Tag: Feminist Drama

William Shakespeare’s Richard III—8 June 2024

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Me with the Richard III poster at the Globe

As part of a Literary London study abroad course on crime and justice in British literature, I assigned William Shakespeare’s Richard III. It was a marvelous bit of serendipity that Shakespeare’s Globe was putting on that very show while we visited London. Even before the Globe posted their summer 2024 season, I knew we would visit the recreated theatre where Shakespeare’s plays debuted—but getting to see a world class production of a play we are studying in the theatrical setting the Bard would have known was an amazing educational opportunity.

The Globe’s production, directed by Elle While, was absolutely amazing. Michelle Terry played a Richard who was exceptionally funny—I don’t think my students realized from reading the play how witty and clever Richard actually is—while also being casual, energetic, conspiratorial, and irrationally unhinged at the requisite moments. She dominated the stage space, even for being a relatively smallish person, and drew eyes to her wherever she was on stage at any given moment. One element of her performance that especially stood out was the crowd work. The same was true of Helen Schlesinger, who masterfully played a city-trader style Buckingham. Between Terry and Schlesinger, they effortlessly engaged with the groundlings standing near the stage—from the time they noticed a man who had nodded off while leaning on the stage to the time when Schlesinger came down into the crowd and took someone’s beer. For modern audiences, trained by contemporary theatre conventions to sit silently and observe, rather than participate, this kind of crowd work gives a taste of what the theatre must have been like in 1593(ish) when the play was first performed.

The Globe theatre stage for Richard III

Stylistically, the play had an interesting blend of modernization and traditional elements, which drew out aesthetic and thematic elements. On the thematic level, one of the most obvious modernizations was the incorporation of direct references to Donald Trump. This included added dialogue, like Richard quoting the infamous Access Hollywood tape as part of his self-aggrandizement, and Richard’s supporters wearing red hats during one portion of the play.

On the visual level, there were blended costumes, with some characters having more traditionally Elizabethan inflected costumes and some having entirely modern costumes. Rivers (Em Thane) and Grey (Tanika Yearwood), for instance, were clothed in ruffs, doublet, and knee breeches, but wore modern sneakers. However, when Thane transitioned from Rivers to the Commissioner, she put on a modern British police commissioner’s uniform. Richmond (Sam Crerar) was costumed in boots, ripped jeans, a multi-colored shirt, and a worn brown leather bomber jacket with red rose patches on it. Very much a modern look. And for Richard, there was a blending, including an initial costume of black doublet, black jeans, and black cowboy boots. But this was replaced variously with white pleated shirt, black jeans, and gold boots; with a green feathered doublet and sculpted chest piece (which may have been sculpted in such a way as to suggest Richard’s scoliosis); or with an almost entirely gold royal ensemble.

Speaking of Richard’s scoliosis, this has been one of the controversies surrounding this play—that Terry is not a disabled actor, but was cast in the role of Richard, which is one of the most famous disabled characters in all of theatre. I’m not going to delve too deep into this controversy, though here are some links to articles about it:

One point of potential controversy that did strike me, however, was the choice of who was cast as Richmond. Crerar is a great actor and there was nothing inherently problematic about his performance as Richmond—on the contrary, he was quite good, as he was in his other role as Catesby. However, he is the only cast member who presents as male (though Crerar uses both male and gender neutral pronouns). Everyone else in the cast presents as female, and so one might be forgiven for reading the casting choice as reflecting the toppling of the tyrannical female (playing at being male) by the male as being some kind of implicit endorsement of cis-het patriarchy. I doubt that was an intended element of the play, but the triumphant defeat of a female Richard by a male Richmond could be read as signaling support for traditional gender hierarchies. And the glorious defeat of the female coded body “pretending” to be male, even using prosthetics (i.e., Terry’s chest plate) to appear more male may, without too much stretching, be read as the destruction of a transman by a “real” man. Again, I don’t think the production team purposefully sought out these thematics, but I do find troubling the choice of casting the single male-presenting member of the cast as Richard.

Video review of Shakespeare’s Richard III by Andi Stout and I

The Good Body, by Eve Ensler—17 May 2024

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Eve Ensler’s The Good Body Program

Sock & Buskin’s recent charity performance of Eve Ensler’s The Good Body—benefiting Centre Safe—was a great performance of a generally powerful play about the psychological and physical difficulties women experience in their own bodies. Stephanie Whitesell’s directorial debut was a triumph, and the performers were each amazing.

Ensler’s most famous play is almost without a doubt The Vagina Monologues, but The Good Body expands the focus to deal with women’s general insecurities about their bodies—particularly as far as weight/stomachs are concerned, but also dealing with other common “trouble” areas like breasts, thighs/butts, and, yes, vaginas. Eve (the character, who may or may not genuinely reflect the feelings and experiences of the author—though the character seems at least relatively autobiographical) is the thread that holds the play together, as her experiences quilt together monologues by a number of other women, discussing their own experiences. These experiences are almost universally either negative or complex, but leaning towards the negative. There’s one important exception that I’ll discuss in the next paragraph. The play does deal with sexual violence, as well as surgery and other issues that may be difficult for some audience members. But overall, it is an extremely powerful exploration of the negative affect often encoded in women’s experiences of their own bodies as “not good enough.” (And, to be fair, men experience similar anxieties, though often not as pronouncedly as women. And this is to say nothing of trans people, or LGBT people more generally, whose bodies are significantly policed in different but related ways).

