ramblings. Nevertheless, she understands his goodness and truth. Indeed, he presents himself as a spiritual man of the universe. He perceives himself to be a caretaker of the earth and its people. And his life on the open road allows him to be free of the culture’s machine existence. Not only does Onaje manifest goodness to this couple. But his profound and poetic insights inspire Belle to seek truth in her relationship with Richard.
Eventually, Richard reveals his criminal, “uncool” past to Belle, and she reveals her “lowly” beginnings. Indeed, Onaje’s openness and authenticity encourage them. As Richard confronts his father and seeks forgiveness, we realize the positive impact Onaje has had. Certainly, a theme the character represents remains; only by living in truth can one be free. As a veritable tour de force, Onaje changes the lives of all those he encounters. Except one.
However, in helping Belle and Richard embrace truth, eventually fate forces him to deal with his own. Thus, with profound irony, Bowie Jr. brings Onaje fatefully back full circle to the Cambridge, Maryland area. With Belle and Richard he discusses and relives the events that sent him gyrating away in pain. Finally, as he recounts/relives the events, he frees himself from his own self-condemnation and weakness that perpetrated an evil against an innocent.
In the play Bowie Jr. revisits the tragic history of Cambridge, Maryland and William’s participation in it. Should this scene have appeared later in this work? Indeed, the structure of the play needs shoring up for this scene is the most striking. And all scenes in the play lead to and revolve around this one.
In 1967, the Civil Rights Movement gained in strength and solidarity throughout the country including Maryland. There, marchers and protestors supported H.Rap Brown’s dynamic speech in Cambridge, Maryland. When Brown identified injustices and demanded equal treatment for African-Americans on the Eastern Shore, klansmen whipped up whites’ fearful animosity and hate-filled sentiments. As a result infuriated white mobs, some, law enforcement in hoods, torched black neighborhoods. Tragically, homes burned to the ground. Indeed, most feared that snipers would shoot anyone who attempted to put out the raging infernos.
(L to R): Bristol Pomeroy, Adam Couperthwaite, Sheila Joon Ostadazim, Tim Rush in ‘Onaje,’ FringeNYC (Ze Castle Photography)
(L to R): Bristol Pomeroy, Adam Couperthwaite, Sheila Joon Ostadazim, Tim Rush in ‘Onaje,’ FringeNYC (Ze Castle Photography)
During the chaos, William/Onaje becomes swept up as a casualty of these catastrophic events. And Andrew, a young civil rights worker invited home by William’s Dad becomes another casualty along with the entire black family. Andrew (portrayed with good-natured aplomb and humanity by John Dewey), is at the wrong place at the wrong time with William’s family.
When racist cop Henderson seeks out William at his home, he questions Andrew’s presence there. The “do-gooding” arrogance of a white man in the home of a black family! Thus, Andrew’s magnanimity and color blindness provoke Henderson’s already stoked hatred. Tim Rush convinces as the malevolent, corrupt Henderson. Punishing both William (he had an earlier incident with Henderson), and Andrew, we witness the terror of sadism and brutality William must visit on Andrew. Thanks to Golden’s acute, precise direction, the scene is gobsmacking dynamite.
The incident remains the pivotal point of the production. And the lighting, staging and shepherding of the actors’ performances creates terror. Thus, the revelation of who, how and why Onaje is, clarifies. What remains must be healing between him and the man who might have stopped it but didn’t: Middleman, Sr. For he was present at the event. Henderson, the foil for wickedness, is past hope, overtaken by his own inhumanity.
The second half of the play appears anticlimactic. The playwright brings us to the closing epiphany through a meandering route. Nevertheless, when Richard brings Belle and Onaje to the Middleman home, and Henderson confronts Richard, the tension recalls us to the incident fifteen years earlier. Our fears coalesce around this character. Perhaps once again Henderson will explode with violence and hatred.
(L to R): Bristol Pomeroy, Curtis M. Jackson in ‘Onaje,’ written by Robert Bowie, Jr., directed by Pat Golden (ZeCastle Photography)
(L to R): Bristol Pomeroy, Curtis M. Jackson in ‘Onaje,’ written by Robert Bowie, Jr., directed by Pat Golden (ZeCastle Photography)
Most of these individuals seek to change and evolve. Why does this impulse elude Henderson? However, Middleman, Sr. has remorse for his former actions. He apologizes to Onaje and the hope of peace and understanding abides between them. This message, that we must be decent and human with each other in these times brings us a much needed uplift. Nevertheless, the reality of the Hendersons of the world enlists this concept. Out of horrific evil, good can come and people can change. But for some, this is an impossibility…perhaps until they stare at their own death.
I enjoyed the production, especially its excellent cast and the terrific performances by all, especially Curtis M. Jackson. Though the play needs fine tuning, the conceptualizations and themes are exquisite. The director well handled the challenges and the restrictions of the festival concerning sets, etc. In another venue with fine tuning of the dialogue, etc, this smashing production deserves another go around.
Kudos to actors: Jay Ward, Mary E. Hodges, Tinuke Adetunji, and kudos to Joye Liao (lighting design), Bevin McNally (costume design and wardrobe), Dedalus Wainwright (scenic design). Onaje was produced by Sue Conover Marinello.
‘The Ferryman,’ ensemble, by Jez Butterworth, directed by Sam Mendes (Joan Marcus)
How does one disentangle oneself from a clandestine tribe that has no legitimacy? A tribe who bonds over shared bloodshed, brutality, and murder to achieve a political purpose? Jez Butterworth’s masterpiece The Ferryman, superbly directed by Sam Mendes, has transferred to the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre in New York from its run in London. This smashing production confronts important themes about politics and violence for our times, for all times.
The Ferryman opens up a series of conundrums. First, is it possible to turn away from violence without completely working through one’s past bloody deeds? Or is an inherently violent nature prone to murderous acts when an occasion for vengeance presents itself? Second, when a loved one has gone missing, can family members truly reconcile the absence? When there is no closure to grieve because of the “ambiguous loss,” what is the impact on family relationships? Finally, is the missing one physically absent but still present? Or is their absence a haunting force, a myth that overwhelms, even if some family members never knew them?
Butterworth confronts these issues in his epic family tragedy akin to the works of classical Greek playwrights Sophocles and Euripides. Those ancients selected war as the backdrop to develop their dramas. And so does Butterworth. He sets this three-act play in Northern Ireland during what is referred to as the Troubles.
‘The Ferryman’ by Jez Butterworth, directed by Sam Mendes (Joan Marcus)
Through his characterizations and the references of irascible elderly Aunt Pat and sweet oldster Aunt Maggie Far Away, we learn of the Irish-British conflict. (Dearbhla Molloy as Aunt Pat and Fionnula Flanagan as Aunt Maggie Far Away are “bring-down-the-house” phenomenal as their family’s and culture’s historian and prophet respectively.) The bloody shadow of civil strife darkened the relationship between British Protestants and Irish Catholics for centuries. But by the 20th century, the Irish Catholics were taking a stand. From the Easter Rising (1916) and the partition of Northern Ireland to the Battle of Bogside (1969), the Irish fought back. With the inception of the IRA (1970), and Bloody Sunday when hundreds of young men and women joined it, British and Irish blood continued to soak the land.
