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Theater Theater Feature

Let It Marinate

There are three ways white audiences at Germantown Community Theatre are likely to react to Purlie,” says director Greg Krosness. “There is anger from people who will say, ‘Those people don’t know what the fuck they are talking about.’ There will be people who are on the side of [the bigoted] Old Captain: ‘More power to you, Old Captain.’ And there are people who are truly affected by the play and see how awful the situation is. This is the kind of play people in Germantown don’t get to see every day and I’m really glad they are doing it.”

Purlie is a vibrantly angry musical based on Ossie Davis’ acclaimed Purlie Victorious! Set during the civil rights era, it tells the story of an uneducated but bookish black preacher-cum-con-man named Purlie who has returned home from up north with a plan to wrest the black community’s church away from Old Captain, a rich cotton farmer who somehow missed the fact that slavery no longer exists. This fiery declaration of African-American independence, which launched the career of The Jeffersons‘ Sherman Hemsley, was a breakthrough for black culture. It proved once and for all that black-themed shows could find success on the Great White Way. Though it has since become an American standard, Purlie‘s indictment of white oppression can still pack quite a wallop. For Krosness, a blond-haired, blue-eyed man whose roots are planted deep in East Memphis soil, dealing with such strong subject matter and a predominantly black cast has been quite an adventure.

“For me every show is about learning. And whether by osmosis or association this seemed like a great chance to broaden my horizons,” he says. “Of course I was a little intimidated. I knew I would make mistakes. I knew I would step on some toes and put my foot in my mouth and that there would be things I was ignorant of until I put my foot in my mouth. It wasn’t something I shied away from.” Osmosis and association aside, he hopes that his production will likewise step on the audience’s toes from time to time. “This is a story about slavery after slavery has been abolished. It’s about generations of black people raised on this plantation who don’t fully realize that there is another way. Old Captain says, ‘That’s the way it is, that’s the way it’s always been, and that’s how it has to be.’ I would venture to say that there are places where this social order still exists. That’s the thing I would like audiences to take home with them.”

Krosness’ declaration of ignorance belies his understanding of both the text and its relationship to geography. He’s not blind to the fact that GCT’s predominantly white audiences may be taken aback by Purlie‘s somewhat heavy-handed message.

“I really hope that doesn’t happen,” he says hesitantly. “I hope people learn from it rather than being offended. I know that when the Black Rep did Having Our Say at Circuit a few years ago some people thought it was ‘white-bashing.’ I just thought of it as a history lesson.”

Krosness has been fortunate enough to have Ruddy Garner on board as choreographer. In addition to having choreographed Purlie on three other occasions, this native Memphian was Gregory Hines’ assistant for 10 years and appeared in such films as The Cotton Club and Tap with Sammy Davis Jr. His Broadway credits include Bubblin’ Brown Sugar with Cab Calloway and Tommy Tune’s production of My One and Only.

“Ruddy has been very gracious and understanding,” Krosness says. “He’s done the show three times before, so he knows how it’s done. But he understands that I haven’t done the show before and that I need to explore. He also knows that our chorus members aren’t really dancers and he’s very considerate and understanding of this. He has a phrase I just love. After working on a number with the chorus he’ll say, ‘Okay, that was good. Now take it home and let it marinate.’ I like that. ‘Let it marinate.'”

Krosness sounds tired. It’s not something I really expect from the typically energetic director and performer whom I have known since we both walked onto the Rhodes College campus back in 1985. But he has just finished a five-hour rehearsal and has to be at WKNO early the next morning to tape a Checking on the Arts segment. He’s got Purlie on the brain. “It’s been a real struggle to get this thing together,” he says, “but the performers amaze me. They are all incredibly talented and have minds like steel traps. Like I said, [most of them] aren’t dancers, but all of them are really getting it. I think things are really going to come together.” Suddenly his energy comes rushing back and he adds, “I hope this show slaps some people in their faces.”

Through September 9th.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

If I Had My Way, Oh Lord

We’ll have to wait and see how the actual ceremony goes down on the 26th, but it appears that the biggest winner at this year’s Memphis Theatre Awards is going to be the event itself. The decision to name the awards the Ostranders is brilliant. After all, veteran actor Jim Ostrander is universally loved and respected by both his fellow actors and the theatergoing community. His powerful, award-winning return to the Playhouse stage during the 1999-2000 season, after having portions of his jaw removed, was the definition of confidence, bravery, and professionalism. Though cancer has again taken him out of the spotlight, he continues to show his support and enthusiasm for local theater via spirited electronic messages posted to Memphis’ online performance community. He was a true inspiration long before he fell ill, and it is his name that honors the Memphis Theatre Awards, not the converse.

The choice to return to an award system based on multiple nominees and a single winner is a dozen large steps in the right direction. No doubt Sally Field would not have felt so very liked had she shared her Oscar with four other actresses. This system sets an annual standard for excellence. It creates drama, and that’s what all this theater stuff is about, now isn’t it? What red-blooded American can avoid pins and needles when the words “and the winner is …” trip off the presenter’s tongue. But there are still a few, less positive things to say about this year’s awards.

While it’s good to see that Playwrights’ Forum, an independent company that has devoted itself to the development of original scripts for lo these many years, has finally been nominated for some awards, it’s frustrating that so many equally deserving companies have been omitted. Our Own Voice Theater Company’s staging of Artaud’s Spurt of Blood was the most ambitious project to be undertaken this year. O.O.V.’s production of this seemingly unstageable but always exhilarating text could not have been more inspired. Their original script, Ephemera, a scathingly funny piece satirizing both the art of theater and the Memphis performance community, could not have been more on the mark. It too deserved a nod, as did the stunning performances of Bill Baker and Alex Cooke. Emerald Theater Company’s rock solid Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf was far more compelling than many of this season’s mainstage offerings, and director Hal Harmon should have been a contender for best director. The gravest oversight on behalf of this year’s judging was the omission of Rick Crowe from the Best Supporting Actor category. His performance in Sleeping Cat Studio’s The Ribbon Mill was beyond stellar. But the problem remains the same as it ever was: There just aren’t enough judges to see everything. The basis for judging who is included remains shrouded in mystery. Every company listed above is between 5 and 12 years old.

As usual, I’m not putting on my swami’s hat and trying to guess who will actually win this year’s Ostranders. The following is a list of those I would single out for excellence if I alone were the judge, jury, and executioner.

