New Stories: The Laramie Project- 10 Years Later

 culture, theater  No Responses »
May 202013
 

“Somebody so small in stature sure made a huge difference in the whole dang world”

-Reggie Fluty

The deputy who found Matthew Shepard

                Nothing tells a story quite like the words of the real people who lived it.   The old saying that truth is stranger than fiction rings true when you take the words of real people, bounce them off one another, and weave a tapestry that presents a more complete picture of a given place at a given time.  Stories build character arcs, have climaxes, and come to resolutions.  Life doesn’t; it just moves on, and there are at least as many perceptions of any single event as there were people who witnessed it.

Matthew Shepard

 

This is the beauty of The Laramie Project.  In 1998, Matthew Shepard was tortured and murdered in the small town of Laramie, Wyoming.  The reason: Matthew was gay.  It was a horrifying scene that brought national attention to the small community, and the residents had to come to terms with their own identities, had to confront themselves with the uncomfortable reality that something about their way of life led to two of their own brutally murdering this poor young boy.  The Laramie Project is a play written from their own words, telling their story, and in many ways it helped the community heal its wounds.

But time marches on.  Ten years later, the group that wrote Laramie returned to see how the town had changed in the past decade.  They found a town that had grown economically, but, tragically, had infused lies and excuses into their healing process.  In The Laramie Project: 10 Years Later, we are confronted with the uncomfortable truth that, despite the notes of hope in the original play, Matthew’s death appears to have been in vain.

 

The problem is the power of story.  We learn that, at some point, the locals chose to make excuses as part of their healing process.  In classic style, it was much easier to blame the victim rather than confront the ugly truth about two of their own sons.  It was easier to accept that the two murderers were meth addicts, and that Matthew’s death was the unfortunate result of a drug deal gone bad, not homophobia at its brutal worst.  So if Matthew was a drug dealer, his murder becomes acceptable.  The fact there was no evidence to support such a claim makes no difference.

 

A large portion of the piece is devoted to the power of rumor and story.  The more a rumor spreads, the more the truth gets removed, until it becomes a piece of common knowledge, none of which is actually true.  And yet, in the perception of those who tell the story, it is true. It is their perception that matters.  The town, they say, has “moved on.”  They did so by forgetting the painful truth.

 

Yet, the power of story can be used for good.  This new sequel goes on to paint a picture of multiple human rights victories, all won partially because of the legacy of Matthew Shepard.  We see resolutions to define marriage as only between a man and a woman defeated because a conservative legislator invokes the name of Matthew Shepard.  We see hate crimes legislation passed, albeit after a long time, due to the sacrifice of Matthew Shepard.  We even see Russell Johnson, one of Matthew’s murderers accept responsibility and exhibit true contrition.  He, too, had to face ugly things about himself, but he did it bravely and truthfully.

 

Truth becomes myth and myth becomes truth.  This is something the Pagan community easily understands.  Mythology can help a community by giving it examples to emulate, or it can hurt a community by providing false excuses that take away personal responsibility for reprehensible actions.  Religion- any religion- is similar.  Johnson owned up to his actions, re-telling a more accurate story.  The people of Laramie, apparently, chose the other route.   But the story doesn’t end there.

 

I happened to see The Laramie Project: 10 Years Later on our local Gay Pride weekend.  The next day I watched the parade with a friend who had been coming for over 25 years.  He told stories about fighting the city for the right to parade, suing the police department to make them provide protection, and fighting the ever-present corral of protestors screaming about how far into Hell all of them were going.  Today, the parade is a huge community event, part of the fabric of the city.  The school board, local politicians, and the fire department all had prominent floats.  A variety of Christian churches march with the drag queens. The police department now offers full support.  They are a highlight of the parade, with cruisers from multiple decades blaring their sirens in support of the community.  The protestors are now one guy standing alone, holding a sign that makes no sense.

 

Matthew Shepard will never see it.  The people of Laramie may never see it.  But a new story is being written.  And the young man who was tied to a fence will always be one of the authors of this new story.

 

 

Godspell at Mysterium: the joys of being fluffy

 culture, Stage, theater  3 Responses »
Mar 032013
 

There is something so special in all things NEW.  We spend our lives operating under assumptions and paradigms that have stuck with us for years.  Those old paradigms can be about things as minor as our morning shower routine or as major as our religious beliefs and practices.  They give us comfort, but they can also rot, transforming from a useful structure into an obstacle that keeps us from moving forward with our physical, mental, and spiritual lives.

But we’ve all had that experience of newness.  Perhaps it was a new child that completely changed our lives, knocked the senses out of us, but resulted in a completely revised and healthier view of life.  Perhaps it was a new job, one that forced us to think and act in a new way.  For many of us, it was a new religion.  We have all had that time where we were so excited about all the amazing things we were learning about the Goddess, about the Aesir, about whatever pantheon we attach to that we felt charged with excitement to get out and share it with the world.  The Pagan community often refers to this as the “Fluffy Bunny” stage- a stage where everything about the world is rainbows and light and unicorns, and all you want to do is share those rainbows with the entire world.