As the intensity of the strife grew and bombs exploded in Belfast, killing nine in 1972, the IRA went on record. Suspected informers began to disappear. The British continued to round up and intern members of the IRA. As the prisoners held actions, the Thatcher government refused to change their status to that of political prisoners. When in 1981 the imprisoned Bobby Sands and others went on a hunger strike and died, global censure helped to turn the tide. From August to October of that year, during the action of The Ferryman, the hunger strikes ended. Not only was Bobby Sands elected to Westminster, a platform opened for the rise of Sinn Fein, the IRA’s political wing.
Fionnula Flanagan, Mark Lambert in ‘The Ferryman’ by Jez Butterworth, directed by Sam Mendes (Joan Marcus)
From the outset Butterworth reveals the Troubles broiling beneath the land, which ironically revolts at the strife and bloodshed by spewing up one of its “disappeared.” In the prologue a priest and sinister IRA men discuss a body popping up from its clandestine burial ground in a bog. Butterworth gradually reveals the import of this pivotal moment. After the body’s public discovery, Father Horrigan (Charles Dale), the IRA’s Muldoon (Stuart Graham), and the entire 14-member Carney family will never be the same.
Though the body, blackened from the peat, looks appalling, its preservation secures the man’s identity as Seamus Carney. The husband of Caitlin Carney (Laura Donnelly) and brother of Quinn Carney (Paddy Considine), had gone missing 10 years before. Mysterious reported sightings in Liverpool and elsewhere suggested Seamus had abandoned wife and family.
For the Irish Catholic Carneys living on a farm in County Armagh, Northern Ireland, all has remained in a suspended state. This is especially so for Caitlin, Quinn, Mary (Quinn’s wife), and Oisin (Seamus’ son). On closer inspection, the meaning of Seamus’ loss has afflicted all of the family interactions. Not only has their dynamic been upended, but Quinn’s, Mary’s, Caitlin’s guilt, regrets, and self-recriminations simmer in the ground of their souls. Closure eludes them. It’s as if the spirit of absence inhabits family members, who come and go like wraiths. In fact a malaise of absence abides between Mary and Quinn, Oisin and Caitlin, and Aunt Maggie Far Away and the family. Indeed, this raucous family talks, but their conversation rarely achieves intimacy or depth.
(L to R): Laura Donnelly, Genevieve O’Reilly, Paddy Considine in ‘The Ferryman’ by Jez Butterworth, directed by Sam Mendes (Joan Marcus)
After the prologue, an immense bustle of activity explodes in the 14-member household. As the children rouse and come down for breakfast, happy chaos filters in with the sunlight. Tom Kettle (Justin Edwards), a Brit saved by the family as an orphan, brings his good will. Along with apples, a live bunny, and strength for the harvest, Kettle’s slow-witted presence provides assurance of a good harvest. Still, Aunt Pat carps about his being a Brit. And she warns that the family has forgotten what is important. Eventually Mary comes downstairs in her nightgown, like a ghost, then goes back upstairs. And somewhere in this foolishness, the sterling portrayals by the ensemble win our hearts. So does the live goose that Tom Kettle rescues for the dinner.
Beautifully staged with the clutter of fun and bounty of children’s drawings, the production convincing shows us a convivial, lively family. Mendes’ staging of the entrances of the numerous Carney children (including a gorgeous baby), three elders, three parents, and cousins strikes with wonder. The enthusiasm of life and togetherness bubbles with cheer.
Their joy manifests the day’s specialness. For today, the Carneys and their Corcoran cousins will harvest the fruits of their labors. Surely, they will move out to the combines with thoughts of celebration: with the killing of the goose, feasting, drinking and dancing. But before they leave, as they have breakfast, in the midst of the ebullient confusion come the prophet and historian. The truth resounds with the moral imperative that comes with the women’s presence.
Certainly, Uncle Patrick’s (Mark Lampert) jokes about Aunt Pat’s having turned from a sweet girl to a bitter witch entertain us. But the playwright has effected a greater purpose for her character. From Pat we learn of the ongoing socio-political conflict in Northern Ireland. And yes, Aunt Maggie’s dementia breaks our hearts. But her character carries a message. All of a sudden, as she is wont to do, she comes out of her fog and sings. She “arrives!” Next, she interacts with Uncle Pat about the harvest. Then she “disappears” in a twinkling. Her absence devastates. Her arrivals vibrate with contagious electricity. She is a will-o-the-wisp sprinkling laughter until she closes up in deadly silence.
Paddy Considine, Genevieve O’Reilly in ‘The Ferryman’ by Jez Butterworth, directed by Sam Mendes (Joan Marcus)
As Maggie disappears, the children’s lively banter once more takes over. But we understand that both women serve as omens, as does Uncle Pat. Toward the end of the play, Uncle Pat delivers the final truth about the ferryman of Greek mythology, to capstone the meaning of Seamus’ loss. And Aunt Maggie sees into the spirit realm and cries out our future for all of us.
Indeed, the three elders reveal the family’s irrevocable foundations in sorrow and struggle. Through them, Butterworth most poignantly and powerfully unfolds the symbolism, beauty, and tragedy of what has been culturally and socially “disappeared.” The spiritual ethos of the Irish culture’s identity, voice, beneficence would be buried under British rule of Northern Ireland. And that rule ensures vengeful violence and murder.
Ironically, the youngest children seem dislocated from their background until Aunt Maggie reveals Aunt Pat’s miseries about the Easter Rising. The teenagers know more about the Troubles. Brooding Oisin (Rob Malone) acknowledges the struggle at the worst possible moment. When he confuses his loyalties, he reaps a horrific fate.
The climactic reckoning comes to Quinn Carney when his brother’s body emerges in a public disgrace of the IRA. Will Quinn choose to be silent to protect the IRA as he has done since his brother disappeared? Or will he take press interviews and blow the whistle on his brother’s murder? Muldoon fears the latter.
Once a member of the IRA, now a farmer, Quinn has submerged for a decade his awareness of how British rule impacts his daily life. Not until Seamus’ body with a bullet hole in the back of his head arises from the earth to confront him and Caitlin, do they move from their stasis. Ironically, Quinn regenerates the cycle of bloodshed and revenge he attempted to leave before Seamus went missing. Indeed, in a malevolent twist Muldoon provokes him to it.
Paddy Considine in ‘The Ferryman,’ directed by Sam Mendes, written by Jez Butterworth (Joan Marcus)
Quinn (an incisive and fierce portrayal by Considine) had left off this cycle to embrace his family and his farm. As patriarch he carried on the family tradition and created a large brood with Mary, which would wall him off from the political necessities of gaining freedom. They lived with Seamus’ loss, somehow waiting in peace to learn his fate. But in Butterworth’s stark, heavily messaged tragedy, the harvest brings more than the barley. And it brings more than his brother’s body, which evidences the IRA’s handiwork on alleged traitors. For the harvest returns the bloody nature and being that Quinn Carney manifested years before. If blood will let blood, surely the deeds of the fathers come knocking on the doors of the sons and the nephews. This is a bitter harvest indeed, sown in blood with little fruit to enjoy.
