Scotch Rocks
Reviewed
5/14/04
by John Patrick
Directed by Charlie LaSuer
Hale Centre Theatre, Gilbert
(480) 497-1181
May 14th - June 19th , 2004
$9.00 - $16.00
Everything old is old again at Hale Centre Theatre. For some reason, the company has decided that there have been no worthwhile scripts written within the last twenty years, judging from their choices of this season and next. Their current offering transports us to World War II for the third time in their premiere season. The difference here is that the setting is a British Military Hospital in Southeast Asia. First produced in 1945, John Patrick's The Hasty Heart is a wartime dramedy with every stereotype and "surprise" twist that can be packed into a can of corn. Not since chipped beef on toast has a product minimally nourished so many. A problem with theatre in the round is that it allows you to observe things you wouldn't ordinarily notice when you are bored. On opening night, I counted how many in the audience were sleeping. Five. How many stereotypes does it take to jerk tears and draw guffaws from an audience with such low expectations? Nine.
In the abovementioned hospital, a group of conveniently multi-national English-speaking soldiers coalesce from their various non-lethal injuries: Tommy (Robert Foley) is the obese British comic relief; Digger (Robert O'Mara) is the Australian with a Boston accent; Kiwi (Matt Morgan) is the New Zealander with an Australian accent; while Yank (Matthew Cary) is the sweet Georgia boy with an accent that pops up with force when he remembers he's supposed to be sounding Southern. The fifth soldier, from Borneo or somesuch British protectorate (Terrance Kennedy) is called Blossom because that's the only English word he knows. Ha ha. They are cared for by the prim British nurse Margaret (Tamra Mathias) whose accent is surprisingly British all throughout. The brusque British Colonel (Larry Horbinski) makes up for this, though, by never even attempting an accent. Finally, there's an orderly (Richard Wells) who blessedly spends most of his time in the green room. They are asked to take on a prickly soldier who is not being told of his impending death: a Scotsman named Lachlen (Eric Thompson). Replete with a bagpipe and a Scotch guarded personality, the men are asked to make his final days pleasant.
Here's the rub. The script is vintage heartstring plucker, the actors range from Mathias' steady performance through O'Mara and Foley's overly-hammy to Wells' cringe-inducing, but Thompson is like Olivier amongst the rabble. Until his entrance, I was certain I would have been the sixth of the peacefully slumbering audience members, but then Thompson appeared and lit up the stage with an amazing brogue, carefully considered and subtle physicalizations that deepened his character, and a belief in his role that transfixed me. Fresh from Montana State University, Thompson is a real find. All of a sudden, the evening became one for which I would remain awake. Any enjoyment I derived from this hackneyed script and its purveyors was because of Thompson and, to a smaller extent, Mathias.
Director Charlie LaSeur has done a nice job with staging everything in the round, but the pacing tends to drag the play down. He seems to have let Thompson rule the roost, and allowed the others, such as Foley and O'Mara, to roll their eyes and act up to bring their humor across to the lowest common denominator, who appreciate it accordingly.
John Autore's set excellently captures the jungle ward, and David Dietlein's lighting is good. Cindy Smith's costumes are perfectly designed.
During the textually motivated sad part, the audience wiped their eyes and sniffled, but for the first time ever, I saw an audience give a standing ovation at HCT. This great show of emotion came only when Thompson stepped onstage to take his bow. It shows that even those who are easily moved can recognize true talent.
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