The Salem Pimpernel Returns!

This week, the Salem Pimpernel returns to the Salem Weekly with a review of The Diary of Anne Frank, at Pentacle Theatre in Salem: http://www.willamettelive.com/2016/arts-entertainment/political-diary-young-girl/

Blasted: Relevant Piece of Filth

Portland’s Defunkt Theatre is currently staging Blasted, by Sarah Kane, directed by Paul Angelo, with performances by Elizabeth Parker (Cate), Matt Smith (Ian), and Clifton Holznagel (the Soldier).

I have no objectivity at all when it comes to this play. I wrote a dissertation chapter about it. I read every review, every book, every article in the play’s short history. I have a complete picture of the play in my head. But until last night, I had never seen it performed. I was terrified.

It was devastating. And in some ways, it was easy.

Some background: Blasted was first performed in January 1995, at the Royal Court Upstairs in London. Its author, Sarah Kane, was a 25-year-old newcomer. The headline of the Daily Mail’s review the next morning read, “Disgusting Piece of Filth.” It was universally condemned as vulgar and obscene, and the reviews (more than the play itself) sparked an uproar that spread into the nightly news and led to calls for revocation of funding for the Arts Council. Five years and four plays later, Sarah Kane killed herself at the age of 29. Her plays were reevaluated, and Blasted has since become part of the canon. It appears in textbooks. I have taught it to undergrads.

It is no surprise that it is rarely produced: it is not exactly a crowd pleaser, and the technical aspects are, shall we say, demanding. The first New York production was not until 2008. Full credit to Defunkt Theatre for tackling this piece, Portland’s first production. Defunkt has previously staged Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis along with other plays from her in-yer-face brethren. Blasted will probably not play again in Portland for twenty years.  

If you know the play, Defunkt’s production is exactly how you would imagine it. If you don’t know the play, think of all the worst parts of Game of Thrones—yes, those parts— but taking place in your living room, with live actors. If the Hound sucked out Sansa’s eyes and sent them to her mother in a box. That kind of play. Blasted is to True West what True West is to The House at Pooh Corner. It is Titus Andronicus, but with everything on stage and not as happy.  

The original production of Blasted took place in the Royal Court Upstairs, a tiny black box that sat 60 people. Defunkt’s Backdoor Theatre—literally found at the back door of a Portland coffee shop—is perfect. I think, perhaps, there is no better way to stage this play than with absolute intimacy.

Director Paul Angelo follows Kane’s admonition to “treat all of the stage directions like lines” quite faithfully; therefore, the production follows the script beat for beat, down to details such as  Cate flipping the lights on and off, the scattered flowers, and an ominously bloody towel on the floor. Here is what surprised me: 1. Ian was scared. All the time, even of Cate. This was on the page, but I never imagined it so strongly. 2. I liked Cate. I never really liked her while reading, but there was a definite point in scene two where her strength and resolve came out, and I found myself genuinely impressed. 3. There was chumminess between the Soldier and Ian, a relaxed camaraderie that I did not expect. (At least, right up until the point when the Solider threatens to rape him.) I realized, Ian is not really surprised by the Soldier; it is what he expects all the time.

The pacing was excellent, with a slow build through the first scene as the domestic tension builds, and rapid fire chaos after the disaster of scene three. I was incredibly impressed by all of the technical design. Knowing what was coming, I looked for clues (and seams), and I was still utterly surprised by the end of scene two. Sound design especially contributed to the disturbing atmosphere: loud “winter rain” covered the transitions, while a high-pitched whine created physical and emotional unease in the second half.

All three performances were intense, raw, vulnerable. The working class London accents from Ian and Cate were impeccable and added to the authenticity. Ian’s screams of agony over his disintegrating liver were literally gut wrenching, and not the least among the night’s atrocities. All three actors were stripped bare, physically and emotionally, in a way I could not imagine sustaining for a single evening, let alone four nights a week for five weeks. Director Anne Bogart calls actors heroes; playwright Howard Barker says that actors are not quite human. Both are right. Parker, Smith, and Holznagel deserve the highest commendation.

The final moments of the play were absolutely cathartic. The best of tragedies evoke silence, a heaviness and a presence from the audience that sets in during the last five minutes of a Hamlet or a Lear. In Defunkt’s Blasted, the silence started in the middle of scene two and lasted the entire performance. The final image released a collective sigh.

So was I shocked by this disgusting piece of filth? Experiencing the play was easier than I expected. Most of the horrors I anticipated, knowing the script. Some still surprised me. My viewing companion—who knew nothing about the play except what I had old him—“had a good time.” This was not quite what I expected to hear. But then it struck me: This play is twenty years old. Since 1995, we have had 9-11. We have had 7-7. In this country, we have mass shootings literally every day. In 1995, Kane was writing about Bosnia. Today, she would be writing about Syria or ISIL. The world, essentially, has not changed. (Indeed, Ian’s xenophobia would not be amiss under a Trump presidency. And yes, the play is, essentially, political in nature.) If anything, Blasted feels more familiar, more plausible, and that is very much not a good thing for the world.

