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June 20, 2008 performance reviewed by Frances Benn Hall.

Andres Cato’s intuitive direction of George Bernard Shaw’s Candida, now playing engagingly at the Berkshire Theatre Festival, gives one the uncanny feeling that in a previous incarnation he moved in Shaw’s world, perhaps hoping he had been swapped in the cradle and was somehow Shaw’s son.

In each of the Shaw plays that Cato has recently directed at the BTF, including Heartbreak House, and Mrs. Warren’s Profession, he has caught the precise tone that the wily playwright intended.

Candida, following close on the heels of Shaw’s Arms and a Man, is an uproarious comedy involving mad-house physical action that escalates to farcical levels for two and a half fast-paced, hilarious acts before, in mid-act three, the entire tone changes with the three main (warring) characters in a scene in which pace, tempo, and mood totally change and Shaw has his say about a world in which Ibsen’s Doll House is turned upside down.

The plot (the action of which all occurs on one day in the Victorian world of 1894) begins innocently enough. The Reverend James Morell, (Michael Gill) confident in his role as beloved pastor and orator awaits the return of his wife Candida (Jayne Atkinson) from a three week absence in the country, shared with her children and a shy young poet, Eugene Marchbanks (Finn Wittrock), whom they have both befriended.

The day should be a glorious one. It’s glories are soon shattered when the young poet as soon as he is alone with Morell announces his love for Candida. And challenges him for her. As the conflict escalates, Eugene demands that there must be a showdown in which Candida must choose, and Morell’s character is shaken by a situation he found at first ludicrous but which threatens his total confidence in his world.

And swirling through the day until the evening when matters finally can be faced and settled are the presence of Morell’s secretary Proserprine Garnett (Samantha Soule), madly and secretly in love with her employer, as lovingly typing his letters as she is helping wash up in the scullery.

Also erupting unexpectedly into the day is Candida’s father, a bombastic, unscrupulous businessman of incredible girth, Mr. Burgess (David Schramm), who is a trial run for a future Shaw creation – (Eliza’s father in Pygmalian) – who can only determine that all occupants of the house are mad and attempt to pacify them. Equally bewildered by the turbulence of the household, but adding to its confusion, is Reverend Alexander Mill (Jeremiah Wiggins), Morell’s assistant.

Central to all the confusion, and at first amused by it, eventually forced to indignantly end it, with a terse, “I am up for auction it seems,” is the suburb Candida, one of Shaw’s greatest creations (whom I am grateful, momentarily, to be old enough to have first seen played by Katherine Cornell). Atkinson embodies the role beautifully from her first glad return in act one to her bemused but half-hurt understanding the needs and strengths of both men as the play ends.

Gill evolves from the handsome, self-confident husband, into a shaken, but possibly a bit wiser husband whom one feels will recover once the shocking day is behind him. A subtly played role.

Miss Prossy, the adoring secretary, will appear on the morrow possibly with a hangover from the champagne that contributed to her marvelous character betrayal in act three.

And Eugene, the young poet, who after all is still only 18, will go off into the night secure in the belief that a genius such as he may be clumsy in the drawing room (in this production perching bird-like on furniture and swooping about a bit too unbelievably), but that the romance of being a poet is secure in his heart. For all his youth, he has been manly, if insecure, in drawing rooms, and vocally he has handled his side with conviction. Like a pre-Raphaelite hero, he vanishes into the night.

As for Candida’s father, he is a pompous windbag and will never change. He is as self-satisfied as we are in his handling of his role.

Hugh Landwehr has transformed the BTF stage into a handsome Victorian living room, one that scrupulously includes each item Shaw calls for, down to the child’s chair by the hearth (so needed for subtle character definition at times). And, of course, the wall paper is William Morris.

Olivera Gajic’s costumes are perfect from the high-top shoes of the men to the apron Candida dons to clean lamps.

We are so fortunate here in the Berkshires that the BTF brings Shaw to us and that in this summer of gasoline woes it is not necessary to drive to Canada for superb Shavian productions since we have a such joyous one here in our own backyard.

June 15, 2008 performance reviewed by Frances Benn Hall.

The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee that has just opened at the Barrington Stage Company is a joyous, hilarious and heart-warming hip-hop musical that should pack the house for its run.

Its Berkshire roots in the lab-theatre production a few summers ago have since sprouted and flowered into a Broadway success and Tony Awards, and this well-cast and zesty production under Jeremy Dobrish’s direction is a delight all the way through its non-stop two hour run.

