mspt@goldfishpublishers.com
Reviewed 1/2/04
Another production of Shakespeare, another
odd location. I look forward to these trips through time and space for the
Bard, and this time, the choice
is an inspired one: Twelfth Night’s Illyria is apparently somewhere in
the hollers of the Smokey Mountains sometime after the Civil War, a mystical
land where northern carpetbaggers have become the ruling aristocracy, while
the local farmers, peasants, and former landowners speak with a twang in their
voices that makes the Bard’s poetic language even more lyrical. Placing
Rustics in a truly rustic setting is one of the many clever thoughts of director
Tim Shawver, whose stage is simple, music is Elizabethan Bluegrass, and Sir
Toby Belch (a grandiose Wes Martin) is a poor country cousin who likes to pull
pranks on yokels and gentry both. This is not only a triumph for the director;
Kerry McCue’s Viola is a masterwork. She is one of the very few actresses
in town who could play both a lovely woman and an even lovelier boy with whom
both the lovelorn Orsino (Tom Leveen) and the tumbling Olivia (Nathalie
Winters)
could ever understandably fall in love.
The plot centers on Viola and Sebastian, a set of twins who survive a shipwreck and wind up in Illyria. Viola hides herself in the guise of a young boy and becomes an escort to the Duke Orsino, helping to plead his love to the grief-stricken Olivia. Inadvertently, the disguised Viola becomes the object of love of both the crafty Olivia and the bewildered Orsino. Meanwhile, Olivia’s crass uncle Sir Toby Belch pulls pranks on the dim Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Damon Dering), the pretentious social climbing Malviolio (Bruce Laks), and others with the help of saucy chambermaid Maria (Rachel McKinney). When Sebastian (Franc Gaxiola) later arrives on the scene with Antonio (Cisco Saavedra), the madness increases, all to the tunes of court jester Feste (Michael Bradley).
Shawver has crafted a 95-minute production (sans intermission) that is generally an expert cutting of the original tome. The show is quick-paced, though sometimes the speed of the pacing causes some of the actors to stumble over their dialogue and fudge their enunciation (especially guilty of this are Saavedra, Gaxiola, and Bradley). He has also highlighted the double-entendres and base humor, as is fitting for this script.
While Shawver’s direction alone is a very good reason to see this production, a few of the performances make this a can’t miss evening. McCue’s performance is one of the best of this season. She “gets” the humor of the role, and brings the audience in on this. She has her feminine and masculine traits down perfectly, and moves between each seamlessly. Most impressive, though, is the fact that the Bard’s language seems her character’s own: The Method meets Blank Verse. It’s no surprise that Martin is such a good Sir Toby and Dering a hilarious Sir Andrew. There are some actors born for certain roles, and these are on each of their lists. The two play off each other like a good comedy duo should, and the audience’s cheeks hurt for this connection. Laks’ Malvolio begins as a brooding presence, and his change to forced joviality is a wonderful moment.
Winters is cute as the smitten Olivia, and McKinney has her moments as the conspiratorial Maria. A moment of comedic lust between her and Martin is quite fun. Leveen is an odd Orsino. He is generally strong, though it’s sometimes hard to hear important dialogue. A crucial expositional moment is undercut when Shawver cleverly splices together three scenes, but Leveen’s monologue is hard to hear. Neither Gaxiola nor Saavedra ever grabs hold of their character. Gaxiola is at least genial, if out of place, but Saavedra is one note of bravado and nothing more: a chest puff of a character. The biggest disappointment of this generally excellent show is Bradley’s Feste. His singing and guitar playing are wonderful (he’s also the composer of this very clever original score), but his performance is marred when he reads his lines rather than truly speaking them.
This is the resident company premiere of the renovated space at Phoenix Theatre’s Little Theatre, and the difference is palpable. The production values are immensely better. Robert Evans and Paris McCarthy’s very basic set design is exactly what the show needs. Andrew Hutchinson’s lighting is light years better than past TST productions, adding excellent elements of mood to the show. McCue’s costumes are very good, capturing character, if not exactly the period. Shawver’s sound design is solid.
I can’t say it any clearer. See this show. It’s a watershed for Shawver in only his sophomore directing effort, for McCue, who aces a difficult role, and The Shakespeare Theatre, which finally moves into the upper-middle realm of non-contract theatres.