The play evokes a timelessness with profoundly spiraling themes and symbolism. Mendes has shepherded the actors to terrific performances and created a potent, masterful production that must not be missed. Paddy Considine, Laura Donnelly, Justin Edwards, Fionnula Flanagan, and Dearbhla Molloy are standouts. Michael Quinton McArthur delivers some of the funniest lines of the play with perfect timing. The ensemble also includes Dean Ashton, Fra Fee, Tom Glynn-Carney, Stuart Graham, Carla Langley, Matilda Lawler, Conor MacNeill, Willow McCarthy, Brooklyn Shuck, Glenn Speers, and Niall Wright.
Kudos go to Rob Howell (Scenic & Costume Designer), Peter Mumford (Lighting Designer), Nick Powell (Sound Designer & Original Music), and the rest of the creative team.
The Ferryman runs 3 hours and 15 minutes. (There is a 15-minute intermission following Act I and a three-minute pause following Act II.) The production closes on 17 February 2019. You will not forgive yourself if you miss it.
Apologia by Alexi Kaye Campbell poses the question: At what point must women decide between their families and their careers? Why do they have to? Should family members judge them for making their own individual choices? Must they always sacrifice their own identities to the happiness of husbands, sons? Would men in the same position subvert their own happiness allowing their wives to self-actualize without them?
Apologia, starring Stockard Channing as American art historian and human rights activist Kristin Miller in a riveting performance that spellbinds with truth and power, answers some of these questions. Playing both of Kristin’s sons, Peter and Simon, Hugh Dancy provides a tremendously potent assist as the initial backboard for Kristin’s edgy, ironic sarcasm. And then he doesn’t, in a turn which startles and leaves one breathless. Along with Talene Monahon’s deeply nuanced and empathetic Trudi, the twists of the evening and Trudi’s last comment lead Kristin on a long-awaited journey toward an acknowledged and necessary expiation.
Directed ably by Daniel Aukin, the Roundabout production is presented in special arrangement with Trafalgar Entertainment group, DB Productions, and The Dodgers. The themes scale up to the mountains women continually climb. However, each woman’s specific experience, though easily generalized, brings out unique circumstances. Such is true for Kristin Miller and her family.
Forty years ago, when Kristin Miller had her sons, feminists’ efforts to shatter the glass ceilings were faltering. Over the decades women found that “having it all” exhausted them, because they didn’t actually “have it all.” The differences loomed, as they still do, between men’s and women’s efforts to create success. And what of those women who forge ahead only to confront the ire and snide glances of men, family, and other women? Like Kristin, realizing they have to go it alone, these mavericks harden their souls because they must.
Thus, only the sound of their own ironic understanding resonates within. And gradually their rough edges blossom forming steely, stolid personalities. Such tough, determined women become renowned for their achievements. This life path sustains Kristin over the decades, supported by friends, through socio-political events and sometimes family gatherings. And then –
On the evening the action begins, her family and a friend visit for dinner and her birthday, bearing gifts. It’s the spring of 2009 in the UK, and the world wide economy is attempting to recover from the mortgage debacle which her son Peter, a congenial banker, may have helped preside over.
During the birthday celebration, we discover an intriguing antithesis. When Kristin’s marriage failed, her husband left. But he didn’t leave her for another woman. Instead, he left her bereft, took the children without a discussion, and divorced her. She could see her songs only on holidays. Irony of ironies, he left despite their shared values and mutual respect. With all of that, he still couldn’t tolerate her gaining her own voice.
Stockard Channing in ‘Apologia’ directed by Daniel Aukin, written by Alexi Kaye Campbell (Joan Marcus)
Stockard Channing in ‘Apologia’ directed by Daniel Aukin, written by Alexi Kaye Campbell (Joan Marcus)
In speaking truth to power, sparking her own personal revolution through discovering the maverick Renaissance painter Giotto’s revolution, Kristin soared. And while she moved progressively upward, her husband felt abandoned. In turn, he abandoned her without notice. She stood strong against the winds, but we learn that this abandonment and betrayal changed all of their lives forever.
In an illuminating performance, Channing portrays Kristin Miller as one of the culture’s more steadfast moral compasses. We appreciate her acute sensitivity and wit when she calls her party guests on the carpet with reasonable arguments. For example, she elevates Simon’s girlfriend Claire (the wonderful Megalyn Echikunwoke) for her acting talents, shown as she plays an innovative Nora in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. On the other hand she calls her down when Claire refers to her soap opera acting job as “artistic.” And she ironically roots out from Claire that she paid over 2,000 pounds for a designer dress because she “deserved it.” Friend Hugh (the humorous, well paced John Tillinger) finds such an amount for a dress nearly obscene. So does Kristin, a communist and activist who attends protests with great hope and fervor.
(L to R): Megalyn Echikunwoke, John Tillinger, Talene Monahon, Hugh Dancy, Stockard Channing, ‘Apologia, by Alexi Kaye Campbell, directed by Daniel Aukin (Joan Marcus)
(L to R): Megalyn Echikunwoke, John Tillinger, Talene Monahon, Hugh Dancy, Stockard Channing, ‘Apologia, by Alexi Kaye Campbell, directed by Daniel Aukin (Joan Marcus)
As the play progresses we acknowledge Kristin’s outer invulnerability and searing, humorous acerbity. The guests circle around her with care. Only her longtime friend Hugh understands. And he praises her and defends her as they discuss their fun past filled with war protests and marches. However, once in a while, Talene Monahon’s Trudi pings a chip in Kristin’s protective shell. As simplistic and washed out as Kristin would make Trudi out to be, we realize this is a blind. Indeed, the information Trudi has gleaned from Peter’s discussion of his mother has stirred Trudi with insight. And the wisdom she gained Trudi drives like an arrow through Kristin’s hardness into the depths of her softening heart.
In this ominous time when Kristin first meets Trudi, a transformation occurs. Trudi brings an intriguing present which has great symbolic significance, initially unknown to all. Kristin looks up its description and identifies its purpose and meaning. Assuredly, Trudi has chosen this gift with intuition, as it fits who Kristin represents. However, the revelation occurs after Simon’s momentous visit and departure. Dancy’s portrayal of Peter’s brother Simon rings with a poetic, stark emptiness that breaks Kristin’s heart though she doesn’t readily show it. Channing’s subtle portrayal implies her inner brokenness with Simon. The actors mesmerize us in this scene.
As the lighting design indicates, Simon’s being remains in the shadows. Though his mother tenderly attempts to bind his wounds from a fall, she succeeds only with the physical flesh. Instantly, we realize this ministration of wrapping Simon’s wounds symbolizes a greater action on her part.