Set Design: Michael Walker’s elegant zen-like set for the lumbering Far East should take the prize. Best Supporting Actress in a Musical? The award has to go to the late Barbara Clinton whose gigantic, infinitely soulful voice invigorated an otherwise limp Best Little Whorehouse. If Zombie Prom‘s Kent Fleshman doesn’t take the prize for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical, there is no justice. Zombie‘s Sally Kroeker is equally deserving of Best Actress in a Musical, and Christopher Swan’s star turn in I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change will net him Best Actor in a Musical hands down. The best musical of the year was Zombie Prom, and its director Michael Dugan should likewise pick up the plaque for best director. In the non-musical category, Jeff Godsey and Sara Morsey from Love! Valour! Compassion! and Wit, respectively, deserve the prize for Best Actor and Actress. Neither will win, though. Godsey made it look too easy, and Morsey was too dang depressing. Besides, if Michael Detroit sneaks up and grabs Best Actor for his work in Side Man, I won’t complain a bit. The best supporting performers were easily Ruby O’Gray (The Trial of One Short Sighted Black Woman) and Jason Craig (Side Man). Love! Valour! Compassion! was certainly the year’s best play, while Ann Marie Hall should nab the Ostrander for best director. Hall will probably go home empty-handed, though, as no one will take into consideration just how difficult Stop Kiss is to mount.

The U of M will sweep the college division. Their powerhouse productions of All My Sons and Sweeney Todd were more professional than anything to appear at Playhouse on the Square this season. Sight Unseen’s fantastic ensemble acting and brilliantly executed set also make it a contender. While Rhodes gets points for choosing more challenging material and even attempting to develop an original script as part of their main season, this year’s offerings just didn’t quite measure up.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Sealing the Envelope

The nominees for this year’s Memphis Theatre Awards, recently rechristened the Ostranders, are in. The awards will be given on Sunday, August 26th, at The Dixon Gallery and Gardens. Watch for my annual “picks and pans” in next week’s issue.

SET DESIGN

Zombie Prom — Tim McMath, Circuit Playhouse

Blithe Spirit — Michael Walker, Theatre Memphis

Far East — Michael Walker, Theatre Memphis

Stop Kiss — Tim McMath, Circuit Play- house

Side Man — Mark Guirguis, Playhouse on the Square

COSTUME DESIGN

Dreamgirls — Gregory Horton, Play- house on the Square and Memphis Black Repertory Theater

Zombie Prom — Elizabeth R. Payne, Cir- cuit Playhouse

Far East — Andre Bruce Ward, Theatre Memphis

Hay Fever — Rebecca Y. Powell, Play- house on the Square

Blithe Spirit — Andre Bruce Ward, The- atre Memphis

LIGHTING DESIGN

Far East — Melissa Schapira Hanson, Theatre Memphis

Love! Valour! Compassion! — Carin L. Edwards-Orr, Circuit Playhouse

Stop Kiss — Caroline Yacono, Circuit Playhouse

Blithe Spirit — Melissa Schapira Hanson, Theatre Memphis

Side Man — Michael J. Delorm, Play- house on the Square

MUSIC DIRECTION

John and Jen — Sean Pollock, Germantown Community Theatre

I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change — Carla McDonald, Circuit Playhouse

SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN

A MUSICAL

Barbara Clinton — Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Theatre Memphis

Betsy Brow — You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Theatre Memphis

Topaza Watkins — Dreamgirls, Memphis Black Repertory Theatre and Play house on the Square

Renee Davis — Grease, Playhouse on the Square

Susan Boyle — Grease, Playhouse on the Square

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN

A MUSICAL

Kent Fleshman — Zombie Prom, Circuit Playhouse

David Shipley — You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown, Theatre Memphis

John Hemphill — The Fantasticks, Harrell Performing Arts Center

Ron Gordon — Annie Warbucks, Germantown Community Theatre

LEADING ACTRESS IN A MUSICAL

Carla McDonald — I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change, Circuit Play- house

Sally Kroeker — Zombie Prom, Circuit Playhouse

Lar Jeanette Williams — Dreamgirls, Memphis Black Repertory Theatre

Madalyn Stanford — Annie Warbucks, Germantown Community Theatre

Kim Justis — I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change — Circuit Playhouse

LEADING ACTOR IN A MUSICAL

Christopher Swan — I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change, Circuit Play- house

John David Macon III — Dreamgirls, Memphis Black Repertory Theatre

Jonathan Christian — John and Jen, Germantown Community Theatre

DIRECTION OF A MUSICAL

Kevin Shaw — I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change, Circuit Playhouse

Michael Dugan — Zombie Prom, Cir- cuit Playhouse

MUSICAL PRODUCTION

Zombie Prom — Circuit Playhouse

I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change — Circuit Playhouse

SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN

A DRAMA

Dorothy Blackwood — Bizet’s Locket, Playwrights’ Forum

Ruby O’Gray — The Trial of One Short Sighted Black Woman, Memphis Black Repertory Theatre

Blanche Tosh — The Exact Center of the Universe, Theatre Memphis

Janie Paris — Blithe Spirit, Theatre Mem- phis

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN

A DRAMA

Jason Craig — Side Man, Playhouse on the Square

Jack Kendall — Shadowlands, Germantown Community Theatre

Jeff Bailey — Pride’s Crossing, Little The- atre/Theatre Memphis

John Rone — The Moon is Blue, Germantown Community Theatre

Pete Montgomery — Improper Attention, Playwrights’ Forum

LEADING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA

Marlene May — Amy’s View, Circuit Playhouse

Ann Dauber — Stop Kiss, Circuit Play- house

Sara K. Armstrong — Stop Kiss, Circuit Playhouse

Sara Morsey — Wit, Playhouse on the Square

Lisa McCormick — Side Man, Playhouse on the Square

LEADING ACTOR IN A DRAMA

Michael Detroit — Side Man, Playhouse on the Square

Tony Isbell — Blithe Spirit, Theatre Memphis

Michael Gravois — Love! Valour! Com- passion!, Circuit Playhouse

Randy Hartzog — Love! Valour! Compas- sion!, Circuit Playhouse

Ramone Cox — A Soldier’s Play, Theatre Memphis

Jeff Godsey — Love! Valour! Compassion!, Circuit Playhouse

DIRECTION OF A DRAMA

Robert Satterlee — Side Man, Playhouse on the Square

Dave Landis — Love! Valour! Compassion!, Circuit Playhouse

Ann Marie Hall — Stop Kiss, Circuit Play- house

Jerry Chipman — Far East, Theatre Memphis

Cookie Ewing — Amy’s View, Circuit Playhouse

DRAMATIC PRODUCTION

Side Man — Playhouse on the Square

Love! Valour! Compassion! — Circuit Play- house

Stop Kiss — Circuit Playhouse

Amy’s View — Circuit Playhouse

Blithe Spirit — Theatre Memphis

ENSEMBLE ACTING

Love! Valour! Compassion!

