BURIED CHILD- theatre KAPOW

presented by theatre KAPOW

directed by Matt Cahoon 




“I don’t know what the American Dream is. I do know it doesn't work. Not only doesn't it work, the myth of the American Dream has created extraordinary havoc, and it’s going to be our demise.”

– Sam Shepard



Harrowing.  Haunting. Horrifying.  

These are but a handful of the superlatives which come to mind in describing Sam Shepard's elegiac discourse on the devolution of the American dream, as represented by the characters and situations driving his seminal work, BURIED CHILD. 

At the same time, these adjectives barely scratch the surface of the unflinching treatment given this bleak and unsettling work by theatre KAPOW's hugely talented cast and crew, all of whom come together to break through the unyielding hard-packed clay of a fragmented family's secrets, to reap a blighted crop of dreams and hopes turned gray and sere by betrayal and disappointment. 

BURIED CHILD is a sterling example of what occurs when the improbable converges with the bleakly factual; a family thrives, prospers, even revels in its good fortune, until a mother and her son give in to temptation, and their sin renders the family asunder.  

Then, when a father emasculated by his wife's and son's transgression retaliates by committing  murder, the consequences of their collective actions continue to resonate down the years, seemingly casting all of them into a place where redemption is unthinkable.  

The dynamics that arise from this convergence settle like a pall over this particular midwestern family, percolating into their lives with oppressive permanence, like a chronic disease that first incapacitates, then disfigures, and then- finally, but without mercy- kills. 

The audience is first drawn in by Carey Cahoon's set, which expertly fuses the realistic with the surrealistic; it is almost an organic entity in and of itself. 

The static set recalls a spare, yet commodious living room, dominating fully one-third of the area where normally the audience would be seated.  Asymmetrical lath walls, beautifully illuminated by Tayvo Young's intuitive light plot, almost literally exhale a wearied penury of spirit; like  failed crops, diseased lungs or faded photos of decades past, its unadorned walls are a desiccated sepia.  A couch, a lamp, an end table and a tiny television crouch like starveling rats. For all its generous space, the set brings to mind an oubliette of ages past; a place where things fall in, and are eventually forgotten.

Most remarkable is the rickety staircase which stretches from the balcony to house level; it is three or four steps longer than the average staircase, its pitch from bullnose to landing unnervingly steep, its newel posts splintered and baluster shaky, set dead square in the center of the house and bisecting the audience; is it a dilapidated path to isolation, or respite?  

We're distracted from the looming decrepitude of this living space by the hacking cough of the wizened old man perched on the couch; this is Dodge (Alan McPherson), the paterfamilias of the clan we're all soon fated to meet.  

Like the American Dream he represents, Dodge is not only dying, but willfully contributing to his own demise; a cigarette constantly smolders in his hand, and a flask of whiskey appears at will,  in defiance of the vials of pills which wait mutely on the end table to provide succor. 

Dodge is also sinking inexorably into the shadows of dementia, but like being around an old, senile elephant, one must be careful of how close one gets; Dodge is still capable of hurting, or even killing, with a vicious swipe of his old tusks. 

In turn, we are introduced to Dodge's family and those who describe erratic orbits around their poisoned world; wife Halie (Mari Keegan), caustic, needling, her soul scorched by past sins and the death of her golden boy Ansel, her very self lost in a world of alcohol, old photographs and memories in an unseen bedroom at the top of those dreadful stairs; eldest son Tilden (Peter Josephson), a hulking simpleton obsessed with a certain plot of family land left to itself since an instance of incest and infidelity tore the family apart; and thuggish, sexually twisted second son Bradley (Wayne Asbury), a one-legged creature of rage created by neglect and his own carelessness.  

They are, each of them, fundamental symbols of failure;  crippled, damaged, expurgated.  

Tilden's son, the ambitious and opportunistic Vince (Glenn Provost), Vince's grounded and relatively level-headed girlfriend Shelly  (Anja Parish Ward) and Halie's confessor and confidante, the profligate, amoral Father Dewis (Paul Lussier) provide instances of near-normalcy, but don't be fooled; each one comes into the picture bearing their own demons, and once cast into the hellish amalgam which defines Dodge, Halie, and their ruined offspring, only serve to amplify and act upon their own failings. 

Despite this, the presence of Vince, Shelly and Father Dewis are cathartic; by virtue of merely being in the room, they spark a new level of conversation in the family, unearthing old hurts and long-buried evils, and this is where BURIED CHILD ceases to be merely an exposé on the fraudulence of the American Dream.  

Once in the presence of these three, the implied promise of what it means to be a citizen of the greatest nation in the world becomes a far darker dissertation.  

Through the confessions brought about by Vince, Shelly and Father Dewis, we learn two fundamental truths: first, that the human heart is an unquiet grave, filled with the restless bones of memory; second, that of the value of appearances- how we strive to convince the world that everything is as it should be, even when our lives are devoured by absolute horror.

Or, to put it in simpler terms: what we, through our indulgences and actions find ourselves heading towards is, in Dodge's words, "isn't the worst... this is the least of the worst."  
  
Jesus. 

