MAJOR BARBARA
With Sarah Brown in Guys and Dolls and Barbara Undershaft in Major Barbara both on the boards this season, 2013 stands as the Salvation Army year at the Shaw Festival. Director Jackie Maxwell chooses to open the latter, as Shaw himself did in the film of his play from 1941 starring the sublime Wendy Hiller, with Barbara, here dynamically played by Nicole Underhay, preaching at the Army mission. This Barbara reveals a fully confident attitude delivered with a charming and biting toothiness. She is a straight backed and authoritative presence who, we will find, enthusiastically controls others by creating more enthusiasm. She’s a Christian predator “saving” others, genuinely scary in her unquestioning and unreachable connection with the one upstairs. We are not surprised when she accepts the manufacture of cannons.
The next delicious characterization in this funny and thought-provoking production is Laurie Paton’s Lady Undershaft. It’s a joy to hear Shavian wit articulated with such delightful precision and an exquisite shaping and timing of words, to hear Shaw’s pointed writing delivered with such very sharp vocal skills. This Lady is a husky and dominating maternal presence, unreachable in her maternal dominance, one who oozes her authority. And other sharply focused characterizations ensue. Ben Sanders’ Stephan is tight of spirit and tightly tall, as if this character has a coat hanger still in him. Graeme Somerville’s Adolphus Cusins is a sharp fellow who clarifies, summarizes, and objectively explains everything to everyone in unsettlingly clear terms. He is a useful creation for those who have difficulty deciphering Shaw’s meaning at times and every play should have one.
Another distinct creation is Wade Bogert-O’Brien’s Charles, a young man of inflected twirpiness and airheaded non sequiturs as he bursts with huffiness; his momma, however, simply refers to Charles’ “imbecility.” Peter Krantz as Peter Shirley speaks with slightly wining irony in lines like “What kept us poor? Keeping you rich” and we sense in him a concealed ambiguity. The violent Bill Walker of James Pendarves is concisely disturbing when he arrives to give his daughter a “hiding” and even punches one of the Salvation Army women. One responds to his violence from the gut and becomes aware that overt physical violence is the norm in some quarters.
It is through the uncompromising persona of Benedict Campbell’s systematically realized Andrew Undershaft that we experience most the impact of issues addressed by Shaw on human lives. He won’t abide how the others make virtues of starvation and poverty and declares, “I’ve been a poor man and it has been no romance for me” and, more brutally to the point, “Thou shalt starve ere I starve”. His rock solid logic is chilling in “You will make war when it suits us” and it is only in remembering his scars of poverty, in an impassioned outburst, that for a moment he sheds his compelling air of authority. Here he makes a no holds barred case for survival first. He also knows well the human nature that destroys us in his statement, “The more destructive war becomes the more fascinating men find it”.
Maxwell’s direction is very sharp and precise in the mining of Shavian meaning and humour. The flow of Shaw’s ideas that can sometimes overwhelm an audience is here given compelling individual characterizations that draw us into thinking lives. These people, under Maxwell’s sharp guidance, seem to opine from actual existence in the world and thus we feel individual purpose in all this Shavian chat that now, of all things, makes sense. This production is so keenly and intelligently directed that we sit rapt for three hours, almost feeling enclosed within designer Judith Bowden’s dramatically present and evocative sets, especially the mission whose brick walls make one feel trapped and claustrophobic.
PEACE IN OUR TIME
Peace in Our Time: A Comedy is decidedly dated with its politely controversial barbs at cultural stereotypes. We do laugh at the gusto of the performances here, but as enlightening humour or incisive commentary, the production sinks in Shavian generalities partially reworked by John Murrell. The world has since moved on through the overwhelming horrors of many wars and this often revised play from 1938 seems almost forced with naughtiness. It struggles for relevance and bite, hasn’t much of either, and feels instead a well-meaning and naïve anachronism. Of course, Shaw, like Chaplin at the end of The Great Dictator, isn’t big enough for the unresolvable subject at hand, that being the inherent need for destruction at the heart of this rather idiotic species that we are. But then, no one is.
A number of performances, some quite over the top, do delight, however, and gradually the audience becomes constant in its abundant laughter. In the wake of the Sarah Palin phenomenon, Diana Donnelly as Belle pushes her stereotype to skillfully aggravating effect, something which causes a few to find her annoying but, uh, that’s the point, isn’t it? Belle is wide-eyed, abrupt, awkward, blunt, assertive, not on good terms with elegance and not informed. She represents the isolationism of the USA, says “furrier” for “Fuehrer” and tends to pontificate with Sarah Palin cluelessness. She keeps letting us know there is nothing in her brain.
