Green Snake (Tanya McBride) and White Snake (Amy Kim Waschke) ride the clouds to the earth below. Photo: Jenny Graham.
After two gorgeous days at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival–Day One and Day Two–I was ready for an adaptations day in the theatre, beginning with Mary Zimmerman’s The White Snake and ending with a new translation of Chekov’s Seagull.
Recently, there’s been a theatre trend of producing retellings or reworkings of old stories. Perhaps, it’s not a new trend, but as it flows in and out of fashion, the retellings that shouldn’t happen are easily spotted. And then, there’s Mary Zimmerman, who’s known for a number of truly compelling pieces of theatre, including Metamorphosis and Arabian Nights.
Zimmerman goes into a rehearsal room with her chosen artists (actors, designers, dramaturgs) and says, “Let’s do a show about x,” and based off their rehearsals she goes home and writes the script (yes, I’m madly in love). And this is how White Snake (through July 8; tickets) came about at OSF on the Angus Bowmer stage.
XuXian (Christopher Livingston) and White Snake (Amy Kim Waschke) marry. Photo: Jenny Graham.
The White Snake is a retelling of a folktale from China that has a few derivations (all of which were used for the production). Essentially, the White Snake (played by the exceptional Amy Kim Waschke) is the spirit of a snake who has been studying for many years on a mountain. She knows so much she can actually transform her shape into that of a human.
One day, she and her best friend, the Green Snake (Tanya McBride–I want her to be my best friend too), decide to take a field trip down to see the humans, just for fun. While there, it begins to rain and a young man named Xu Xian (the charming and handsome Christopher Livingston) offers his umbrella to the White Snake. Naturally, this makes her fall in love with him and they get married and pregnant in short order.
But not all are happy. The evil, bigoted Fa Hai (the believably wicked Jack Willis) doesn’t think snake spirits and humans should be together. Oh, and she forgot to mention she was a snake spirit, so Xu doesn’t know. Fa Hai tries to tear the couple apart (cue James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause).
What was most appealing about this folktale were the many interpretations of the White Snake as a character in legend. She could be good or evil. Corrupter or innocent. *cough* Virgin or whore *cough*. As I said, the production attempts to show you all possible roads. We do see White Snake’s power and her kindness along with her ability to destroy and love.
The staging of this piece was magical. Yes. Okay. Yes. It was magical. I felt like a kid. I felt awed, in the Biblical sense of the word. I was transported and I liked it. I think I emoted in there.
Zimmerman and her amazing cast utilize silk and satins to illustrate rain, water, clouds, mountains. The audience audibly gasped when the rain fell as small pieces of light blue silks. They had puppets for the snakes but also used different-sized umbrellas for them as well. And there were masks for other animal spirits we meet later in the play. With minimal set (designed by Daniel Ostling) and props, the actors effectively built the stage with their story alone.
This particular matinee also had to deal with a bit of a glitch. The power went out in the middle of their show, and for maybe seven minutes they continued performing without the benefit of mics or stage lights. Though the actors handled it beautifully–they didn’t even pause when the lights went off in the theatre, but kept plowing through–it was an absolute shame because the lighting design (by T.J. Gerckens) was breathtaking.
I won’t ruin the ending for you, but it was powerful stuff. And though I only mention the leads in this review, I must say that the entire ensemble added something amazing to this piece. The story was well-crafted, poignant, funny, and at one point scary. If I was a person who cried– all right I can’t lie. I cried. A lot.
So after admitting that I have feelings (shut up, you’re not my real mom), I really wanted sushi. On the recommendation of an ex-intern at OSF, I went to Kobe.
Kobe is nestled down a flight of stairs to add that extra illusion of transporting to a new world, like Narnia or Hogwarts. Remember that babbling brook I mentioned? I ate dinner beside it on a patio. And while it looked majestic, the parking lot on the other bank ruined the illusion of being in Stratford-upon-Avon.
The meal came with a small bowl of edamame, which they made with some sort of magical truffle salt. And though it was a bit pricey ($11), my Tiger Roll managed to be both pretty and tasty.
Everyone sits down for a game of lotto on a wet winter night. Ensemble. Photo: Jenny Graham.