A Soldier’s Play

I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change

Side Man

CAMEO ROLES

Barry Fuller — Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, Theatre Memphis

Jo Malin — Wit, Playhouse on the Square

Guy Olivieri — Grease, Playhouse on the Square

THEATRE AWARDS 2001: COLLEGE AND UNIVERSITY DIVISION

SET DESIGN

Jason McDaniel — Sight Unseen, University of Memphis

Laura Canon — Iphigenia, McCoy The- atre/Rhodes College

Kim Yeager — All My Sons, University of Memphis

COSTUME DESIGN

Douglas Koertge — Sweeney Todd, Uni- versity of Memphis

David Jilg — Into the Woods, McCoy The- atre/Rhodes College

Sandra London — All My Sons, Univer- sity of Memphis

LIGHTING DESIGN

John McFadden — Sweeney Todd, Uni- versity of Memphis

John McFadden — Sight Unseen, Univer- sity of Memphis

Laura Canon — Iphigenia, McCoy The- atre/Rhodes College

MUSIC DIRECTION

Mark Ensley — Sweeney Todd, University of Memphis

Michael Meeks — Into the Woods, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN

A MUSICAL

Katie Walsh — Into the Woods, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

Amy-Lin Slezak — Sweeney Todd, Uni- versity of Memphis

Ashley Sewell — Canterbury Tales, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN

A MUSICAL

David Shipley — Sweeney Todd, Univer- sity of Memphis

Jonathan Russom — Into the Woods, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

Brian Herrin — Sweeney Todd, Univer- sity of Memphis

LEADING ACTRESS IN A MUSICAL

Susan Boyle — Sweeney Todd, University of Memphis

Ashley Sewell — Into the Woods, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

Cequita Monique — Soul of a People, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

LEADING ACTOR IN A MUSICAL

Brad Damare — Into the Woods, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

Darius Wallace — Soul of a People, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

MUSICAL PRODUCTION

Sweeney Todd — University of Memphis

Into the Woods — McCoy Theatre/ Rhodes College

SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN

A DRAMA

Julia Hinson — Charley’s Aunt, Univer- sity of Memphis

Samantha Butler — Charley’s Aunt, Uni- versity of Memphis

Tamra Patterson — Iphigenia, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

SUPPORTING ACTOR IN

A DRAMA

Kyle Hatley — Iphigenia, McCoy The- atre/Rhodes College

Dan Poor — All My Sons, University of Memphis

Bill Lewis — Sight Unseen, University of Memphis

LEADING ACTRESS IN A DRAMA

Kelly Morton — Sight Unseen, Univer- sity of Memphis

Jenny Hollingsworth — The Misanthrope, University of Memphis

Alice Berry — All My Sons, University of Memphis

LEADING ACTOR IN A DRAMA

Nate Eppler — Sight Unseen, University of Memphis

David Williams — Charley’s Aunt, University of Memphis

Dan Poor — Charley’s Aunt, University of Memphis

DIRECTION OF A DRAMA OR

MUSICAL PRODUCTION

Stephen Hancock — Sight Unseen, Uni- versity of Memphis

Bob Hetherington — Sweeney Todd, Uni- versity of Memphis

Barry Fuller — Into the Woods, McCoy Theatre/Rhodes College

DRAMATIC PRODUCTION

Sight Unseen — University of Memphis

All My Sons — University of Memphis

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Wildflowers

Kim Justis and Jenny Odle have their act together. They would like to take it on the road someday soon.

“Your article could help get us an agent,” Jenny says, fussing with her long, enviously thick mane of dark blond hair. “You could say how incredible we are and make us sound really smart.” She crinkles up her nose, shoves her face into the dressing room mirror, pulls the lower lid of her left eye down just about as far as a lower lid will pull without detaching, and begins to probe for stray lashes with her index finger.

“Yes, make us sound really smart,” Kim chimes in. “That’s a really good idea, Jenny.” Kim, significantly shorter and darker than her statuesque acting partner, is piddling with her own shorter, darker hair, twisting it into a tight corkscrew, then clamping it in place with some dangerous-looking variation on the dreaded banana clip, only to unclip it a moment later and clip it again. “You can say a bunch of things and make us sound very in-tuh-leck-shool.”

The two actresses have come together to recreate their award-winning performances in Kathy Najimy and Mo Gaffney’s HBO phenomenon Parallel Lives, a series of wildly comic sketches about everything from death to dating that requires each actress to morph into some 30-odd characters. Emphasis on “odd.” Equal emphasis on “characters.” Unlike most of the feminist theater and performance art that emerged in the overly serious Eighties — grueling anatomical laundry lists and overwrought declarations of independence — Parallel Lives is about characters, not causes. Punch lines replace platitudes, and the result is pure comic catharsis. It’s smart without being even the teeniest bit pretentious. It’s entertaining but never frothy, shot through with powerful moments when the comedy sneaks ever so quietly off stage, leaving devastatingly accurate introspection all alone in the spotlight. Only the rarest of performers are capable of taking on a show like Parallel Lives with any hope of success.

Fiercely smart, disarmingly casual, and disgustingly talented, these actresses are a perfect fit. But this is no great revelation. If you saw the first production of Parallel Lives, a show that shattered box-office records for Theatre Memphis’ Little Theatre, you know this. If you have ever seen one of their infamous cabaret shows you know this all too well. Though the sky-scraping blond and the diminutive brunette could not be more physically dissimilar, they work together like a set of identical twins. They are the very definition of chemistry. Backstage they finish each other’s sentences.

On opening night an admirer sends them both bud vases full of black-eyed Susans. For these two, the offering seems far more appropriate than the more traditional and certainly more precious gift of roses. The house manager delivers the wildflowers, winking, “You both look vurry, vurry purdy t’night.” Director Ann Marie Hall enters with more opening-night gifts. She too notes that the girls look “vurry, vurry purdy t’night.” Others enter and exit the dressing room, each repeating the slurred compliment with Stepfordian precision. It is of course a line from the show’s most memorable piece, and Kim Justis, topped with a cowboy hat, sucking on a Marlboro and a Lone Star, delivers it so perfectly that there is no way to avoid getting it stuck in your head. But with frequent, less studied repetition the phrase seems to stale.