Godspell, the now classic musical by Wicked creator Stephen Schwartz, opened this weekend at Mysterium Theater. It is an energetic, beautiful, and thoughtful portrayal of the Fluffy Bunny stage of Christianity.  It really doesn’t matter what your religion is, anyone with a heart can connect with the love, excitement, and sheer ecstasy that comes from this musical as it plays and experiments with the art of newness, the art of fluffiness.  The apostles of Godspell are just as supercharged about their messiah as the stereotypical 16 year old Gothic chick is about her first reading of Scott Cunningham, and this production surrounds us with that amazing excitement that comes with freshness.

Mysterium’s production emphasizes the new.  The show is based on the Gospel of Matthew, and it features the reactions and development of the apostles as they learn a completely new way of life from their teacher, Jesus.  They begin as a useless rabble, but they coalesce into a unified, energized new faith under their new rabbi.  This show is supremely adaptable, and Mysterium has added everything from Jesus rapping to multiple renditions of “Gangham Style” to Toy Story references to update the piece and give it a flair of modernity and relevancy.

Torran Kitts leads the performance.  His Jesus is intentionally young and innocent, and just a bit goofy.  While Kitts joins the chorus for most of the numbers, his leadership is quite clear from the very beginning.  The Jesus he present is young but powerful, and he radiates a charisma that helps us really believe that these societal outcasts would truly choose to follow him.  This perfect love and perfect trust he honestly establishes with his followers makes his eventual crucifixion- the end of the Fluffy Bunny stage- all the more painful.

Brian Lofting brings a bit of energy and force as both John the Baptist and Judas.  While his early proclamation demanding us to “Prepare Ye” for the coming of the Lord is a bit underwhelming, his strength improves as the story moves on.  By the time we see him betray his good friend, with that friend’s blessing, we have fallen in love with him as a true believer and a compassionate, realistic portrayal of our own fears and earthly concerns.  Lofting’s voice isn’t much better than the rest of the cast; his dancing is average, and you can see him sweat throughout the show, but that just seems to add to the grit of the story as it unfolds.

The rest of the cast absolutely glorifies in that fluffy feeling of newnesss and love.  Those of us in the audience get this amazing understanding of the thrill and joy that the original apostles felt as they lived with and learned from this crazy young upstart who challenged the codified interpretations of the Law.  Each lesson is accepted with love and respect, but each apostle gets the chance to broadcast their own power.  The entire chorus opens the doorway to the inspirational love and light that the apostles must have felt as they realized the transformational lessons that their teacher was giving them.  Particularly memorable are Kayla Cavaness’ soprano strength, Momoko Sugai’s second act intro, and Luis Ceja’s inspiring rendition of “We Beseech Thee.”

Director Rovin Jay and choreographer Sonya Lane’t Randall capitalize on Godspell’s openness to adaptation.  Together, they meld classical elements like John the Baptist’s iconic “Prepare ye the Way of the Lord” number with more modern dance styles and parable interpretations that ride the wave of this show’s improvisational heart.  The love that shines through from each number, regardless of the style of choreography, reminds us yet again of the joy that came from each of us as we learned a new religious point of view and broke away from old structures into a fresh new way of thinking, acting, and believing.

That freshness is exactly what this production emphasizes.  All of us have had that joyous experience where we realized exactly where our spiritual path was leading us.   It reminds us of what it was like to be fluffy bunnies, and taps into the spiritual joy that must have been felt by the early Christian bunnies.  At some point we all have to deal with our own crucifixions that force us to see the dark side or our faiths, but this Godspell reminds us that- before all of that pain- we all danced happily in the “Beautiful City.”  We have a lot to learn from that city, from that freshness, from that love.

 

 

The Shadows of Spring Awakening

 culture, Stage  No Responses »
Jul 092012
 

My very first post on The Juggler was on the musical Spring Awakening.  It was Beltane, and the unabashedly sexual nature of the show was very appropriate.  So was its message about the dangers of not teaching healthy sexuality to our children.  One of the difficulties with the show, however, is that is so easy to focus on the sex when there is much more to the show.  This deeper interpretation is where the new production at Mysterium Theater really shines.

Yes, the show still includes in-your-face sexuality that would shock many.  Yes, it’s still about a budding teenage sex drive conflicting with strict and oppressively naïve Church doctrine. Yes, it still contains frank depictions of intercourse, masturbation, BDSM, atheism, child molestation, abuse, addiction, and suicide.  But Mysterium’s production uses those things as a backdrop to the greater story of innocence lost and regained, stressing that the shadows of childhood do shape us, but we are in control of what they make of us.

We all have shadows.  Spring Awakening takes us deep into the shadows of a group of schoolchildren to remind us how difficult it is to be a teenager.  The differences in how each child handles “The Dark they Know Well” makes up the story and teaches us that we can rise above our past despite how difficult it seems.

