Something to makest thou chuckle

I know I'm a little late but last month The Boston Globe's Alex Beam penned a short three-act play about the Gates-gate affair as Shakespeare might have written it. (Thanks to The Playgoer for the tip.)

It's called The Sheriff at the Gates: A Farce in Three Acts, and it's wicked clever. (Or clevah, as they say in Cambridge.) I hope some theatre company puts it on someday!

In the meantime, to whettest thine whistle, (or is it thy whistle?) here's a snippet from Act Three:

(In the garden of the White Palace, GATES, BARACK and CROWLEY are sipping ale, joined by the FOOL.)

FOOL: What? No beer nuts?

BARACK: Silence, Fool! Or back to Delaware with you.

FOOL (sniffing his glass, suspiciously): What beer is this? I smell the filth of Antwerp and Bruges.

BARACK: ’Tis our nation’s finest, lately of St. Louis, now in foreign hands.

FOOL (Aside): ’Tis a light man that drinks a light beer.

Audra McDonald, your lips are fabulous

I love this comment from the lovely Anne Hathaway, doing Shakespeare in Central Park through July 12, when the weather cooperates.

Hathaway, whose character in Twelfth Night is masquerading as a man, tells the women of The View what it's like to kiss costar Audra McDonald:

"We did a photo shoot yesterday and the photographer wanted us to kiss. So we kind of spent a good 15 minutes making out and I've never really focused on it before but Audra McDonald, your lips are fabulous. I mean they're just pillowy and soft. And I was just like, wow."

Here's Hathaway's appearance on The View:



And here's an article on the production from The New York Times:

“I have a double learning curve, not only because it’s my first time with Shakespeare but because this is my first major theatrical production,” Ms. Hathaway said. “So just staving off a nervous breakdown has been the main thing for me.”

Even though I'm not a big Shakespeare fan, the cast for this play really makes me wish I could make it to Twelfth Night. The whole Shakespeare in the Park experience sounds great - theatre under the stars, with a gentle summertime breeze.

I'll have to put it on my list of goals to accomplish next year.

The Shakespeare slot

The Playgoer, always on the lookout for interesting stories from across the country, found one in the Denver Post, where John Moore wrote about the Denver Center Theatre Company's practice of scheduling plays by "slots" i.e., the black play, the woman's play, the Latino play.

Moore argues that it can end up seeming condescending to the very audience the theatre is trying to attract. (Okay, we've given you your "black" play during Black History Month, now we can forget about you for the rest of the season.)

But he admits that the alternative hasn't worked out very well. For years, the Denver Center Theatre had pretty much ignored the city's large Hispanic population and Latino theatergoers felt the doors were closed to them.

"I do think of it as a slot in our season but I think that's a positive,'' says artistic director Kent Thompson. And Moore notes that many of the works from Latino playwrights are commissioned by the theatre, which is great.

Honestly, those slots don't bother me, as long as they're worthwhile plays. I like seeing diversity built into the schedules of regional theatres. We should have more plays by blacks, women and Latinos. And I've written before that as an audience member, I want a balanced season - between new works and classics, comedies and tragedies.

However, when I first read this story I was thinking, there is one slot I could do without. I know this is blasphemy, but it's the Shakespeare slot. My eyes glaze over when I see Shakespeare on an upcoming schedule.

It's not out of a lack of interest - he covered some pretty universal themes, after all. Over the past few years I've seen Hamlet, Richard III and Macbeth. They're usually nice to look at - interesting scenic design and special effects and menacing villains.

But it's been a long time since high school and I just don't find the language very accessible. It's often difficult to figure out who's who and what's going on without some preshow preparation. I don't mind being challenged when I go to the theatre. But I don't feel I'm getting as much out of Shakespeare as I should.

Last fall, I wrote about Seattle theatre critic Brendan Kiley's list of 10 things regional theatre companies must do to save themselves. Kiley, who writes for Seattle's alternative weekly, Stranger, put this at the top of his list: "Enough with the ********* Shakespeare already."

In fact, he called for a five-year, nationwide moratorium on all productions of Shakespeare, arguing that the Bard has become a crutch theatre companies use when they're timid and have run out of ideas.

Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. I understand that some theatres are pretty much obligated to do Shakespeare. Trinity Repertory Company, as part of its Project Discovery educational series that brings schoolchildren to the theatre, alternates Shakespeare and classic American works.

And there's probably a part of the adult audience that wants to see the Bard, too. Next season, Trinity Rep is doing Twelfth Night. I might go. I'll just make sure I do some homework beforehand.

Trinity Rep's new season: second chances

I love this time of year, when regional theatres announce their shows for the upcoming season. I can only imagine how difficult it must be in this economy to put together a mix of crowd-pleasers and new works that you hope will draw an audience.

Trinity Repertory Company unveiled it's 2009-2010 lineup this week. The theme for the season, according to artistic director Curt Columbus and associate director Craig Watson, is second chances.