“Don’t you guys get tired of hearing that?”

“Hearing what?” Kim asks. I’ve been trapped by a master trapper. Now I have to say it too. So I do, and the pair answer in unison with a resounding, and certainly not surprising, “No, nope, unh-uh, never get tired of hearing that.” “It’s always such a surprise,” Kim adds.

“One time when I was at Circuit Playhouse, Grayson Smith — the guy who cleans carpets for all of the theaters — he made me this paper flower. And he gave it to me and said, ‘You look vurry, vurry purdy t’night.’ You can’t ever get tired of something like that.”

The bigger question, however, is will Memphis audiences get tired of Parallel Lives? It’s scarcely been a year-and-a-half since the show was last performed here and nearly 10 years after its multiple ACE Award-winning debut on HBO, and the original cast production frequently shows up in the TV Guide listings. This doesn’t seem to bother the girls at all.

“We really know these characters now,” Jenny says. “People are always coming up and saying things like, ‘I saw this show on HBO and liked you guys so much better,’ or ‘It was so different.’ Now there are so many new textures, so many deeper things happening.”

Not content to merely revive Parallel Lives again and again, Jenny and Kim have begun to work with a screenwriter friend in L.A. in order to develop an original script custom-tailored for their unique talents. They aren’t ready to dispense the details just yet, but they did hint that it might all take place in a bathroom. A vurry, vurry purdy bathroom, no doubt.

Parallel Lives is in the Little Theatre at Theatre Memphis through August 19th.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

It’s the Hair, Stupid

Something bad happened in the ’70s. Before the ’70s, we were
futurists. Even if we weren’t terribly progressive, our imaginations were
locked onto the idea of a perfect Tomorrowland. It was a gorgeously designed
art-deco future where dogs could talk and robots were our friends.

Between the open wound of Vietnam and the outrage of Watergate
Americans started looking backward to a time when they were mighty proud of
themselves. The energy crisis, gas lines, rising unemployment, disintegrating
nuclear families, and a crushing recession made the American ’70s a less-than-
comfortable temporal home, and it’s impossible to say whether innocence or
ignorance was the treasure we collectively sought as we turned our attentions
and energies en masse to entertainments set amid the sock-hopping 1950s. Maybe
we just needed to imagine a time when even a tattooed chain-fighting rock-and-
roll rebel could love his girl as much as he did his country. The mass-
mediated Eisenhower era was embraced by culture and counterculture alike.
Sha Na Na was Sid and Nancy’s favorite TV show. American
Graffiti
filled the big screen, Happy Days filled the little one,
and on Broadway Grease was the word.

But 29 years after its premiere, poor old Grease appears
toothless and weak. It seems more like an “every-hour-on-the-hour,”
red-white-and-blue amusement park revue than a Broadway musical. In fact, if
Playhouse on the Square moved its current production to Libertyland and
offered complimentary funnel cakes as part of the package, I’d give the
project a rave review. But as it stands, unless you are the kind of person who
gets all misty-eyed gazing upon your vast collection of “rockin'”
Coca-Cola miniatures, there are no two good things to say about it. Don’t even
get me started about how utterly wrong the New Wavey synthesizer is. And what
was the synthesizer set on? Harpsichord? We’ll skip that part.

James Hunter’s scenic design is so thoughtlessly by-the-numbers
it could have easily been rented from Six Flags Over Duluth. It samples the
same easy design tropes — checkerboard patterns being the most common
offender — that have become synonymous with retro burger barns like Johnny
Rockets and Rally’s. The result is a spiritually bankrupt performance space
signifying nothing but bland commercial replication. Where are all the chrome
toasters and round Fiberglass lampshades with blue starburts? Where are Harley
Earl’s once-ubiquitous rocket-inspired designs, plastic slip cushions, and
stores built to look like giant versions of the product they sell? Where are
the things that made ’50s design unique? Sadly enough, not at Playhouse on the
Square.

The single most unsettling design elements are enlarged black-
and-white portraits of Rydell High’s student body. Intended to bring back
memories of teary yearbook-signing parties in the old gymnasium, these creepy
photocopies look more like something lifted directly from the back of a milk
carton. Maybe somebody should scrawl “Stay sweet like you are”
across one in big loopy cursive to avoid any less savory connotations. The
lights (I guess there were lights) do nothing to help the audience follow the
action in this cluttered, patched-together script that has been staged in a
cluttered patched-together fashion.

And where was the grease, anyway? Grease is the anti-
Hair. It’s all about appearances, conformity, and trying to stand out
while fitting in. It’s about taming that mop on your head with a handful of
Brillcream. Yet as top T-bird Danny Zucco, Ben Hensley looked like a poster
boy for the Caucasian fro. Poor T-birds. You all look more like Ramones fans
after a forced scrubbing. Oh, and how about some crew cuts for the nerds?

Shorey Walker, the director and choreographer responsible for
such visual feasts as Chess and The Who’s Tommy, just couldn’t
put all the pieces together this time around. Somehow she missed the simple
fact that Grease is merely a doo-wop retooling of a Sigmund Romberg
operetta. Its charm resonates from the naive sincerity behind all the thinly
written play’s superficial romantic concerns. Winking, ham-fisted acting from
generally stunning performers like Kyle Barnette, Jo Lynne Palmer, Susan
Boyle, and Courtney Ell leads me to believe that much of the blame for this
lumbering, un-funny dud rests with the visiting director.

In an interview with Christopher Blank in The
Commercial Appeal Walker commented on the need to “keep things
real” in order to avoid comparisons to Circuit Playhouse’s campy
Zombie Prom. Priorities were obviously screwed from the git-go. Kitsch
is an inevitable byproduct of any successful ’50s resurrection because kitsch
is deadly serious stuff that wasn’t ever intended to be funny, funky, or
“collectible.” To avoid it is like avoiding the truth, and that’s
the big problem with this show. Nothing is true. It’s a reflection of a
reflection of a snapshot of something that never existed. How about a little
John Hughes-style life-or-death desperation from these teens who want only to
belong somewhere? How about the smell of popcorn at the drive-in movies? How
about something we can latch onto; something that, regardless of when you were
born, triggers emotions you haven’t felt since you carved your girlfriend’s
name in a desk all those years ago? That’s what Grease, another boomer-
made bid for innocence and eternal youth, is for, after all. That’s how you
use it.