My only disappointment was that the house, small as it was, was nearly empty. This is one of the boldest productions that you will ever see with a play that transformed British (and American) theatre history. It is not especially pleasant. It is not a play for your mother or your kids. It is not neatly packaged for your consumption and viewing pleasure. As Ian says, it is a story “no one wants to hear.” But it is necessary.

So to Defunkt Theatre, to the actors, the director, and Sarah Kane, I say, in Ian’s words: Thank you. 

Time Stands Still, at Keizer Homegrown

Keizer Homegrown Theatre’s production of Time Stands Still, by Donald Margulies, is an intense interrogation of responsibility in the face of atrocity. Taylor Pawley directs a strong performance that does exactly what theatre should do: ask moral questions in a public setting.

The play, written in 2010, follows in the tradition of Iraq War plays of the early 2000s. The plot follows a civilian war photographer (Sarah) physically and emotionally scarred by an IED, attempting to put her life back together state side. Like Margulies’ Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Dinner with Friends, he tells the story through two adult couples who come together and break apart, in part due to Sarah’s experiences. The dialogue is snappy and naturalistic. The play could easily translate to film, except for some key moments of explosive intensity that work better on the stage.  

I have seen all four cast members in other performances, but none quite so strong as they are here. Paul Malone’s James, Sarah’s boyfriend, is sympathetic, caring, and conflicted, forced to choose between doing something for the world and his own mental survival. Michael Swanson is the best I have seen him as Sarah’s friend, Richard, caught in an ethical trap between friendship and professional duties. Hannah Patterson I remember most as the wide-eyed girl from Pentacle’s Trip to Bountiful. Here, she is a Millennial unjustly picked on by her more mature friends for her lack of life experience. But really, she is a stand-in for the audience, the regular person who cannot really do anything about the horrible things she hears about on the news. The star of the show is clearly Christa Karschnia’s Sarah, far more at home in this dramatic role than in comic parts I have seen previously. She carries the burden of the camera, of the witness. Her anger and bitterness strive visibly against hope and optimism, but not only because of her injuries.

The story starts slowly, as a bit of a mystery, put the major conflict picks up shortly. The second act is intense, emotional, and powerful. In addition to adult language, the play contains graphic descriptions of war time violence; there is probably nothing you have not heard on the nightly news, but be warned.

This play asks deep questions: What is the responsibility of journalism in the face of atrocity? Is it better to document or to act? Is it better to know or not to know, and what good does knowing do on the other side of the world? What does it mean to look from a place of privilege on those who suffer, only to walk away from them? But like all American plays, the politics are explored through the domestic lens of family and relationships.

This is a fine piece. As a follow up to Doubt, Keizer is clearly in the mood to ask the tough questions and explore them with gutsy performances. I can’t wait for The Guys. Time Stands Still only runs through March 12, so see it soon. 

True West, at the Verona Studio

The other one is scared too.

The Verona Studio’s production of Sam Shepard’s canonical play, True West, directed by Jenni Bertels, is very, very good. It did not blow me away, but two outstanding performances make this well worth your time.

If you did not read this play in college, the plot follows two brothers: Austin and Lee. Austin is kempt, educated, intellectual, and is attempting to close out a deal on a screenplay. Lee is rough, unwashed, uncivilized, and has spent the past several months living in the desert. The two collide, squabble, fight, and ultimately trade places.

What makes this production stand out is the performances. Seth Allen’s Austin, the younger brother, is the most sensitive and vulnerable Austin I have seen. He reacts like a victim, used to taking the hits in an abusive relationship, but still eager to please both the absent father and the more immediate threat of his overbearing brother. Allen’s beat changes in the second act (and drunk scene) are something to watch. Lance Nuttman’s Lee, the older, more aggressive brother, is just as vulnerable in his way, despite his tendency to threaten and bully anyone who comes into his circle. For a moment, Lee truly buys into Austin’s dream of building a better life, before slipping back into old habits. Both characters are scared little boys, lost in the desert.

The production also features strong performances from supporting cast members Ed Schoaps as Hollywood producer Saul, and Robynn Hayek as Lee and Austin’s mother. (Mom is always the cherry on the cake of this play: her entrance is unexpected no matter how many times you see it.)

Violence and the threat of violence permeate the stage from the very first moments. Full props go to Paul Malone’s fight choreography, which is realistic and intense. Unfortunately, as others have noted, I missed part of a key fight sequence when the actors went down to the floor. Theatre is always a matter of choices made within limitations; this may have been the best solution given the circumstances. If you go, sit close.

The directing updates the play by ten years to the early 1990s, although the change mostly impacts music and costuming. The core of the play remains the same. My main complaint with the production is the pacing. The first act ran a fast forty minutes—in fact, too fast. This play has pauses and breaths it needs to take; the final moment especially should linger on the retinas. The directing here skims over many of these moments, and I missed them. All the same, this is a strong production. True West plays through March 5. 

Salem Weekly

The Salem Pimpernel posts regularly at the Salem Weekly, published bi-weekly in Salem, Oregon, and available online: http://www.willamettelive.com/category/arts-entertainment/