Quotidian Theatre
Company - ARCHIVE
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July 11 – August 10, 2008
Long Day's
Journey Into Night
Reviewed July 12 by
Brad Hathaway
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Running time 3:30 - one intermission
O'Neil rendered faithfully - warts and all
Note: due to the length of the production, the theater starts the show at
the announced time
Click here to buy the script |
The first act of this long night's journey toward midnight is a fascinating,
engrossing and compassionate look at four flawed human beings performed with
astonishing clarity by one, great grace by another and promising
understanding by two. The performance in this one act by Stephanie Mumford
as the morphine-addicted wife and mother is a towering piece of acting that
is polished, nuanced and captivating. She dominates the act, but is missing
from the stage for so much of the second that its textual weaknesses begin
to show through. This despite continued - even deepening - work as her
tormenting and tormented husband by Steve LaRoque and competent performances
by Andy Brownstein and Michael Avolio as their grown children whose own
character weaknesses, so economically established in the first act, are
re-aired and rehashed at excessive length. Then she returns for a touching
scene that, after the hour or so of sitting through less compelling
material, reminds you of just how strong the entire piece seemed in its
early going.
Storyline: Eugene
O'Neill's Pulitzer Prize winning drama presents one day and night in the New
England home of the Tyrones, haunted by their pasts and the consequences of
their mistakes. The father is an aging matinee idol, an actor wracked by
guilt over compromising his art for financial success in the grip of
financial insecurity which causes his family to think of him as a miser with
terrible consequences. The mother is a morphine addict wracked by guilt and
disappointment over how her life has turned out. The eldest son survives on
his father's fame on the stage while the youngest son is suffering from
tuberculosis. These terribly unhappy and destructive people tear at each
other in one long day of fighting and drinking.
This, the last of O'Neill's highly
autobiographical and excruciatingly honest plays, exposes the weaknesses in
a family he understood so intimately, so deeply and so thoroughly that he
misses none of the pain or the blame while maintaining a familial affection
that keeps the portraits from seeming mean-spirited or vindictive. They are
pure and simple tragedy. (He was, in reality, the young man seen dying of
"the consumption." In real life, he did recover after a year in a
sanitarium, but that was after the events of this one long day.) Quotidian
makes the point that this is an unusual staging of the lengthy play in its
entirety. Actually, this is the second time in about four years Potomac
Region audiences have had the opportunity to experience the play full
length. The Heritage
Theatre Company did it in 2004. Firebelly
Productions presented a slightly edited version earlier this year which
played better in its second act than its first which, when compared to this
production with its first act working better than the second, demonstrates
just how complex and difficult to master this play really is.
The four members of the only-barely-fictional Tyrone
family are fascinatingly flawed and their flaws are intriguingly
interrelated. Mumford imbues the unfortunate mother with more than simply a
chemical addiction. She captures a certain over-reliance on denial and
wishful thinking that feel as if they pre-date the introduction of narcotics
into her life. LaRocque adds a sense of duty-driven pride to the theatrical
ham of the father that makes the character more complex. Both Brownstein and
Avolio have plumbed the considerable depths of the sons' foibles, but their
exchanges with each other and with their parents seem to need more rehearsal
or performance time to gain that sense of naturalness that mark the work of
their elders. Erika Imhoof does a fine job with the tippling maid,
especially when the second act's drunk scene (which is always difficult to
stage without descending into parody) reaches the point where she's folding
the tablecloth into a pillow for her head which has become too heavy to hold
up.
The company constructs a workable set out of flats and
filigrees and a satisfying wardrobe for the piece set in the summer of 1912
on the Connecticut shore of Long Island Sound. One inexplicable lapse is the
use of three-bulb wall sconces which are period appropriate, but
distractingly incorrect for a play that involves a debate of the cost of
electricity for "one bulb." Sound designer Ed Moser provides more than just
the fog horn that drones on at specified moments. His pre-show audio
environment evokes the beach resort ambiance and his somber, introspective
intermission music holds the mood while the audience takes a stretch break
from the long sit in the Writer's Center's chairs which can't quite stay
comfortable for as long as this performance requires.