Grease is at Playhouse on the Square through August 12th.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Dancing In a Cage

Vacant (Facing the Tower), a joint effort between Project: Motion and Loop Productions, played to a full house Saturday night. The theater was so full, in fact, that patrons crowded together, curling up on the stairs and squatting near the stage. At the show’s start, the lights came up to reveal the entire cast quietly holding eggs. One dancer violently threw her egg to the ground, strongly suggesting we were in for an evening of angry, feminist propaganda. It was a fantastic sleight of hand by choreographer Louisa Koeppel as nothing could have been further from the truth. The piece ended with the exact same image, only the eggs had been replaced with white rubber balls which, much to the audience’s surprise, bounced into the crowd en masse. This kind of whimsy infused an otherwise predictable meditation on the nature of beauty with liberating lightness.

Using music ranging from recordings of Johnny Rotten to a live a cappella version of the gospel standard “I’ll Fly Away,” Vacant (Facing the Tower) told the story of a nightingale that fell asleep and became entangled in vines. After freeing herself the terrified bird never allowed herself to sleep again. Instead she kept awake by singing through the night. Koeppel, a dancer who, when she errs, tends to err on the side of beauty, made a star turn as the besieged nightingale. With the innocence of a child performing a magic show for doting parents, she flapped her wings and spun gracefully about the set, while the chorus questioned our collective ideas about what it means to be beautiful. The set, designed by Su Harruff, was a dazzling copper cage.

Some of That Jazz

Sadly enough, Warren Leight’s award-winning play Sideman, a show deserving a much longer run, closed this past weekend at Playhouse on the Square. The show chronicles the lives of four jazz players after Elvis Presley arrived on the scene with his rock-and-roll song-bag and robbed them all of their livelihood. But Sideman is not about the decline of jazz. Sideman is a tragedy along the lines of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. It is a tragedy of obscurity and neglect about a musician, who, obsessed with his music to the exclusion of all else, somnambulates through life leaving random bits of useless beauty here and there along the way.

Michael Detroit, in his strongest performance to date, was an ideal choice for Gene Glimmer, a trumpet player of tremendous sensitivity and total obliviousness. He blunders through his character’s rocky life unaware that his family is disintegrating. Guy Olivieri was equally effective as the narrator, Clifford Glimmer, and captured both the humor and frustration of a child forced by circumstance to raise his own parents. Lisa McCormick and Carla McDonald turned in a pair of noteworthy performances as, respectively, Clifford’s alcoholic wife and a sassy-but-wise waitress who can’t say no. Jonathon Lamer, Kyle W. Barnette, and Jason Craig brought to life a trio of brass players caught up in the midnight world of booze, dope, and groove. Craig, a performer who too easily sails over the top, was the portrait of restraint this time around, and his depiction of a gentle, world-wise junky was, without doubt, the evening’s high point.

Robots and Rhyme

The single most maddening thing about Memphis theater is its sick determination to play by the rules at every level. Generally speaking, and with a handful of notable exceptions, local fringe groups make low-budget versions of what could easily be main-stage productions. Where are the angry artists? Where are the eager youngsters determined to inform, enlighten, and entertain us in ways we have not yet imagined? Where is the spirit of reckless innovation that a youthful Tennessee Williams once described as “something wild”? I’ll tell you where it is. It’s buried somewhere in the Flyer‘s After Dark listings. It’s masquerading as a band called AUTOMUSIC.

Taking their musical cues from German groups like Kraftwerk, the band responsible for songs like “Pocket Calculator” and “Autobahn,” AUTOMUSIC wants to make us all aware of our robot nature. They want us to see that all humans are robots but not all robots are human. Their immensely fun and eminently portable show is the most purely theatrical and visually exciting performance you are likely to encounter this side of Berlin, and if you don’t go see them you have only yourself to blame.

Except for some occasional synthesizer pecking, all of AUTOMUSIC’s music is prerecorded on video, and the digital sound is fantastic. Wonderful animations, with imagery that would make any Soviet propagandist worth his salt mine burst with pride, enhance this trio’s brilliantly stiff and mathematically precise choreography. They don old-fashioned hardhats, brandish tools, and chant, “My hammer goes tink, tink, tink when I work, my hammer goes tink tink tink.” That particular song, appropriately titled “The Industrial Worksong,” conjures images of old-school agitprop and concludes, “If you have a hammer and you work very hard you will get very far like me, you’ll help to make a productive state and a strong economy.” And how can anyone resist songs like “Everything Is For the Baby,” where the group declares, “What a stupid stupid baby it cannot do math at all its politics do not impress me inane, banal, obtuse baby”?

AUTOMUSIC may think they are just a band, but allow me to be the first critic to rave they’re the best theater in town.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Not So Swimmingly

No matter how strong a person is mentally and physically when they are young, old age will eventually rob them of their vitality. Or so Theatre Memphis’ latest reminds us.

Pride’s Crossing is based on the story of Mabel Tidings Bigelow, who at the age of 26 was not only the first woman to swim the English Channel from England to France but also set the world record for doing so.

When the play opens, Mabel is 90 and virtually alone. She can’t walk, she can’t see, she can’t hear. She lives in the converted stable of her parents’ old house with her housekeeper and the housekeeper’s son and is busy planning a party for the only one of her grandchildren who still visits her.

Time ebbs and flows from the present to memories of Mabel’s childhood in 1920s Boston, her teenage years, her marriage, and her famous swim. Leigh Ann Evans plays Mabel at all stages of her life and does each convincingly but is most talented as the arthritic curmudgeon.

Costume changes done on stage between scenes further revealed the talent of the actress. Evans sheds the years away easily by shucking off her bathrobe to reveal other costumes underneath.

Another stand-out is Jeff Bailey. His portrayal of Mabel’s club-footed, would-be suitor is humorous yet sympathetic, and as her true love and swim coach, he projects just the right amount of compassion and sensuality. Many of the members of the multitalented cast play more than one role and do so with aplomb.

But the entire production seems to struggle with obvious inadequacies in the script. Written by Tina Howe, whose previous work has twice been nominated for Tony Awards, Pride’s Crossing plods along with clichés and limp language. Characters repeatedly answer questions with “I don’t want to talk about it,” deferring necessary plot exposition to flashbacks and slowing the pace of the piece.