My trip to OSF comes to a close with Libby Appel’s adaptation of Chekov’s Seagull (through June 22; tickets), translated by Allison Horsley. What does a 100-year-old play written by a Russian man have to say to an audience here and now? A lot. Hear me out:
Chekov, though clearly writing from a place of privilege, captured the suffering of man in relation to art, love, and general nagging directionless feelings of wanting to be greater that one actually is. Back in November, Pony World compiled all of Chekov’s writings into a new play about the pains of working in an office called Suffering, Inc. If Chekov’s writing had not been so universal, that production would not have worked as well it did.
Kostya (Tasso Feldman) stops Nina (Nell Geisslinger) in the midst of her performance because he's humiliated by Irina's (Kathryn Meisle) comments about his play. The writer Trigorin (Al Espinosa) looks on. Photo: Jenny Graham.
Seagull has no really likeable characters, and because it’s Chekov, there’s little-to-no action, but the weight these characters feel is still incredibly moving and heart-wrenching. Kate Hurster as the vodka-soaked, lovelorn Masha was beautifully poignant as she silently pined away for the distracted Kostya (Tasso Feldman). And Katheryn Meisle’s performance as the aging actress Irina was wonderfully, pathetically self-centered.
Like Troilus and Cressida, Seagull is in a difficult place. There aren’t many likable characters, but you are able to see yourself in them–I’m not sure I’d want to know someone who hasn’t questioned their direction in life or known public failure. Seagull shows us these things and makes them painful, amusing, and heartbreaking. Everyone in the play desires someone they can’t have, and all of them come at the idea of love very differently, almost selfishly. But you are compelled to watch on.
What was the most shocking to me was how much I laughed during this production. The last time I saw Seagull, there was not much laughter; the play piled on the shit and the shit kept coming. Strangely enough, that production was not as mesmerizing to watch as this one.
Thus ends my three-day adventure to OSF. There are five shows left in their season that haven’t even opened. Oh Ashland. You magical place of amazing theatre and fancy food I can barely afford. I miss you. Tell me you miss me too.
After my second day at Oregon Shakespeare Festival (check out day one), I have decided that Ashland is some sort of fairy tale land with that idyllic look of postcards or like that sunny dirt road deep in Bear Country. Every day has been 75 degrees and sunny.
There is a babbling brook (I shit you not) with patio restaurants lining either side, and no one seems to swear, or smoke, or drink in excess (so, I’m fitting in great). Strangely, everyone looks happy. Like Stepford happy. Like how many drugs are you taking in secret happy.
Like Seattle, Ashland earns its idyllic summer by suffering through the long winter and rehearsals that wouldn’t end, all to get to this point where they can perform for audiences in the afternoon and evening, Tuesday through Sunday, from February through November. Lucky them, right?
Captain Spaulding (Mark Bedard), Ravelli (John Tufts), Jamison (Eddie Lopez) and The Professor (Brent Hinkley) serenade themselves and Mrs. Rittenhouse (K.T. Vogt). Photo: Jenny Graham.
It is walking amongst the cheery-dispositioned pod people (I say as one of the infected) that led me to Animal Crackers (through Nov 4; tickets) at the Angus Bowmer Theatre for my second matinee. Animal Crackers is exactly what it sounds like: a stage version of the 1930 Marx Brothers film with more theatrical elements and interludes of vaudevillian ridiculousness.
Directed by Seattle director (represent) Allison Narver, Animal Crackers delivers the one-two like no other. Limited as it is in the context of characters whose performance history is already well-known, Animal Crackers allows for surprises. No, Harpo (the incredibly skilled Brent Hinkley) will not speak, Groucho (spot-on performance from Mark Bedard) won’t pause through a punchline, or speak without his cigar, but beach balls are tossed into the audience. You begin to question which moments are improvised or planned, which for a comedy troupe is what you’d hope.
An absolutely stellar comedic cast executed the performance with hilarity. Of particular note was the performance of Daisuke Tsuji as Emanuel Ravelli. His conman act as a musician you pay not to play was utterly hysterical, and prompted the middle school tweens behind me to scream, “I love you!” every time he came on stage. Not missing a beat, he would respond with “I love you, too,” or, “You barely know me.” (In the production photos, Tsuji is not pictured, but John Tufts who shares the role.)