Written by Eugene O'Neill. Directed by Bob Bartlett.
Design: Bob Bartlet and Jack Sbarbori (set) Stephanie Mumford (costumes)
Jack Sbarbori (properties) Don Slater (lights) Ed Moser (sound) Audrey
Cefaly (photography). Cast: Michael Avolio, Andy Brownstein,
Erika Imhoof, Steve LaRocque, Stephanie Mumford. |
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April 4 – May 4, 2008
The Mollusc
Reviewed April 20 by
David Siegel
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Running
time 2:00 - one intermission
A soothing and mellow drawing room comedy from a time gone by
Click here to buy the script |
My, my, even in pre-Freudian days there were
playwrights working over interior psychological landscapes, just without the
use of id, ego or superego terms. Now that is good news to a theater maven.
And, in these days of pushing the boundaries of what theater can do, and how
far theater can agitate and perturb audiences, it is an out-of-the ordinary
experience to wake-up to a production that 100 years ago was pushing the
boundaries of its time rather than offering the same old fare of George Bernard Shaw.
While The Mollusc, by Hubert Henry Davies, is not a great work, under
Jack Sbabori’s direction, once the script moves past its obligatory set-up
scenes and introduction of the four characters, this small scale drawing
room comedy gains some traction and at curtain has engaged and connected
with the audience. That is, it has if that audience is open to something
rather different. This is a cozy production in a snug setting which was a pleasant
diversion on the rainy, thunder and lightning filled afternoon that this
reviewer saw it. The performances of Malinda Smith, as the central character
who controls her little household by both conscious and unconscious
inactions, and Laura Russell, as the Governess everyone in the household
loves in their own way are solid and nuanced and in some scenes quite
unexpectedly affecting. Overall, this is a production that may whet the
appetite for those attuned to a mild and temperate sense of what theater
once was.
Storyline: In this British comedy, a
self-centered wife of leisure spends her days on her chaise lounge and runs
her household, including her husband, the governess of her two children and
her visiting younger brother with an iron-handed passive-aggressive streak.
That is until the stakes are too high and she finally sees that she risks
losing her husband and her status in the world unless she finally gets up
and takes action rather than using words to resist all movement.
The playwright, Hubert
Henry Davies is one with a short resume who died at the age of 47 in 1917,
and is all but forgotten today. One can only wonder what he might have written if WW
I had not ended his life and he had lived to be part of the great British
awakening, at least by its poets who had survived the war or had the
opportunity read deeply the early works of Freud. But The Mollusc is
a nice piece of theater to revive for archival purposes alone. And it was
once even made into a live television production in 1952 by Kraft Television
Theater. The Quotidian Theatre gets a big nod for this unexpected revival as
another small Potomac Region theater company that makes risky choices in
seeking out and finding little trinkets. The casting by Jack Sbarbori
includes several who may be less familiar to area professional
theater-goers, but together make for an overall sound ensemble. With a
script that is not full of natural action or great bombastic outbursts of
dialogue or abstractness, the production moves more swiftly in Act II and
carries itself along. Sbardori has found ways to keep his cast off their
chairs, at least those surrounding the non-moving mollusk herself. In Act II
there are two unexpected scenes with some more broad comedic touches that
provide a nice respite from the back and forth of dialogue.
This is a text driven script in a
very confined space. Each of the four characters is very distinct physically
and emotionally and is easily traced throughout the production. Some are
better at English accents then others. The two women in this four actor
ensemble are the more agreeable ones, especially given that they are working
with a script and a direction that does not emphasize nuanced and highly
fine gradations and distinctions. There is the matron of the house, Malinda Smith, as the immobile “mollusc.”
She is quite natural in her ability to bat back any attempt to have her move
or take action. She seems to be enjoying herself in the role although the
audience may want to push her about in open frustration at her "stickedness." Laura Russell,
as the dutiful, pretty Governess with a heart and a mind to know that there
is more to life than what she is living is an Eliza Doolittle-type, but from
a different starting point … she grows and grows into a strong women.