In addition, Howe’s story is confusing in several places. Several lifelong friends suddenly appear in the last few scenes of the play, overturning the audience’s perception of Mabel’s character. Their Mabel is one the audience has never seen before.

In another scene, Mabel confronts her mother with the fact that the hours she spent swimming in the ocean were only so her mother would notice her. But if all she really wanted was her mother’s approval, why did she bother swimming at all? Her mother made perfectly clear the behavior she expected of a lady. In fact, it was her father who put the idea of swimming the Channel into her head. During a discussion of sailing he says that anyone can swim, even the dog. A real swim, he says, is the English Channel. It would seem Mabel swam the Channel for him, if anyone.

Well-known for dealing with issues of social class and human relationships, Howe had the perfect subject matter to make a statement about a liberated woman in an unliberated time. But instead, the play treads on dangerous ground by portraying a woman who must have been determined and liberated — she swam for hours a day leading up to her swim of the English Channel in 1928 — as weak and cowardly.

In the first scene, Mabel and her housekeeper have a discussion where they agree that men have all the fun. Later Mabel says, “If I had skin like yours, just think what I could have accomplished,” invalidating herself.

Instead, Mabel’s swimming of the English Channel is used more as a frame for the question of what kind of man a woman should marry. The play does not seek to ask whether a woman’s accomplishments can be enough to satisfy her or enough to let her stand on her own two feet –in Howe’s play, they obviously cannot. Mabel’s friends and family (and the audience dragged along with them) are more interested in her love life and how she chose her husband.

In the end, though, two women are left as foils for each other. One ran away with the man who stole her heart; the other did not, seemingly because her man was Jewish. The kicker is both women are miserable with their lives. The moral? Don’t get old.

Through June 3rd at Theatre Memphis.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

I’ll Melt With You

The sexually oppressed, nuclear-death-obsessed 1950s spawned countless bubblegum odes to forbidden love, teen angst, and horrible, horrible death. Morose romanticism ruled the jukebox, and lyrics like “I couldn’t stop, so I swerved to the right. I’ll never forget the sound that night. The cryin’ tires, the bustin’ glass. The painful scream that I heard last” (from “Last Kiss”) or “As they pulled him from the twisted wreck, with his dying breath they heard him say, ‘Tell Laura I love her'” (from “Tell Laura I Love Her”) filled the airwaves. If you can imagine the dreams of a young couple drifting off to sleep at the drive-in while a teenaged werewolf howls from the giant silver screen and one of these sad and sappy songs plays on a tinny AM radio, then you can easily imagine Circuit Playhouse’s production of Zombie Prom. It’s a giddy, kitschy ode to all things retro and radioactive.

Director Michael Duggan has turned Zombie Prom into an exercise in glorious excess. There is so much going on at any one time there is no way to catch it all. The show begins, for all practical purposes, in the lobby shortly after patrons pick up their tickets and walk through a silver tinsel curtain into a nattily decorated ball room. Shimmering foil letters welcome the audience to a magical “evening of miracles and molecules.” Patrons are then met, inspected, and fumigated by ominous silent ushers in bulky white radiation suits before they are admitted into the auditorium. The silly device is old hat to be sure and almost a direct rip-off of the original London production of The Rocky Horror Show, but it fits Zombie Prom like a blue rubber glove.

I don’t think I’ll be giving anything away by revealing a bit of the storyline. It is, after all, an old, time-honored plot: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy jumps into a nuclear reactor and becomes a glowing, green-eyed zombie who just wants to get his diploma, marry his girlfriend, and live happily ever after. Toss in a stern high school principal to provide just a modicum of prefabricated conflict and a sleazy tabloid journalist with a big last-minute secret to reveal, and that’s pretty much all there is to it. The pace is breakneck and the songs are clever and catchy. In a time when cumbersome, self-important operas have come to dominate the stage, this retro rocket from the crypt is a real blast of fresh air.

Dan Gingert starts out a bit awkwardly as Jonny, a leather-jacket-sporting greaser so rebellious that he even removed the “h” from his name. He shuffles around the stage like he would rather be somewhere else, striking tentative poses which scream out, “Gotta-go-baffroom.” But the knock-kneed navel-gazing ends once Jonny becomes zombified. Gingert quite literally comes alive and exudes unimaginable sweetness while he rocks the house.

With her pretty pouting and squeaky but irresistible voice, Courtney Ell is nothing short of stunning as the lovestruck Toffee. She delivers even her most ludicrous lines with sincerity and supreme conviction. Her song, “Jonny, Don’t Go to the Nuclear Plant,” is so energetic and engaging that it’s next to impossible not to sing along at the top of your lungs. Resist the urge though. You won’t want to miss a single syllable. Neither will you want to miss the synchronized antics of the chorus as they dance about in safety goggles and lab coats providing perfect three-point harmony.

Sally Kroeker’s Principal Strict is perfection in a hobble-skirt. Stomping about with her metal ruler in hand and a mouthful of platitudes, she is every student’s nightmare. On the other hand, there is something mighty sexy about discipline, and the vertically blessed Ms. Kroeker seems to know it. An intensely comic seduction scene between Principal Strict and scandal-sheet editor Eddie Flagrante (played to the seedy teeth by Kent Fleshman) appears to be the most fun two actors have ever had on any stage, anywhere, at any time. And the fun is infectious.

I would be remiss not to single out and praise Rebecca Sederbaum, Raine Hicks, Kayce Matthews, Arlyn Mick, Jordan Nichols, and Cary Vaughn, who play the students at Enrico Fermi High. This chorus never fades into the background, and thanks to Michael Duggan’s supersized direction and Jay Rapp’s stellar choreography, every performer has his or her scenery-chewing moment in the spotlight.

Zombie Prom isn’t particularly original. Off-kilter musical comedies sending up 1950s-style drive-in horror movies became rather commonplace in the latter half of the 20th century. Richard O’Brien’s glammed-out, deliciously perverse Rocky Horror Show started it all back in 1973, and the subtler, but no less perverse Little Shop of Horrors made its bloody, musical mark in the ’80s. While it is not nearly as subversive as its aforementioned predecessors, Zombie Prom is no less destined for, or deserving of, cult status.

Through June 17th

Ho, Ho, Horrorshow

I know it’s not the critic’s place to solicit funding, but somebody really does need to give Our Own Voice Theatre Company a lot of money so they can afford to run their shows for at least a month. One weekend just isn’t enough time for them to build the regular audience they deserve. It’s frustrating for a critic to sit down and write a glowing review of a show that has already ended, especially when it’s a show he knows nobody saw. But such is life for this ephemeral troupe, which has too often been pigeonholed as nothing more than an outlet for the mentally disadvantaged.

