Month: November 2019

Trinity Rep’s ‘A Christmas Carol’ More Theatrics Than Theater

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Ghost of Christmas Future (Taavon Gamble) visits Scrooge (Jude Sandy) in Trinity Rep’s ‘A Christmas Carol. Photos by Mark Turek

Reviewed by Shelley A. Sackett

 

Trinity Repertory Company’s 2019 musical version of A Christmas Carol starts out promisingly. Produced in the Elizabeth and Malcolm Chace Theater, Director Kate Bergstrom makes use of that venue’s intimate theater-in-the-round configuration by staging pockets of singing performers above every seat section. The pageantry of a live orchestra, quality-voiced actors in Dickensian-era costumes, and an excellent sound system is enough to enrapture a toe-tapping audience. Unfortunately, uneven performances and an over-reliance on gimmicky, ostentatious staging trickery will soon burst that magical bubble.

The story is familiar to most. It’s Christmas Eve in early 19th century London. Ebenezer Scrooge, a miserly, miserable businessman, essentially holds his lone clerk, Bob Cratchit, hostage. The two are probably the only people not celebrating in all of London. Outside their barely heated office, children dance and carolers serenade. When Scrooge’s niece, Frederika, enters his office to invite him to Christmas dinner with her family, Scrooge turns her down without even a “Merry Christmas.”

“You keep Christmas in your own way and let me keep it in mine,” Scrooge bellows. On his way home, the ghost of his dead partner, Jacob Marley, appears amidst billows of smoke and yards of clanging chains. Clearly, Marley’s ghost is suffering a doomed eternity. He warns Scrooge that three spirits will visit him on this night and that if Scrooge wants to avoid Marley’s fate, he should listen to them and heed their advice.

Scrooge is convinced Marley is a figment of his imagination until the Ghost of Christmas Past arrives. Scrooge as a youth is sad and solitary and when as a young adult, he loses his fiancée Belle because he cares more about money than her, we feel Scrooge’s present-day pain as he rehears her say, “May your money comfort you as I would have.”

Christmas Present leads Scrooge to Bob Cratchit’s tiny house, where he learns Bob’s young crippled son, Tiny Tim, will die unless his future changes. A visit to Frederika’s family celebration reveals that their favorite after-dinner game is ridiculing none other than their dear old Uncle Scrooge. It is the future Scrooge fears most, and after witnessing what lies ahead, he vows to absorb the lessons the spirits have shown him and change while he still has time. When he wakes up the next day, he immediately declares, “I will not be the man I was. I will make amends.”

There are some terrific performances by Trinity Rep Resident Acting Company members Timothy Crowe (Schoolmaster and Joe the Tavern Proprietor) and Rachael Warren (Fezziwig and The Ghost of Christmas Present). Their acting would stand out in a vacuum, but by comparison to Jude Sandy (Ebenezer Scrooge) and Ricardy Fabre (Bob Cratchit), it is a palpable and welcome relief. Sandy is tragically miscast in a part that has him in nearly every scene of a two-plus hour show. He plays Scrooge two ways: as loud, flat and belligerent (most of Act I); and, in reaction to the spirits, as loud, flat and trembling. His voice seems incapable of nuance.

Fabre is neither offensive nor annoying; he is simply bland in a role that should evoke pathos and empathy. Both could benefit from a few workshops with their two veteran colleagues.

On the bright side, Taavon Gamble’s choreography (especially the pewter mug-slamming number) and Michael Rice’s musical direction of orchestra and singers (the accordion playing in Christmas Present is delightful) give the musical a joyful lift in a production burdened by darkness. The staging tricks, such as Marley and his motley crew emerging from their hell hole and the flying bed of Christmas Past, feel like eye candy trying to distract the audience from noticing the overwhelmingly second-rate feel to the production.

In 1966, Trinity Repertory received substantial funds from the newly founded National Endowment for the Arts to launch its landmark Project Discovery program, which allowed high school students from all over the state to attend professional live theater for free. I was a 9th grade Classical High School freshman, and Adrian Hall’s masterful use of scaffolding and theater-in-the-round blew my 14-year-old mind. It was a peek through a keyhole to a world of pure wonder. Alas, that fairy dust was nowhere to be found last Wednesday night, spectacular theatrics notwithstanding.

A Christmas Carol has been a Trinity Rep staple for over 40 years, and every year returning audiences look forward to experiencing a new spin on a well-known tale. Alas, the overwhelming effect of this 2019 version was a nostalgic longing for the ghost of Christmases Past when the likes of the tremendously talented Timothy Crowe brought Scrooge to life in ways both credible and enchanting.  Let’s hope that A Christmas Carol 2020 will be longer on substance and shorter on showmanship. For tickets and information, go to: https://www.trinityrep.com/

‘A Christmas Carol’ – by Charles Dickens. Original Music by Richard Cumming; Directed by Kate Bergstrom; Music Direction by Michael Rice; Choreography by Taavon Gamble; Set Design by Patrick Lynch; Costume Design by Olivera Gajic; Lighting Design by Barbara Samuels; Sound Design by Broken Chord. Presented by Trinity Repertory Company, 201 Washington St., Providence through December 29.