As for a plot, we the audience very quickly realize that we are a part of the show, sitting not in the comfortable seats of an auditorium but on bleachers in a high school gym facing a raised platform on which a spelling bee is being conducted. Six young hopefuls, all vying for first place and the chance to go the national contest, are soon augmented by four members of the audience who have volunteered to accept the spelling challenge as well.

Their names are called out and they climb up the stairs to join on the stage the six finalists, three boys and there girls in having numbers hung about their necks and be instructed by the program’s host who sits with her the assistant who will pronounce each word, give its derivation, use it in a sentence etc.

And downstage, center front is the ominous microphone at which each contestant must stand and encounter the one word that stands between him/her and the glory of going on to the National Bee.

The six in this production are stars; they convincingly, engagingly, and endearingly create the children, with ages ranging from a second grader (who as a previous third place winner gets in because the rightful contestant can’t make it) to a pubescent youth whose erection at a fateful moment distracts him into error.

The six also vary greatly in home and educational backgrounds and bring to the fray emotional baggage confusing for a child to carry, from angry self-defeat at winning last year to losing at the nationals; from failing to see daddy sitting in the aisle seat she saved for him, from thinking, just thinking as she stands to spell, “Jesus, can’t you come up with a harder word than that?” and having him suddenly appear and assure her that it is not the kind of thing he cares much about!

The six stars who so successfully thread the maze of this production are: Emy Baysic, Miguel Cervantes, Hannah Del Monte, Molly Ephraim, Clifton Guterman, and Eric Peterson. All of them sing, dance, and spell with astonishing agility. Each of them costumed distinctively down to distinctive haircuts and styles.

As the play proceeds, one sorts them, and their personalities and abilities, out, and realizes their young vulnerability, cloaked in hostility in some, in insecurity or ego in others. Little life plots weave in and out of the absolutely riotous laughter that washes over the play.

And holding it all together, keeping them and the plot in line are host Rona Peretti (Sally Wilfert, who years ago was a winner herself and knows the joys and griefs of the spellers) and her assistant, played by Douglas Panch who as judge must on request provide a sentence in which the word occurs. Every such sentence evoking an audience roar of delight.

And there is a ninth cast member playing at least three roles but most delightful as the “comforter.” It is he who must remove from the stage those who fail to spell a word correctly. They go differently into that good night, some meekly, but other clinging to chairs and having to be bodily carried from the room. Not an easy role but creatively and agilely rendered by Demond Green.

It would be unfair to tell who wins, how and why. And what special significance the winning has. It’s a lovely, loud, glorious little musical. How nice it grew up in our own Berkshire backyard.

May 31 performance reviewed by Frances Benn Hall.

[singlepic=237,320,213,,left]Poor Dr. Hercule Molineaux (Jonathan Croy), the unheroic hero of Feydeux’s “The Ladies Man” now playing at Shakespeare and Co.’s Founders’ Theatre in Lenox, MA.

Not only must he grope his misguided ways in and out of the five doors (and one window) that are de rigueur in a French farce, but also through a situation that combines two Feydeux plots interwoven by translator Charles Morey. In doing so, Morey has devised one of the most boisterous, outrageous, slapstick plays to have ever graced the Founder’s stage

And there is Molineaux, innocent dupe buffeted by the seven other outrageous characters who comprise the talented cast who lurk behind, leap out of or swoop into those five doors at break-neck, but choreographed, speed. Outrageous French accents, guttural German declarations, even a patient who lisps and who likes to play doctor!

And the poor man is innocent, not the adulterer French farces so often employ. His sin is only his temporary unmanned state that has left his beautiful young bride still a virgin and has resulted in their occupying separate bedrooms behind two of the doors.

Bassinet (Michael Toomey) the lisper, practically moves into the door to the dispensary where he dons so much medical equipment he can be, and is mistaken for, the doctor himself, a role he gladly and gleefully assumes.

Madame Aigreville (Annette Miller), mother of the shunned bride, is so awesome she is nick-named Medusa, wears huge snake-bedecked hat, and usually erupts threateningly through double doors up center accompanied by music. Miller plays her to the hilt creating a character who, trying to defend her daughter, strikes terror, living up to her aggravating name. The way she swirls a cape displays her great gift for characterization.

Yvonne (Julie Webster) is properly petulant and beautiful as the rejected bride and has her husband so intimated by her attitude that he has spent a night in the rain on a park bench, not philandering as she would suspect, but trying to find a way out of his sexual dilemma.