Claire Jullien’s Spanish Dona Dolores Ochoa is likewise a stereotype pushed hard with ongoing exaggeration. Hers is a broadly dramatic flair with volatile gestures, quick switches from ranting to tears, and an alternating run of growls and purrs. She carries a gun and looks quite sexy in a slightly clinging black dress, something those not too keen on this play will enjoy as a fortunate diversion. Jullien’s performance is hilariously self-indulgent and delightfully flambuoyant. The third of the ladies is Moya O’Connell’s Russian Commissar, a woman with a thick and deliberate accent, scowly lips, severe attitude, and a tendency to indignation like the rest.
Director Blair Williams elicits some terrific performances from his male cast as well. Michael Ball’s elderly, waddling and jowly Bishop is a strongly present and aged-in-oak for the short time we have him. Patrick Galligan’s British Foreign Secretary is played naively rational in an understated, quietly commanding and intelligently shaped performance. ‘Tis he who declares, “We can’t have intellectuals intruding on world affairs!” As Joseph Rubinstein, Charlie Gallant is solidly thick accented and thick mustached as he endures remarks like, “They don’t accept that Jesus Christ and his mother were Catholics”. Jeff Meadows as the Secretary to the League of Nations and Sanjay Talwar as the Senior Judge securely add flavorings of poise and some dignity to this human mix.
We also have Andrew Bunker’s Canadian Darcy Middleman (get it?) who takes us through all manner of tried and true Canada jokes: “Where the bad weather comes from” or “In Canada we study the history of all cultures except our own” or a remark that we need a Prime Minister who represents the will of the people….and do we have any idea, in this play about dictators, whom we might be talking about? Middleman gets pissed off at being taken for a Yank and to his question “What has democracy to do with the church” the answer is “Careful, you are talking to an American”.
Lorne Kennedy, as El Generalisimo, is subtly agile in voice and movement in another understated yet commanding presence, but the physical comedy of Neil Barclay’s Il Duce and Ric Reid’s Der Fuhrer leans too puerile, although the audience at my performance found as much delight in their antics as I didn’t. This Fuhrer is accident prone with a slightly pudgy face contorted in arrogance, while Il Duce is a creation made of bravado and an amplified growl of a voice and a person very demanding in manner. These are fine actors but their creations seem to serve no point.
Yes, the direction of Williams maintains a fast clip throughout all this well done chaos. Yes, he and his polished cast pull off noteworthy comedic acrobatics in achieving much variety in caricatures and stereotypes from everywhere. Yes, Camellia Koo’s sets are pleasing with imagination and inner light. Yet, with all this, I regret a waste of so much talent in serving an artifact, one that is interesting as a misguided creation by a major playwright. Perhaps a reading and not a production would have sufficed. Still, if this production and play seem more cluttered than humorously chaotic, one might yet wonder what one could have done in representing a species that would kill sixty million of its kind in a few years?
TRIFLES
The first of two one act plays in the noon hour slot is Trifles by Susan Glaspell who co-founded the pivotal Provincetown players a hundred years ago. Another co-founder, among others, was Eugene O’Neil, the author of the second half of this lunch time program which is titled A Wife for a Life. The immediately haunting set for both plays, by Camellia Koo, is an age-battered wooden shack and one wonders if humans in this setting will blend in with the greyness or stand out. We soon find out that the humanity of the characters to come will do the latter.
These are two quietly gripping productions with unforced potency in characterization throughout. Both explore the fibre of the human heart and the depth of humanity that finds its way into the world. A woman who is “wanted for murder and worried about her preserves,” about her “trifles”, is the cause for an investigation in her home with its ensuing and obvious division in male and female perspective. The men are implicitly mocking and the women are sympathetic to the accused. The men want to prosecute her and women want to understand her, for her husband was “a hard man” and she was “like a bird.” The women see objects as integral to a woman’s life and understand that “we all go through the same things”.