Director Matt Cahoon proves himself a superbly astute director by distilling the play's thesis to its essence, and by charging his actors to find the best ways in which to convey not only the play's emotional arc, but the full spectrum of emotional eloquence of which all of the characters are capable. 

Cahoon also gifts the production by leaving Shepard's adroitly-placed plot holes in BURIED CHILD open to interpretation. Hallie leaves the house dressed in black, as if in mourning for the dead son she's determined to lionize in both her memory and the town's; she returns the following day dressed in bright yellow, with no indication of where the clothes came from.  Tilden keeps coming in with armloads of fresh-picked corn and carrots, claiming to have gotten  them from a field which has lain fallow for over thirty years; Vince, largely unrecognized by the clan on his arrival, is assumed to be one of the secrets of which the family does not speak... until his father walks in cradling a small and macabre bundle, raising even more questions as to Vince's true identity.

As a result of Cahoon's direction, and the contributions of his immensely gifted cast and creative team, BURIED CHILD comes across as less of a commentary on the unswerving dogma which has driven generations of Americans to aspire to betterment, and more as a sobering narrative on what it is to buy into the fiction- only to have that fiction turn on you. 
   
In the end, Sam Shepard would have us believe that not only is there no such thing as the American Dream, but that the very concept is anathema.  

We will not all become rich, or President, and we will definitely not all die fulfilled and happy in the paths we choose. 

What there is, for most of us, is uncertainty; a world that's more like a Yeats poem, where  "things fall apart" and " the centre cannot hold".  

We can  speak of the play as metaphor, and we'd be correct.  But BURIED CHILD GOES far deeper than mere metaphor; the fact that it is not afraid to do so underscores the play's heart, and explains its enduring success. 

What Shepard would have us learn is that life is neither dream nor nightmare; rather, it life is  comprised of waking moments, each filled with horrors of varying degrees; some small, some very large.  

Either we embrace the horror as it comes, welcome it into our lives, and find the best way to live with it- or we shall be consumed by it.  

There is no respite but one.  

Death.  

theatre KAPOW's treatment of BURIED CHILD is moving, disturbing, and exquisite in its undistilled honesty.  

It is, without question, one of the best plays ever produced in this part of the state.

I am imploring you not to miss it.   


BURIED CHILD  runs May 3-5 at the Adams Memorial Opera House in Derry, NH.  See theatre KAPOW's website for details. 

NHTA Open Meeting/Appreciation Day: "We've Only Just Begun*

NHTA OPEN MEETING/

APPRECIATION DAY:

  

We've Only Just Begun * 

* to blow smoke up your ass.  But wait, there's more!  THIS year, we added a theme song!



Wait.  You didn't know the NH Theatre Awards Open Meeting/Appreciation Day/Bar and Grille had its own theme song?  

Well, it does.  

For the NHTA's inaugural "Appreciation Day", it was decided that The Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun" was to be the song of choice.   

They even rolled out a vintage floor console stereo with an 8-track player, to add just the right bit of retro schmaltz to the afternoon.

So, yeah, there was a theme song.  I'm not sure why, but there was.  

The fact that they chose "We've Only Just Begun" for an organization that's been around 12 years struck me as disingenuous at best, but who am I to argue with the intent? 

So here's what went down on Saturday from 3 to to 3:59 pm.  What happened after that I've no idea, because I was out the door by 4:02.

I'd have stayed longer, but the prospect of hopping from person to person, making small talk and pretending I was happy with how the meeting went was a little too much like heavy lifting.  

Maybe someone else who was there will step up and tell us that substantive and dynamic conversations were had by all, and everyone who came left exalted and inspired, but you won't hear that from me.  

The good:

The nuts-and-bolts part of the meeting- the ONLY part of the meeting- was quick and to the point. Board members stood up and gave clear, concise reports, took questions, and moved on.  Well done.  

Rick Broussard, acting treasurer, reported that the NHTA spent $22,749.40 to produce NHTA 11, and that as of the day of the meeting the NHTA had a balance of $18,568.49 in their bank account.  

Adjudicator trainers are now being paid a stipend.

A volunteer is actively being sought to assume the role of treasurer.  If interested, contact the NHTA.  

Bob Frasca, President of the Operations Committee, spoke at length about the NHTA's mission to find venues other than the Palace where the Awards Night could be held.  

After a search for viable venues, the Stockbridge Theatre on the campus of Pinkerton Academy was selected.  Bob thanked Matt Cahoon and his staff for being instrumental in helping the NHTA board make the decision to move the show to Stockbridge. 

Bob said that while there was a learning curve involved with self-producing the Awards Night, and that the organization spent more money than it anticipated, overall there were fewer issues with the producing of the show, and that the experience was largely positive.  

Bob praised the work of director Scott Severance and stage manager Tim L'Ecuyer, as well as the musicians and technical staff.  

Bob said that the 2013 adjudication season is beginning to get underway and ballots are starting to come in, and that before long the Operations board would be looking at starting the initial groundwork of producing NHTA 12.  They are looking at hiring a professional technical director in tandem with the director and stage manager for NHTA 12, and will look at selling more ads for the program for NHTA 12. 

The top expenses for NHTA 11 were salaries for the musicians, the rental of the technical equipment, the rental of the venue, stipends for the director and stage manager, the cost of printing the program and having the trophies made up. 