The one major issue I have with Ensler’s play is that the only characters we meet who are happy with their bodies are from the Global South, and the only characters we meet from the Global South are happy with their bodies. Eve meets a woman in East Africa (Kenya, if I remember correctly) who says she loves her body because it’s hers. And she meets a woman from India who is proud of being fat and who goes to the gym not to become thin but simply to get more energy. By contrast, all of the women from the US and Europe (i.e., the Global North) are discontented with their bodies, often seeking to alter them through surgery, excessive workouts, starvation diets, etc. This strikes me as a problematic form of orientalism, in which “wisdom” or the “truth” is vested in the ethnic Other, who is perceived as somehow more wise, intuitive, aligned with nature, etc. It’s a problematic trope because it exoticizes people from the Global South.

The Good Body Set

That being said, the performance by the Sock & Buskin cast was excellent. The role of Eve was largely split between Sandy Adams and Veronica Rosenberger, with Adams playing the more active part and Rosenberger generally serving the narrator function. Whenever Eve needed to interact with someone or perform a physical activity like working out, Adams generally played that role—even if Rosenberger was speaking. This pairing worked really well, particularly since Adams was seated stage left and Rosenberger stage right, so the two women bookended the other cast members.

In the middle seat was Jessica Karp, who played a large number of parts, and did a wonderful job bringing to each character her own distinct personality, style, and voice. Her depiction of Helen Gurley Brown (editor of Cosmo) was quite different from her performance of the Puerto Rican woman embarrassed by her “spread,” and the Kenyan anti-female genital mutilation activist who was happy with her body. Karp did a great job showing each part she played as a different person, each fully developed and interesting in her own right.

Playing a smaller number of parts, but having one major monologue was Michelle Rodino-Colocino. While she did play multiple roles, they were generally smaller roles, apart from the lengthy monologue by Eve’s Italian friend who had an ambivalent relationship with her breasts. This is a complex, difficult monologue, with contradictory emotions, sexual abuse (which the character doesn’t necessarily seem to register as sexual abuse), and major emotional impact. And Rodino-Colocino brought those challenging emotions to the forefront effectively.

The final performer was Jackie Gianico, who played several speaking roles, but also did an incredible job performing silent roles—something I’m always impressed by. With her speaking roles, Gianico was extremely funny, especially as the rebellions “fat girl” in the health spa/“fat camp.” But Gianico also often supported the monologues of other characters through mime or silent performance. For instance, during Karp’s monologue as Helen, Gianico was the model for a Cosmo Christmas shoot, and she struck various modeling poses wearing a Santa jacket. But when Helen offers Eve edamame, Gianico’s model put out her hand to get some as well. Helen gave her a single piece of edamame, which Gianico then spent the remainder of Helen’s monologue slowly eating in tiny, tiny bites. I find the stage business of those who aren’t the center of attention to be a really fascinating component of theatre, and Gianico did this to perfection.

My video review of Eve Ensler’s The Good Body, performed by Sock & Buskin

The Final Rose, by Stefanie Austin—10 Feb. 2024

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The program of The Final Rose

It’s always a treat seeing Sock & Buskin perform, since the company consistently produces high quality community theatre for central PA. Seeing their production of Stefanie Austin’s The Final Rose was particularly interesting for me, because—by way of full disclosure—I participated in a late stage readthrough of the script and provided feedback on how Stefanie could revise it heading into the production itself. But even without that background, the production, directed by Henry Morello, was a hilarious evening.

The Final Rose is set during the taping of the last episode of The Catch, a Bachelor-style dating show, in which Brad Masters will have to choose between Southern girl-next-door Kelly Dixon and upper-class socialite Miranda Carter. The problem is that, instead of loving either of them, Brad has fallen in love with the harried production manager Rebecca Cook. Their affair threatens to derail the show and Rebecca’s career. At the same time, Rebecca’s assistant Carrie Reynolds keeps finding notes threatening to bomb the show if it isn’t cancelled. Plus, the sleazy host Wes Gold is having his own affair with Miranda, while also hitting on Brad’s mom Colleen—between eating peanut butter sandwich after peanut butter sandwich. When it’s discovered that Miranda has been murdered, detective Robin and her daughter Olivia (it was take-your-daughter-to-work day at the police station) turn to the audience for help finding the killer. In the interval, the characters circulated around the tables to answer questions about their possible role in the killing and any possible motives. The last portion of the show features the revelation of the killer, which I won’t spoil.