Making his grand entrance, The Professor then loses a bit of cutlery. Ensemble. Photo: Jenny Graham.
If Ravelli (sometimes calling himself “Ravioli”) doesn’t get to you, Brent Hinkley’s Professor will. The kleptomaniac, silent character and partner to Ravelli has a five minute long introduction in which he stands facing the audience center as buckets and buckets of stolen silver cutlery fall from his sleeves in front of his host.
Not to be outshone, K.T. Vogt’s straightwoman timing as Mrs. Rittenhouse, who may be a little smitten with Captain Jeffrey T. Spaulding (the T. stands for Edgar), will crack up even the dourest of dispositions. The tween who sat next to me away from her friends can attest to this. Looking like she wanted to murder someone with her arms crossed and fight face on, she actually started giggling as soon as Spaulding and Rittenhouse began riffing off each other.
Yes, the funny bits are funny, and the antics are antic-y. What makes Animal Crackers drag a bit are the romantic story lines that detract from the humor and banter. Musical numbers about how much the various lovers dote on each other become tedious especially since the characters might as well be the same people (and sometimes are performed by the same actor), and the songs generally have the same over-the-top vibe with less comedy.
Ravelli (John Tufts) and The Professor (Brent Hinkley) do some sparring. Photo: Jenny Graham.
Before a bunch of Marx Brothers enthusiasts jump on me, I know that the original movie had these songs and these additional story lines. I’m saying that I thought the story would have been better served without them because for the most part they weren’t living up to their comedic potential.
And yes, I also know that generally what makes something a comedy in classic terms is lovers getting together. I know. Shut up already. I just didn’t care for those stories and songs as much, no matter how well-performed. That being said, the musical numbers were delightful. I especially enjoyed “Hooray for Captain Spaulding,” or really any song in which the entire ensemble was together.
Pulled together by a stellar lighting design (Geoff Korf) and live sound (designed by Matt Callahan) the timing of the piece struck the right chord of ridiculousness that I think the Marx Brothers would approve.
And for the first time, I’ve been convinced of the importance of comedy. Narver writes in her performance notes, “As much as theatre must challenge, provoke and deepen our understanding of the world, it has an equally pressing responsibility–to engage us in the exuberance of being alive, reminding us that a little frivolity can be serious business.”
However, I must once again call out poor patron etiquette. All of the performances I’ve attended have had audiences on school field trips. And for the most part, these students have been respectful, or at the very least gone unnoticed. But during this production there were ten-year-olds who would not shut up sitting in front of me with their teacher. This poor woman attempted to wrangle these students several times to no avail.
I know corporal punishment has fallen by the wayside, but if your students are acting up in a theatre and continue to distract the audience around them, either beat them or remove them from the theatre. The world will thank you for it.
Afternoon/evening drink break!
Doesn't this blurry artichoke chicken wrap with garlic fries look tasty? ($9)
I found myself with a $100 gift card to Standing Stone Brewery, so this is where I abandon eating cheaply (I mean, it still is for me) and I’m tempted to buy a steak dinner. But here’s the thing about sunny days–they make me want to eat vegetables. Like a lot of vegetables. But the anti-health nut inside of me wanted those vegetables to also come with a side of garlic fries and a stout beer. So, Standing Stone was the perfect place to land.
I ordered an Artichoke Chicken Wrap ($9) and their Noble Stout ($4). The Noble Stout was a glorious oatmeal and coffee stout made with a local roasters coffee beans. If you like coffee and you like beer, always buy the coffee stout.
As luck would have it, it’s American Beer Week, so they were tapping a new beer called Backyard Brew. This beer was a honey and blackberry Belgian made from local ingredients. The tapping of this keg was proceeded by a speech from the Mayor about how awesome Standing Stone Brewery is for keeping Ashland full of hops and barely. And they gave me a free half-pint sample of it. Standing Stone for the win. Also, little bit of advice: if a bartender asks you, “Do you want a beer back?” when you order a shot of whiskey, say yes. Always say yes.