Taking the lead in this are the three central characters of Melchior (Drew Olvey), Wendla (Taylor Courtney), and Moritz (Lance Smith).  All three in incredibly honest actors who choose to touch the hearts of their audience with sincere emotions ranging from confusion to lust to rage, all of which feel perfectly natural from each of them.  Olvey’s Melchior is less of an angry intellectual than usual.  His portrayal stresses the young man’s fascination with all there is to learn about the world around him, the “hunger that a child feels for everything they’re shown.”  When his ideals and school rules come in conflict, the tragedy on his innocent face is quite touching.

Courtney’s Wendla is similar, matching Melchior’s youthful innocence note for note, but without his intellect to buffer her.  This is a pure, emotional Wendla, and Courtney’s beautiful voice brings a very loving touch.  Smith brings notes of true desperation to Moritz, the saddest character in the play.  As confusion leads to panic, Smith ushers Moritz through his tragic arc, letting us inside his heart with each step.  The last strains of his “And Then There Were None” are truly haunting.

Aaron Lyons is excellent, devious, and full of hubris as the seductive schoolboy Hanschen.  Where his classmates stammer, Lyons radiates Hancshen’s strength and confidence in a wonderfully sensual way that whispers, “Why wouldn’t you want to fuck me?”  The rest of the cast does a great job hitting those notes of youth and inexperience.  Ashley Nelson’s disturbed Martha and Kallie Downing’s lost-looking Ilse remind us what happen when parenthood goes wrong.  The two adults do well in their multiple roles, particularly Sam Kostka who, while young for the role, deftly provides strong distinctions among his many characters.

Spring Awakening, especially this production, is about Melchior’s journey.  Along the way he creates shadows.  His actions, sometimes loving and sometimes rash, have horrible consequences that even his impressive mind could never have foreseen.  At this point he can give in to the darkness and become another casualty of childhood, another bright mind destroyed by the school system, or he use that mind and his heart to learn, grow, and perhaps make change in the world.  The true lesson of Spring Awakening comes from his choice.

Many in our community actively search for our shadow instead of running from it.  When we find it, we can learn from it.  We learn how it shapes our lives.  We learn how to identify when it is controlling us.  Melchior is forced to do the same, to be defeated or empowered by the demons of childhood.  Like him, our decisions can drag us down into the colorless darkness or up into the light of Purple Summer.

 

 

The Importance of Parody: “The Compleat Wrks” at Mysterium

 culture, Stage  No Responses »
Jun 292012
 

I recently had the chance to go to the Getty Villa, an adjunct to the Getty Museum that houses religious and cultural artifacts from the ancient Mediterranean world.  We saw a beautiful Aphrodite exhibit and the permanent collection contained displays dedicated to gods, heroes, worship, and history.

One of the best exhibits was dedicated to Dionysus and theater.  Hundreds of statues, jars, and wine bowls featured depictions of actors playing the roles of deities and heroes.  There was an undeniable humor to these pieces as they presented paunchy old men in fake beards and sometimes cross-dressed, re-enacting the Judgment of Paris, the Labors of Hercules, and other famous scenes of Greek and Roman mythology.  Of course I already knew that theater was a vital part of the ancient Greece, but the humor in many of those pieces reminded me the importance of one aspect of theater that often gets overlooked: parody.

Parody allows us to laugh.  It even allows us to laugh at things that are often considered sacred.  Actors parodied their gods, making fun of their mythology in a way that made them more human and more accessible to the common audience than shining, unblemished representations would have been.  That tradition has followed us to this day.  Like many ancient bards, we use parody to knock our political leaders, celebrities, and athletes off of their pedestal.  Have you seen this clip of Jimmy Fallon using David Bowie to bring the high-flying Tim Tebow down to earth as “Tebowie”?

Parodies often are about that which we respect most.  Whatever is popular, respected, or even sacred is ripe for a good caricature.  How many “sacred cows” have been satirized by Monty Python or Saturday Night Live?  And in the world of art and literature, there are few people more heavily respected than William Shakespeare.  Naturally, Shakespeare’s work is screaming out for a good parody, and that’s just what you get with The Compleat Wrks of Wllm Shkspr (abridged), now playing at Mysterium Theater.

Gods, but this show is hilarious!  An amazing cast (the night I saw it, the cast was Amy Newman, Mariann Papadopoulos, and Kathleen Switzer) brings incredible energy and dynamism to the evening.  Their mission: perform everything ever written by The Bard in an hour and a half while keeping the audience interested, engaged, and rolling with laughter.  Mission accomplished.

Naturally, the performance centers on Shakespeare’s most well know plays.  Significantly more time is spent on Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet than, say, Cymbeline.  Sometimes entire classes of plays are combined into one.  This is what happens with all of Shakespeare’s comedies since, really, mistaken identity is not a very versatile plot device.  Neither is battling for power, so the histories are all presented as one bi football game.  When you get right down to it, those two ideas really do drive a good 2/3 of Shakespeare’s plays.  Talk about knocking greatness down a few pegs!