Bob summarized by saying that next year the NHTA was looking at opening parts of the process to bids, that NHTA 11 sold the most tickets and had the highest attendance in its history.  

Mark DeLancey, President of the Board of Directors, spoke last.  He touched upon the NHTA's past, present and future, and informed the attendees that the NHTA was looking at awarding venues a contract for three years.  

Mark also talked about the possibility of transitioning the current volunteer adjudicatory body to paid professional judges in the foreseeable future, and spoke to the fact that the NHTA is always on the lookout for volunteers and board members. 

Following Mark's report, plaques were awarded.  Peter Ramsey of the Palace and Mo Demers of the Operations Board were recognized for their many years of service and their contributions to the organization.   

The meeting itself- or, should I say, that part of the event which could be accurately called a meeting in the strictest sense of the word-  took approximately 59 minutes. 

The bad:

Another plaque went to former President of the Board of Directors David Preece, an act that smacked of terribly bad form: Preece, a relatively recent addition to the NHTA, literally walked away from his position on Awards Night, quitting the position without notice or explanation.

The incident has largely been hushed up- except of course that everyone in the NHTA organization knows about it, which made for an excruciatingly awkward exchange between them and Mr. Preece, who was actually there to accept the award.  

This isn't to denigrate Mr. Preece, who by all accounts is a fine and accomplished man, nor any work he might have done on the NHTA's behalf, but apparently if you're an organization's former leader and you leave it high and dry in a fit of pique, it's enough to get you a nice plaque.    

However, longtime board member Neil Pankhurst, who served the NHTA faithfully almost from its inception, acted as adjudicator proctor for years, and who stepped down from his positions on the board and as proctor in a professional and gentlemanly fashion, was not mentioned at all.  

Following the informational segment of the meeting, attendees were encouraged to mix and mingle with board members, as if at a cocktail party or gallery opening, and to go "one on one" with board members to discuss the issues they thought most important.  

Whether this was an intended strategy or mere serendipity doesn't matter; when the opportunity to air one's concerns in a public forum is denied in favor of the ol' "one on one", where anything said only transpires between two people, it means later on those in charge can claim that a subject was never brought up. And no one can prove otherwise.  Brilliant. 

Since the NHTA board meetings have never been transparent, the "Open Meeting"... excuse me, "NHTA Appreciation Day"- is the one opportunity that the NHTA has to be honest and, dare I say, "open" to the thoughts and concerns of the people they are there to serve, and they blew it.  

Nothing about what may have stood improvement/what worked at Awards Night, and certainly nothing about the deficiencies in the adjudicatory process from training onward, or what's going on with either the Board of Directors or the Operations Committee was discussed in the presence of everyone assembled.

There were no substantive discussions between the electorate and the two respective boards, because no time was made for them; it was a cocktail party where a meeting (for lack of a more accurate term) broke out. 

Like the theme song they chose, this so-called "Open Meeting/Appreciation Day" was little more than pleasant-sounding fluff; the only consolation is that those who came were well-fed and plied with enough wine so that it appeared to be a meeting of substance.

In the end, this gathering was one of smoke and mirrors, with noshes and a wet bar.  

The only items of import discussed in a public forum were those that had occurred in the past- not much to be done about that.  

As to where the NHTA is now, and where it's going?  Not so much, at least not in a forum where everyone heard the same thing at the same time.

In sum, the day was engineered in such a way that no promises had to be made, and no responsibility had to be taken.   

Well played, NHTA.  Well played. 

The best part of the day for me?   Getting to hear the dulcet tones of Karen Carpenter singing "We've Only Just Begun".  

On 8-track.  That really was cool.

I freakin' LOVE Karen Carpenter, and hearing that song kind of made me mist up a little.  So, you know, thanks for that, NHTA.  

And the drive in and back was gorgeous.  So, not a total waste of an afternoon. 

---------

Y'know... I want to like the NHTA.  I really do.  

More than that, I want to LOVE it; I want to speak of it in the most glowing of terms, and with unbridled affection and enthusiasm, and through the force of my words convince those to whom I'm speaking that the NHTA is not only a good organization- it's a GREAT organization. 

But I can't.  

And the reason I can't is not because the NHTA is staffed with base, selfish, evil people all of whom are intent on their own agendas, or whose egos dominate the goings-on, because that isn't true.  By and large, these are good people, doing good things.   

It's because after 11 years, those in charge either forget or don't catch on to the concept that we who comprise the theatre community here in New Hampshire are not complicated people. 

It doesn't take a lot to please us.  We just want to do theatre well, have a good time while we do it, and that's pretty much it.

Or maybe those in charge really DO understand us... and they just don't LIKE us for being so darn simple. 

Maybe they think "oh, people CAN'T can't be that simple, so let's just make things more complicated, so that they'll see what they're missing... that'll reel 'em in, by God".

This is puzzling in that most of the people currently staffing the Board of Directors and the Operations Committee come from the very community which the NHTA is supposed to be serving.... one would assume that after being in the trenches, they'd have a lot more empathy for the way the community thinks. 

Maybe they just need a reminder, so here it is. 

We don't need food, or drink, or music, or convoluted PowerPoint presentations replete with charts and graphs to convince us how wonderful something is.