Hugh Dancy in ‘Apologia’ (Joan Marcus)
Kristin cannot bind the emotional lacerations he experienced when the family split up. Not completely understanding what happened between his parents, Simon doesn’t know why she never came for his brother and him. But he takes a small step in realizing that his current feelings reflect reactions from the past about her. This realization comes because Kristin doesn’t refer to her two sons as part of her “life and times” in her memoir that has just been published. Indeed, both Peter and Simon must acknowledge Kristin’s identity as separate from theirs, yet a part of them. Finally, they must stop blaming her and take responsibility for their own baleful choices.
Will Simon ever understand that Kristin, in pursuing her own identity and self-validation, benefited him? Crickets for now; maybe not in the future. Though Simon leaves with a stain on his heart, perhaps the door has opened a crack to let in more light. He decides to finalize his relationship with Claire. Indeed, this evening of understanding may portend a new beginning in Kristin’s and Simon’s relationship.
Hugh Dancy in ‘Apologia’ (Joan Marcus)
Though Kristin’s evening celebration went through its own thunder and lightning storm, the light of day shines on each of the guests. Peter apologizes. And Kristin apologizes to him. Her hard, humorous, sardonic protections appear to soften. Suppressed emotions pour out and the air clears. However, whether this result will move the sons in a finer direction of empathy toward their mother, Campbell leaves open.
Thankfully, hope appears on the horizon in the profound shape of Peter’s Christian fiancée, Trudi, who may really be what Christians are supposed to be, loving and understanding. Incredibly, Campbell cleverly sneaks this in without fanfare.
Campbell’s work shepherded by the director and actors subtly draws us into this family evening that flows with deep undercurrents. The actors are splendid together and the lighting and music segues us into the soulful levels of the characters’ hearts. I particularly love the play’s concept of “apologia,” the noun meaning vindication, justification, explanation. For both of the sons and Kristin, there is an apologia. Of course none needs it more than Kristin. But it is Trudi who triggers Kristin’s finally laying down her defense, justification, explanation to others. For she must set her own forgiveness in motion for herself. At the end Channing’s cry is one of beauty, sorrow, grace, and at bottom, the courage to let go. Wonderful.
Kudos to Dane Laffrey (set design), Anita Yavich (costume design), Bradley King (lighting design), Ryan Rumery (original music and sound design). The premiere of APOLOGIA is at the Laura Pels Theatre in the Harold and Miriam Steinberg Center for Theatre (111 West 46 Street). It runs through 16 December. Visit the website for tickets.
(L to R): Matthew Broderick, Géza Röhrig in ‘To Dust,’ directed by Shawn Snyder (photo courtesy of the film)
For atheists death is a macabre subject if they fear oblivion. For the religious death is an inevitable part of life and nothing to fear because there is something beyond. Those of various religious persuasions believe that as the mortal body turns “to dust,” the immortal spirit is in the loving embrace of a God of light, forgiveness and joy. The conundrum occurs for the religious who have a crisis of faith: 1)in a loving God; 2)in a spiritual dimension beyond the physical plane. When that siege of doubt appears and embraces the coffin of a loved one as a cemetery caretaker lowers it into the ground, depending upon the ability of the individual to “bury” fears and doubts, death and the mourning process can be catastrophic. In the instance of the Hasidic Cantor, Shmuel, (played by the wonderful Géza Röhrig of the Oscar winning Son of Saul), death turns him inside out and upside down. And it is his “turning” that creates the wonderful comedic situation of To Dust.
(L to R): Shawn Snyder, Jason Begue, Matthew Broderick, Géza Röhrig, ‘To Dust,’ Tribeca Film Festival 2018 Q & A (Carole Di Tosti)
Part of the charm of To Dust, written by Jason Begue and Shawn Snyder and directed by Snyder lies in the superb casting of Röhrig and Matthew Broderick. as research buddies getting a handle on the rate of body decomposition after death. Röhrig has the right measure of intensity and frenzy as he attempts to confront the stark and unsettling images of what has happened to his wife’s soul and body. She died suddenly and unexpectedly leaving him with two young children. Broderick is his perfect foil. He portrays the dead pan, unassuming, steady, science professor (Community College, upstate New York), who Shmuel seeks out for information about the progress of his dead wife’s physical decomposition. Clearly, Shmuel cannot confront the emotional impact of his wife’s absence so he obsesses about her burial underground. He worries that she must suffer for a long the time until she finally turns “to dust,” an injunction of the scripture. In his own logic Shmuel imagines when her body arrives at its final “dust” phase, she will have arrived at peace.
There is no reasoning with him that the contrary might be true, that at the point of death, she entered realms of joy. And though Broderick attempts to shake Shmuel from his obsession, there is no stopping a man addicted to tormenting himself with emotional devastation handily submerged by a preoccupation with precise facts about decomposition. There is only the opportunity to extend one’s kindness, befriend the tormented one and help him relieve his misery going down the path of least resistance. And that is what Broderick does.
(L to R): Matthew Broderick, Géza Röhrig, ‘To Dust,’ Tribeca Film Festival, Hamptons International Film Festival (photo courtesy of the film)
Cleverly, the writers and the director quickly pass over the logic of the circumstance that anyone but Albert would dump Shmuel, ignore him, or call the police on him. However, the haunted Shmuel is a wandering ghost who does not know that his “deadness” outside covers up his raw bleeding wounds inside. Thus, if Broderick doesn’t help him with this scientific experiment, Shmuel’s state is such he will be haunted forever. Who knows what he might do? Thus, the kind teacher/helper, gradually allows himself to be persuaded to partner with Shumel on this secret adventure. Their friendship and rapport becomes the humanity and beauty of To Dust and the emotional payoff in satisfaction points is huge.
Broderick’s impeccable comedic timing and his fabulous intuition for what can get a laugh comes from his extensive experience acting on Broadway and Off Broadway. It is this pacing garnered from years of sensing audiences that he translates humor flawlessly to the screen. The comedy of the situation bounces back and forth on Shmuel’s and Albert’s journey of discovery. Broderick’s Albert becomes hooked out of curiosity, compassion and the fact that he has nothing much else going on in his life. And besides. He’s an open-minded stoner, not an uptight evangelical Christian.
Géza Röhrig in Tribeca FF Q and A after the screening of ‘To Dust,’ directed by Shawn Snyder, written by Shawn Snyder and Jason Begue (Carole Di Tosti)
Matthew Broderick at the Tribeca FF Q and A for ‘To Dust,’ directed by Shawn Snyder, written by Shawn Snyder and Jason Begue (Carole Di Tosti)
The adventures they encounter involve grave robbing, but for a good purpose, research, and a visit down South to a “Body Farm” and other experiences. Many of the scenes at the grave or woods dealing with the wife’s shrouded body are hilarious and the ironies abound. The scenes with the pig are hysterical. The very idea that they would experiment and even touch the animal considered filthy among the Jewish orthodox who do not eat pork indicates the extent to which Shmuel is beside himself in horror at her death. His shuddering torment is worse than touching the porker a 5000+ year-old tradition of banning the cloven-hoofed from the Jewish Orthodox diets and presence. How Broderick and Shmuel deal with the unclean or ” trade” — האַנדל (טמא — is beyond the pale riotous.
