Performing Against the Odds


Reviewed 5/18/05

Mesa can now claim to be home for two classic theatre companies, both of whom are committed to producing not only the Bard, but other great scribes such as Shaw and Wilde. Just as Southwest Shakespeare begins to open up it’s canon beyond old William, Desert Rose Theatre goes forth to present works even fans might consider obscure. Just because they’re old and rarely produced doesn’t mean plays such as Jean Anouilh’s The Lark, here adapted by famed American playwright Lillian Hellman from the French, shouldn’t tread the boards. They might have limited appeal, but when given the kind of earnest treatment Katie Stewart and most of her ensemble do, it’s worth a look.

The title refers to the impetuous little fighter Joan D’Arc (Stewart), the illiterate spitfire teenager who donned men’s clothing and led the overmatched French forces into British-controlled Orleans with God as her strategist. Together, they won battles as spectacular for the French as Agincourt was to Henry and his bedraggled British forces. The setting is her trial when, abandoned by her forces and her King Charles (R. Carson Saline), the Grand Inquisitor (Jim Landua) presides over a mockery of a trial run by the pious Bishop of Beauvais (Chris Burk) and orchestrated by Britain’s representative, and admiring Earl of Warwick (Scott Brooks). Here, the virgin maid recounts her life from her original youthful visions and visitations by Saint Michael through her audacious march from the French countryside to the Dauphin’s court with the purpose of taking control of the beleaguered armies of France to her wild successes and eventual capture. Each of the brothers of the chapel removes their robes to become the actors in her recreation and defense. It’s never in doubt what the outcome will be, though a late twist leads to a final triumphant moment.

Oddly, the program lists as the Director “Company Members.” I always shudder when I see something like this, because it means that no one is responsible for controlling tone or watching stage pictures. It’s obvious that most of the dozen ensemble members are able to self-regulate, but others make inadvisable visual choices such as falling into boring regimental lines and facing away from the audience. There’s also no one there able to grab actors and say “bring it down a bit, man, not every line needs to be screamed or snarled."

Most of the performances run from spectacular to serviceable. Stewart is brimming with talent; her Joan is an icily joyous innocent on a mission. There’s always something slightly distant about Stewart, but most every one of her creations grabs one transcendent moment and runs. Here, she warms up several times, finally lighting up and bursting into a brilliant flame during the scene when she works her magic on the ineffectual and fey Charles, convincing him to install her at the head of the French army. Saline’s Dauphin is an over-the-top creation, more childish than childlike and hopelessly overmatched, but somehow that’s exactly what is needed in this story. Ever watching and snidely commenting on this review of history, Brooks captures the haughtiness of Warwick a little too much at times but admirably follows his character’s arc from puppet master to believer. Burk is a little too reserved as Cauchon, not as in emotionally over-controlled more than emotionally unavailable. Landua’s Inquisitor sat ominously and stoically through the first act, but then in the second grabbed onto Stewart and Brooks’ still drying scenery on opening night and began gnawing mercilessly. Modulation has never been one of his strong suits, but without a firm hand to smack him down, he reached the epic proportions of a snarling villain after only three words, and his monologue went on for another five minutes beyond. Someone needs to tell him that there is more to holy pontificating: Power is achieved when tossing in a few understated growls and taut whispers even more than from relentless and unceasing snarling and snapping. He could take a few pointers from Gary Helmbold, whose obsessive Promoter achieved a much stronger effect with a lot less spittle. Helmbold’s puttering Archbishop is also a strong study in character acting.

In their smaller roles as Charles’ manipulative mistress Agnes, his dimwitted queen Marie, and her wise mother Queen Yolande, Kimberly Phelps, Juliet Ann Drake, and Tami Bailly embrace their characters but spend too much of the time facing upstage rather than giving the audience a chance to see them in their glory. Joshua Scott Hunt is a little heavy on the emoting as the young Brother Ladvenu, desperately trying to help save Joan from herself, and Vincent Enlund badly mauls his role as Joan’s father, roaring and scowling a little too gleefully, but restores his dignity when he plays one of Joan’s soldiers during a crucial scene before the Battle of Orleans.

Desert Rose’s tiny storefront theater does not allow for many technical flourishes, but while the set is workable, the details are made up for with well-chosen costumes and props. Initially, Stewart’s sound design went for a filmic tone, especially during Joan’s visionary moments, which in the small theatre made for acoustic problems, but the soundtrack faded as the show moved along. Her light design offered coverage and even a few flourishes during the final moments, the best for which one could hope.

This boutique theatre, one where Stewart and a few of her associates get to step inside the types of roles classically trained actors savor, shows some potential. The only tripwire I see for her and her ensemble is ultimately how few performers in the valley of the sun have received the type of training they have, so they may set off the landmine of great leads stumbling over a weak supporting cast. If more learn the intricacies of speaking well and supporting one’s carriage while attempting characters no Method actor should touch, then the driven Stewart and this spitfire little company could overcome the odds and shock everyone.