The set of The Final Rose

As always with Sock & Buskin, the acting in this show was very good across the board. This is nothing less than I would expect with some veteran S&B actors, like Stefanie Austin (playing Rebecca), David Smith (Wes Gold), and Sela Plummer (Kelly). Of the various new S&B actors, I was particularly impressed by Jace Beaton, who perfectly evoked the sarcastic, dark, charmingly menacing Carrie, constantly critiquing the show’s anti-feminist ethos, joking about poisoning the seedy host of the show, and snickering at the absurd lengths the contestants go to to get Brad’s (Connor Heimerman) attention. Heimerman’s Brad was an interesting take on the character. Less of the suave, charming lady’s man, Heimerman gave us a more genuinely nice Brad, seeking actual love and quite uncomfortable with the dating show’s structure of dating, assessing, and disposing of people. This presentation made Brad as a human being more admirable that they typical dating show bachelor comes across, which helped invest the audience more in his relationship with Rebecca.

But when it comes to acting, I would be entirely remiss if I didn’t mention the perhaps surprising star of the show, J. Lance Wilkinson’s Bob, the camera operator. I’ve seen Wilkinson in other shows, so I already knew he’s a great performer. But, based on the script itself, Bob is a virtual non-entity. He has no actual lines, and even when Wilkinson circulated around the tables to answer audience questions, he mimed and gestured rather than speaking. Despite the complete absence of dialogue, Wilkinson’s performance was so hilarious, so engaging, and so effective that he was clearly one of the most popular characters. On the night I saw the play, there were several people who explicitly cheered for Bob when, for instance, he stood and applauded Carrie’s feminist critique of The Catch late in the show.

My video review of The Final Rose

Bonnets: How Ladies of Good Breeding are Induced to Murder, by Jen Silverman—1 Dec. 2023

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The cover of the program for Bonnets

Jen Silverman’s Bonnets: How Ladies of Good Breeding are Induced to Murder was written as part of a Big Ten initiative to produce more plays by women and with strong roles for college age female actors. This is a really good initiative, not only for getting the work of more female playwrights on stages, but also because it helps train women in university theatre programs by giving them material focused on women’s experiences. The production by Penn State’s theatre program, directed by Jenny Lamb, was extremely good.

Silverman’s play is a trans-historical history play, which is a genre I love anyway. The play is divided between three different eras: the Paris of Louis XIV, Puritan colonial Massachusetts, and Victorian England. In each of these three scenarios, women find their choices constrained and eventually rebel against the forces that restrain their freedom to be themselves and to pursue what they want in the world. In Paris, Claire (Ceci Garcia) has never had a satisfactory sexual experience with her husband and has never had a lover, so she asks her sister-in-law Valerie (Lucy Snyder) to give Claire her lover Laurent (Justin Roldán) rather than poisoning him—which Valerie is apparently notorious for doing. Claire even agrees to poison him after sleeping with him, but then discovers that she likes him and doesn’t want to poison him. In the Victorian scene, Webster (Malcolm MacKenzie) is the harried and degraded maid of Mrs. Wolcott (Rafaela Torchia), who constantly berates and insults her. Webster is in love with Georgette (Drake Arielle), Mrs. Wolcott’s daughter, but can’t say anything because of both Victorian sexual mores and class hierarchies. And then in Puritan New England, Prudence (Sophie Nicholson) is having an affair with Daniel (Dylan Henderson), who can’t leave his wife Mistress Stone (Anna Farris). Prudence’s friend Fortitude (Lucy Martin) counsels her to simply obey the rules and behave properly, but Prudence accuses Mistress Stone of witchcraft to try and get her out of the way. Eventually, Prudence kills Daniel after he decides to abandon her and move to Boston, Webster kills Mrs. Wolcott for her continual insults and overwork, and Claire kills Valerie rather than poisoning Laurent. And all of this is watched over by God (Cassidy Brown), who experiences existential and moral doubts about the overall movement of the universe.

One aspect of the play that helps both develop the characters and move everything along is the blending of seemingly competing elements. Deep philosophical moments are interspersed with jokes, anachronistic references, moments of elation, and moments of depression. And the swirling mixture of these different tones creates a dynamic energy that helps move the show at a quick and arresting pace.

The set of Bonnets, with feminist, anarchist, and punk slogans and images

Aesthetically, I could see this show being done with straight historical costuming for the various time periods, but instead scene designer Vega Hernandez and costume designer Lauren Bretl created a riot grrl/punk inspired aesthetic, reflected in the background and clothing. The set was painted with feminist, anarchist, and punk slogans. The costumes were typified by ripped clothes, safety pins, torn fishnets, combat boots, and punk patches, generally with a historically inflected feel. For instance, Mrs. Wolcott’s outfit was decidedly steampunk, with the general shape of a Victorian dress, but a shorter dress and small leather corset with buckles rather than a true Victorian corset. The design of the production fit extremely well with the themes of women rebelling against systems that constrain them—and I personally found it very cool.

My video review of Jen Silverman’s Bonnets

The Duchess (of Malfi), by Zinnie Harris–28 May 2019

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The Duchess of Malfi was originally a Jacobean play by John Webster—one of the best early modern plays, in my opinion. But what Zinnie Harris has done with her new version is amazing. She has kept the dark, violent, misogynistic themes of the original, but updated it to feel fresh, contemporary, and even (perhaps surprisingly) empowering. The performance at Edinburgh’s Royal Lyceum Theatre, directed by Harris, was a fantastic example of making an old text relevant to the contemporary world, without sacrificing either Webster or Harris as distinct voices and perspectives.