Here's what they have to say:

“Starting over and taking up the challenge is something we’re all facing, regardless of ideology,” Watson says. “We wanted a season that people would have fun with – giving us all a second chance, a second wind, with music and laughter,” adds Columbus.

Trinity Rep doesn't usually tackle a lot of musicals, so I'm really looking forward to Kander and Ebb's classic Cabaret. And The Odd Couple, wow. I've seen so many of the movies made from Neil Simon's plays but I've never had a chance to see one on stage. In fact, I only know either of those shows from their film and television incarnations.

I saw Sarah Ruhl's The Clean House a couple years ago and really enjoyed it. She has a good ear for witty dialog and creates some great, quirky characters. I'm hoping Dead Man's Cell Phone will be another insightful look at modern life.

I have to admit that I've never heard of Shooting Star or its playwright, Steven Deitz. But I do love romantic comedies. Likewise, I'm not familiar with Pamela Gien, but the Syringa Tree sounds like a very moving personal story.

As for Twelfth Night, well, after seeing a few of Shakespeare's tragedies in a row, it'll be nice change of pace.

Here's the lineup: (And of course, A Christmas Carol is returning, from Nov. 20 to Dec. 27.)

Cabaret book by Joe Masteroff, music by John Kander, lyrics by Fred Ebb
September 11 – October 11 in the Chace Theater
Berlin, 1931: music, money, and love are there for the taking. Cliff seeks inspiration for his novel. He finds it in Sally Bowles, the Kit Kat Klub’s chanteuse, who charms him into sharing his apartment. The emcee has not one but two ladies to keep him company. The landlady’s found new love with the grocer. Yet outside the cabaret the world is changing: what's in store for Sally and her friends? Cabaret celebrates the indomitable human spirit.

Shooting Star by Steven Dietz
October 16 – November 22 in the Dowling Theater
A young man and woman fell in love in college, and promised each other they’d change the world. Twenty years later, they meet unexpectedly in a snow-bound airport. Sharing stories deep into the night, they discover who they’ve become as they recall who they were. When morning comes, all flights are cleared for departure – what’s the final destination for these two? The author of God’s Country and Lonely Planet gives us that rare thing: a truly smart romantic comedy.

Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
January 29 – March 7 in the Chace Theater
Shipwrecked, orphaned, separated from her twin brother, disguised as a boy in a hostile country – when Viola thinks things can’t get worse, she falls for her new boss, the Duke. He pines for Olivia, who’s sworn off men – till she met Viola’s male alter-ego. Spurned suitors, servants with delusions of grandeur, and Viola’s big, big love for the Duke – it’s a giddy mess that’ll put someone in the madhouse. Shakespeare’s meditation on love and identity is one of his most nuanced – and funniest – comedies.

Dead Man’s Cell Phone by Sarah Ruhl
February 19 – March 28 in the Dowling Theater
Why doesn’t he answer that phone?! Jean picks it up, and finds herself holding his legacy in her hand, along with the phone. Think about it: when we leave our bodies, do we live on in our cell phones, iPods, GPS’s, and PDA’s? Do these indispensable tools, these grown-up toys, hold the secrets to the afterlife? From the author of The Clean House, another whimsical comedy about life, death, and love in these modern times – and the connections, real and virtual, holding them together.

The Odd Couple by Neil Simon
April 9 – May 9 in the Chace Theater
Oscar’s wife has left him. Alone in his big apartment on Riverside Drive, his slovenly ways run happily amok. Then, Felix’s wife kicks him out. Concerned about his poker buddy, Oscar takes Felix in, but there’s a problem: Felix is a neat-freak, and his compulsive cleanliness drives Oscar to distraction. What will these woefully, wonderfully mismatched roommates learn from each other? Can they stay together, or is their living situation hopeless? Hilarity ensues in Neil Simon’s beloved touchstone of American comedy.

The Syringa Tree by Pamela Gien
April 30 – May 30 in the Dowling Theater
Growing up under Apartheid, six-year-old Lizzie confronts rules she cannot understand. Why must her nanny keep her daughter hidden? Among twenty-eight characters capturing four generations, she paints an evocative portrait of the abiding love between two families – one black, one white. History’s shocking events unravel, mingled with the resonant rites of passage all families share. As Lizzie comes of age, we experience her sacrifice and liberation, and the bonds which cannot be broken.

Richard III

The last time I saw Shakespeare on stage was two years ago, when I went to Trinity Repertory Company's production of Hamlet. To prepare, I bought a copy of the play that had the traditional version on one side of the page, and a modern English translation on the other side.

While the antiquated language, with its puns and poetic quality, might have been child's play to the groundlings who attended performances of Shakespeare's plays in Elizabethan England, it wasn't exactly music to my 21st-century ears. So I was glad I read the play beforehand. I would definitely have been lost without it.

