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| Jay Stratton and Ann Marie Siegwarth; photo supplied |
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"Have you tried just turning it off and then turning it on again?"
August seems to be the cruelest month...at least where regional theater is concerned this year. We have already had Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya with its depressing sense of alienation in all things emotional, Hellman’s The Autumn Garden with her special views on love gone astray on every level, and Shaw’s Mrs. Warren’s Profession with the wages of sin being money without love or respect. Now the Chester Theatre Company gives us "Grace" by Craig Wright in which God betrays the faithful, love brings only pain, and death is not even a reasonable answer for those who can no longer abide living. If these plays weren’t so fascinating and the performances so strong and remarkable there might be dead bodies of despairing audience members strewn all over Berkshire roads.
Playwright Wright holds a Masters of Divinity degree which, I suppose, gives him a personal insight into the workings of God in this world. He certainly seems to know what he’s doing as a writer. His play is odd and curious and contains scenes played backward, moments of clarity that take on special resonance as they repeat themselves, rewind yet seem to express a forward motion and emotional rationale. It’s fascinating to watch, once you realize what is going on. The opening and closing scenes of this 95 minute one-act play are the same, only played in opposite directions. He also uses a device that is fascinating to watch: two different sets - exactly the same - with two scenes played out simultaneously on the stage as we watch them. If that sounds confusing, and I think it does, it works wonderfully under Byam Stevens' perfectly executed direction.
Here’s a brief shot at the plot. Steve, a Born-Again Christian type, has a special relationship with God. He’s made a request for money to start up a Christian hotel and been granted his prayer, only in spades. In Florida with his wife Sara, they set up a temporary home and office and ultimately meet their neighbor Sam who is in despair and doesn’t believe in God. All three of them encounter Karl the exterminator, a not-so-symbolic character, who sprays their apartments for Cicadas and other bugs. Four more mis-matched people have never been thrown together for so long before. In three months everything alters for all four of them.
Sam, the injured, scarred, death-defying and depressed computer geek is played by Jay Stratton. His dark soul becomes a target for Steve and Sara. Stratton’s strength is in his portrayal of the physical misery of his character. When he switches to the psychological shame of his growing awareness of his feelings he almost takes things too far, but this actor is a good actor and he pulls in the reigns of over-emoting and ends up with a fine, subtle performance. Sam’s creed, if he has one, could be Truman Capote’s philosophical statement : "When God hand you a gift, he also hands you a whip; and the whip is intended solely for self-flagellation." It is with that sense of self-deprecation that Stratton brings out the inner man in his character. His performance is almost too painful to bear, even when joy makes its brief appearance.
Sara, the sinful soul, maimed by the love she bears for her husband whom she never understands, is played by Ann Marie Siegwarth. Here is a character intent on doing good. She never quite gets the concept right, however. She lives with doubts. She thrives on pointing out the negative in everyone else’s positive. Siegwarth works with honesty and humility and her smile has a natural pout in it that truly brings forward the multiple thoughts that people her character’s mind. Poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning summed up Sara (inadvertently) when she wrote: "May the good God pardon all good men." Sara’s intentions are good, but she brings about the worst possible scenarios for both the men in her life. Siegwarth lets her stumble through life without recognizing her own shortcomings.
Tim Donoghue is Karl. With two brief scenes he makes statements, and strong ones at that, about the existence of God and man’s need to believe. His work is wonderful and almost the light touch in this heavy play about human responsibility to his fellow men. He seems to be the proof of Isaac Bashevis Singer’s statement: "Doubt is part of all religion. All the religious thinkers were doubters." This man doubts the existence of God and yet he manages to bring God into the equation in the final scene of the play when no one else can. Donoghue has a curious strength in his playing here that brings momentary hope to a situation that is hopeless. His exit is heart-stopping, not because of the actions that follow, but because of his portrayal of latent faith.
As Steve, the central character in this melodrama, Bill Mootos is almost too real. There is in his voice, his eyes, and his movement something evangelical that actually causes a viewer to be uncomfortable in his presence. Every rote religious diatribe he spouts provides that sense of being trapped on the edge of a wall overlooking Hades. The actor and the character merge in his work and somehow the words he speaks feel as though they are his own. Steve’s faith is paramount. Their relationship is defined, in Euripides words: "If any man obeys the gods, they listen to him also." To watch this man’s belief crumble even the tiniest bit is heart-wrenching and Wright brings him low. Mootos has a voice and a face that expresses every nuance of his character’s transition and at the final fade-out of lights, there is, as there should be, no applause. He provides such a sense of loss with his character, that there is no uplifting response to it.
On a simple set by Michel Ostaszewski and in simple contemporary costumes by Charles Schoonmaker, the moods of this play are conveyed through the subtle staging by Byam Stevens, the intense character-creation forged by the director and his actors and the lighting by Lara Dubin. Where mood needs enhancement she provides it. Where illumination is required Stevens supplies it.
Don’t go see this play for anything other than the dark drama it is. Fine work at the end of summer presages a bleak autumn here, but one with strong memorable images and a need for color. Black and white, the primary sense in this play, needs an autumn garden.
◊08/23/2007◊
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