IMG_20190528_191122.jpg
The set from the Royal Lyceum production of The Duchess.

Harris largely maintained the basic storyline from Webster’s version. The play begins with the widowed Duchess of Malfi ignoring her brothers’ advice and deciding to marry her steward Antonio in secret. The brothers—Ferdinand and the Cardinal—put their cynical henchman Bosola into the Duchess’ house as a spy to find out if she is entertaining any potential suitors, and when Bosola determines that she’s pregnant, Ferdinand loses his mind. He imprisons his sister and psychologically tortures her, including making her believe that Antonio and her son have been killed. Finally, on Ferdinand’s orders, Bosola murders the Duchess, but he is so touched by her purity and selflessness even at the point of death that he foregoes his cynical allegiance to the brothers and vows revenge. Antonio and Bosola agree to kill the Cardinal and Ferdinand, but during the assassination attempt, Antonio is accidentally killed and Bosola is grievously wounded.

Many of the changes Harris has made are cosmetic, though they effectively modernize the play. For instance, in Webster’s version Ferdinand shows the Duchess waxworks figures which he tells her are the corpses of Antonio and their son. But (as Harris said during the postshow talkback), that wouldn’t really work for modern audiences, so the substituted video projections of her family being shot. By projecting this image across the entire back wall, the show put the audience in the uncomfortable position of being shown the images used to torture the Duchess—we, in a sense, became the tortured. Similarly, Harris expands more on some of the minor characters, principally Julia and Delio, who are relatively minor characters in Webster’s version. Harris gives them each complex emotions and develops them as individuals, including Julia’s ambivalent relationship with the Cardinal, who is both her lover and her rapist.

One of the most significant and moving changes is that after their murders, the Duchess, her daughter, and her servant Cariola don’t leave the stage, but remain as ghostly presences haunting the living. This is a great embodiment of what is, in Webster, merely thematic. The Duchess, in particular continues to interact with people, largely on the level of whispering to them—like when she repeatedly disturbs the Cardinal by whispering “Murder.” Having these murdered characters on stage also provides a great way of staging the scene where Antonio has a significant conversation with an echo, with the specific words it repeats convincing him that the Duchess has been murdered. The echoes are performed by the Duchess, Cariola. The choice to keep these women on stage also helped produce the strange hopefulness of the end of the play—despite male violence and the attempts to limit the Duchess’ choice and sexual freedom, she continued to assert her power, even after death.

The premier run at the Royal Lyceum was fantastically performed, with excellent acting from everyone. Kirsty Stuart was a fantastic Duchess, vivacious and self-confident in the first portion, then stridently defiant as she tried to maintain her composure and dignity in prison. Ferdinand was played by Angus Miller, who did an excellent job portraying the incestuous obsession of Ferdinand for his sister, and the dark menacing insanity that eventually leads him to lose control entirely.

Adam Best’s Bosola was an interesting, dynamic portrayal, highlighting the complexity of the character. Bosola is a kind of chameleon, able to change his skin to blend with his surroundings. In his first appearance, Best’s Bosola was a shuffling, downtrodden mess, but as he became established in the Duchess’ household his entire demeanor changed, becoming more refined and standing straighter. However, Harris’ Bosola is somewhat less complex than Webster’s, which is one of the few issues I have with Harris’ version—though that probably reflects more that I find Webster’s Bosola one of the most interesting characters in all of drama. Harris has kept the misogynist diatribe against women wearing make up, and Bosola’s philosophy about loyalty. But one of his most important attributes in the Webster is that he follows the Cardinal and Ferdinand out of a cynical belief that all the world is corrupt, and therefore he must equally be corrupt to succeed. This is the belief that is shaken by the Duchess’ willingness to sacrifice her life with dignity, and for me it is a fundamental element of what makes Bosola so fascinating. But Harris has cut his early speech establishing the cynical philosophy that will motivate him throughout the first roughly 2/3 of the play. However, Best’s performance ensured that Bosola was still an amazingly complex character, particularly through his interactions with Cariola (Fletcher Mathers), who challenged his misogyny, his philosophy, and his whole outlook.

Top Girls, by Caryl Churchill–5 Apr. 2019

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Mad Cow Theatre’s production of Top Girls was the first Caryl Churchill play I’ve seen other than Cloud Nine, which I’ve seen twice. While Churchill is an amazingly influential playwright, in the US, Cloud Nine is almost certainly her most performed play (not without good reason) so it was great to see another of her works on stage.