Also, there is the apprehension that they could be stopped and questioned by the police for their secret deeds. How would they answer for themselves? Making rational sense of what they are doing with Shmuel’s wife’s body to the legal authorities conjures all sorts possibilities. This alone is priceless sardonic humor.
The dialogue is exceptional because these actors are so authentic in their attempts to deal with the absurdity of death from their perspective as citizens of life. The concept of death taken to its existential extreme is one we all must confront. What happens to us after our hearts stop and our brain function completely ceases? Does consideration of what is beyond and of what we will look like 10 years after death terrify? Certainly, we identify and empathize with Shumel. So does Albert. We have to because we are mortal. And how fast do we decompose if we are not embalmed? The Jewish tradition stipulates burial before sundown of the day of death.
Géza Röhrig in ‘To Dust,’ directed by Shawn Snyder, Tribeca FF, Hamptons FF 2018 (photo courtesy of the film)
If the actors and the situation created by Snyder and Begue weren’t so humorous, we would be as frightened as this husband is every time his imagination resurrects his wife. She torments him with the only thing left of her, her body. If not for the situational absurdity and humor, we would be saddened for this husband’s emotional debility in not being able to get over her loss.
That would be a different film. As a result, there is not even an affirmation that there is a life after death or that she resides in another dimension, or has achieved a God consciousness. In all that these Orthodox Jews have sacrificed in their lives to uphold their religious culture and folksways, one would think that there would be much consideration and comfort available to the living as they mourn the passing of their beloved. However, introducing the concept of the sweet hereafter would throw in an inappropriate twist based upon religious tradition. And it would change the tone of this film. Its richness in moving between surprise, comedy and sardonic jokes forces us to shift on a dime and follow along. The fact that the director and writer have engaged us in this very dark subject, then made us laugh about it is sheer perfection.
Also, another irony is not lost on us as aa truism in life: those who readily help others cannot easily help themselves. Here is a religious cantor who sings at funerals and helps others grieve by stemming their sorrow with his beautiful, anointed voice. In his own life he is incompetent at helping himself grieve and mourn. Indeed, the religion to which he has devoted his life and purpose is insufficient until he confronts his loss in real time and doesn’t disassociate from it. Albert’s friendship and camaraderie is crucial for Shmuel. And then occurs a brief intervention by his young children which forces him into the realization that he and his wife are in different mediums. One way to engage with her is to be present for his children and shake off the concept that she experiences soul torment based on a material/empirical time constraint.
To Dust works on many levels. It captivates, entertains and enthralls us with unanswerable questions that we will never answer in our bodies. And that’s the rub of it. Thankfully, laughter, too is a part of the mourning process. To Dust reminds us of this with bucketfuls of humor. For that and the adroit way the writers and directors negotiated this particular and inventive story with grace, humanity and love makes it a must-see.
This film screened at the 2018 Tribeca Film Festival and 2018 Hamptons International Film Festival. It won the audience award at the Tribeca Film Festival. It opens on 8 February 2019.
‘Girl From The North Country,’ Written and Directed by Conor McPherson, Music and Lyrics by Bob Dylan, Featuring Todd Almond, Jeannette Bayardelle, Stephen Bogardus, Sydney James Harcourt, Matthew Frederick Harris, Caitlin Houlahan, Robert Joy, Marc Kudisch, Luba Mason, Tom Nelis, David Pittu, Colton Ryan, John Schiappa, Kimber Sprawl, Rachel Stern, Chelsea Lee Williams, and Mare Winningham (Joan Marcus)
I cannot imagine any writer but Conor McPherson effectively providing such a dramatic flight path to Bob Dylan’s repertoire. The playwright’s eerie, atmospheric writing effectively implies connections between the material at hand and otherworldly realms. Dylan’s titular song is part of the hybrid McPherson musical Girl from the North Country, which is part song cycle, part winsome and effusive-with-longing memory play. Extended, the production currently runs at The Public Theater until 23 December.
Indeed, in this musical, which the playwright also directed, McPherson’s writing and Dylan’s songs have reached an apotheosis of sorts. Their collaboration is a fascinating meld. And their works morph like sand under the tremendous heat and pressure of sadness, fear, and desperation to depict a desperate time in 1934. The result when cooled becomes a glass through which we see clearly the emotional and spiritual impact of longing, desiccated dreams, the desolation of impoverishment, unfulfilled love and loss.
‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, music and lyrics by Bob Dylan. Featuring Todd Almond, Jeannette Bayardelle, Stephen Bogardus, Sydney James Harcourt, Matthew Frederick Harris, Caitlin Houlahan, Robert Joy, Marc Kudisch, Luba Mason, Tom Nelis, David Pittu, Colton Ryan, John Schiappa, Kimber Sprawl, Rachel Stern, Chelsea Lee Williams, and Mare Winningham (Joan Marcus)
We recognize that that era is like our current one. Thus, these elements in the characters’ songs and word-arias become empathetic fragments. And in them we find threads familiar from our own lives meshing with the raw, explicit rendering of soul-weakened characters who “can’t catch a break.”
McPherson, the seminal Irish playwright of the haunting Shining City, The Weir, and The Seafarer, always exposes the spiritual elements present in our midst, whether we want to acknowledge them or not. For his part, Dylan for over 50 years has entertained and moved us with poetic evocations of life’s gritty and hope-inspired underbelly. Indeed, his brilliance manifests in his reverse chameleon-like morphology. Incrementally, he started trends, then left them to form others after musician admirers saturated the field with imitations. Always fresh, insightful, wise, Dylan has become a treasured cultural prophet and minstrel wandering through the times of our lives.
Over the decades he has proven himself more than a masterful tunesmith, though the Nobel Prize Committee bestowed its award for his songwriting. His word-craft and storytelling ballads remain unique and particular to Dylan. He has shepherded us through repeated social crises and cultural transformations. But Dylan stayed true to himself. He adhered only to the shifting currents within, despite the outward tug of his fans’ pressure to keep doing the same stuff.
Jeannette Bayardelle in ‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, songs by Bob Dylan (Joan Marcus)
Jeannette Bayardelle in ‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, songs by Bob Dylan (Joan Marcus)
Together McPherson and Dylan achieve a new boldness and resonance. Surely, that remains one reason why this stellar production at the Public inspires and rises to an extraordinary level. This abides especially because of the striking voices of the cast. It also comes from the stunning portrayals that echo characters from John Steinbeck’s Depression-era short stories and novels. Mare Winningham’s depiction of Elizabeth Laine is just gobsmacking.
Thus, the memorable fusion of two greats illuminates like starlight. Indeed, the production may guide the way for future collaborations by others of like kin. McPherson’s and Dylan’s first time out of the gate wins with grace, humor, delight, and poignancy. Its rich fullness bears seeing more than once. For you may miss the book’s subtle themes intermingled with the parallel thematic thrust of Dylan’s songs. Gleaning how the show subtly weaves the songs into the characterizations and story development pleasantly startles. Dylan’s “Sign on the Window” and “You Aint Goin’ Nowhere” exemplify the characters’ ironic, spiritual situations, for example.