ArtsEmerson’s One-of-A-Kind ‘An Iliad’ Is Not to Be Missed

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Denis O’Hare in ArtsEmerson’s ‘An Iliad’ – Photo by Joan Marcus

By Shelley A. Sackett

“An Iliad,” the brilliant play by Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hare in a lamentably short run at Emerson Paramount Center, is one phenomenal piece of theater. In a mere 100 minutes, on a simple stage with no props or costume changes, the virtuoso Denis O’Hare (with the help of bassist Eleonore Oppenheim) magically creates the story behind Homer’s epic poem about the tragic Trojan War. This is no ordinary dramatic experience. It is a magic carpet ride into the deepest power and charm that theater can offer. No wonder the painted muses above the magnificently renovated stage are all smiles. They know this audience is in for a one-of-a kind experience that will resonate long after their thunderous standing ovation finally fades.

As the house lights slowly dim, a near-deafening clang arises from a stage stacked with chairs. One beacon illuminates the narrator, clad in a Sam Spade-like trench coat and hat and carrying a suitcase. It’s as if he emerges from the belly of some post-apocalyptic landscape. He approaches the audience and with an intimacy and rapport that marks the entire production, he speaks directly to them. With a sorrowful weariness he says, “Every time I sing this song, I hope it’s the last time.” He has been singing this same story for millennia: in Mycenae, in Babylon, in Gaul and now, in 21st century Boston. “It’s a good story,” he admits. That is the only understatement of the entire script. Peterson and O’Hare have written a firecracker version (hence, “An Iliad”) of Homer’s “Iliad” based on Robert Fagles’ renowned translation about the bloody story of the war between the Confederation of Greeks and Troy (located in Asia Minor or current Turkey).

In a nutshell, it all started when the Trojans stole Helen and ends with the Greeks getting her back (with a little help from that famed Trojan Horse). Along the way, we witness swords clattering, gods and goddesses interfering for malice and amusement, and several battles to the death. We also learn a lot of history and mythology (and, for the trained ear, a bit of classical Greek poetry). We meet Agamemnon, the Greek commander-in-chief, who has abducted Chryseis, the daughter of one of Apollo’s Trojan priests, and refuses to give her back. Achilles, the greatest Greek warrior, tries to no avail to persuade Agamemnon of his folly. Not until Apollo punishes the Greek armies with plagues does he finally relent and give her up. But no sooner is Apollo’s curse lifted than Agamemnon decides he deserves to be compensated for his sacrifice. That compensation is in the form of stealing Achilles’ concubine, a captured princess Achilles considers to be his bride.

Understandably, Achilles responds with epic rage and refuses to fight for Agamemnon and the Greek confederation. Without him, Agamemnon’s army is no match for the Trojans and their Achilles analog, Hector. After nine years of fruitless fighting, the Greeks are depressed and exhausted. “They’ve forgotten why they’re fighting. They just want to go home,” our narrator says. He pauses and solemnly faces the audience. “How do you know when it’s over?” he asks in a whisper.

The artistic depth and muscle of “An Iliad” lies in the way it connects ancient past to the political and linguistic vernacular of today. In a chatty, informal, almost stand-up-comic tone, the narrator compares the inability of the Greeks to give up and seek a truce to the exasperation and irrational stubbornness of someone who has waited for over 20 minutes in a supermarket line. “Do you switch lines now? No, goddam it, I’ve been here for 20 minutes, I’m gonna wait in this line. I’m not leaving ‘cause otherwise I’ve wasted my time,” the narrator says in a delivery reminiscent of the great Robin Williams, and suddenly the ancient Greek’s emotional dilemma is crystal clear.

Oppenheim’s music (how does she get all those sounds from a stand-up bass?) and Zeilinski’s dazzling lighting add enormous complexity and texture to the production as O’Hare stalks the bare stage, narrating the story, embodying his characters and time-traveling to the present to address his contemporary peers directly. He physically communicates the violence of war and the destruction it wreaks on the human body and psyche, embodying both Hector and Achilles in the play’s most wrenching scenes. With a bend of his nimble legs or a tilt of his head into a lone spotlight, he is magically transformed from Hector into his wife, Androcmache, in a tender scene where he credibly personifies and simultaneously embodies both.

The night belongs to this remarkably gifted and nimble actor, and those who miss it in Boston must make a New Year’s resolution to jump on a plane and catch its traveling production somewhere. It really is that good. For tickets and information, go to: https://artsemerson.org

‘An Iliad’ – Written by Lisa Peterson and Denis O’Hare; Directed by Lisa Peterson; Scenic Design by Rachel Hauck; Costume Design by Marina Draghici; Lighting Design by Scott Zeilinski; Composer/Sound Design by Mark Bennett; Produced by Arts Emerson and Homer’s Coat in association with Octopus Theatricals at Emerson Paramount Center through November 24.