What’s left are the tragedies, which – ironically – are incredibly funny.  There is such creativity in this script, and it is brought to life with obvious love and devotion to the original material.  The very talented cast presents the tragedies in a dizzying whirlwind that churns with palpable charisma and excellent comic timing.  And despite all this humor at The Bard’s expense, it is always clear that this is a tribute to man who wrote some of the greatest plays in history, “despite the ravages of male pattern baldness.”

But that’s the point.  A good parody is, in the end, a tribute.  Sure, it sloughs off the immortal coil of an almost godlike figure, but making his work accessible actually serves to endear him more to audiences, thus continuing his legacy.  Yes, Shakespeare was just a man, but he was a man who produced these incredible works of art, so seeing him as a regular person only serves to elevate him in the eyes of the audience.  We may be having a good time, but we’re also learning to admire a truly great author.  The Greeks would be proud.

 

 

Tomorow Comes for Les Miserables

 culture, Stage  1 Response »
Jun 272012
 

Every generation of high school theater geeks has a show that helps define it.  If you fancied yourself an actor in high school, then you know what I’m talking about.  It’s that one show, usually a musical, that’s currently playing on a faraway Broadway stage. Your teacher hung posters of it.  You listened to the soundtrack over and over again with intense focus, memorized every word and note, and sang its love songs in the car.  When the show finally came to your town, you begged and borrowed for enough money to buy tickets and wore the cherished T-shirt you bought that night until it disintegrated off your back.

Where I am, the most recent of these musicals is the edgy and sexual Spring Awakening, perfect for teens who seek to be both cultured and naughty.  Just behind that was Wicked, with it tale of high school popularity and misunderstood evil set in the familiar Land of Oz.  For me, it was Les Miserables.  Set in the squalor of 19th century France, Les Miz is Victor Hugo’s sweeping epic of pain, love, revolution, and redemption that set the musical world on fire back in the late 80s.

Drama kids in my school ate it up.  We bought the both the London and Broadway soundtracks and blasted “One Day More!” from our tape decks.  We hung our iconic Cosette posters on our bedroom walls.   Young girls got washed away by Eponine’s unrequited love, finding in her tragic story an outlet for the (usually unnecessary) drama of their teen years.

Like today’s teenage fans, we also went to see it every chance we could get.  I saw it nine times in three cities back then.  I have friends who saw it more: one counts 12, while another counts 15.  We knew it inside out.  And then it stopped touring, we grew up, and we moved on with our lives (hopefully identifying more with Cosette and Marius than with Eponine and the doomed revolutionaries).

This month, the touring 25th Anniversary production of Les Miserables found its way to my part of the country.  All of us who hold the musical dear to our hearts rushed out and bought tickets.  We had heard that they had made some changes, though, and I went to see it with excitement but also a little trepidation.  How could you do Les Miz without the classic turntable stage?

Some of the changes were hits, others were misses.  Javert’s suicide was gorgeous, but the cuts and changes to much of the libretto seemed unnecessary.  The previously boring number “Turning” was beautifully done, and so was the “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables” that followed, except that I had trouble getting past the fact that there were no chairs and no tables onstage.

And that brings me to the important question: How much of my reaction to these changes is real criticism and how much is a selfish longing to have the show back the way it was.  To what extent am I really analyzing the creativity and technological updates of the producers, and to what extent am I just being resistant to change?

This is a theme that extends beyond the bounds of theater and into both our mundane and spiritual lives.  Generational conflict is a fact that goes back as far as the human race, and it is grounded in a parents’ resistance to the lifestyle changes of their children as well as children’s resistance to learning from the wisdom of their parents.

We can see the same theme echoing through the Pagan community.  Ours is a non-dogmatic spirituality, yet there are those who cling to older ways and resist change at all costs. It’s understandable.  There is wisdom to traditional ways.  If there wasn’t, Paganism would have died a long time ago.  Just as the original version of Les Miz was a blockbuster hit, there is something real to our spiritual roots that made our practices attractive.  Why should we change something that is fine just as it is?

At the same time, change happens.  New people with new ideas come.  Stagnation causes rot, whether it is of a river, a play, or a religion.  Younger minds can add to older material in a way that makes It fresh and exciting again.  In some cases they can even make improvement.  Maybe they won’t, but nothing will happen if no one tries.  Life is dynamic and change is inevitable.

The answer probably lies in balance.  Just as the Victor Hugo’s revolutionaries sprang forward in a churning ball of anger and emotion and then fizzled when they realized they didn’t have enough supplies, too much radical change too quickly can negate your ability to reach your goals.  But just as Javert’s unbending adherence to tradition, law, and structure ultimately causes his demise, rigidity is just as deadly as naive aggression.  It is Jean Valjean’s ability to learn and grow and adapt that leads him to be the most successful character in the show.