Two servants, the maid (Caley Milliken) and the butler (Etienne – Dave Demke) manage to invade the plot, and the doors, and get interwoven in the shenanigans more often and more deeply than minor characters have any right to usually. Demke, especially, proves agile and inventive.

Walton Wilson provides a threatening but hysterically funny presence as the German husband of Suzanne Aubin who turns out to be the Leading Lady.

[singlepic=238,200,300,,right]And that leading lady is Elizabeth Aspenlieder who, as trollop deluxe, steals the show. The poor doctor has become involved with her—but only hoping, in a dumb misguided way, to find a way out of his impotency problem. He was playing with fire. The woman is agile in ways that keep the audience roaring, and her agility is fortunately garbed (by Govane Lohbauer) in Victorian finery that elegantly displays bloomers and bosom in hysterically funny, rather than in shockingly indecent, moments. She is boisterous, beguiling and insistent – absolutely wonderful.

As is our poor doctor, Croy, who is at his gleeful best in her presence, his agility matching hers. An equally awesome performance and a demanding one since he is on stage in almost every scene, coping with all those doors and all the people erupting from them, all seemingly intent on embroiling him in their lives. Had the poor man understood the significance of one French word worrying him in Act I, he would have avoided all his problems.

Acts I and III take place in the living room of the doctor; Act II takes us away to a boutique, also with five doors, at which, for various reasons, all eight cast members converge. While the entire play is a gem, the second act steals its own show. It is so hysterically wild and ends on such determined applause it could almost end the play..

Of course I does not. The play has to sort out, as best it can, all the tangled relationships of what has gone on before. It does, as best it can, plotless as it all has been. As an audience member one can be gleeful and not regret the fact that in Act I many of the witty double-entr’ lines one missed because the audience was roaring over the one that preceded it.

Kevin Coleman and his actors are having a ball bringing you this play. They want you to like it and them and you do. The entire cast is flamboyant and talented .The play is outrageously boisterous and bawdy but needs no x rating. It is almost a family play. Youngsters would adore the slapstick played at double tempo and the double-entr’ word play should go breezily over their heads.

In this “summer of our discontent” over elections, oil prices and other worldly woes, it is fun for an evening to watch the joyous cavorting on the Founders’ stage.

(Photos by Kevin Sprague, courtesy Shakespeare and Co.)

May 24, 2008 performance reviewed by Frances Benn Hall

In 2005 when Harold Pinter was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, the citation read:

“…who in his plays uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle and forces entry into oppression’s closed rooms…”.

[singlepic=236,320,240,,left]The production of The Caretaker, by Harold Pinter, now playing at the Berkshire Theatre Festival’s Unicorn Theatre under the passionate, compassionate and mesmerizing direction of Eric Hill pays homage to that citation.

The play is audacious, chilling, filled with menace, and punctuated with bursts of ironic humor. At the same time it is so fascinating that from its plotless introduction of three characters into the no-man’s land of a cluttered attic in a run-down house in a seedy London district, it is Pinter all the way, magnificently understood by Hill and his three talented and compelling actors.

In a closed space, three disturbed and disturbing characters move through what is not so much plot as situations that rise to crescendos of rage only to subside into seeming moments of deceptive clarity.

Even the play’s title, The Caretaker, is shifting. Does it refer to Aston (Tommy Schrider) of the dead, lobotomized stare, who brings into the cluttered attic room a homeless drifter, Davies, (Jonathan Epstein)?

Or is it Davies who at times is almost a possible caretaker to help Aston caretake?

Or is it, smashing all other perceptions, Mick (James Barry) the menacingly street-smart younger brother of the hapless Aston. Mick, who too has a dream agenda. (As Aston endlessly repairs a toaster plug while waiting to start building his shed. As Davies blathers on about acquiring shoes and recovering his “papers” that have supposedly moldered in Sidcup for fifteen years.)

Mick is intimidating and threatening as he lies supine but mesmerizing at Davies’ feet describing the apartment he will build with “the bedspread with a pattern of small blue roses on a white ground” in which there would live “my brother and me”. Mick, the ultimate caretaker?

The dialog of the play is unpredictable, never flows to stability. It is almost as if the play makes itself up as it goes along. There is constant conflict over space and territory as Hill’s directing changes the pace, tempo and volume of exchanges. And there are the meaningful silences.

The space in which the three are trapped and over which they argue is empty, for all its clutter. There is no real hope in it although they fight for status within it.

All three actors inhabit their characters. As Davies, Epstein is craven but pitiless. His racial hatred of the neighbors surfaces constantly between his ungrateful initial gladness over different shoes to complaints of their being the wrong size or lacking laces of the right color. He brags, he cringes. And he smells. One almost scents the odor beneath his layer upon layer of clothes.