In this production, speech flows its way slowly from this setting. The actors say much more than the text, each one, man or woman, haunted by or controlled by a cultural bias of patriarchy. Each one is quietly trapped in a role that gives function but not much overt expression of compassion. Between the plays, the collective voices create a sound atmosphere that gives haunting underpinning to the setting and the two plays are thus linked with this sound, and this is an effective device. One especially appreciates Benedict Campbell as Lewis as he chews words like a cud and gives us example that we too should chew these words we hear in both plays carefully in our minds.
A Wife for a Life, Eugene O’Neill’s first shot at drama, features a slightly formalized folksiness of speech that, though seemingly obvious, gives effective counterpoint to the unfolding and explicit tension between the two men over the Older Man’s wife. That the Older Man has a “sore spot” regarding “the virtue of women” becomes palpably clear in Campbell’s strong and nuanced characterization. That Jack the younger man is unaware that the woman he loves is the Old Man’s former wife is the play’s ironic center, brought home when Jack and gives him her letter to read. Of course this is a contrived devise, but the need for revenge and the inclination to forgive in the Older Man’s heart are effectively rendered and we are moved. We come to agree about “what tricks fate plays with us” in our lives.
GUYS AND DOLLS
Although Tadeusz Bradecki’s production of Guys and Dolls needs a charge of NYC in its blood -more aggressive pushiness, more high voltage electricity, more dirt- and even if the two leads are most compelling as individuals but repeatedly lacking bite in their interaction as a couple, this is an enjoyable and likable production that obviously pleases its audience a great deal. One doesn’t feel frantic buzz as much as choreography in these New Yorkers, but one does feel touched by the humanness of all these characters. Indeed, since one feels thoroughly good in their presence, perhaps the director was seeking to present real people who live in the city and not those made of showbiz tradition, who knows? In any case, don’t come with too many preconceptions and you’ll enjoy the show.
This NYC is a comfy place, even with the feeling of bigness suggested in Peter Hartwell’s very black and Art Deco-ish set and the engaging physicality of Parker Esse’s choreography enlivening its streets. Because the two leads are of distinctly different individual styles, they do not meld in connection to give the production some narrative urgency to their precarious if impending union. One cares about the leads while at the same time regretting that they are mismatched in style and presence. We respond to each one individually but not much to them as a couple. She, Elodie Gillett as Sarah, is operatic in voice and personality and too big for her Sky, so while both are pleasingly musical, she is big spaces and commanding while he is intimate and somewhat gently suggestive. Their non singing exchanges are in different keys of personality and they don’t respond to each other as much as dynamically co-exist. Maybe they’re not telling us everything between them? In any case, the show seems chamber operatic.
Elodie Gillett’s Sarah Brown is an assertively sermonizing woman who walks like efficiency in overdrive with delivery that is big and bold. She is no shy Sally Ann but one step away from CEO and it is interesting that she falls so readily and comfortably into Havana’s sexiness. Gillett is a dynamic blend of physical and vocal authority and a joy. Sky Masterson, as played by Kyle Blair, is not worldly presence, not a sexual predator, but instead seems a very pleasant nice guy– is there any danger in him? He is ardent and sings with a lyricism that one might sometimes savour, but unlike Sarah he doesn’t burst with feeling. There is no back alley in Sky’s past, although he very subtly suggests an inner demon of fun, a cool demon.
So we go to the secondary characters for a more involving relationship. The Nathan Detroit of Shawn Wright is flat vowelled and nasal, with squeezed facial muscles and a brain of slow grey, an endearing slime of a guy always easing out of difficulty. He is essentially a New York kind of guy, always on the hustle but with an ultimately reachable heart of gold. This is a nuanced performance that unfolds gradually. Jenny L. Wright’s Miss Adelaide, chanteuse and eternal bride awaiting, is idiomatically cute, a very endearing mix of showbiz and housewife, sexually playful, chirpy in a slightly throbbing voice. In sum, she’s a glorious plain gal.
A number of performances stand out in memory. Peter Millard as Arvide Abernathy in his one song, More I Cannot Wish You, offers a quietly poignant show stopper, rich with uncle wisdom and humanity. Patty Jamieson’s General Matilda, hilarious in delivery, is a juicy ass-kicking granny who assertively walks in broad strides and hits the high notes too. Thom Allison’s Nicely-Nicely in Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat is absolute fun, a production in itself. Guy Bannerman’s Lieutenant Brannigan is the seasoned neighbourhood-full-of-hoods cop, gruff and bullish, a walking motif of chastening legality.