In all of McPherson’s works, spirits materialize. Sometimes, devils manifest, including a few “Christian” human devils. Some leave once they have moved humanity to act. Other spirits continue to haunt his characters with surreal guilt. In Girl From the North Country, a sister’s horrific end floats in the consciousness of Nick Laine, a fact Dr. Walker (Robert Joy) and Elizabeth Laine his wife (Mare Winningham) affirm.
Mare Winningham, ‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, songs by Bob Dylan (Joan Marcus)
Nick doesn’t admit to this “haunting.” But Elizabeth, at times strikingly sentient, other times searingly dementia-addled, suggests its impact. She refers to “hearing the girl down the hole” when she resists Nick’s struggles to attend her. In another instance, when Nick attempts to finalize the deal to marry off their adopted daughter, the pregnant Marianne (a moving Kimber Sprawl), to the 70-year-old Mr. Perry (a fine Tom Nelis), Elizabeth speaks of “the girl.” Thus, “the girl” becomes the signifier of women as casualties of abandonment, accidental negligence, and death at the unwitting hands of men.
This metaphor, further strengthened by the male/female interactions throughout, provides the backdrop for various songs. Love, its strength, its loss, is a theme found in Dylan’s songs: “Tight Connection to My Heart,” “I Want You,” “Make You feel My Love.” The husband/wife relationships weakened by want and economic stresses languish (“True Love Tends to Forget,” “What Can I Do For You,” “Is Your Love in Vain.”) And the young girls Kate (Caitlin Houlahan) and Marianne have few options but to settle for those they do not love, in order to gain security and shelter.
Escape from this desolation of want and hopelessness lurks in every character’s mind, especially in Elizabeth’s. Her “escape hatch” under her chair, where she’s collected coins and dollars, suggests women’s behavior from time immemorial. Sadly, the paltry sum wouldn’t take her far. And her dementia, if she did “escape,” would result in her being placed in a mental institution. Thus, Nick, the best husband he can be under the circumstances, humors and takes care of her with Marianne’s and his mistress Mrs. Neilsen’s (Jeannette Bayardelle) help.
After Dr. Walker apprises us of what happened and “the girl”‘s relationship to Nick, we understand why, throughout the production, Nick never sings his own individual/solo song. Unable to forgive himself for her death, he increasingly allows his inner life to wither. Laine’s emotional and psychic state remains doubly clear when he says to Mrs. Neilsen that he “has no soul” and can’t tell her he loves her. Desolation would overcome him with alcoholism, but he must take care of Elizabeth. It is she whom he lives for, as her caretaker. Their occasional interaction during Elizabeth’s sentient periods forces edgy and humorous exchanges.
Except for Dr. Walker and the elderly Mr. Perry, each character sings either his soul’s theme that typifies his/her existence or a song of regret and loss that asks questions about life and love. Most striking for me is Sydney James Harcourt’s portrayal as the boxer Joe Scott. His rendition of “The Hurricane,” portends the (racial) storm coming, both physically and metaphorically. Obviously, McPherson has drawn parallels between his Joe Scott and the boxer Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, whose quest for freedom Dylan supported against wrongful imprisonment in the 1960s.
Mare Winningham, Stephen Bogardus in ‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, songs by Bob Dylan (Joan Marcus)
Winningham brilliantly delivers “Like a Rolling Stone” with nuanced depth and power. With it Elizabeth indicts all who have entered their boarding house, her family, herself, indeed all humanity. For all, whether they admit it or not, are “on their own,” facing their own abyss. The rhetorical question “How does it feel?” and the silent answer we all fear and know in our “aloneness” become the signature theme of the musical. Fabulous!
Dr. Walker narrates the story of the Laines and their guesthouse. And Mr. Perry delivers a powerful word-aria when he attempts to persuade 19-year-old Marianne that he will take care of her, die soon, and leave her his inheritance – so why not couple? However, like Nick Laine, both Perry and Walker remain songless. It is as if they haven’t the heart/soul to pour out their feelings in melodic phrases.
Stephen Bogardus’ (recently Dr. Mark Bruchner in Irish Rep’s On a Clear Day) dynamic voice has been closed off to portray Nick Laine. His Laine draws us in as he exhibits tireless efforts as proprietor of the boarding house he manages in Duluth, Minnesota in 1934. This semi-stolid figure, in his chaotic guesthouse, offering cheap room and board to a bankrupt businessman, his wife and son, a widow, a Bible salesman, and a boxer, cannot keep his family prospering. Like his impoverished guests, he struggles to make it to the next day and attempts to be sanguine about it. Of course he dreams and works at escape with Mrs. Neilsen; they wish to leave with her inheritance and start a hotel. It’s a Eugene O’Neill pipe dream!
As the musical develops, every hopeful door slams in Nick’s face. Son Gene (Colton Ryan) never gets that railroad job Nick moved heaven and earth to get for him. And Marianne doesn’t settle down with Mr. Perry, who offered to provide Laine with a check to pay a bit of his mortgage debt. Living with Perry would safeguard his daughter and her baby, Nick believes, though Marianne prefers seeking the baby’s father. When lawyers defraud Mrs. Neilsen, she decides to leave. For Nick this last door slams in his face.
Caitlin Houlahan, Colton Ryan in ‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, songs by Bob Dylan (Joan Marcus)
And when there appears to be no way out, Nick considers suicide. Dr. Walker mentions the high suicide rates after the Wall Street crash. Surely, suicides continued in high numbers during those Depression years. Homelessness, want, sickness, starvation – Nick has seen sufferers in tent embankments like those so trenchantly described in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. Nick fears for himself and Elizabeth, for in a few months the bank will foreclose on their mortgage. Assuredly, they will end up like the other ragtags living in tents unless he finds a way for them.
Considering that Dylan’s songs range over decades, written before this project ever could have been conceived, McPherson selected an appropriate setting and characters for his musical’s book. Every character’s desperation spills out into urgent need for money and shelter. Like the Joads of Grapes of Wrath, right before they lose their home and travel, these characters strive and seek the comfort of one another. Thankfully, Nick’s boarding house provides “a welcome for lost souls.” There, Nick feeds them, they celebrate Thanksgiving, they dance. However, Mrs. Burke (Luba Mason), Mr. Burke (Marc Kudisch), and Elias Burke (Todd Almond) hide secrets. So do Reverend Marlowe (David Pittu) and Joe Scott (Sydney James Harcourt). On the run, they bring their fears and hidden sorrows to this guesthouse and eventually their darkness is brought into the light.
Todd Almond as Elias Burke in ‘Girl From The North Country,’ written and directed by Conor McPherson, songs by Bob Dylan (Joan Marcus)
Perhaps the most poignant of fears concerns the Burkes, whose strong, powerfully built son Elias manifests the mind of a three-year-old. Like the character Lennie in Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, he understands little of his world around him and stumbles into fearful trouble.
The poignance of his demise is uplifted when Todd Almond as Elias magnificently sings “Duquesne Whistle.” As a spirit he has gone to the afterlife. No more materialistic pain and suffering shackles his mind and heart in darkness. Dressed in a white suit, free of his mental challenges, he and the chorus celebrate that other dimension McPherson beautifully presents. It is a full-on, gospel “coming home” ceremony. Elias (like his name-variant prophet Elijah), “makes it to the other side” of Light in a wonderful capstone to Almond’s complex and nuanced portrayal that stuns.