Top Girls is an interesting pastiche play, with an ahistorical opening, then a major plotline carried out through fragmented scenes which come together to give a complex assessment of the kind of Thatcherite second wave feminism that identified women’s liberation with a woman at the head of a corporate board of directors (even if that meant that neoliberal capitalism went merrily along crushing millions of other women). The first scene brings together a set of historical/mythological women, including the Victorian era travel writer Isabella Bird, the 13th century Japanese imperial concubine Lady Nijo, a militant (and taciturn) woman taken from a Pieter Breughel painting named Dull Gret, the legendary 9th century Pope Joan, and the mythical Patient Griselda. These women congregate at a party for Marlene (a 1980s Thatcherite), who has just been promoted at the Top Girls employment agency. They talk about their various experiences with men, trying to determine their own lives, sexuality, violence, etc. throughout the meal.

Following this scene, all of the action takes place in the present (meaning the early 1980s). Marlene is shown in her office at the Top Girls employment agency, where she and her colleagues discuss the problems and possibilities of placing various women in different types of jobs. The related plot strand is her niece Angie, who detests her mother Joyce and yearns to run away to live with the wealthy, successful aunt she admires more than anyone else in the world. When Angie eventually does end up in Top Girls, having come unannounced to live with her aunt, Marlene is less than thrilled. The final scene flashes back a year to when Angie developed her fascination with Marlene. On a visit that Angie arranged without telling her mother, Marlene gives Angie a dress and recounts some of her travels in America and elsewhere. But Marlene and Joyce fight, rehashing the contemporary battles between labor and the emerging 1890s financial class. Marlene defends the monetarist position that anyone can succeed if they just work hard enough and have sufficient internal fortitude, while Joyce follows their father’s militant labor rhetoric about the importance of unions and working-class solidarity. During this argument, Marlene’s horrible secret is revealed, that not only has she given up real relationships with her sister and mother in the name of her career, Marlene also gave up her daughter Angie to be raised by Joyce so that she could pursue her professional ambitions.

The Mad Cow Theatre production, directed by Tony Simotes, did an excellent job staging a play that presents quite a few challenges. One of the most substantial problems is with the first scene, where the characters continually talk over one another—beginning lines before other characters have finished, having fully audible side conversations, and arguing, questioning, or challenging simultaneously. The scene definitely moves more like a real dinner party than with the somewhat artificial stage convention of dialogue where each character waits to speak until the others have stopped. What makes this scene difficult is that it seems almost as through it weren’t designed for an audience—we do lose so many individual lines in the clamor—and yet it works really well on stage. The Mad Cow performers made the scene’s naturalness (or at least the naturalness of the party dialogue) work to their advantage in giving us a complex scene where the work of deciphering individual points was somewhat less significant than the complexity of the whole.

Following the first scene, the play becomes more realistic, though the plot also becomes more fragmented as it switches back and forth between the Top Girls agency and Joyce and Angie’s home. At the interval, I wasn’t a big fan of the fragmentation, but as the two storylines came together in the second Act, the play really started to click. The interconnections between the sets of scenes/spaces made increasing sense, especially with the culmination in the final scene. Fundamentally, this is a play about Marlene and the human relationships one has to give up to climb to the top of the neoliberal heap. Cynthia Beckert gave a great performance as Marlene, combining a tricky combination of aloof professionalism with a very human vulnerability, especially in the final scene when Marlene and Joyce gets drunk and Marlene begins to recognize just how much she’s had to give up to become the person she has.



Cloud 9, by Caryl Churchill–3 Dec. 2018

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Caryl Churchill’s Cloud 9 is one of my favorite plays. It’s deep and complex, but also problematic (for reasons which will be explained more below). The first half is set in roughly 1880 in British colonial Africa. The act centers on Clive and his family, including his young son Edward (played by a female actor), his wife Betty (played by a male actor), his daughter Victoria (played by a doll), and their black African servant Joshua (played by a white actor). The act also includes Betty’s mother Maud, a neighbor from a nearby farm named Mrs. Saunders, the governess Ellen, and an explorer named Harry Bagley. The tension of the first act takes two major forms, first a conflict with the indigenous Africans—represented on stage only by Joshua, who continually emphasizes his devotion to the British and to Clive particularly—and second, that everyone is sleeping with someone (or multiple people, or wants to sleep with someone) they shouldn’t. Clive is sleeping with Mrs. Saunders, Betty wants to sleep with Harry, Ellen wants to sleep with Betty, and Harry is sleeping with Joshua and Edward, and tries to seduce both Betty and Clive. Combine this with a brilliant satirical send up of the colonial patriarch in Clive with his stupid self-assuredness and patronizing of everyone he considers inferior, and the first act is a joy to watch. I will discuss the second act in a bit, because it has a lot more problems, but basically it moves several of the characters—Edward, Victoria, and Betty—into the present, which when Churchill wrote to play was the early 1980s, and ages them just 25 years. They struggle with finding love, building stable relationships, exploring non-normative sexualities, and trying to be individuals.

Cloud 9 Set
The set of the WVU production of Cloud 9.

