Reviewed 10/9/04
At 8:05, as the music to the opening Saturday evening of Bernard Pomerance’s The Elephant Man continued longer than expected, poor THEATRESCAPE general manager Jennifer Burrit was forced to apologetically move a ladder onstage and rewire the houselights before the show could start. Halfway through the show, a long pause left the audience waiting for something to happen until Burrit had to open the doors to let us know that it was intermission. At the end, as the audience applauded, the cast fumbled their curtain call, punctuating the amateurishness of the evening. These problems were mirrored by many of the performances, Tim Butterfield’s movement-inhibiting set, and Director Stephanie Krueger’s horrifyingly stilted and unimaginative blocking. This would be a complete shambles of an evening save for the heartbreaking fact that surrounded by all of these missteps is a single performance that is so impressive and potentially career making that it almost makes all of the problems worth sitting through. Almost.
The
opening act of this production of The Elephant Man belongs
completely to Dion Johnson (pictured right), who is utterly
committed to making this role work. He is able to physically morph into John
Merrick,
but more impressively,
he captures the intelligence, wit, and grace of the character, subverting
his normal and recognizable stage persona completely to serve this tragic
figure. His work on this is a revelation; ordinarily associated with musical
comedy and slapstick, Johnson has proven in one show that he is an actor
of heretofore-unrecognized depth.
Would that I could say the same for Slade Hall, who is the true center of the second act of the piece. While kudos must go to Diane Senffner for giving nearly everyone appropriate and consistent accents that almost all of them carried throughout the evening, Hall’s performance seems singularly focused on his clipped upper crust British accent at the detriment of any true character. It’s as though Hall figures that if he sounds right and holds himself stiffly that we will believe he is his character. This may work through the first part, but when he becomes the spiritual center of the show in Act II, it becomes painfully obvious that he is wearing a character, rather than actually being it. Where the first act inspired true emotional connection with the piece, I found myself yawning as the evening waned.
Krueger hinders matters with her by the book blocking that is all angles and positioning. While this is a small stage and Butterfield’s set is a giant stair and platform unit in the middle that takes up more space than it creates, there is never a creative spark in Krueger’s movement. People enter, move to spots, and plant. Levels are basically unachievable with a noticeable lack of furniture, and scenes become a series of talking photographs.
The supporting cast is more misses than hits. The ordinarily strong Marty Berger here seems completely distracted as London Hospital board member Gomm. I can’t honestly recall a single moment where he actually looked at anyone else as he addressed members of the cast. It was like he was performing next door and was being beamed in as a hologram. Christopher Mascarelli would be fine as Merrick’s early manager Ross, but he is performing at a level more befitting Gammage Auditorium than a tiny theatre, and his bellowing actually hurt my ears. Suzanne Embry (pictured above) has little presence but much sweetness as famed actress Mrs. Kendall. The others were neither here nor there.
Krueger completely undercuts one of the most powerful scenes in the show by compromising a pivotal moment between Kendall and Merrick in the second act. In deference to modesty, a corset and pantaloons replace true nudity, making a mockery of her line offering a look at femininity “without pretensions.” This one moment of deflation defines the slide of the show following Johnson’s powerful emotional moment at the end of the first act.
Almost. I wish there was something more I could highlight to entice audience members to attend the latest work of a generally impressive company, but this evening drops almost all opportunities to support an amazing performance from Johnson. The best I can suggest is to wait for the inevitable twofer special to see Johnson’s transcendent offering.