Those things are nice, and thank you for going to all the trouble, but that's not what we come for. 

We've had our Awards Night.  We don't need another one, especially when only a select few can attend, and especially when the original Open Meeting was moved twice and then transmogrified into a hollow celebration which was redundant and superfluous- if you've awards to give, give them out on the same night as you give out all the other awards, okay? 

What we come for- what we WANT- are serious people who understand that the administration of an organization is serious business, who will sit down with us, look us in the eye, and tell us the truth.  

How about next year, NHTA, you keep the stuff that worked- the clear and concise reports by real people who are doing real work, and then open up the floor to the people who you serve, and let there be a real, honest-to-goodness dialogue between the board and its membership, where real questions and real answers stands a better chance of seeing the light of day, rather than some ersatz cocktail setting where people chat in dark corners and wonder if what they had to say was actually heard?  

Personally speaking, I'd be willing to forego the buffet, the wine and the cutesy soundtrack in exchange for that which really matters: a bunch of people who are happy to take time out of their day to sit in a room and talk honestly about the best way we can all celebrate theatre, and make the entire process better. 

That'd be real swell.  But until the NHTA stops with the bonehead stunts and the pandering, the criticisms will continue.  

I, too, have only just begun.  

- Michael J. Curtiss
April 27, 2012  

The NHTA website 

EURYDICE- The Players' Ring

EURYDICE

presented by The Players' Ring

directed by Bretton Reis

EURYDICE is playwright Sarah Ruhl's innovative re-imagining of the classic Greek myth, detailing the story of musician and poet Orpheus, told from the perspective of his wife, and reflecting on the consequences that rise from the persistence of following the yearnings of memory, as well as the very human struggle of what we endure to keep sharp the images of those taken from us by death.

EURYDICE is an excellent example of a playwright manifesting intention- not through text, but by that which lies between the text; not the thing, but the idea of the thing.

It's a story rich with interstices of tragedy, comedy, absurdity, catharsis, metaphor; indeed, a host of disparate narratives, wrapped in myth and powered by magical thinking.

Director Bretton Reis distinguishes himself as collaborator and facilitator, balancing both with a keenly perceptive vision. Reis takes a minimalist approach to mapping EURYDICE's emotional arc and plot points, and his choices pay off handsomely.

Reis gives his actors an unprecedented amount of freedom to zero in on what their characters want, and how best to achieve it. Thus freed from the constraints of being told what to do or think, the actors become causative agents; the production becomes tighter, more disciplined, more engaging.

It's a calculated risk; left to their own devices, actors might hare off down tangents that end in nihilism and chaos, but it's clear that Reis and his cast have established a degree of trust which encourages everyone to play and explore, until they all agree on the most effective manner in which to portray each character, and the moments through which they move.

This method of "not-thereness", where ego is set aside in order to serve the play, is a bold approach to the art of crafting a director's vision.  In the case of EURYDICE, Reis' decision to act as this production's facilitator, rather than its de facto master and commander, ends up creating a play which superbly illustrates everything that's going on with the characters and their reason for doing what they do.

The collaborative choices made give EURYDICE fresh levels of depth and dimension, playing up not merely the pathos implicit in the retelling of the classic Greek tragedy, but managing to balance the poignancy with refreshing instances of humor. It's a superb study in contrasts which propels itself with a gripping, face-forward intensity; bravo to Reis, his cast, and creative team for rising to the challenge.

Reis' cast is well worth the faith the director places in them.  Teddi Kenick-Bailey, Paul Strand and Erika Wilson provide comedy and gravitas as The Stones, acting as familiars and guides in the Underworld; like the boulders they represent, they are stolid and unmoving in their conviction of the order of things, but when faced with challenges put to them by the dead, fissures appear in their petrified veneers big enough to slip through, and it's engrossing to watch them twist and writhe to cover those cracks.

Norm Smith is at turns nurturing and gripped with despair as Eurydice's late Father, himself a prisoner of the afterlife, who secretly retains certain vestiges of humanity normally washed away in the waters of Lethe, the river in which all of the departed are immersed.  Eric St. Cyr is a treat in his dual role of Nasty Interesting Man/Lord of the Underworld; as an amoral brute intent on adding Eurydice to his collection of souls by any means possible, St. Cyr charts a delightfully sordid course from vulpine predator to diabolical, pubescent gremlin and back again.

Glenn Provost and Molly Dowd Sullivan are well-matched as Orpheus and Eurydice; as lovers, and later as husband as wife, Provost and Sullivan manifest a pure passion for one another which only kindred spirits can share, a love which later becomes elemental- a force of determination which motivates the pair to be reunited, after being separated by death.

As Orpheus, Provost is adept at demonstrating love's transformative power as he evolves from smitten paramour to grieving spouse and from thence into love's warrior, armed with his unwavering devotion, his singular ability to distill the music of the universe though his own heart, and his relentless belief that nothing can stop his beloved from being restored to him.

Molly Dowd Sullivan is equally riveting in her journey as Eurydice, contending with being inextricably caught between two worlds; that of the living, and of the dead.  Sullivan shows us a woman with unswerving faith in the possibility of reconciliation; her Eurydice is a creature who is willing to suffer much to achieve that which she feels is her destiny- an eternity at Orpheus' side.  Thus, as Eurydice copes with navigating the grim world of the dead to which she has been consigned, we see through Sullivan a woman of unshakable faith that her dreams will become reality- no matter how long it takes.