As is typical of WVU Theatre, the production, directed by Radhica Ganapathy, was excellent. The performances were strong without exception, and the show demonstrated WVU’s typical flair for balancing innovative style with a fidelity to the central thematic concerns of the play as written. Probably the best example of this balance comes in the set design for the first act. The set consisted of a tilted platform designed to look like a rock tile version of the Union flag, surrounded by a bunch of boulders suggesting human forms (see the set photo). There are some very distinct pieces—a torso, several legs, a splayed female body, a penis, etc.—decorated with thrust out pieces of rebar suggesting either ‘poison arrows’ or body hair, each of which gets a passing mention in the play.

The set in the second act is less distinct and innovative (though this is in keeping with the play’s second act, as we shall see more below). The act if set in a 1980s park, with advertisements for the Tate Modern gallery. The beautiful set pieces (those that remain on stage) are transformed into art works for a Tate exhibition entitled “Queering Africa.” Other than the advertisements for the exhibit, however, the set pieces are incidental and most of the action takes place in an open central area with two park benches on either side. The tilted Union flag platform becomes a park fountain and is the only truly unique set piece still important to the second act.

As for the acting, I really don’t have much to say about it because to performers were uniformly fantastic. They made excellent use of the stage space, which was especially impressive in the first act because the set pieces were so irregular. It is always a treat to see complex characters—and all of Churchill’s characters in Cloud 9 are complex—given their appropriate depth and dynamism. For instance, Edward (Haley Hizer) in act one is a mercurial role, alternating (sometimes rapidly) between childish petulance, defiant anger, haughty superiority, desperation for affection/approval, and lascivious sexuality. Hizer skillfully managed these transitions, shifting rapidly and convincingly between these emotions.

While the set and performances were absolutely top quality, Cloud 9 itself is a problematic play. It does a lot of fascinating thematic things, but it doesn’t always manage to do those fascinating things effectively. Act one is tight and well put together, with a coherent style and storyline. But then act two becomes a lot more fragmented. To a certain extent, this is intentional. But unfortunately, that doesn’t mean it works dramatically. The storyline itself has great potential, though I don’t find it as engaging as the first act. Victoria leaves her husband, Martin, and Edward is left by his partner, Gerry, and they both move in with Lin. The three become lovers of a sort, and they try to mind Victoria and Martin’s son (who never appears on stage) and Lin’s daughter, Cathy (played by the actor who played Clive in act one). Betty leaves Clive and tries to find herself through work and masturbation. Unfortunately, there just isn’t much that actually goes on in the act.

Part of the problem is stylistic. Churchill varies the style of performance in ways that feel more clumsy than purposeful. For instance, we get a series of monologues, particularly from Gerry (Liam Michael Holton) and Betty (Elise Rucker). Some of the later monologues are slightly intriguing because they are interrupted by figures from the first act, returning from colonial Africa. This is the fascinating aspect of Churchill’s postmodern temporal playfulness. But the monologues fundamentally don’t feel like they belong in the same play with the main storyline. The break in style undermines the otherwise potential unity of the second act. The second act is inherently slower than the first act, but in performance it could have been sped up slightly if the WVU production had devoted less time to the (not particularly interesting) yelling at and chasing around off-stage children gags.

I’ve seen Cloud 9 before and I’ve read the text a few times, but I can never remember the ending. And seeing the play again reminded me why. I can’t remember the ending because the play doesn’t end. It just stops. There’s no real conclusion or resolution, it seems that Churchill just picked an image and ended with that. In the script, Betty has just finished a monologue about rediscovering the joys of masturbation, when 1880s Clive shows up and admonishes here about “not being that kind of woman” (an echo of a speech he gave her in act one after she kissed Harry Bagley), then the 1880s version of Betty shows up in her Victorian dress and desperation to conform precisely to Clive’s ideals. In the script, 1980s Betty and 1880s Betty embrace, as Betty comes to a reconciliation. In the WVU production, the ending is more ambiguous, but also less conclusive—most of the lights go down, except a kind of classic horror movie rectangle of light between the two versions of the woman, and 1980s Betty steps toward her Victorian counterpart, but then the lights go out. The final embrace, representing Churchill’s written self-reconciliation is omitted. Whether that ambiguity adds anything is difficult to say.

Steel Magnolias, by Robert Harling–28 May 2017

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Following a group of women headquartered in a beauty salon in Louisiana, Robert Harling’s Steel Magnolias has much in common with the stereotypical Lifetime movie. But that being said, it’s really quite excellent, and MT Pockets put on an outstanding production, directed by Seret Cole, with amazing performances by all of the cast members.

The key, heavy relationship of the story is between M’Lynn and her diabetic daughter Shelby. Although Shelby’s health is compromised she decides to have a baby with her new husband, despite her mother’s and doctor’s concerns that it will negatively impact her body. After the baby is born (three months premature) Shelby’s kidneys shut down and, following a period of dialysis, they determine that M’Lynn is a match for a kidney transplant. But the transplant fails, and Shelby slips into a coma and dies. Now, the medical drama happens off stage, but it colors much of the onstage action.