This time, for Trinity's Richard III, I didn't do any preparation, except for quickly scanning a summary of the plot. I'd seen Al Pacino's documentary Looking for Richard, in which Pacino, accompanied by some well-known fellow actors, talks about putting on the play and takes us through the story. I figured that would be enough. Sometimes it was. But at other times, I admit the words went right over my head.

The two-tiered set, designed by Michael McGarty, certainly put me in the right frame of mind. Most of the action in Richard III takes place on two huge, jagged gray concrete slabs, with a small crevice running between them that I was constantly afraid the actors were gong trip over. The stone slabs give the production a dark and gloomy look and set the tone for what we're about to see: a cold, hard and brutal story of a grab for political power.

The play starts off with soldiers carrying rifles and dressed in modern camouflage fatigues running onto the set. Shots ring out and there's lots of hand-t0-hand combat. It's all carefully choreographed by Craig Handel to the sounds of the Canadian indie rock band Arcade Fire. The scene is noisy, fast-paced, and when I think about, disturbingly thrilling. I'm fairly certain that real battles aren't nearly as neatly choreographed.

But that's only the beginning of the carnage. As we watch Richard, Duke of Glocester, scheme to make himself king he orders the killing of anyone who stands in his path, including his brother the Duke of Clarence, played by Stephen Berenson, and the two young sons of another sibling, King Edward IV, played by Johnny Lee Davenport. I've never seen so much killing in so many different ways on stage. People are shot, stabbed, strangled and that's not even the worst of it.

Brian McEleney does a superb job as Richard. He's described by Shakespeare as a hunchback, but in this production director Kevin Moriarty makes Richard's deformities the result of battle scars. He limps around on stage, with his leg in a brace and his arm in a sling. You know just from looking at Richard that he's not someone you want to cross. He sports a severe crew cut and there's no hint at all of softness in him.

Richard does his best to be charming and mask his true intentions. He walks into the audience to shake hands, hugs his two nephews, pretends to be pious. It seems to work for the people around him. But to me, he's still pretty creepy. There's something about his manner that you just don't trust. McEleney does a lot with his eyes, letting you know that it's all an act.

As thrilling as it was to watch McEleney become more power-mad, some parts of Richard III did drag a bit, especially in the 90-minute first act. The scene where Richard charms Angela Brazil's Lady Anne, getting her to marry him despite having been responsible for the deaths of her husband and father-in-law, seemed to go on too long. It was hard to keep all the kings, queens, princes, lords and ladies straight and figure out how they were related to one another. And some of the dialogue seemed to get lost, especially if the actor's back was turned.

For me, there was a point when he truly became a monster, and no twinkle in his eye could salvage it. Richard sends one of his henchmen to kill the little princes, imprisoned in the Tower of London, in a scene that is unbelievably disturbing. It would have been easy enough to have the killing take place completely off stage and have someone simply report back to Richard that the deed had been done. But Moriarty doesn't spare us. He lets us see Richard for who he is - totally amoral.

The younger prince, played on the day I saw the show by Max Theroux, is strangled. And he does a great death - his body immediately goes limp. It's over quickly. But the older prince, played by Chris Lysik, is murdered in a way that's a little more drawn out. It's done on the second tier of the stage, in a corner, with Lysik lying down, so we don't see his face, or actually see the killing. But we do see the murder weapon and we hear it being used against a small child, and it's very hard to take. Even though we know, of course, that it's not really happening, it's still sickening to imagine.

After the death of the princes, when Richard is finally crowned and makes his appearance as king, he's bathed in blindingly bright lights. It's quite an effect. But this moment of triumph is also the beginning of the end. He becomes increasingly isolated. He confronts Phyllis Kay's Queen Elizabeth, the widow of King Edward IV, and demands to marry her daughter. Kay is terrific as one of the few people who will not be bullied by Richard. She's repulsed and helps to raise an army against him. Before the climactic battle, he has a nightmare in which he's confronted by the ghosts of all those he's killed, and utters one of the play's most famous lines: "My kingdom for a horse."

One of the most fascinating parts of watching Richard III is how you almost become immune to the killing - there's so much of it. Plus, in the beginning, it's easy to be seduced by Richard, easy to believe that violence was simply how power got transferred in his time. Maybe he was no more evil than the kings who preceded him.

In the beginning, we're almost taken in by what Trinity Rep's artistic director Curt Columbus calls Richard's "gleeful villainy." Columbus says that the play "lures us over to the 'dark side,' at least vicariously, and provides us with the thrill of acting without conscience, without thought to morals or consequences, in a world that is shaped by power."

By the end, no one is taken in. While Richard III is an extreme example of absolute power, I think it does have something to say to a modern audience. We may not face evil on Richard's level, but we do have to be wary of political candidates who simply tell us what they think we want to hear.