All these years later, I think I would be disappointed if it were the same old musical.  It would be like walking against the old turntable stage: I’ve changed, but the show hasn’t.  We’d be “round and round the roundabout and back where we began.”  As comforting as the familiar can be, I’d rather move forward and see new, exciting things.  The movie is coming out at the end of the year.  I can’t wait. It will expose me to fresh ideas on something I love (and the trailer looks great).  Armed with the wisdom of those who came before, I’d like to move forward and Hear the People Sing.

Will you join in our crusade?

Who will be strong and stand with me?

Somewhere beyond the barricade

Is there a world you long to see?

Do you hear the people sing?

Say, do you hear the distant drums?

It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!

Cathy Rigby is Peter Pan

 culture, Stage  2 Responses »
Jun 102012
 

Cathy Rigby won eight gold medals in gymnastics.  Later, she became an ABC television commentator for the sport and was named “America’s Most Influential Woman in Sports.”  Not content to rest on her laurels, Rigby underwent seven years of intense theatrical training.  In 1991, she slipped on the feathered cap and flying harness of Peter Pan.  Her tumbling ability and quadruple-threat talents made the role her own, and she has been bringing Neverland to eager audiences ever since.

I say that intentionally.  Rigby does not bring audiences to Neverland, she brings Neverland to audiences.  At age 59, her youth and exuberance still shine through in the role of the Boy Who Never Grew Up.  Everyone in the cast is younger than her. Wendy, Michael, and John’s strict Victorian parents are at least 20 years younger.  The villainous pirates, who represent the evils of adulthood, are half her age.  The Lost Boys and other children are less than 1/3 her age.  And yet Rigby brings the spirit of Neverland, the joy of timelessness and the love of life, into all of their hearts, a fact that is punctuated by her life story: Cathy Rigby refused to take her age as a command to seek an easy chair and a remote control.  Her very presence on that stage brings that message to all who watch her performance.

The very title of this production speaks volumes: Cathy Rigby is Peter Pan.

To give you an idea of her inspiring performance, here’s Rigby in one of the show’s major production numbers.  This is the second act opener “Ugg-a-Wugg,” in which the Lost Boys and Indians make peace.  Neverland is ever present within Rigby; she performs this demanding number in a way that few of us younger audience members could ever accomplish:

 

The sad thing is that just after the unbridled joy of this number, Wendy brings us right back into the mundane world, forcing the trappings of time and adulthood onto Peter.  Yet Rigby effectively portrays Peters unspoken concern that he is giving in to his.

The pirates, Peter’s arch enemies, are headed by the nefarious Captain Hook. As usual, Hook is played by the same actor (Brent Barrett) who plays Mr. Darling.    This parallel between the two characters emphasizes the sad truth about growing up: time consumes us.  Hook, one hand eaten by the tick-tocking crocodile, is the Darth Vader-like representation of adulthood. Once time gets a taste of us, it chases us relentlessly, licking its lips for more.  Many of us use makeup, surgeries, and even less unhealthy means to cover up the wounds inflicted by the croc’s hungry jaws, but the hungry beast is not fooled.  It remains ever at our heels.

Rigby has found a different way.  Instead of covering up the wounds of time, she celebrates her life and brings youth to her audience.  Her very presence onstage tells us that time’s insatiable teeth don’t need to be quite so damaging.  If we can resist being dragged down with the croc, we can fly as high as we desire every day of our lives.  If we celebrate our life instead of undercutting others, we too can sing “I Gotta Crow.” If we take each day as “an awfully big adventure,” then the wonders of Neverland are always open to us.  The Second Star to the Right always shines if you know where to look for it.

 

An Aquarian, Kennedy Camelot at Mysterium

 culture, Stage  3 Responses »
Apr 222012
 

The classic Lerner and Lowe musical Camelot is not so much about the Arthurian legends as it is about revolutionary new ideas and the struggle to bring them into the world.  This Arthur is a reluctant warrior who, encouraged by his Merlin to “keep thinking,” seeks creative new answers to the futile system of battle, death, and justice-by-the-sword that stagnates his kingdom.  Frustrated with “might makes right,” he introduces a world of equality fueled by a new maxim, “might for right,” and introduces the seeds of democracy into the his medieval world.

The musical opened in 1960, the year that John F. Kennedy won the presidency and, like Arthur, represented a young ruler filled with hopes of reform and who challenged his country with groundbreaking new ideas.  Kennedy’s time as president coincided with the decade in which the idea of the “Age of Aquarius” was beginning to enter the popular consciousness.  The youth of the day looked forward to an age of true equality, and end to war, and brotherly love that was promised by what they believed was this new astrological era.

In this sense, the Arthur of the musical and ­President Kennedy are pretty similar.  Both presided over (perhaps overly) optimistic ages which inspired their citizens while irritating the upper classes.  This is the premise that drives Mysterium Theater’s production of Camelot, which opened this weekend.  This Camelot is set inside the Kennedy White House, paralleling the Aquarian optimism of the two famous rulers.

The concept works.  The show combines the two periods.  The set is a castle, Arthur wears a crown, and carries an impressive Broadsword as Excalibur, and the knights still joust.  But the costumes are from the 60’s, Morgan LeFey is Marilyn Monroe, and the Beltane-inspired song “Lusty Month of May” is sung during a martini-guzzling key party.