Godmother (K.T. Vogt) and the Witches (U. Jonathan Toppo, Eddie Lopez, Daniel T. Parker). Photo: Jenny Graham.
Full of good food and booze I walked over to the Angus Bowmer to see Medea/Macbeth/Cinderella (through Nov 3; tickets), henceforth, it shall be called MMC because it’s obnoxious to type.
For all shows at OSF, there is a substantial amount of dramaturgical information to prepare, or enrich your experience. Most shows only get a few pages worth of information, but the two shows with the most (including supplementary materials in OSF’s magazine Prologue) are White Snake and MMC.
The reason for this seems to be because MMC is the darling of Bill Rauch (Artistic Director of the Fest and one of the directors of this piece, the other director is Tracy Young) and many company members who have known Rauch since college. MMC started as a college project and has since morphed into four different productions as Rauch tries to find the best way to tell all three stories simultaneously. And to oversimplify, that’s what MMC is trying to do–tell the three somewhat similar stories on stage at the same time.
However, looking at it another way, MMC is more of a love letter to the art of theatre. Rauch was inspired by the “three great populist movements in Western drama–Greek tragedy, Elizabethan drama and the American musical comedy” and as such, the play unfolds trying to tell these stories in their chosen form with full on masks, kilts, and brightly colored costumes, respectively. As the play moves forward, everything becomes simplified by removing the make-up, wigs, and costumes.
The play opens with a ghost light and the Stagehand (executed by Mark Bedard), dressed as an OSF usher, hearing the whispers from our three titular characters, and seeing their shadows. From there the three stories continue with some major edits, but still hitting the high points.
The Stagehand moves between every play, and in some ways seems to invoke the stories, or will them into existence while also playing his part as minor characters who further the action through questions or exposition.
In a similarly theatrical vein, the set (designed by Rachel Hauck) is black, with three separate levels (the highest being the thrones) and a staircase leading to a hulking door–essentially, they’ve created a blank space on which the actors build everything and the rest is up to the audience to create.
Keeping with theatrical tradition, Rauch and Young decided to cast the three productions in historical context…ish. For instance, Medea is performed in mask (with the exception of the titular character) but is all female, which is a welcome choice because I think I’d magic my fist through a wall if Medea were played by a dude (no offense to the penis brethren, just stay away from my Medea). Macbeth contrarily is an all-male cast with full Scotsman ensemble. And Cinderella is adorned with cotton candy colors.
Convoluted at times, the production was interesting if for no other reason than as a dramaturgical exercise in seeing where the texts overlap, and in asking questions like, “How the hell does Cinderella inform Medea or Macbeth?” And therein lies my problem.
I’m not a fan of musical comedy and I think I would be a lot happier if I could go through life knowing I’ll never hear the song “Oklahoma” again. I understand musical comedy’s place in theatre history and that’s just dandy, but ultimately, I find there to be little-to-no character development in these plays, or you know, stakes. They aren’t meant to challenge or provoke. They are meant for you to giggle at and whistle along, and promptly forget as soon as you leave, which is about as far from my aesthetic as you can possibly get.
So how can you have Cinderella, the meek scullery maid, share the same space with Medea, the goddess of goddesses of female empowerment and tragedy? How can they stand side-by-side and make me give a shit about Cinderella’s petty problems of really wanting a prince to marry her when Medea is contemplating killing her children? And yet, this is not to say that that question alone didn’t sustain me through the entire production– it did, in a good and bad way.
What I enjoyed about the production was trying to figure out what these pieces were saying to one another. So, as an academic exercise, the play worked. I paid particular attention to when a character from say, Macbeth used something said in Cinderella as subtext to move in the space and those choices were illuminating (and meticulously crafted). I laughed when the Fairy Godmother became Hecate in Macbeth, for example, and that the three women in Cinderella were often paired against the weird sisters.
Macbeth (Jeffrey King), Cinderella (Laura Griffith) and Medea (Miriam A. Laube). Photo: Jenny Graham.
But as a theatrical experience beyond these bits of storytelling, I’m not sure what it accomplished. If anything it made me wish Rauch and Young would direct this all female version of Medea as long as Miriam A. Laube gets to play her, ’cause, damn. But in terms of emotion it evoked, or other questions beyond hunting for these Easter eggs, I’m not sure what’s there.