However, the play is punctuated by this heavy storyline—which is especially prominent in the last scene—but overall Steel Magnolias is a comedy. Most of the action that takes place in the beauty salon involves Southern sass, relationship cynicism, and mutual support. The beauty salon owner, Truvy, is the functional center of the clique, grounding some of the more outrageous personalities and moderating her employee Annelle’s increasing religious fervor. The other occupants of the parlor are Clairee, the football loving ex-mayor’s widow who buys the local radio station, and Ouiser, a curmudgeon with a mangy dog who spends most of the play grumping at Shelby’s father for shooting birds out of her magnolia tree (though the courts haven’t settled who owns the tree).

In most performances I’ve seen, there has been at least one weak link, one cast member who wasn’t as strong as the others. But in MT Pockets’ Steel Magnolias, everyone was fantastic. If I say that Cynthia Ulrich (M’Lynn) was probably the closest the show got to a standout performer, it’s because M’Lynn has the heaviest emotional role toward the end of the show. It is not to suggest that any of the other performers fell short in any way. M’Lynn is a dynamic and challenging character: in the opening scene she is the dignified yet miffed mother of the bride whose advice is continually being ignored, then she shifts immediately to the concerned mother when Shelby’s (Erinn Exline Casazza) blood sugar suddenly drops. But M’Lynn’s biggest scene is the last scene of the play, when her daughter has died and she is torn up by rage, confusion, and sadness. These are complicated emotions to play convincingly, but Ulrich hit it out of the park. Her performance took me there, to that grief, that outrage, and that guilt over both failing to protect her daughter and outliving her child.

But again, the show is fundamentally a comedy, and the MT Pockets’ production brought together some amazingly funny actors. Generally speaking, Truvy (Gretchen Ross) and Annelle (Kate Vacca) were complimentary, while Clairee (Kaici Lore) and Ouiser (Christine Adducchio) complimented one another. The first relationship developed in the play is between Truvy and Annelle, and Ross’ gregarious, convivial, and sassy performance was an excellent counterpoint to Vacca’s shy, skittish, almost mousy uncertainty. While Ross has the lion’s share of the funny lines in the early portion, Vacca’s sincerity and desire to please fit her immediately into the tightly knit group of women. Clairee and Ouiser both use cynicism to create a tough outer shell, which does little to hide their deep devotion to their friends. Lore’s straight and understated delivery made Clairee’s sarcasm devastating. And Adducchio’s flustered curmudgeon was a frequent target for the wit of her companions, but she got her own back when, for instance, she sicced her dog on Shelby’s bothersome father. One of the funniest moments in the play was between Lore and Adducchio, used to lighten the mood after M’Lynn’s brutally heavy outburst in the last scene. After Ulrich declared that she just wanted to hit someone until they hurt as much as she did, Lore grabbed Adducchio and held her for Ulrich to punch, yelling that this was her chance, they could sell t shirts, and that the whole town would love the opportunity to hit Ouiser.

My one small critique of the performance is that the scene changes were long, which was necessary because—unlike many shows where the actors signal the shift of time by changing minor portions of outfits—each scene involved a full costume change for each actor, so that they never appeared on stage in the same costume twice.

How I Learned to Drive, by Paula Vogel–14 Nov. 2016

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Paula Vogel’s How I Learned to Drive is a tough play because it takes on the unsettling subject of childhood sexual abuse. Despite the difficult subject matter, the Red Masquers—a theatre group at Duquesne University—gave an excellent performance, directed by Justin Sines, with really strong acting throughout.

The protagonist and primary narrator of How I Learned to Drive is Li’l Bit, a young woman who grows up being sexually abused by Uncle Peck, which predictably compromises her ability to even conceptualize a healthy relationship. All we really see of her family life is that they are rather vulgarly open about sexuality, and because Li’l Bit develops breasts at a young age her entire school career seems shaped by bullying and harassment. But the main storyline focuses on Uncle Peck’s long term sexual abuse, which, while not physically violent, utilizes most of the typical techniques of an abuser: claiming to love the victim, trying to give them a false sense of control, cajoling, bargaining, and making the victim feel alternately secure and vulnerable. This storyline is interspersed with Uncle Peck teaching Li’l Bit to drive, which is where much of the abuse happens; the driving school style instructions played over the loud speaker become something of a commentary on the movement of the play.

The Red Masquers did a fantastic job bringing these characters to life, which, predictably, was not always comfortable for the audience. Michael Makar (Uncle Peck) was easy to hate as the smarmy sexual abuser. His portrayal bordered between the charming and the unsettling, which effectively showed how abusers so often manipulate their victims’ emotions. And if Makar brought to life the abuser, Fiona Montgomery (Li’l Bit) embodied an abuse victim. Throughout the play, Montgomery always seemed as though a part of herself was shut off, as though there was always a defense, even if Li’l Bit wasn’t consciously aware of it. We saw that is Montgomery’s posture, which was often stooped or hunched inward, not making eye contact with others, and a propensity to be alone. All of these are potential signs that someone, especially a child, has been abused and no longer feels safe in their own body. Though the one critique I would make of the performance is that Montgomery played the character the same way in the earliest scene in the play, when Li’l Bit is 11 and the abuse begins. There didn’t seem to be much of a change from the pre-abuse character to the post-abuse character. The rest of the parts were played well by Anthony Fellowes, Keely Ann Sinni, and Nikki Purwin. Each played multiple supporting roles, including Li’l Bit’s Aunt and grandparents, her school friends, a restaurant waiter, etc.

