August 4, 2000 performance reviewed by Frances Benn Hall

The Einstein Project would have delighted William Butler Yeats, who, a century ago, advocated a kind of total theatre uniting all the arts – voice, dance, text, and art (not to be confused with “scenery”). Yeats was inspired by the intense simplicity of the Japanese Noh theatre, and so it is interesting that Eric Hill, whose directorial hand is strongly present in this work, also looks often to Japan.

Yeats never made it to Japan; having Ezra Pound as a secretary was as close as he got. Hill has, though, and The Einstein Project bears traces of his insights and study. This Berkshire Theatre Festival production is very much a collaboration of all the theatre’s arts. Co-written by Paul D. Andrea and Jon Klein, it is has been co-directed by Hill and Oliver Butler, with dance choreographed by Isadora Wolfe. Lighting by Melissa McLearn and sound by Jason A. Tratta provide all the setting the play needs.

This is a play of many short scenes that flow effortlessly into each other. Place is suggested rather than defined, shifting from Germany to Switzerland to America; time is also fluid, beginning in l945 but cutting backwards and forwards. Characters live and die in the time warps.

Central to all is Einstein, physicist and man, German and Jew. He leaves Germany for America where, still insisting he is a pacifist, he writes the famous letter to Roosevelt that unleashes the horrors of Hiroshima. The play probes his conscience, exposes its frailties, lays bear his cruelty and inability to act towards others with love and compassion. He “thrives on ice” and “never talks as a friend.”

This man’s family, his country, are “outside”. He believes in “tracking the mind of God” but cannot look with pity into the human heart of his son. The play attempts to go beyond the stereotypical image of the scientific genius who at age 42 won the Nobel prize and give us the flawed and contradictory being that he was. In doing so it deals with scenes of shattering emotional intensity. The bomb of l945 destroyed all it touched and “only shadows were left behind.”

The play opens with the bomb. An orderly spaced group of humans stand staring upwards; they gradually, slow motion retreat, pull inward, circle and become a huddled ball in the center of the stage to be flung distortedly outwards, upwards, grotesquely mangled in slow motion, finally to stagger or be carried from sight. It is nightmare and dream.

The next scene has Einstein in Switzerland with his son Edward. They are in a boat, beautifully evoked by a stout rope and billowing white cloth flapped by two actors. In this scene Einstein’s unnecessary cruelty to the child is shattering as he tries to force him to understand a mathematical principal concerning the counting of his fingers.

Baffling the child, he insists the answer must be eleven; the rebuked child in dismay holds up his two hands fighting for his own answer of ten. Lines from this scene will occur later with the child, grown to a young man of 20, is in a strait-jacket, totally mad and still groping for the answer. One cannot help but fault Einstein’s lack of compassion in his human relationships.

Tommy Shrider gives a virtuoso performance as he delves into the character of the conflicted man that Einstein was. He reveals the dark underside of a man few people, perhaps Einstein himself, ever knew. As his son Edward, Amanda Byron, is especially moving. The scenes in which she appears are memorable.

The tightly knit cast in this play move, at times in slow motion, though scene after scene-Einstein’s former German colleagues as prisoners of war in England disbelieving the bombing news on the radio; his daughter Clara, (hauntingly played by Jennifer Elder-Chace) picnicking and dying; his fellow-scientist Werner Heisenberg (James Barry) exhibiting the compassion and conscience that Einstein lacks.

At times the scenes, strong in themselves, come too rapidly and one feels one has missed important clues. But then a tiny wordless scene, in which a Japanese woman pours tea, stabs the heart. This play would be more enlightening second time around. It is accessible, however. One delights in the unusual details of stage movement, in the fluidly shifting time and space that move to the tempos of the play’s essence. The plot line will be easier to follow if one arrives early and reads the program notes, especially those on chronology, which is deliberately shifted in this production.

Our theatre is invigorated by many kinds of plays. This is one of them. Eric Hill’s presence in the Berkshires making such theatre available to us is a blessing not to be taken lightly.

Bloomsday – 2001 (June 16) review by Frances Benn Hall.

Ever since 1941, when Merce Cunningham gave me my first copy of Ulysses, I have celebrated Bloomsday. On June 16, 200l, my Irish luck placed me at the gala opening of Coriolanus in the new Founders’ Theatre at Shakespeare and Co. in Lenox, Mass.

Would that James Joyce and Stephen Daedalus could have shared my compact yet spacious box overlooking the stage, could have walked with me on the terrace at intermission, and that we could have toasted each other with champagne in the vaulted lobby at midnight.

The talented and indomitable Tina Packer has done it again. This production of Coriolanus, now running in the Elizabethan space carved miraculously from a former gymnasium, not only bent to her directorial skills but soared into history. June l6 long will be remembered by the enthusiastic audience fortunate enough to have shared this important moment.