As Arthur, Duane Thomas is genuine and thoughtful.  He looks nothing like Kennedy, nor is he a physically imposing warrior-king, but he doesn’t need to be.  His idealism is honest.  He is inspired by his revolutionary ideas.  He comes across as a philosopher king who is truly concerned for his people and willing to sacrifice raw power in order to establish real justice.

I rarely like Guenevere in any version of the Arthur legends.  One way or the other, she seems to always come off shallow and Marie Antoinette-ish.  Daina Baker Bowler avoids that track in her Jackie Kennedy inspired interpretation of the role.  Her transformation from young, fearful princess to materialistic queen to tragic accidental destroyer of Camelot is satisfying and complete.  Her expressions are real, her voice beautiful as it changes through the show, and her chemistry with both Arthur and Lancelot is tangible.

Robert Dudley carries a wonderful swagger as Lancelot.  As he walks the line between his love for his king and his passion for his queen, the internal conflict comes off impressively.  Erik Hjortnaes brings an appropriately slimy quality as Mordred, Arthur’s son and eventual bane.  His devious performance is reminiscent of the Devil/Mr. Applegate in Damn Yankees.

Keith Bush is an excellent bright spot as Arthur’s friend and confidant, Pellinore.  He has more energy than anyone on stage, and his constantly humorous presence drives every scene that he is in, making his more serious work toward the end all that much more gripping.

Of course, neither the Arthur of this retelling nor John Kennedy were able to complete the work they so optimistically began.  Arthur’s past comes back to destroy him, and Kennedy’s presidency was cut short by a sudden hail of bullet in Dallas.  Still, their place in history is secure.  Arthur’s quest for the Grail of his high ideals is legendary, and Kennedy remains respected, even by those who disagree with him.

Their Aquarian ideas lived beyond them.  The Round Table’s symbolism of equality among all those who sit at it is firmly set in the popular mind, remaining a representation of the democratic ideas that the Arthur of the musical strives so hard to implant.  Kennedy asked America to challenge its assumptions and work to put a man on the moon.  Although he died, his challenge became reality by the end of the decade.

This version of Camelot doesn’t deify Arthur or Kennedy.  It presents them both as real men with passions, dreams, and flaws.  It shows us that dreamers aren’t always liked, and they don’t always succeed in their lifetimes, but unless you pull hard you will never get the sword out of the stone.

The Diviners at Mysterium

 culture, Stage  2 Responses »
Mar 042012
 

The Diviners by Jim Leonard, Jr. is a play that many layers to it, but more than anything else it is a play about water.

Water has a pretty good reputation.  It sustains all life on the planet.  It keeps our crops, lawns, gardens, and pets alive.  It keeps our bodies clean, cools them down, and provides hour of recreation.  The very survival of the ancient Egyptians depended on the annual flooding of the Nile.  Christians use water to symbolize spiritual cleansing, and Pagans work with this same power when they acknowledge “the living waters of her womb.”

Scientists talk about Earth being in the “Goldilocks Zone,” the small region of space just far enough away from the sun that water can exist in liquid form.  Any closer and you have steam.  Any farther, and you have ice.  Earth’s distance from the sun is “just right” for life to exist.

Of course, it’s pretty well loved as one of the four elements, too.  We talk of water as relating to love, compassion, connection, and healing.  The moon, probably the heavenly body most adored by pagans, corresponds to water.  Water corresponds to psychic work in many systems.  All in all, that’s a pretty good day for one substance.

But then water, like any element, has its dark side.  All of the elements can kill, and tragedies like Hurricane Katrina and the tsunami in Japan and Indonesia remind us that water is no exception.  Water may be the ultimate reminder that what gives life can also take it away. Elementally, water’s dark side can include emotions like fear, anger, and jealousy. Water reflects our images as we are, not as we want to be. Oceans, especially western ones, represent death in some belief systems.

The Diviners, the current offering at Mysterium Theater, incorporates all aspects of water.  There is deep love in this play.  Love is present in many of its forms.  There is the protective, parental love that Ferris Layman (Tom Royer) clearly shows for his mentally challenged son, Buddy (Andrew Paskil).  That love is fueled on an even deeper level by the unhealed wound of losing his beloved wife.

There is the fierce, protective love that Buddy’s sister, Jennie Mae (Amanda Riisager), shows for her brother.  Perhaps most importantly, there is the healing bond of love that connects Buddy to CC Showers (Mike Detrow), a vagabond ex-preacher who arrives in town seeking escape from his own demons and a baptism into a new life.

There is also a very watery connection of trust the local farmers feel for Buddy.  Water is irrational; working with it requires intuition.  One of the play’s themes, brought out most often by the character of Basil (Robert P. Purcell), is to trust intuition and feeling over rampant industrialization.  The play begins with Buddy using a divining rod to find water, and then predicting the approach of a storm, all over the scoffing of other (rational) townsfolk.  But Basil trusts Buddy’s special connection to water to an almost mystical extent, perhaps because of his distrust for over-rational modern thinking.