EURYDICE's set, in tandem with the directorial and acting choices, is notable for not what is there, but what isn't; it's effectively spare in form and function, a fusion of realism and expressionism.   Pipes thread through the acting space, providing a backdrop that changes as the mood of the play changes; the light plot morphs the pipes into shadowy forests, spacious high-rises and harsh, industrial Gehennas.  A working elevator's interior pours with what we take as rain- but is it rain?  A well of sweet water becomes a portal to the afterlife. A richly delineated stone floor is a verdant pasture, then a river threading its way through the Underworld.  A coiled light rope and twine unfurl to become a wall providing shelter.

Props are equally sparse and low-key; suitcases, string, sheets of paper- and with the set, are used to accent time, place and emotion, not getting in the way of the play, but underscoring its key moments.

To go into detail about how EURYDICE ends is to do a disservice to those who plan to see it; it's sufficient to promise that this play will grab you, hold you, and keep you in the moment as the action spins out and the paths upon which the characters inevitably converge. The play is presented without intermission, and you won't be sorry that it is.

This production of EURYDICE doesn't break the rules of theatre so much as bend them into new and interesting shapes; it's a non-linear retelling of a fable that has resonated from antiquity to today, recalling as it does the themes of love, loss, and redemption. Where other productions smack of artifice or preachy morality, this one succeeds in its quest for unflinching truth, because everything about it is stripped to the bare essence, where only truth remains. 

While certainly not sprung whole and gleaming from the forehead of Zeus, this company's  execution of EURYDICE borders on on the divine.  One of the best plays you will see, here or anywhere. And see it you should. Well done.

EURYDICE runs through April 14 at The Players Ring.  Visit their website for details. 

I Don't Have A Drinking Problem.

BONNIE TYLER WAS RIGHT.

Some of us are of an age where we remember when the original "Footloose" movie came out; Kevin Bacon as the reluctant hero, all lean and mulleted and a good decade away from his "Six Degrees" notoriety, roaring into a dusty Midwestern town and freeing its repressed citizens through the power of dance.  

About halfway through the film we were treated to Kevin working out his angst and frustration by gymnastically gyrating to the Wagnerian caterwauling of the smoky-voiced Bonnie Tyler in the song "We Need A Hero", simultaneously proving his mettle and providing fodder for the dewy daydreams of a legion of early-80s tweens, teens, and romantics of all ages. 

That Kevin manned up, saved the town from itself, and then went on to fulfill his destiny as the guy with whom everyone in the entertainment industry gauges their own relevance by measuring how closely they worked with him is the stuff of legend.  

For good or ill, Bonnie Tyler was right; we needed a hero, and we got one.  Flawed, yes, conflicted, absolutely, but he stepped up and because he did we made him ours. 

Now the New Hampshire theatre community finds itself in need of the same kind of hero.  

Oh, he doesn't need to be as lithe and Tiger Beat-adorable as Kevin Bacon was back in the day; in fact, he doesn't need to be a he at all.  He can be a she, a they, or even an it. And whoever it is doesn't have to know how to dance. 

The heroes we need are people and organizations that can put their talent, passion, energy and resources behind theatre companies here in NH that have existed for two decades or more, and who are shutting down operations because they just can't find ways to keep going. 

In the past three months, we have lost New Thalian Players (Manchester/founded 1983), Theatre North (Berlin/founded 1974) and The Acting Loft (Manchester/founded 1995).  

In the last year we also lost Amesbury Playhouse and Turtle Lane Playhouse in neighboring Massachusetts, and before that, MAD Company in Londonderry, NH, went belly-up. 

The Ann White Northwood Theatre Workshop lost its longtime space in Northwood and was offered a home with the Pittsfield Players.  The two groups ultimately voted to merge under the Pittsfield Players banner, mothballing the AWNTW organization. .  

In the interim, Majestic Theatre was forced to relocate after losing their home of nearly 20 years; happily, after some scary weeks of being unsure where or if they would be able to continue, they've since found a new space and are still thriving. 

(Update: on May 1, 2013, the professional Mount Washington Valley Theatre Company of North Conway suspended operations effective immediately, following the announcement that Artistic Director/Producer Linda Pinkham was retiring after being MWVTC's principal financial supporter for 30 years.  The company is not expected to resume operations, after running continuously for 42 years.)

If you're a resident of the towns in which these companies have done business, you don't need me to tell you the value that they have added to the community.  These companies have provided entertainment, culture, and education to hundreds- no, thousands- in their respective lives.  They have brought people together and provided a place for them to go to exercise their creative aspirations.  

They have nurtured those who dream of bigger and better things, and in many cases, given them both the wings to fly and the confidence to soar.  

In return, some of those those people have embraced greatness.  And all of them have known happiness- happiness at belonging, and creating, and being a part of something that not only took them out of themselves, but gave them a chance to be part of something other than themselves. 