Thanksgiving, the last memorable party, follows with grim realities that unload truths on all of them. Only Elizabeth, after her marvelous speech about love and her marriage to Nick, afterward singing “Forever Young,” remains stalwart in her sentience and distraction. Indeed, with Nick’s help she has mastered the art of balance even in her dementia.
With finality, we look in the background at their last Thanksgiving together in tableau, as Dr. Walker narrates what he knows of the characters’ futures, reminiscent of the narrator in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. And as McPherson is wont to do and does believably, Dr. Walker shares his passing to “the other side” in Christmas of 1934. We realize then that he has been speaking to us as a spirit of his memories of the Laines, the guests, and that time.
What more can be said about this marvelous must-see-a-few-times production? The chorus/ensemble (Matthew Frederick Harris, John Schiappa, Rachel Stern, Chelsea Lee Williams), are exceptional in voice and movement. Kudos to Rae Smith (scenic & costume design), Mark Henderson (lighting design), and Simon Baker (sound design). Simon Hale’s orchestrations and arrangements of Dylan’s music are exceptional. Additionally, without Lucy Hind, Unkledave’s Fight-House, Dean Sharenow, Marco Paguia, the actors who played in the band (Todd Almond, Marc Kudisch, Luba Mason), and musicians Martha McDonnell, Mary Ann McSweeney, and others, the full impact of the production would be lessened.
Bill Irwin, ‘On Beckett: Exploring The Works of Samuel Beckett,’ Irish Repertory Theatre (Carol Rosegg)
Has there ever been a more elegant, erudite and riotously funny clown prince of theater than Bill Irwin? Not only has the Tony Award winner mastered the innards of pacing, rhythm, mime, body visualizations and timing of the comedic. Irwin writes, directs, acts. What does he not do well theatrically and dramatically? In what he attempts, Irwin delights. In his On Beckett at the Irish Repertory Theatre, Irwin examines the opaque and timeless works of Nobel Laureate Samuel Beckett. What an exquisite evening Irwin conceives, directs and performs.
On Beckett: Exploring The Works of Samuel Beckett introduces us to lesser-known works, and he revisits the often performed Waiting For Godot with the assistance of Finn O’Sullivan as the boy. Irwin appeared in the 2009 production of Godot and received a Drama Desk Award nomination.
As he presents Beckett’s less familiar writings, he acknowledges the importance of the playwright’s Irish voice, identity, and heritage. Notably, Irwin showcases passages from Beckett’s elusive Texts For Nothing (13 short prose pieces), pointing out that Beckett wrote the arcane prose pieces in French, then translated them into English, his native tongue that Irwin identifies as the “familiar familial voice.” As an Irishman writing in French, Beckett maintained his uniquely Irish ethos but received widespread acceptance in France initially. The irony astounds as it is “the product of a complex translation exercise.”
The prose pieces Irwin performs, #1, #9, and #11, are masterworks about being, absence, presence, and vacancy, all interior dialogues and questions. They reveal the common man/woman’s struggle with self in a massive inner argument that represents individual consciousness. And they reveal the human condition of impoverishment, failure, exile, loss. In the passages Irwin selects, Beckett wrangles the concept of consciousness. Indeed, these excerpts reveal the act of viewing oneself in despair, in parallel with the self experiencing despair.
(L to R): Finn O’Sullivan, Bill Irwin in ‘On Beckett: Exploring The Works of Samuel Beckett,’ Irish Repertory Theatre (Carol Rosegg).
Thus, from both perspectives Beckett suggests questions about existence, survival, struggle, and purpose. The will “not to go on” while “going on” remains paramount in Beckett’s darkest, bleakest comedy. These elements Irwin melds with the cliché of the Comic Irishman “who has waiting to do” and “struggles with the notion of ease, and his placement in the larger scheme of things.”
In his comments before and after excerpts from Beckett’s novels The Unnamable and Watt, Irwin questions: “Is he making fun of the way consciousness works?” Or “is he offering a portrait of consciousness?” As we appreciate this rare experience that Irwin delivers with aplomb, we understand Beckett’s extraordinary contributions. Not only did he assist in the transformation of English modernist literature, he was credited as integral to the Theatre of the Absurd along with Eugene Ionesco and Harold Pinter. Whether he would have appreciated the latter is debatable.
Notably, through his discussion we get to realize another facet of the diamond that is Bill Irwin’s artistry. In acting Beckett, he questions and appropriates the language and suggested meaning for himself. All of this pertains to and infuses his own relationship to art, acting, clowning, and theatrical expression. Shepherding us through Beckett’s language, Irwin ignites our passion. And he makes Beckett and perhaps ourselves more comprehensible in all the abstruse glory of the incomprehensible tragicomedy of life. Indeed, in his “Introduction” Irwin discusses how Beckett’s unforgettable words have gone viral within him, have haunted him. Certainly, the language resounds in his “head,” “heart,” “brain,” “mind,” “psyche,” “body.” This interesting admission yields that Beckett has been integral to Irwin’s evolution as a man and an actor, as a clown and an artist.
Bill Irwin in ‘On Beckett, Exploring The Works of Samuel Beckett,” conceived and performed by Bill Irwin at the Irish Repertory Theatre (Carol Rosegg)
Irwin’s comments sparkle with witty self-effacement. For example in outlining the evening, Irwin references the show lasting 86 minutes or so and quips, “I say this by way of reassurance.” Indeed, Beckett is not easy. But through Irwin’s humor we gradually become intrigued about his novel approach toward his subject and his singular recognition of Beckett’s language.
Irwin gets inside Beckett as an actor, and also explores his work from the perspective of clown theatrics. The great clown traditions, Irwin tells us, are “the lens through which he views everything.” And indeed, he applies this lens to exploring the extent to which he views Beckett as clown territory. Irwin’s hapless Clown characters and the techniques he employs to achieve this archetype everyperson provide the uplift to laugh at our shared humanity.
Revisiting Beckett from this unusual angle, Irwin’s organic acting and portrayal of Beckett’s clown characters enlightens. Cleverly, his performance and astute commentary about acting and language shine a beacon into Beckett’s mysterious obscure.
Kudos also go to Charlie Corcoran (scene design), Martha Hally (costume consultant), Michael Gottlieb (lighting design), and M. Florian Staab (sound design). Don’t miss seeing this wonderful presentation if you can get tickets. It closes on 4 November. Click here for the Irish Repertory Theatre website for times and tickets.
(L to R): Eero Milonoff, Eva Melander in ‘Border’ directed by Ali Abbasi (photo courtesy of the trailer)
Once again the Hamptons International Film Festival 2018 sparked interest and traffic during Columbus Day weekend. Crowds lined up in East Hampton, Southampton and Sag Harbor for film screenings, celebrity talks and special events. The 126 films hailed from around the world. And a number of them had previously won prizes at other festivals. “We are thrilled that these diverse, unique, and entertaining stories resonated with our audience,” said HIFF Artistic Director David Nugent.