Against all odds, this group, which is made up of a fistful of local theater artists working hand in hand with mental-healthcare consumers, continues to produce the most challenging, innovative theater in Memphis. I’d go so far as to say they might be the most interesting performance troupe in the South, and on a good day I’d even say they were the most consistently surprising, entertaining, and thought-provoking group working outside of Chicago. What they lack in terms of spit and polish is more than compensated for in cleverness and raw courage.

Our Own Voice recently staged Spurt of Blood, the seminal, if never-performed, prototype for Antonin Artaud’s often misunderstood Theatre of Cruelty. Those who missed it missed not the best but certainly the most exciting theatrical event of the year. Using puppets ranging in size from the standard sock to colossal cardboard constructions with exploding breasts, bits of rubble, broken toys, and scrap fabric, Our Own Voice served up a very funny, sometimes startling visual feast. They successfully presented the collision of stars, battles in the heavens, full-scale apocalypse, armies of cockroaches, and a sweet teenage tale of forbidden love to boot. Brilliant and beautiful, hysterical and unnerving, Spurt of Blood was everything it needed to be and more. E.E. Cummings’ Santa Claus, with Bill Baker as Death and Andy Diggs as a somewhat serious incarnation of that jolly fat elf, made a fine companion piece for Spurt of Blood. This overwrought bit of surrealist drama was like a nightmarish Warner Bros. cartoon before the most whacked-out feature you can imagine.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Catawampus

I wouldn’t help but overhear an elderly lady seated behind me, since she
was forcefully projecting her full, drawling baritone with more gusto than
your average actor. “It must mean something,” she declared with
winsome disdain and fragile finality, adding, “I hope I get it.”

The woman and her friend were discussing the slickly designed
deco set for Playhouse on the Square’s odd, off-kilter take on Hay
Fever
. Noel Coward must have been busting a gut in his grave since his
superficial-by-design peanut-butter parfait of a play is anything but
meaningful. As Sorrel, the bratty young bohemian, says somewhere in Act Two,
“We don’t, any of us, ever mean anything.” But you can’t really
fault the lady for assuming that any set which calls as much attention to
itself as this one does must contain some sort of hidden message. The colorful
and finely executed backdrop catches the eye but not the imagination, and the
chunky furnishings and odd but innocuous objects of art fade into the
woodwork. The smart, white deco screens that make up the set’s walls are dandy
indeed, each crowned with a green dot the exact color and shape of a dried
wasabi pea. But even as attractive as they are, they aren’t worth wondering
over for very long. What sets this extra-artificial environment apart is that
the stage is built on a ridiculously steep angle. It’s more like a skateboard
ramp than a stage. The furnishings — sofa, chairs, and baby grand, each
shimmed up to square with a pile of books — all stay put, it seems, out of
sheer force of will. It is a world fallen horribly out of balance and perhaps
more appropriate for bringing to life the absurd imaginings of Eugene Ionesco
than those of the merely whimsical Coward. Above all, it appears to be deeply
meaningful, and yet it is not. It is the principal sight gag in the giddy
parade of sight gags which make up this hammy, fast-paced, and generally
delightful production.

Hay Fever‘s premise is so sketchy one would swear it had
been written by committee, though the script does gain a bit of complexity by
the sheer lengths to which its already thin plot is stretched. Each of the
four egomaniacal members of the Bliss household has, unbeknownst to the other,
invited a potential romantic interest to come and stay for the weekend. Once
the guests arrive, the various family members, who delight in the sheer
meanness of playing overly theatrical head games, begin a process of wooing
that might very well be considered harassment by modern standards. And then
they all switch partners and woo some more until the guests have no choice but
to run for their lives. No doubt the revelers from Richard O’Brien’s Rocky
Horror Show
, as perverse and extreme as they are, take their cues from
Coward’s Bliss family, which at times appears to be from another (sexually
dysfunctional) planet.

Ann Marie Hall plays Judith Bliss, the aging actress, earth
mother, and flirty-now/icy-later seductress-like a woman who really, really,
really wants to thank the academy. No gag spared, no scenery left unchewed.
Though she is perhaps overshadowed by the set and certainly informed by Carol
Burnett’s Nora Desmond, Bliss is Hall’s most boldly drawn character since
As Bees in Honey Drown, and except for a few strained moments it is an
absolute delight.

Guy Oliveri, as Simon Bliss, scampers about the stage like a
helium-filled gibbon. Gravity is meaningless, and his use of furniture in lieu
of stairs gives the play an edgy Escher-like vibe. Nora Ottley Stillman is a
bit more commonplace but no less effective as Simon’s sister Sorel. While Dave
Landis’ take on the family patriarch is loud and less nuanced than it could be
he gets the job done well, and the stylized posturing of Renee Davis as vapid
flapper Jackie Coryton strikes a perfect balance between overacting and
understatement. It’s as if she is constantly posing to have her portrait
painted on a cola tin. As Carla, the dresser turned housekeeper, Karin Hill
comes off like a limey Ann B. Davis.

The costumes are all garish takes on flapper-era chic and
painstakingly detailed. Kim Justice, as Myra, who may be the closest thing the
play has to a conscience, is so done up in spangles and spit-curls she looks
as if she might shatter like an antique porcelain doll if you even looked at
her harshly. It makes her foot-stomping tantrums that much more
satisfying.

Director John Fagan has created giddy choreography for every
moment of Hay Fever and set a breakneck tempo for the show. It’s the
kind of relentless romp you seldom see anywhere other than in a Marx Brothers
film, and it’s tasty. But a jot less whimsy and a little more work on
establishing relationships could have made it even better. n

Hay Fever at Playhouse on the Square through May 20th.

Diary Of a Madman

When Spurt of Blood opens at TheatreWorks on a double bill
with E.E. Cummings’ Santa Claus Friday, May 11th, Memphians will have
an incredibly rare opportunity to see a work by the 20th century’s most
significant yet least performed dramatic artist. Plagued by mental illness,
poet, playwright, and theorist Antonin Artaud spent his entire life in and out
of asylums. It is only fitting that Our Own Voice Theatre Company, an
organization dedicated to the creation and performance of original dramatic
material by mental health-care consumers, would choose to mount Spurt of
Blood
, Artaud’s seemingly unstageable combination of ritual and
poetry.