While the acting was strong, for me the play fell short for two main reasons (and I don’t know whether the Red Masquers cut Vogel’s text or performed the entirety of it). One structural feature that didn’t work were the continual stops for characters—usually Li’l Bit—to narrate things. Changes in time were continually announced as the show moved back and forth from 1969 to the early 70s and back to the early, middle, or late 60s. Most of these shifts were done by allowing Li’l Bit to stop the action of the play and give exposition, in a way that felt both slow and somewhat lazy, because much of what was told to us could have been shown.

The more serious problem is that the play develops a constellation of important elements related to sexual abuse, but really only pursues the immediate relationship between Uncle Peck and Li’l Bit. There is so much that the play gives us just in tiny passing references, but that is actually incredibly important in perpetuating the culture of abuse. For instance, when Li’l Bit’s mother says that if anything happens between Li’l Bit (aged, I think 13 at that point) and Uncle Peck (in his 30s or early 40s), the mother will blame her daughter. Or the scene where a now adult Li’l Bit experiences herself as the abuser when she picks up and seduces an underage boy on a bus—though it isn’t clear whether this actually happens or whether the seduction is just her imagination. But elements like victim blaming, the isolation of victims, and the perpetuation of cycles of violence are brought up but not dealt with sufficiently in my opinion. Instead, the overwhelming majority of the play is simply devoted to showing the abuse by Uncle Peck in a variety of different guises. In its single-minded focus, the play seems to risk tipping over into the territory of the after-school special.

The Clean House, by Sarah Ruhl–8 Oct. 2015

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have really enjoyed all of the Sarah Ruhl plays I’ve seen, read, and taught, but this was my first encounter with her play The Clean House. I wasn’t much sold on the first act, but after the interval the show really picked up and I saw the kind of dramaturgical skill that has always impressed me in Ruhl’s work—principally, that her characters are always complex and there are no clear heroes or villains, and that her feminist message is more situational than didactic. Don’t get me wrong, the first act was riotously funny, but I felt that the meat of the play’s message came in the second half.

The play tells the story of four women whose fates intersect. Matilde is a Brazilian housekeeper working for Lane, a successful doctor married to a handsome man named Charles. But Matilde doesn’t like cleaning houses. She wants to be a comedian. And she spends much of the play trying to think of the perfect joke, though she also worries that if she finds it she will die (because her mother died laughing at a joke told by her father). On the other hand, Lane’s sister, Virginia, loves cleaning houses. It gives her a sense of purpose, and a way to combat the sense that she may have wasted her life as a housewife. So—without telling Lane—Virginia begins to clean Lane’s house instead of Matilde.

While this is going on, Lane finds out that Charles has decided to leave her for a breast cancer patient named Ana. Lane is understandably devastated, but Charles and Ana seem unable to comprehend her suffering. Charles and Ana want Lane—and Matilde and Virginia—to be a part of their new life and to share their happiness. But their happiness is short lived, as Ana’s cancer returns and she refuses to go to the hospital. Charles goes to Alaska to seek and elm tree whose bark he believes can cure Ana, and Lane is browbeaten by Virginia and Matilde into caring for Ana. The four women more or less move into Lane’s house, and establish a kind of commune around caring for the dying Ana. When she knows there is no hope for a cure, Ana requests that Matilde kill her by telling the perfect joke so that the sick woman can die laughing.

The WVU Theatre production of the play, directed by Jim Knipple, was very well performed and kept the audience laughing the entire time. Although every performer was good, far and away Kristen Aviles—playing Matilde—was the funniest. Her delivery ranged from the comically lethargic to the implicitly filthy, and although many of the jokes were presented in rapid fire Portuguese, they always got a laugh from an audience probably few if any of whom understood the language.

Monica Hanigan (Lane) and Amber Gonzalez (Virginia) also gave excellent performances. Though they weren’t as overtly funny, both actors played through a range of emotions—from rage, to joy, to exasperation, to despair—with expert skill. Wilhelmina McWhorter (Ana) gave a complex performance as the ‘other woman’ without being tinged with guilt. The character walks a fine line between being a hated archetype and being a suffering victim, and McWhorter performed that balance really well. Glenn Muir’s performance as Charles probably didn’t extend his range as much as the other actors, but he did a bang up job portraying the closest thing to a peripheral character there is in the play.

In terms of the production itself, the set was nice, with two levels that divided the action in purposeful ways. But what I really liked was the subtle way in which technology was used to augment the performance without distracting from the actors’ abilities. A subtle projector was used to help the audience navigate through changes in location, and to explain what was happening when Matilde concentrated on thinking of the perfect joke. In the past few seasons WVU has produced some shows where I feel the degree of technology—flashing lights, multimedia, competing sound systems, etc.—have distracted from the actors’ performances and from the storylines. For my (probably in this sense fairly conservative) money, the light touch of special effects in The Clean House was a much better choice.