Buddy, of course, is the play’s central character, through whom all of the water flows.  His special connection to water comes at a price however.  His mother drowned trying to save him, and he can sense her in the water around him.  But while he can find water by seeking out his mother in the world around him, he is terribly afraid of the precious liquid.  This fear, an aspect of water’s dark connection to emotions, keeps him from bathing, quickens disease, and ultimately brings him face to face with mortality.  Water is Buddy’s gift; it is also his shadow.

The other main character in the play, CC, is Buddy’s other half.  CC’s preaching was infected with thought instead of feeling, language instead of emotion.  Where a good preacher can get the crowd up and rolling in a sermon-induced frenzy, CC was too controlled by his rational mind to let go and whip up a good revival.  Where Buddy feels, CC thinks.  Where Buddy trusts, CC analyzes.  Where Buddy loves, CC fears.

Coming together is the perfect healing opportunity for both of them.  They teach each other.  Buddy brings CC the gifts of perfect love and childish trust.  CC acts as friend and mentor to Buddy, helping him come to terms with his fear of water and trying to help the boy understand the world from a more adult point of view.  They complement each other.

But full healing requires full submersion, and CC resists complete submersion into the local town life just as much as Buddy resists the submersion in the river that would heal his wounds.  Buddy resists physical water, which would heal him.  CC resists elemental water, in the form of love and acceptance, which would heal him too.  Eventually, we come to the climactic moment in which the two must come together as one beneath the water’s surface.

Mysterium’s production hits all the right notes.  The set is sparse, allowing the audience to focus on the themes of the piece.  These are simple, honest people, and the actors engage that honesty in a very poignant way.  Although Buddy and CC take center stage, this production subtly hints that each person is living their own lives, with their own struggles, needing their own healing.

Water can heal and water can hurt.  It does both in The Diviners.  At that final, tragic moment, both CC and Buddy touch the depths of life’s pain. The play’s message seems to be to find balance.  Wade in life’s cool, cleansing waters and you will find love and joy. Avoid them for fear of pain, and you will end up stuck at rock bottom, “like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean.”

The Laramie Project: A Healing Journey

 culture, Stage  1 Response »
Jan 142012
 

­­One of the reasons we face our own darkness is to heal.  Unpleasant though it is, we cannot heal our physical or emotional wounds without acknowledging that they exist.  If one has cancer, looking away and pretending that lump in their breast is harmless will not heal the problem.  Marriage counselors dig into the heart of a couple’s emotional troubles, often uncovering long-hidden sources of pain that both partners would prefer to ignore.  They treat the root rather than the symptoms so that the marriage can be mended.  Shamanic practitioners guide you down to meet your shadow, helping you heal the sources of your own problems.

In 1998, Laramie, Wyoming was in desperate need of healing.  The brutal torture and murder of 21-year old Matthew Shepard, motivated by homophobia, had cast the entire town into a pit of darkness.  Where locals would once have said that their town was full of good people who “live and let live,” that they “don’t grow children like that,” they now had incontrovertible evidence that they were wrong and that something malignant was living in their town.

Into this fragile town came a big city writing team led by Moises Kaufman.  The team interviewed just about everyone in Laramie, from Shepard’s close friends to the local Baptist minister.  Their story became The Laramie Project, currently running at Mysterium Theater.

Very few plays are as grippingly honest as Laramie.  The idea was to tell the story of the town, not the story of Matthew Shepard.  The result is documentary-like.  It does not re-enact the events.  It presents the interviews with the residents and the commentary of the writers, woven together to tell a heart-wrenching story of destruction, soul searching, and resurrection.

The weaving is very important to the pacing and power of the play as the actors must switch effortlessly from character to character as the show moves forward.  Director Stephen John accomplishes this masterfully, getting the most out of his brilliant cast while maintaining the urgency and mood throughout.

This play is extremely demanding on the performers.  Each one spends the majority of the time onstage, exiting only for lightning-fast costume changes.  Each one plays multiple roles, switching in an eye blink from one to the next.  Each one must hold up the flow and channel the overwhelming river of emotion that gushes through the piece.  John has assembled a cast who is adept at just that.

It is such an ensemble piece that it almost seems wrong to mention individual actors.  Jeff Lowe is excellent in each of his roles, from Doc the oddly philosophical limousine driver to Russell Henderson, one of the murderers, and even the disgusting Fred Phelps. Gregory Cesena shines as a local theater student, but plays all of his roles with conviction.

Theodore Lance does a wonderful job, particularly as the young man who found Shepard tied to the fence.  He also gives appropriate grace to the part of the local Catholic priest.  Tiffany Berg is very memorable, giving especially poignant notes as Reggie, the officer who responded to the emergency.  Probably the single most challenged member of the community, Berg’s portrayal showcases Reggie’s incredible kindness in a situation in which most of us would have lashed out in anger.