Coriolanus last season in the Stables was hailed as one of the best in the company’s long history. The current Coriolanus, making dynamic use of the unusual possibilities the new theatre affords – with its boxes encircling the stage – brings spectators near the actors in intimate involvement and allows the director to use levels to enhance the stage picture and visually enrich the plot.

The balconies on four sides of the stage and the cushioned benches in the pit, flanked by wide aisles, not only bring the audience closer but permit the actors to perform on multiple levels.

Shakespeare knew, and Tina Packer knows, that even in the midst of tragedy there are diversions in which the groundlings in the pit (and we in a contemporary audience) can delight in a moment of laughter that releases us when tension has run high.

This production has them when suddenly actors become statues that can be lifted and moved. Moments later the mood can change dynamically as a battle is fought in slow motion that is a subtle and moving dance.

In the three-strand plot of this rarely produced tragedy, Coriolanus must cope with and eventually fail in three areas:

his dependence on his controlling mother’s goals for him,
• his love/hate relationship with a military rival,
• his over-weaning pride that makes him scorn the starving citizens of Rome.

The director’s notes in the program, summarizing the background and plot, make it well worth while to be in one’s seat ten minutes early to have time to read them. In this ensemble cast all roles are played with such skill and brio that all deserve praise. Outstanding in the longer roles are Dan McCleary (Coriolanus), Dennis Krausnick (Menenius), Jonathan Epstein (Aufidius), Elizabeth Ingram (Volumnai), and Lisa Wolpe (Tribune).

Coriolanus is one of Shakespeare’s most difficult roles. We cannot love him; his pride is too great, his trust too suspect, his final agony never becomes ours. Although alone on the stage at times, he rarely lets us share his thoughts. In the last act, his enemy and rival calls him “boy” and he is shocked almost into awareness. McCleary handles his complex role with skillful nuances of voice and action.

Krausnick’s Menenius is one of the surprising new developments in this season’s production. As Coriolanus’ aged patrician friend, he hones his character on the long belly anecdote in the first act and brings amazing comedy into the play as a whole. His versatility is apparent in his tragic rejection by his onetime protege, a moving scene wherein his vocal versatility is outstanding.

Jonathan Epstein has over the years become one of the company’s most praised and respected actors. As the hated rival warrior, his smallest gesture – the touch of a hand or the shading of a speech – can speak volumes. He also slips into a number of lesser roles brilliantly.

Elizabeth Ingram, as the widowed mother of Coriolanus, brings such skill and shading to the role that one cannot imagine it played otherwise. She has instilled such monstrous values into her son that tragedy is inevitable. She is a character we can hate and deplore. Her long role is pivotal and played with careful variations of voice, face and gesture – simply wonderful!

Lisa Wolpe as Tribune is dynamic. A moment later she is stately as Rome’s patron saint. She can also be a Roman beggar or an enemy soldier. Her voice is clear; all lines tellingly delivered.

Jack Lee (who alternates with Hachi Ramos as Coriolanus, young son) was charming in an early domestic scene in which he mimics his doting grandmother who is intent on ruining him as she has his father and is delighted to hear that he abuses butterflies.

Indeed the whole cast is splendid and each could be singled out for praise. Tene Carter is as compelling as Coriolanus’ meek, dutiful wife as she is when she sports a pitchfork as a starving citizen. Michael F. Toomey as tribune and the newcomers to the cast also serve it well.

The simple set, subtle lighting, and the background music composed by Tanglewood musicians all contribute to make this a rewarding evening in the theatre. Go. This opening is a significant one in Berkshire theatre history and bodes well for the future of Shakespeare & Co.. Perhaps a few Bloomsday’s from now we can glory in the opening production of the new Rose Theatre that is to bloom on the site.

July 5, 2001 performance, reviewed by Frances Benn Hall

The Winter’s Tale has always been my favorite of the four late romances that round out Shakespeare’s career – plays in which the father/daughter and lost/found themes are so poignantly expressed. Unfortunately, the strange and uneven production that has opened at the Williamstown Theatre Festival, despite some strong performances, blurs and distorts the play’s beauty, making the seemingly miraculous reunions in Act V less than they deserve to be.

Although the final scene groped for closure, it could not recapture a mood and theme that Shakespeare has introduced in the opening scene: that of lamb-white innocence and necessary growth. The melodramatic acting of the first half of the play, followed by wild farce in the second half, prevent seemingly simple lines from ringing with the resonance they deserve – lines such as: “It is required you do awake your faith,” and “Dear life redeems you.”