With the exception of MAD Company, which effectively killed itself with a lethal combination of incompetent leadership and infighting among its remaining board members, whose tenure ended up alienating the group's own base, I don't know the reason for these companies choosing to fold.

Maybe it's economic, or demographic, or geographic.  Maybe the members who did the most work have aged out, or maybe the evolution in what people consider entertainment has left live theatre in the dust.  

Maybe it's all of the factors.  Or none.  Or something else entirely.

Whatever the causative factor or factors, there is one bitter constant: these three companies are going away.

It's cruel to think that this is even possible- that core groups of artists, volunteers, teachers, patrons, parents, kids, and students are to be repaid for their years of work by having these community institutions fade into ignominious history.    

Bonnie Tyler was right.  In this time, and in this place, we need a hero.

We need someone or something to swoop in and make things right.  

We need someone or something to save these companies.  Somehow.  Someway.  

Not by merely writing a big check and calling it good. These companies need more than money- they need passion, energy, inspiration and innovation.  

They need human beings to step forward, step up, and do the hard work of finding new sources of revenue, while taking long hard honest looks at what isn't working, and finding new methods to take the place of the old ones.  

It doesn't matter if it's one man, one woman, a dedicated group, a company, or a community.  It can be, and should be, representative of every person, from every walk of life, who has ever found any kind of value in attending or being part of a community or youth theatre production.

And if you think that "these things happen for a reason"- you'd be right.  

The reason can be apathy: "eh, someone else can deal with it".  Or antipathy: "hey, if they can't get it together, they deserve what's coming to them".  

All too often it's ignorance, in that people just don't know the scope of the problem, until it's too late. They might have gladly helped out, if only they'd known in time.  

No matter what the reasons are- when a theatre company is allowed to die, the community in which it once thrived is lessened.  

Take away yet another reason for your community to put a value on why they feel compelled to live where they do, and you provide them with one more reason why they should not stay. 

Take away the educational, cultural and social advantages which theatre provides, and you deprive the upcoming generation of that which you yourself may once have enjoyed, while that company was thriving, and you in turn give them a another reason to drift away from the community.  

That's why companies like New Thalians,  Theatre North and The Acting Loft need a hero.  And so do the ones who are still holding on.

Now.   

Our hero doesn't have to look like the wiry-framed, lopsided-smiling, insouciant young champion that Kevin Bacon showed us in "Footloose" almost 30 years ago.  

To be a hero to the NH theatre community, all he, she, they, or it would have to do is show up, ask what needs to be done, and then find a way to do it.  

That'd be as cool as Kevin.  Cooler, even. 

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD- Rochester Opera House

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

presented by the Rochester Opera House 

directed by Jonathan Rockwood Hoar

As literary fiction, Harper Lee's seminal (and thus far, only) novel TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD isn't very different from the works of the celebrated southern gothic writers with whom she is identified; writers like Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, William Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor, all known for their rueful tales about rigid social codes, deeply flawed human beings, salacious exhortations of worlds viewed through keyholes, and eventual, ruinous comeuppance. 

While many of these stories gleefully chart the course of the wreckage which occurs when one acts upon one's baser desires, TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD sets itself apart with its thoughtful and constant insistence that every evil of which man is capable must be balanced out by the possibility of redemption.  

Both the novel and Christopher Sergal's stage play adaptation examine redemption- not as it comes in the manner of the charismatic come-to-Jesus exhortations of the tent revival or Baptist pulpit, but as the still, small epiphany which is only possible when the soul is awakened to the wrongs perpetuated by an uncaring world, and with that awakening, the desire and determination to make one's world better by choosing the light of reason over the shadow of ignorance.  

It's this constant battle of light over darkness as embodied by southern lawyer Atticus Finch in his mission to clear a young black man accused of raping a white woman in 1930s Alabama , and how Atticus conducts himself as this story's reluctant hero which is merely one of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD's most compelling plot lines.

That Atticus himself is engaged in a momentous battle to right a terrible wrong is certainly enough fodder for a gripping story in and of itself, but when Atticus enlists not only those with whom he lives and works, and even his own children, to his cause, we find ourselves as witnesses even further drawn into the conflict.

Not everyone is a willing convert, but because Atticus himself never strays from his belief that all men are worthy of forgiveness, the world around him does, indeed, change, even if only in small increments, but it is change for the good, and it is lasting.

It's Atticus Finch's unswerving code that endows the idea of redemption with a far deeper meaning, giving it the power to change minds and lives, forever, and it is this that renders  Harper Lee's work both timeless and eternally relevant.  

The director and cast of Rochester Opera House's production of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD have done a fair amount of heavy lifting, getting past the less savory aspects of the play's premise to examine what lies beneath the surface of the story- that which compels people to do the things they do, and what comes of their actions.

This production does a better-than-average job of portraying Harper Lee's compelling story, as well as the characters caught up in it.  It's a thoughtful treatment of a time and circumstances we as a nation might prefer to let slip into the shadows of history, reminding us that the only way in which we rise above our fears and prejudices is to continually shine a light on them, and that while we are to honor one another, each according to his gifts, it is incumbent upon us to exercise compassion for those who walk the more troubled paths than we ourselves may travel. 