So, is it enough just ask the questions and hope that emotion can be left behind? I want to think so. I also think I would love reading it to see how they pieced it together. I’d even be tempted to see it again if only to try to figure more out and to continue asking questions about how the three texts can/should/should not inform each other.
This was not a simple night of theatre. You were not meant to sit back and watch idly. This play was meant for your constant engagement and focus because there were so many elements at work. And this alone, makes me think more similar endeavors would be a worthwhile contribution to the Festival. It’s not a play you enjoy, but I would say it is an experience.
After MMC I stopped by Standing Stone Brewing Company yet again, this time to purchase a growler of their regular oatmeal stout ($22). Growlers are known in my house as “Writer’s Helper.” Day Three will feature White Snake, Seagull, and perhaps sushi.
Living in Seattle affords one certain opportunities– selection of breweries, assortment of strange persons with whom to share your evening, and an eight hour proximity to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (by 1992 Honda Civic).
As my budget allows, I like to visit Ashland to take inappropriate advantage (my hand is so far up this skirt, I should probably pay for dinner) of this proximity to sleaze it up for three days. There’s nothing I enjoy more than driving down to Ashland for a week of good theatre, and I mean really fucking good theatre.
The plan is simple: five or six shows in three days spending as little money as possible. Gas is generally the biggest budget buster because if you plan in advance you can score $20 tickets to all the performances. Get a hotel in a mile and half radius and you don’t have to pay for parking (I like the Manor Motel, but there are number of cheap options usually looking crumbly next to the expensive ones). Add a fridge in your hotel room, and you don’t even have to buy meals. But it is a vacation so finding cheap, delicious food that isn’t cold or doesn’t come from a gas station is kind of awesome.
Romeo (Daniel José Molina) feasts his eyes on Juliet (Alejandra Escalante) in the privacy of the Capulet garden. Photo: Jenny Graham.
My first day in Ashland started off with a matinee performance of Romeo and Juliet (running through Nov. 4th; tickets) at the Angus Bowmer Theatre. My associations with Romeo and Juliet are fairly similar to most people’s. It’s probably the only Shakespeare I saw for the first fifteen years of my life. It was a staple of community theatres, high school workshops and various repertories in the immediate vicinity, and it was assigned reading in middle school. However, the benefit of R&J is universal understanding of what’s going to happen. There is no surprise twist.
The negative, of course, is that because it’s so well known, your audience has a few more expectations. What you hope is that your lovers are believable and the fights are well-choreographed. The only thing that can truly destroy an R&J production out of the gate (besides the aforementioned) is a poorly executed backdrop. I once saw a beach bum themed production of Twelfth Night if you need a reference for this, or there’s the horror of Hamlet in space.
Luckily, this production decided to use the end of the mission era in the California Territory (not yet a state) circa 1847. The two sides are well to-do families of “mixed ethnic descent” but without the political annoyance of the Gold Rush beginning. Integration of various Spanish words like “mija” and Spanish pronunciations of names added a tender dimension that still scanned correctly (it’s a huge pet peeve of mine when directors change Shakespeare’s names and then they don’t scan properly, see: Lysander becoming Lysandra).Wonderfully acted, directed, and designed Romeo and Juliet delivered on most counts.
Daniel Jose Molina’s Romeo was wonderfully captivating with just the right touch of nerdiness, and more than a fair share of teenage hormones. The high school group in the audience particularly liked seeing him half-naked, kissing Alejandra Escalante (Juliet), but as I was sitting next to his mother (I’m serious) I don’t feel comfortable mentioning such things. Unsurprisingly, he’s a good looking guy.
His talent was surprising. Hoo boy. Molina has some chops to spare. Because I was sitting next to his mother, I know that he’s recently out of school, and that he was born in the Dominican Republic. (I wish I had some embarrassing stories accompanied with baby pictures, but I was sitting next to his mother, not mine.)
Romeo (Daniel José Molina) and Juliet (Alejandra Escalante) are overjoyed that they are to be married. Photo: Jenny Graham.