SpeakEasy Stage’s ‘Admissions’ Pierces the Veil of White Male Privilege

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Nathan Malin, Maureen Keiller and Michael Kaye in SpeakEasy Stage’s Production of “Admissions.” (Maggie Hall Photography)

By Shelley A. Sackett

Joshua Harmon’s terrific new play “Admissions,” now making its Boston premiere at SpeakEasy Stage Company through November 30, packs a timely wallop. Set at and near Hillcrest, a toney progressive New Hampshire prep school, the plucky drama starts out poking fun at Sherri, Hillcrest’s white admissions director who is not happy with the draft of the Admissions Catalog she has just received.

It seems the catalog does not bear adequate witness to the milestone achievement of her 15-year tenure: tripling the diversity of Hillcrest’s predominantly white student body from 6% to 18% students “of color.” She knows this because she has counted all 52 pictures, and only three feature non-white faces. That is precisely 5.7%, and Sherri is livid. She has summoned Roberta, the veteran development officer responsible for the draft, to point out her glaring blunder.

Roberta is Sherri’s opposite. She is a frumpy, plain-spoken woman who calls a spade a spade. She is from another era, when personal qualities and merit mattered more than mathematical quotas. Roberta defiantly defends her work, pointing to a photo that features Perry, the son of a biracial teacher. “Perry’s black, isn’t he?” Roberta asks, confused. “Of course he is, but he doesn’t read black in this photo. He looks whiter than my son,” Sherri counters, exasperated. “I don’t see color. Maybe that’s my problem,” Roberta says.

Cheryl McMahon, Keiller

That exchange sets the stage for Harmon’s intelligent and riotous drama that exposes the raw nerve of hypocrisy among white people of privilege who hide behind political correctness, loudly trumpeting an abstract policy of affirmative action and diversity right up until the moment they are personally impacted by its application. Then, these same folks sing a “not in my backyard” refrain. They may talk the talk (and talk-and talk they do), but when push comes to shove, they would never walk the walk.

Sherri’s husband, Bill, is head of school at Hillcrest, where their 17-year-old high-achieving son, Charlie, is a student hoping to attend Yale with his best friend, the not-visually-black-enough Perry. Perry’s white mother, Ginnie, is Sherri’s best friend, neatly tying a bow that encircles and intertwines the play’s characters.

Ginnie and Sherri hang out a lot. Later that day, in Sherri’s kitchen, both sip white wine and wring their hands over their sons’ fates. Today is the day they will find out if they got into Yale. Harmon’s razor-sharp dialogue reveals the first cringe-worthy chinks in their personal moral codes. Ginnie has brought Charlie a cake from Martin’s Bakery, the same one she bought for Perry, despite evidence the baker is a pedophile. “What are you gonna do? His cakes are great,” she says with a shrug. Sherri shares her catalog fiasco, lying to Ginnie that she couldn’t use the picture of her son because it was blurry.

Marianna Bassham, Keiller

Ginnie receives “the” phone call first – Perry, whose application classified him as black, was accepted. When Charlie is deferred, the victim, he believes, of reverse discrimination, Harmon goes to town as Charlie’s parents’ liberalism and personal ambitions for their son collide. “How did I not see this coming,” Charlie wails, as he points an accusing finger at his parents, the architects of the very quota-driven system that denied him his due. “I don’t have any special boxes to check.”

Later in the intermission-less 105-minute production (no spoilers in this review), Harmon asks his audience the same question faced by Charlie’s horrified parents: what would you do if your child became a casualty of the system of ethics and fairness you champion? Would your moral True North shift?

“Admissions,” with its double-entendre title, captured both Drama Desk and Outer Circle awards for 2018 best play, and the SpeakEasy production is a bases-loaded home run with Nathan Malin (Charlie) as its runaway star. This 20-year-old Boston University College of Fine Arts junior brings depth, vulnerability and physicality to a character that could have become a caricature in less capable hands. Cheryl McMahon is equally outstanding as the well-meaning and misunderstood Roberta and Maureen Keiller (Sherri) and Marianna Bassham(Ginnie) bring humor and humanity to their parts. Hopefully, Michael Kaye (Bill) has smoothed out the edges since press night.

Malin Keiller

Harmon, who’s “Bad Jews” took a whack at religious dogmatists, is gay and Jewish and knows a thing or two about life as a minority. “So much of what I think about revolves around questions of identity,” he said in an interview published in SpeakEasy’s program notes. “This play is trying to hold up a mirror to privilege and white liberalism, while remaining very conscious that this is just one narrow slice of a larger conversation.” For tickets and information, go to: https://www.speakeasystage.com/

This review first appeared in the Jewish Journal (jewishjournal.org).

‘Admissions’ – Written by Joshua Harmon; Directed by Paul Daigneault; Scenic Design by Eric Levenson; Lighting Design by Karen Perlow; Costume Design by Charles Schoonmaker; Sound Design by Dewey Dellay; Stage Managed by Stephen MacDonald. Produced by SpeakEasy Stage Company at the Stanford Calderwood Pavilion at the Boston Center for the Arts through November 30, 2019.