Schrider as Aston mesmerizes with his flat face, his staring eyes. He has been almost erased as a person by his lobotomy. He brings Davies to the attic much as he has brought to it all the junk he has collected. It is something he can do His monlog that ends Act 2 is played directly to the audience and is riveting in its painful account of man’s in- humanity..

Mick is the scariest of the three. Barry sets his character at the play’s beginning, holds our attention with his eyes which see too much. In the “space” game, he dominates but the space over which he rules is empty as a wasteland.

Set designer Jonathan Wentz has created an attic room full of junk but still leaving ample playing space for the very physical dynamics that Hill’s directing brings out in the actors. Light slanting thru the one window (that provides the drafts and rain against which Davies can fitfully but vociferously complain) is dynamically used.

J. Hagenbuckle has created music that troubles the darkness between scenes, music so discordant it is hard to envision instruments making its menacing sounds.

Davies costumes, worn layer upon layer, are the grungiest as befits his vagrant status while Mick’s are black, street- slick and switch-blade scarey. Aston’s suit is nondescript rumpled, but always the same, quiet, non-offensive, as flatly indistinctive as his face. They both tell us nothing. Only the eyes ever speak..

This reviewer found the production to be rewarding and that it fulfilled words Pinter wrote about the playwright he most admired, Samuel Beckett:

“I suddenly felt that his writing was walking through a mirror into the other side of the world which was, in fact the real world… It was Beckett’s own world but had so many references to the world we actually share.”

The current production at the Unicorn is one not to be missed.

The Caretaker runs through June 28. Tickets range from $39 to $44. Students with valid ID receive fifty percent discount. Contact the BTF Box Office at 413-298-5576 or visit their website: Berkshire Theater Festival.

Box Office hours are Monday through Saturday from 10am to 5pm and one hour prior to curtain.

April 15, 2008 performance report by Sandy Michel

Frances Benn Hall has gifted literature lovers in Berkshires once more with a stimulating, challenging, and entertaining production of literary work. This production was of the poems and dramas of the four Irish Nobel Prize: William Butler Yeats, George Bernard Shaw, Samuel Beckett, and Seamus Heaney.

The script and thus choice of the selections read were made by Ms. Hall. Each poet was introduced with moments of witty and informative tidbits of the sort of biographical gossip. These moments were much enjoyed by the audience. The readers were Arthur Collins, Nancy and Hugh Cowhig, Iris Bass, Margaret Whitfield, Paul Glavin, and Kathy Jo Grover. Karel Fisher was the stage manager.

My favorite moment, if one can choose, would be, and always will be Godot. He speaks to me through all my ages. It is a moment of truth and reality as I am sure it is for Ms. Hall who made the choice. The production was held on Tuesday, April l5th at Berkshire community College. It was a most pleasurable afternoon.

Reviewed by Sandy Michel.

The House Un-American Activities Committee reigned supreme in October 1947. The press, radio, and TV gave the investigation of alleged Holywood Commies full coverage. Dalton Trumbo, a talented and witty screenwriter, was one of the so-called subversive Hollywood Ten.

I was 13 years old and a junior high school student in New York City at this shameful and frightening time in our history. I cut classes to watch the hearings. It was a unique experience. Were we to be more frightened by our government’s tactics or by the so-called treasonous Hollywood Ten? Whichever impacted you was a personal experience.

I was frightened more easily by my government when it side-stepped the Constitution than I was by some political activists of varying persuasions. The drama of one of these blacklisted screenwriters, Dalton Trumbo, was the subject of Trumbo, Barrington Stage Company’s first production of 2008.

Knowing many of the facts about this time, I felt the play fell short of what could have been. The performance was static and poorly rehearsed. Thom Christopher, a fine actor, as demonstrated last year in his performance in Barrington Stage’s production of Picasso, was not familiar with the script and made many mistakes.

I was quite disappointed. The play ran for 90 minutes without an intermission. The only diversion was the use of videos and slides of the period. They were of very poor quality. One only has to compare the use of factual material with the Broadway production of Frost and Nixon to see the how such a device can really work to heighten drama.

The only other actor on stage was Brian Hutchinson who played Trumbo’s son and others. He also was the narrator, and did a creditable job. The presentation of Trumbo’s letters could have certainly been more dynamic. Dalton Trumbo was an acerbic, caustic, witty man of principle. His battle for professional survival is certainly a relevant topic to current history.