Directed by Laird Williamson, the production was beautifully staged taking into account small moments of storytelling. I particularly enjoyed the man who was really unsure of the choreographed steps at the party. He kept looking shyly at his feet with his pretty partner prompting him to look at her. Considering most choreographed dance pieces involve all revelers moving perfectly in unison, I enjoyed this small bit of interest.
The balcony scene was also delightfully awkward, as it should be, with Juliet performing the insecure schoolgirl talking to herself and trying to be sexy as she pretends Romeo’s hand is on her face. Again, I have to nod at Molina for running back, forth, and falling hopelessly to the ground when he can’t kiss her. I laughed a lot during this scene, and I hate things.
Isabell Monk O’Connor’s Nurse delivered as the loving fool who’s wiser than you think. And it is her reaction to Juliet’s death more than anyone else’s that broke my heart.
Fearing that the costumes (designed by Susan Tsu) would be muted, I was delighted with the use of reds and browns. All the men had an inset V in their pant legs with silver buttons trailing up the sides, and most wore spurs on their boots. Sashes of gold and maroon off-set the tans well enough to establish a little bit of fabulousness when needed. I was a little disappointed in the seeming lack of bright colors on the females, but their dresses were lovely all the same.
The set (designed by Michael Ganio) were thin, climbable wood-slats in two half circles (one of which could move) and a simple raised oval in the middle. The sparseness of the stage was wonderful, and though I couldn’t see it fully from where I was sitting, the projections on the cyc looked lovely.
The negatives I have about the show were entirely based on my location in the house. Because they were using a partial circular thrust, and because I purchased my $20 cheap seat ticket (so I really can’t complain, but I will anyway) I missed a couple of moments I would have liked to see. Most of these moments happened downstage center, like the first kiss at the party, the Queen Maab speech (my favorite), and the prologue.
I didn’t care for the use of the skull masks when Juliet foreshadows Romeo’s demise after their fierce night of wedded lovemaking, but the director made a justification for it by using them in the tomb as well. The masks seem to invoke the day of the dead, which makes sense in the context of the period, however, because there were no other elements of non-reality, the choice felt lacking.
Also, a note to patrons: Please don’t touch someone you don’t know in the middle of a show, or throughout a show. And no matter what, please don’t mention anyone’s genitalia, especially when you’re sitting next to said person’s mother. I swear, the other woman sitting next to me (clearly, not Molina’s mother) had some boundary issues.
Moving on.
Happy Hour "Playwirght's Wings" $6
After a matinee performance, you might feel inclined to spend money on a beverage. I know. Crazy. If you do, the happy hour I recommend is at a place called The Playwright. Besides the obviously pandering name, the happy hour (4-6pm) was relatively decent $3.50 for a 20 oz Mac & Jack, and $6 for an incredibly large (20 pieces) plate of spicy chicken wings that I was tempted to finish in one sitting (I couldn’t entirely, but I came close).
If you can’t go for happy hour, I’d skip it. The food was just typical pub fare with kitschy names like “Playwright’s Wings” (hot wings) or “Poor Playwright’s Wings” (fries with hot sauce and bleu cheese), and the regular prices were too expensive to justify for pub food. But happy hour is the great forgiveness for sub-par, or regularly par, or just par food (I don’t understand golf).
The great thing about this pub is that it’s far enough away from the main festival street that it was almost completely empty for happy hour. I hate people. Well, I hate some people. I like to drink, eat, read, write in peace. The Playwright was quiet and devoid of people asking me things (or touching me while I’m trying to watch, or read something– yes I’m still bitter at you, old woman at R&J). Win. The music playing was a little 90s, but I didn’t mind, though I did hear someone else complain about it.
Next up was the evening performance of Troilus and Cressida (through November 4th; tickets) because I wanted to get my and performances out in one day, and be really sad (which is why I went to a pub at 4pm). Seriously, this was my day of death and tragedy. Troilus and Cressida is not a happy play despite being really funny. It’s the kind of funny you wish wasn’t funny, or is trying so hard to be funny because in a minute the person you’re laughing at is going to die in a really horrific way.
Thersites (Michael Elich) taunts Achilles (Peter Macon) as Patroclus (Ramiz Monsef) looks on. Photo: Jenny Graham.