Over the past decade, this ridiculously unappreciated group has,
under the guiding hand of artistic director Bill Baker, applied the thinking
of progressive theorists like Bertolt Brecht and Augusto Boal to create
original works such as the screamingly funny send-up of the local theater
community Ephemera, the bizarre yet poignant This Is Not An
Outlet
, and the only rock opera in existence that really rocks
Supergroups A+. In short (and in spite of the group’s perennial lack of
trained actors), Our Own Voice makes the most consistently innovative,
interesting, and complex theater in Memphis.

The foundations of Artaud’s theories are really quite simple, if,
in the end, their application seems close to impossible. “It has not been
definitively proved,” he wrote in his book The Theatre and its
Double
, “that the language of words is the best possible language.
And it seems that on the stage, which is above all a space to fill and a place
where something happens, the language of words may have to give way before a
language of signs whose objective aspect is the one that has the most
immediate impact on us.” The goal was to create “a directly
communicative language”: aural and visual pheromones, if you will. He
believed that the world was diseased and, as a result, humanity was diseased.
His Theatre of Cruelty, which is not so much cruel as it is jarring to the
senses, is, holistically speaking, the great panacea. Informed by the art of
the Mannerists, who often lumped dozens of disparate subjects and actions into
their intensely symbolic paintings, Artaud’s vision for the theater was not
entirely unlike hypnotism. It was designed to possess the audience and control
them utterly — but for their own good. This aspect of Artaud’s work led
British innovator and one-time Artaudian advocate Peter Brook to claim that
the Theatre of Cruelty was, at its core, flawed by fascism. By Brook’s
achingly liberal definition, a roller-coaster ride would likewise be a fascist
event.

Santa Claus (Spurt of Blood) at TheatreWorks May 11th-
13th.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Inklings

“It must not be supposed that I am in any sense putting forward the imagination as the organ of truth. We are not talking of truth, but of meaning: meaning which is the antecedent condition of both truth and falsehood, whose antithesis is not error but nonsense. I am a rationalist. For me, reason is the natural organ of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning. Imagination, producing new metaphors or revivifying old, is not the cause of truth, but its condition. It is, I confess, undeniable that such a view indirectly implies a kind of truth or rightness in the imagination itself.”

— C.S. Lewis

The great Christian apologist and noted fantasy writer Clive Staples Lewis was certainly no stranger to the concept of death. When he was only 8 years old he lost his mother to cancer. Within a year he would also lose his uncle and his grandfather. As an officer in the British infantry during WWI he watched his fellow soldiers go down in the heat of battle, a best friend and former roommate among them.

It’s not at all surprising, given his lifelong proximity to death, that the theme of resurrection is so abundant in Lewis’ fiction. In fact, The Magician’s Nephew is, in the most metaphoric sense possible, an autobiography of the writer’s secret soul. It tells the story of a young man who journeys into a magical kingdom hoping to find a golden apple that will save his dying mother. No doubt, Lewis wished he could have somehow gone back in time and done the same. The Magician’s Nephew also tells the story of how Narnia, Lewis’ fantastical country filled with elves, sprites, talking lions, and deep magic, was created. Shadowlands, which plays at Germantown Community Theatre through May 6th, shows how in real life Lewis created his own, less exciting world in order to avoid the perils of emotional attachment. It focuses on Lewis’ strange love affair with American divorcée Joy Davidman, who died of bone cancer only three years after their secret marriage. It is a simple, straightforward play entirely bereft of razzmatazz. And yet, in its own unassuming way, it’s as moving a piece of theater as you are likely to find.

In The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, the first book in the Narnia series, a group of children discover an alternate universe while playing a game of hide-and-seek. In Shadowlands, Lewis, an avowed bachelor, discovers that he has been playing this same game for the better part of his life. He has cloistered himself in a world of literature and religious academia, allowing himself only the company of the curmudgeonly “Inklings,” a group of fellow wits who took as much pleasure in debating theology as they did in swilling beer and telling naughty stories. All the while, Lewis, using intellect alone, has been seeking the love of an elusive and seemingly capricious God. When a bright, attractive, and down-on-her-luck American divorcée stumbles into his life, Lewis, against his better judgment, experiences something of an emotional resurrection.

Though he was born in Belfast, Ireland, C.S. Lewis was almost a caricature of the stodgy comfort-seeking British intellectual. His long-toothed “hrum-hrooming” speech was so very distinctive that friend and fellow fantasy writer J.R.R. Tolkien adopted it for the character of Treebeard in his epic Lord of the Rings trilogy. Former GCT executive director Keith Salter, who plays Lewis in Germantown’s Shadowlands, makes no attempt to mimic his character’s famed vocal tics. In fact, he makes no effort whatsoever to even do a British dialect. And that’s more than likely a good thing. Dialects can be tricky, and a poorly executed accent is a terrible distraction for the audience. It’s far better to focus on honesty and intent. Wisely, Jack Kendall, who plays Lewis’ brother Warnie, does the same. Unfortunately, many of the remaining cast members have not followed Salter’s lead and have chosen to use a British accent. Even if they were proficient in this, which they are not, it would create problems with continuity within the play. As it stands, those who insist on using the sloppy dialects which don’t sound like any language spoken on the planet Earth, significantly diminish the efforts of their fellow actors and the effects of an otherwise solid production.

Salter is positively charming as Lewis. He finds a great deal of humanity and almost as much humor in his character’s utter emotional ineptitude. The anger he expresses toward a God he loves and trusts but cannot begin to understand manifests itself like a swift kick in the groin. Salter is careful not to ever allow his Lewis to become too anti-God. Though he may have been flummoxed by the Almighty’s mysterious movings, and though the script suggests that God is, perhaps, an enemy to man, the Christian writer’s faith never once faltered. Rightly, Salter’s most furiously delivered lines, which are taken almost directly from an essay titled Grief Observed, are at most the complaints of a child who cannot understand his parents’ punishments. Tracie Hansom is no less moving as Lewis’ beloved wife Joy. She is heart-breakingly understated in a role that could just as easily have been rendered as an overwrought pity party. The genuine surprise she expresses when she discovers that she can hold her own among England’s more caustic wits is priceless, and when the character grows ill, the actress chooses to display strength over frailty.

Director Joey Watson has done a fine job steering his actors through an extremely delicate script. It’s too bad he couldn’t get his actors to all speak the same language.

Shawdowlands at the Germantown Community Theatre through May 6th.