Though I screened other films on Friday, fellow movie lovers told me that The Hate You Give astounded them. The Hamptons panel selected Amandla Stenberg as one of their Breakthrough Artists. She and director George Tillman Jr. gave a powerful introduction on Friday night for The Hate You Give. This film screens this weekend. An important film for our times, the film unsurprisingly garnered a post-screening standing ovation. This HIFF Audience Award Winner for Narrative Feature was the only film to receive such an accolade.
My screening coverage of the films included one unique and memorable multiple award winner. Border, “GRÄNS”, directed by Ali Abbasi, received the HIFF 2018 Special Jury Prize for acting for the two lead actors, Eva Melander and Eero Milonoff. Border, selected as Sweden’s official entry for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar, also received a Cannes Film Festival award. The “Un Certain Regard” 2018 prize evinces the striking and memorable elements of this fantastical feature narrative that haunts with ironic, thematic truths. Thus far, Border received 6 wins and 9 nominations. Before it completes its screening cycle, it surely will win more awards. What a novel and extraordinarily compelling film!
Eva Melander in the award-winning ‘Border’ by Ali Abbasi (photo from the film trailer)
Border
The screenplay adapted from John Ajvide Lindqvist’s “Let the Right One in,” mixes fantasy, horror, drama, mystery, romance and magical realism with scenes of banality. Screenwriters Ali Abbassi, Isabella Eklof, John Ajvide Lindqvist distill tension and gyrate it throughout the arc of plot and character development. They accomplish this by moving back and forth between static scenes and frighteningly realistic glimpses into the world of eerie phantasmagoria.
Invariably, the mundane static occurs in the scenes of city life. The mysterious environs of the forest, the lakes and streams and “wildness” of nature convey the fantastic, beautiful and ethereal. As the conflict increases and events unfold with fearful intensity, the natural elements, rocks, woodlands, streams predominate. The forest becomes a notorious symbolic playland. The themes speak to rejuvenation and abiding in the sanctuary of nature. This balanced haven is free from cultural conformity, stereotypical, fascist definitions (borders), of gender, appearance, class, and societal strictures.
Gradually, and with great care, the screenwriters reveal the true nature of the characters and lead us to their unexpected, extraordinary outcomes. To the director’s and writers’ credit, their storytelling precision artfully gives nothing away. They lead us to surprise twists, shock, delight and the strange acceptance of beauty in ugliness. The scenes, compactly shot and effected, do just enough to forward the action and suspense. When the revelations come, they unfold in the organic fury of the characters. And their rage spirals into dangerous, increasingly mystical events. Eventually, we understand how the thread of circumstances unfolds in a final overall truth laden with profound themes. These are further interwoven with preternatural threads of Norse mythology.
‘Border’ directed by Ali Abbasi, HIFF 2018 (photo from the trailer)
Especially in its characterization Border suggests that civilization and cultural norms demean and destroy uniqueness and particularity. And the societal emphasis on the empirical and materialistic nullifies an entire species of beings whose very preciousness is made anathema by cultural obtuseness and limitation. This is superb writing and a superior adaptation perfectly infused by the brilliant, empathetic acting turns of Eva Melander and Eero Milonoff.
Initially, the director introduces us to protagonist Tina (Eva Melander), in her sterile, uninspiring work environment as a customs official. However, as a border agent, Tina’s talents display a preternatural gift of smell. Notably, she targets drug addicts and illegal substances simply by sniffing individuals who come across her path. Her gifts extend to inanimate objects. For example, Tina sniffs out sealed bottles of alcohol.
But when she sniffs a micro disc that has pornography, we note the acute strangeness of this behavior. Tina tells her bosses that she senses and feels the fear and guilt associated with the object. By this juncture in the film, the second and third gyrations of character development have taken place. By then she has encountered a mysterious stranger, Vore (Eero Milonoff). His smile menaces. And he could be her brother in his unusual resemblance. He intrigues her and appears to be the most fascinating event that occurs in her tiresome existence. Also, the micro disc turns up later and ties in all the mysteries of character and conflict Tina confronts on her road to self-actualization.
L to R): Eero Milonoff, Eva Melander in ‘Border,’ directed by Ali Abbasi (photo from the film trailer)
Succinctly, the director sets up Tina’s lifestyle and environs. And these suggest subtle elements which guide her evolving journey as she discovers her true identity. Before meeting Vore, her monotonous days pass uneventfully in the atmosphereless unit at Passport and Border Control. And her evenings with cute Roland (Jorgen Thorsson), whom we initially believe is her partner, are equally purposeless. She doesn’t appear to have interests. Her lifestyle manifests a disordered order. And though Roland cages fighting dogs on her property which he exploits for gambling elsewhere, she could care less.
Because they don’t have an intimate relationship, though he wants one despite her unusual, homely appearance, we question why Roland remains with her. Finally, during a conversation with her father, we get it. Roland makes little money and must live off her largesse. In a quid pro quo she appreciates companionship, so she allows him to stay in the house she inherited from her disabled father whom she visits in a nursing home.
Eva Melander in ‘Border’ directed by Ali Abbasi (photo from the film trailer)
Ali Abbasi ingeniously and believably sets up Tina’s “quiet life of desperation” emptiness, isolation and loneliness to enhance themes. Tina’s life mirrors the lives that many lead, i.e. a circumscribed, hateful existence, defined by nullifying social mores. Also, the tedious monotony of her days sets up the contrast to the new life introduced by the eerie, preternaturally appealing Vore.
Tina can’t forget Vore’s weird, repulsive attractiveness. This mystery leaves the questions initially unanswered until the end of the film. Perhaps, it is because of her own life of cruel banality and her disinterest in sex with Roland? Nevertheless, we cannot forget a comment a colleague confessed to her when he frisked Vore whose gender appalled him.
So when Tina runs into the sinister Vore in a shopping area and he mesmerizes her, we fear for her. Eventually, this encounter results in an invitation to rent a place on her property where she rents to another family with a baby. Roland, creeped out by Vore, like us, questions why she takes in a stranger. He makes an excellent point for the macabre embraces Vore. And indeed, we anticipate that Vore’s wild, naked romp in the woods where he screams with violence and pain signals that he will destroy Tina and the others if he stays. Unless, of course, Tina becomes intimate with him.
There is no spoiler alert. You will have to see how Tina makes her way through the horror and adventure to decide what path she will choose. Does she select a road toward defining her own contentment throwing off cultural shackles in the process? Or does she pick the well-traveled road of futility because she has become accustomed to it? Or perhaps she may be the one to merge both roads to attain a higher goodness?
The ambiguity presents delicious possibilities and leads to a fascinating conclusion. It reminds us that all of us for as long as we live on this planet are immigrants. And in carrying the metaphor of the film one step beyond, we may exist on the border of our own lives until we find ourselves home. Border is psychic dynamite! Spellbinding with suspense, the film remains an award-winning standout that will haunt your imagination, if not forever, for a long while.
CAROLE DI TOSTI 