Troilus and Cressida was performed at the New Theatre. Holy Jesus God do I love this theatre. This blackbox is almost too fancy to be a blackbox. In my day (being today) a blackbox was a black concrete slab with sound boxes on the side and a jerry-rigged sound system with castaway lights no one wants. Not at OSF. No. This blackbox has traps, and a really impressive grid, and ponies. Bastards. I want to live in this theatre… I digress.
The challenge with Troilus and Cressida is that not many people know the story, and even if they do, it’s complicated because it’s the Trojan War. This means there are a lot of characters who are equally important and say weighty things, and then disappear for two acts, and then come back at the end to blow your mind, or blow you up. It might be called Troilus and Cressida but they aren’t in the play as much as you might think, and they don’t have nearly as much importance as Romeo and Juliet to the forward momentum of the story.
The basic idea behind Troilus and Cressida is to tell you war is bad. Do you understand that? War is the opposite of goodness. People fighting in a war don’t really want to fight it, but they will find reasons to keep fighting in it, which is how you can have wars that go on for years, and this is not good. See? Now you know.
What’s awesome about Troilus and Cressida is that Cressida is a badass. I mean a really awesome, female character who actually says funny, smart things, and doesn’t want to be owned, but who also understands that she’s a woman in an era when women can’t do anything about it; she’s stuck, so she’s gotta do what she’s gotta do; she’s going to survive. Cressida is way cooler than your mom. She’s not cooler than my mom, but she’s definitely cooler than yours.
Troilus, on the other hand, is a douche (see: tool of the patriarchy).
Pandarus (Barzin Akhavan) arranges a rendezvous between Troilus (Raffi Barsoumian) and Cressida (Tala Ashe). Photo: Jenny Graham.
Directed by Rob Melrose, this production is set contemporarily with inspiration taken from the Baghdad Museum looting. Interestingly, Melrose says in the program that he’s using the Trojan War “as the beginning of a long history of East-West conflicts: the Persian Wars, the Crusades, the Vietnam War, the Gulf and Iraq Wars.”
This premise interested me immediately especially since none of the characters are inherently (or remotely) likeable. But you like them anyway. It’s that whole reality TV show thing– you can’t look away, and for some reason, you’re kind of routing for the jerk.
Particularly captivating were the brief and subtle moments between Achilles (performed by the masterful Peter Macon) and Patroclus (performed by the sweetly charming Ramiz Monsef). You might want to sit down for this (or, readjust in your chair): Shakespeare wrote a queer relationship. I know. It kind of blows your mind. And he wrote about it being between a tough-as-nails, badass warrior Achilles, and a softer warrior/companion, Patroclus. Though the text only mentions it once or twice, and their onstage affair is never directly seen (i.e., there’s no Romeo and Juliet-like affection), the staging of their relationship is still resoundingly sweet, even if it was written to be contemptible.
Barzin Akhavan’s performance of Pandarus was equally charming as the uncle trying so hard to get Troilus and Cressida to bone, though Akhavan did sound like he was going hoarse. And Elijah Alexander’s Ajax made me wish the dopey fighter would win the day in the end. Alas, alack.
The transformation of the set (designed by Michael Locher) into the orchard by simply lowering some fake pink flowers on strings and adding a fountain was surprisingly affecting. I don’t like to admit that my heart pitterpatters, but it did then, which is fitting since that’s when the lovers finally get together.
Also of note was the light design by Jiyoun Chang, who actually made me believe there was a pool on stage to the point where I kept thinking, “If that actor steps one more foot, they’ll be soaked.” Then I slapped myself, and I was better.
The difficulty with this piece is that the story jumps around a lot, and the lovers you’re routing for dissolve before the climax, so by the end you’re essentially watching several fight scenes that have characters you care little about, which means their deaths aren’t nearly as tragic.
I will again nod to Macon though, who made me care about his pain over Patroclus’ death. So, yeah. Kill Hector. That will make us feel better. But then Hector gets dragged around by a car (off stage) so that’s not as happy.
Thus ended my first day at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. Stay tuned for reviews of Animal Crackers, Medea/Macbeth/Cinderella, The White Snake, and Seagull.