The plot of the play is a simple one, though it spans a generation, and the two very different halves of it are linked by Time, a literal character which is evoked by the circling clock and moon of the setting – elaborate, variously and ingeniously lit, and often effective.

Leontes, King of Sicilia, suddenly “drinks the spider” and sees unreasoned and unmotivated jealousy at the bottom of his cup. He accuses his guest and longtime best friend, Polixenes, King of Bohemia, of being his wife’s lover and father of her unborn child. Polixenes, warned by Silician lord Camillo that Leontes seeks his death, flees to his own kingdom. The faithful wife Hermione is banished to a prison in which she bears an infant daughter. Paulina, a lady of the court, brings the child to Leontes, who orders it to be taken and abandoned on a distant shore and for his wife to stand trial before him.

Meanwhile, he sends to Delphi for an oracle, which is delivered in court at the climax of the play’s first half. The oracle’s voice of truth is: “Hermione is chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.”

Leontes accepts the truth too late. His wife, who swoons and is carried out of her trial, is reported dead. So is his young son Mamillius, whose simple lines from an opening scene, “A sad tale’s best for winter,” ring hollowly. And the abandoned baby is beyond recall.

That these awful events can end in forgiveness, reconciliation, and joy, is a part of Shakespeare’s mature genius shown in this play. It was long considered unstagable and is now thought to be one of his masterpieces, requiring subtle staging and acting.

The second half of the play opens in Bohemia where the abandoned baby is found and raised to radiant girlhood by an old shepherd and his son. She is wooed and won by Florizel, son of Polioxenes. It is in this second part, at a joyous sheep-sheering party, that some of the most beautiful language of the play occur, and where Shakespeare’s themes are made clear in Perdita’s (the lost one literally) language of the flowers.

Much must yet occur in the plot before the young lovers, of course temporarily star-crossed by past events, can arrive and all can reach the safe haven of Sicilia where the final recognitions and reconciliations may take place. It is in this ending that Shakespeare shows his greatest skill as dramatist.

Though the father/daughter theme is a strong one, the wife/husband one overshadows it. Wisely he knows that both played onstage could diminish his climactic ending.

Perdita and Leones scene of recognition occurs off stage between scenes, told to us by others, not because Shakespeare could not write it differently but because he knew this way was better, leaving the stage clear for the final unfolding miracle of an ending.

This is a folk tale, full of good and evil, punishment and redemption. To love it, one must be willing to heed Coleridge and “suspend our disbelief.”

In this flawed production that leans too heavily on melodrama and farce, there are a number of strong and outstanding performances. Kate Burton (Hermione) creates an air of purity, a stillness about her always. She speaks her lines with beautiful calm dignity, capturing the poetry. Always central when on stage, she moves with grace, commanding our attention.

As Perdita, the lost one, Laura Benanti is excellently cast. She bears an uncanny resemblance to her mother when the two are reunited and plays appealingly in love scenes with Florizel (Joel de la Fuente). Her lines about the significance of flowers are a highlight of the sheep-sheering festival, delivered with simplicity, gaity, and poetry.

Her young lover, de la Fuente, is best in a marvelous speech in which he lists Perdita’s charms by comparing motion to stillness.

As lady friend to Hermione, Paulina (Kristine Nielson) manages in the chaos of the first act melodrama to stand firm and unmelodramatic. She adds fierce human dignity to the scenes in which she helps control events and through her strong and self-denying character plucks peace from adversity. That her personal loss, the husband Antigonus (Tom Bloom in a small but well played role) is unable to be rectified is one of the ironies for which there could be no balm. Shakespeare’s most famous stage direction, “Exit, pursued by bear.” could not be erased.

Dylan Baker as Camillo, the Sicilian lord who escapes to Bohemia with Polixenes, is stronger when not pushed into farce and he delivers his lines effectively.

Stephen DeRosa as the pickpocket rogue Autolycus delights the audience with his songs and antics. And the bevy of youngsters at the sheep-sheering dance with zest and brio.

The old shepherd (Bill Smitrovich) handles his short role well, making his character a believable one. The child Mamillius, (Torrey Brenner) is poignant in his first act scenes. However, his appearance at the play’s end, added a director’s touch that one doubts Shakespeare intended and which detracted, rather than enhanced, the total effect.

The Winter’s Tale is a delicately crafted play that depends on subtle handling At times this production touches it, at others obscures it. While the settings, costumes and lighting are extravagant and colorful, at times they distract and call attention to themselves rather than to the play they are meant to support.

The audience seemed pleased with the production and other reviewers may laud it. Perhaps some of the opening night’s excesses of melodrama and farce will be smoothed out. It is a beautiful play and one of the rewards of the evening was to see that Kate Burton can handle Shakespeare as well as she handles Ibsen. She never lets us down in Willimstown.