Kelly Gibson's lighting design is supportive and flowing, and costumes by Bryn Monroe and Sue Roy are fairly faithful to the period. There's an engaging sound design running the gamut from gospel to Delta Blues underscoring the play, adding further dimension to the play's Depression-era southern setting. There are also a few sterling examples of live vocal music interspersed throughout, which add weight and poignancy to the play as a whole.   

Unfortunately, the set,  as designed by Jerard-James Craven and Seraphina Caligure,  is stuck in a murky area between realistic and representational, is overbuilt and does not allow for advantageous sight lines, particularly when action takes place up and further back on the stage.     The town scenes look more like a tattered grouping of shotgun shacks rather than a street in a small town intended to reflect a collection of residents of different walks of life, and the courtroom scenes are oddly bunched up at the rear of the stage in the center of two cramped galleries. 

Both settings do convey some sense of time and place, and the actors don't appear to have much difficulty negotiating the ungainly dimensions; as a distraction, the set isn't wholly detrimental to the onstage action.    

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD is very much an ensemble play, dependent upon each actor to give not only of himself in the role that he or she plays, but also to contribute to the greater good of the story being told.  And they do.  

Look for some stellar moments from Amanda Cortina, Kylee Brown, and Madeline Aubin as Scout, Jem and Dill respectively; David N. Durham (Atticus Finch), Bonnie Bergeron (Miss Maudie), Timmy Plaisted (Bob Ewell), Erica Courtney (Mayella) and Sandi Seals Clark (Calpurnia), actors who not only stand out, but who are generous in supporting their fellow cast members by blending into the background when they need to.  

Indeed, every member of the cast brings something worthwhile to their performance; unfortunately, to list many more of them would rob the play-goer of the pleasure of attending this show and seeing for themselves the interpretations this ensemble brings to the table. 

Director Jonathan Rockwood Hoar has made a name for himself by insisting that his casts forgo the redoubtable art of "acting" and instead immerse themselves in creating characters and situations as close to reality as possible- he employed the same raw storytelling style in A FOOD GOOD MEN, and he employs the same methods to MOCKINGBIRD, to the advantage of the story, and those telling it. 

While Hoar values the structure and the discipline of the craft, he has no patience for that aspect of acting which  allows ego and stage trickery to take the place of charting a character's true emotional spectrum. 

Thus charged and inspired, the men and women who make up the MOCKINGBIRD cast are free to manifest a collection of townsfolk who exhibit flaws, secrets, and ambitions, and who are allowed to not only make mistakes, but take what lessons they can from them, without seeking to impose a generic morality upon the events which unfold. 

As such, what we end up taking away from the play has far more value than if the actors were tasked as an ensemble to impart the larger messages of how humans cope with the trials that come their way- we understand the larger lessons, but more importantly, we come away from the experience secure in the knowledge that the ways in which we choose to learn those lessons has its own intrinsic value.  

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD is proof positive of how the past occupies the present, informs the future, and that in all things, we much teach our children that the hope and possibility of redemption are the enduring constants,  even in our darkest moments.  

Thanks to the fine people of the Rochester Opera House's production of TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, both hope and redemption are the enduring qualities which are most clearly brought to the stage for us to take away. Well done. 

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD runs through March 9, 2013 at the Rochester Opera House.  Tickets and information can be found at the ROH website. 

STAGE GOES DARK FOR A NH THEATRE LUMINARY 

After 30 years, The New Thalian Players ends its storied run

Bad news in the New Hampshire theatre community is never welcome, but when it happens, we can be thankful that in some way, we all feel it together, and thus can all come together to weather it.  

We’re such a tight-knight group in this state; our theatre experiences are all intertwined through the people that move between groups, and the resources that we gladly share with one another.  

When something happens to "one of our own", it resonates as much across companies and loyalties much as it does the miles and the phone lines and social media that now make up the fabric of our day-to-day lives.  We are all affected.  

So, when the news broke on December 26th that the New Thalian Players was ceasing operations after years of arduously searching to find a home and a place in the expanding NH theatre community, it is an understatement to say that those who are part of that community were not only saddened by the news, but lessened by it.  

NTP has asked that those who were involved in any of the many superb shows it produced during its nearly 30 years as one of the finest companies in southern New Hampshire to post a memory to their Facebook page, and several have already complied.  

In the coming days I am sure many more will, so rather than waste space rhapsodizing about the group and all that it accomplished, I’ll limit the remainder of this essay to what the New Thalians meant to me. 

My involvement with the New Thalian Players spans nearly 20 years.  I first got to know the group through my partner in THE BOY FRIEND in the late 1980s, and worked with them off and on through A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM.  

I was fortunate to play some good roles: a Mattress minstrel and Joseph's brother Reuben ("Zose Canaan Days") in CELEBRATION, General Bullmoose in LI’L ABNER, and finally Marcus Lycus in FORUM.  

Of all the things I could say about NTP, chief among them is this: you’re not supposed to outlive one of the best theatre companies in the state, goddammit.  

That being said, I cast my mind back and grope for what could possibly qualify as the “best” memory during my association with NTP, and I find that I can’t do it.  

There’s too much; I can’t distill my memories into one quantifiable experience. To even try would be a grave disservice to the company.