Jessica S. Runde’s portrayal of Reggie’s sassy mother is close to perfection and she excels in her other roles as well.  Joe Parrish handles his roles with incredible sensitivity.  The cast is rounded out by Jill Cary Martin and Meghan McCarthy, both of whom are riveting and honest in their roles.

In the end, the Laramie Project turned out to be just as transformative for the authors as it was for the town.  They healed each other.  The writers guided the locals through their pain, helped them face their shadow in a safe and supportive way, and brought them back to a place of healing.  Although they were resistant at first, the residents learned to trust these srangers, learned new things about themselves, and came to resolutions that helped the city move on with dignity.

Kaufman and his fellow project members also were healed.  They begin by making fun of the rural town, mocking the less-than-perfect grammar of the state’s welcome sign, and proudly announcing to a waitress that they are just passing through.  However, after many trips to Laramie and hundreds of interviews, they learn to love the place.  They see their own shadows while talking to these simple, honest people.  They confront and change their own assumptions. They are redeemed every bit as much as the town is.

Although Laramie centers around one specific incident and could easily become dated, the story is universal.  It is a rarity of theater: a play about real, living people attacking a real problem and finding wholeness by the end.  Its power is undeniable, and even sitting in the audience can be a healing experience.

 

 

 

A Light Comedy About Death: Blithe Spirit at Mysterium

 culture, Stage  1 Response »
Oct 162011
 

In 1941, Noel Coward sat down to write a “light comedy about death.”  The situation, however, was not light at all.  The playwright’s home had just been destroyed by a Nazi bomb.  The country was still in severe danger of invasion; most of the war and its attendant fear, fatigue, shortages, and food rationing were still to come.

Against this backdrop, Coward escaped the pressure of London to vacation in a Welsh resort town.  In five days, he wrote Blithe Spirit, one of his most famous works.  Capitalizing on the intense interest in spiritualism at the time, the comedy features author Charles Condimine, who is researching mediumship for his next book.  In this spirit, Charles and his new wife, Ruth, invite over some friends and local eccentric Madame Arcati to channel the dead one evening after dinner and brandy.

 

Not the world’s greatest psychic, Madame Arcati quite accidentally conjures up the spirit of Elvira, Charles’ first wife, and the newly corporeal Elvira has some unsettled business with both her widower and her successor.

 

It is a perfect play to perform in October, not because of its ghosts, trances, and séances, but for a deeper reason- the play makes fun of death.  I believe that one of the reasons that Halloween has remained a prominent holiday in secular culture despite attacks from religious groups, despite the obvious danger of children in masks wandering the streets at night, and despite decades of fear about poisoned Snickers bars and razor blades embedded into apples, is that we have an innate need to laugh at the things that scare the hell out of us.

 

This is exactly what Noel Coward was doing in 1941 as he sat down to write Blithe Spirit.  In a completely uncertain world, a world that was facing one of the greatest dangers in modern history, in an island country whose allies had fallen to Nazi scourge and which seemed destined to do the same, Noel Coward wrote a fun little play about dead people- and Britain loved it.  Audiences, all in the same potentially mortal danger, ate it up.  Blithe Spirit’s run in London outlasted the war and it became one of Coward’s most enduring plays.  It gave his country exactly what it needed at the time.

 

Mysterium Theater’s production retains that light quality.  There is very real anger and tension in the piece, especially from Ruth (Diana Baker Bowler), but the tone remains light.  Most of Noel Coward’s trademark wit comes through Charles, Justin Bowler delivers it with charm and just a hint of disturbed concern.

 

Tiffany Berg, a staple at Mysterium, is wonderful as the deliciously spiteful spirit of Elvira.  Her outright joy at being back with her husband and in a position to annoy Ruth comes through with every entrance and prank, at least until the tables turn on her.

 

The central role of Madame Arcati delivers much of the more physical humor along with being a vehicle for Coward’s personal skepticism.  Lona Walker’s Arcati has the skepticism part down- you can never quite be sure if she is genuinely out of her league or a fraud who is amazed by her success.  Her performance is a bit measured, though, and doesn’t give in to the full over-the-top village eccentric that the character cries out to be.

Set in 1930’s upper middle class society, sets and costumes become almost characters in the play.  Director Marla Ladd’s set, with its curved drawing room sofas and statuary, is sumptuous and completely evocative of the period.  Jaylene Valentine and Elizabeth Dalton capture the style of the 30’s, especially with the Ruth’s form-fitting dresses and shorter-than-bobbed hair.

 

That time period was a scary one.  A depression was ending and a war was beginning.  For the first time, civilians were being targeted by the enemy air force.  No one knew what the future held.  But you can only wallow in your fear for so long.  Laughing at it helps you process the shadow that haunts you and allows you to go on each day, perhaps with a little more hope than before.  Blithe Spirit did this for the British during its darkest days; during the time of year when we honor our ancestors, Mysterium’s production is a window back into the time in some of them lived.

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