So, in no particular order, a roster of but a few of my most cherished experiences involving the New Thalian Players: 

* Making friends through NTP as I watched my partner rehearse in their first production of THE BOY FRIEND, and going on to do several shows with them later. I don’t see them as much now but when we do get together, the good times we shared through NTP re-strengthens the bonds. 

* Speaking of THE BOY FRIEND, who didn't love Nathan Barnes and Laurie Cass in their hilarious rendition of "It's Never Too Late"?  Voh-de-oh, voh-de-oh, whack-a-doo, whack-a-doo!  

* Pat Delzell’s famous "Mantra", designed specifically for when you screwed up- a mantra that has echoed down the years,  and stays with me to this day:  

“I am a HUMAN BEING!  I am NOT PERFECT!  I will forgive myself IMMEDIATELY (and everybody else)!”  

Until you participated in at least one recitation of “The Mantra” and witnessed Beth Ann singing “The Kretchma” (sic) at the cast party, no show was complete.

*  Camaraderie, closeness, and the feeling of family that inevitably came with being part of a New Thalians show. 

* Nanna Baldvinsdottir and I struggling to pull a latex skin wig over Nick Olivo's very full head of hair every night to transform him into "Pappy" during the run of LI'L ABNER. 

* The Green Room: a wonderful jumble of costumes in various stages of construction (and woe to you if you put any food or drink on Tim Slaate’s cherished costume table!), props, storage, and of course, the never-ending supply of snacks, candies and food supplied mostly by Beth Ann, who, in the best Jewish tradition, did not consider her job done until everyone was fed.

* Dan Desrochers’ sweet smile, gentle (yet mischievous) spirit, and willingness to do anything for the New Thalians. He is the person for whom “The Danny” award is named.  

I cried when Danny died, and then again several months after, when Bill Hartery sang “Danny Boy” in his memory at an AIDS benefit concert on the NTP stage. 

* Tim Slaate, NTP’s own Edith Head, spending untold hours, building costumes that rivaled anything built for Broadway or Hollywood, refusing to just “settle”.  A Tim Slatte costume meant that it was built to last, and that it felt like it was made just for you.  Which it often was; how many of us can remember being hauled into the Green Room for fitting after fitting, until Tim was satisfied?  

Tim was known for his, shall we say, “brusque” demeanor- and was there ever a bitchier queen when things weren't going the way he thought they ought?  I don’t think so.  

But Tim also had a sweet side, and if- IF- he liked you, there was nothing he wouldn't do for you.  I missed having a 30th birthday party due to being very sick with hepatitis, and Tim made it a point to come visit me, bringing me a birthday card and a makeup kit he’d put together himself.  

Like Danny, Tim was taken from us too soon- and Catherine Andruskevitch summed it up perfectly at his funeral: “I would rather have lost him to Broadway”. 

* Having Betty Thompson as a choreographer and realizing not only was she one of the finest choreographers in the state with a stellar working history that included a stint with the Radio City Rockettes, but that she was 30-odd years my senior and could kick my ass, on and off the stage.  

By the way, she still can.  

* Beth Fenske, Joel Mercier and Aaron Compagna.  I had the pleasure of meeting and working with these three on the NTP Stage.  Actually, I’d met Aaron first, when he was a little squirt playing Jerome in SOUTH PACIFIC at the Palace a few years before.   But I got to work with all three in some capacity at NTP and outside of it. 

The reason I single them out now is because, in NTP's latter years, when the company was homeless and their bank account dwindled to almost nothing, these three marshaled their forces, inspired a small corps of volunteers, and found a way to keep the New Thalians going, past the point when others would have thrown up their hands and walked away.

I think they deserve to be thanked for that. 

* Beth Ann O’Hara.  Of course. 

The New Thalian Players’ founder, producer, director, life force, backbone, and its very soul.  

Always gracious, always kind, always encouraging, she was the company’s mother, comforter, advisor, and sometimes a giant pain in the ass for insisting that you try something you didn't want to do (and invariably ended up realizing it was the best thing TO do) - but never in a way that made you stay mad at her for long.  

She had, and has, a sweet, quiet, gentle way of getting you to do exactly what she wanted you to do- but somehow making you think that it was your idea, or at least that you were in harness together.  

Aided through most of NTP's tenure by her husband and life partner John O’Hara, Beth Ann was- and remains - NTP’s rock, and its touchstone.  

Beth Ann is the single biggest reason why NTP was as successful as it was.  She made those of us who worked with her want to be better, to reach higher, to dare more… if for no other reason than to earn that sweet smile that was almost always on her face.  When she turned it on you, why, there was nothing you wouldn’t- or couldn’t- do.  That smile made you soar. 

She is forever this company’s heart. 

I could write a thousand more paragraphs about my New Thalian Players experiences, but it’s best to know when to stop and ring down the curtain.  

I don’t know if I did that, but it’s clear that the New Thalian Players has- they’re exiting the stage at the top of their game, and leaving us wanting more.  

Can’t ask for better than that. 

So, in thinking back on all of these memories- and more- the choice is clear: we can mourn NTP’s demise, or we can celebrate its glory days, of which there were many. 

Me, I’m going to celebrate.  I hope you will, too.    

Thank you, New Thalian Players.  

-Michael J. Curtiss 

December 27, 2012