Russell’s British accent is the best of the ensemble. John Decker plays the
compliant, subservient, little yes-man husband as a wimp who knows he is
such. He speaks and walks about as if he is a mouse. As the earthy (at least
for its time) Americanized brother, Steve Beall tries mightily to carve out
a central place in this ensemble, but is man-handled by the two women.
Still, he can bring a perturbed mien to his performance at times.
The Writer’s Center stage
area is a sufficient space for this small drawing room comedy. It has a
confined feel that the set design uses to advantage as the entire
proceedings take place in one room. There are several windows including one
floor to ceiling window that not only provides a three dimensional feel to
the set but is effective for one of the more broad comedic
scenes. The costumes of the women are of more interest and seem more of the
time and place than those of the men.
Written Hubert Henry Davies. Directed by Jack
Sbarbori. Design: Jack Sbarbori (set) Stephanie Mumford (costumes) Don
Slater (lights) Jack Sbarbori (sound) Audrey Cefaly (photography). Cast:
Steve Beall, John Decker, Laura Russell, Malinda Smith. |
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October 19 – November 18,
2007
The
Carpetbagger's Children
Reviewed by
Brad Hathaway |
Running time 1:45 - no
intermission
A family comes alive through a fictional oral history lovingly enacted by a
talented trio of actresses
Click here to buy the script |
Horton Foote is the writer whose work this company was formed to perform.
His use of the minutia of every day existence to create a broad sweeping
portrait of real life is the basis for the very name of the company. Like
their other author of choice, Anton Checkhov, life is in the details. When
Quotidian takes up Foote, there is a match of material to the sensibilities
of the director, cast and designers and the productions are clearly works of
love. Four years ago
Jack Sbarbori directed Leah Mazade, Stephanie Mumford, and Barbara Scheide in
Foote's portrait of three sisters in the fictional town of Harrison, Texas in the 1940's. The play
had just received the American Theatre Critics Association's Steinberg New Play award in 2002
when the production opened. But Sbarbori reports that a series of ice storms
"kept both critics and audiences away." He's giving both of us, audiences
and reviewers, a welcome second chance with the same cast. I, for one, am
grateful.
Storyline: The three remaining children of a Union Army soldier who
settled in Confederate territory in Texas after the Civil War, and who built
up a significant estate through either personal dedication and hard
work or through unfair exploitation of a carpetbagger's power during
reconstruction, deliver a series of interconnected monologues revealing
their family's history bit by bit and view by view, creating a warm but not
uncritical portrait of their father, mother, siblings and spouses at the end
of a full and varied life.
Early on in this
extended series of monologues addressed directly to the audience, it appears
that each of the sisters will have one chance to tell her story and the
addition of details in one amplifying the observation in another is
fascinating. After each has had a fairly extended time to speak, however,
alternating shorter monologues pick up various threads and elaborate
further, often contradicting the earlier impressions, as can be the case
when stories are examined and re-thought. A new, more complex and more
humanly believable view of their father and the family he formed comes into
focus. It begins to ramble just a bit as it gets into its second hour, but
the personal charm of the three actresses carries it along until it starts
to come back together at the end.
Mazade is a pillar of strength as the daughter trained
by their father to take over the business instead of his son who failed to
meet his standards. Mumford is sensitive and frail on the surface but hints
at the depth of her character. Scheide's portrait is tinged with a
bitterness over her treatment after she eloped in opposition to her father's
strange wish that none of his daughters marry in order to avoid having
outsiders obtain a claim on the estate he was so assiduously amassing.
The three ladies occupy three distinct areas of
Sbarbori's elegant set. Scheide delivers most of her monologues from the
left where brown-toned patterned wallpaper bedecked with a framed portrait
of FDR forms a backdrop behind a single rocking chair. Mumford holds forth
on the right in an area of blue floral paper with a flower-patterned shade on
the tiffany-style lamp beside a cushioned chair. Mazade is at center, as is
her character. She's at a desk before a golden wall displaying a portrait of
their father as well as the family table setting. The feel of the space is
just right for these ladies, and Kathleen Newton's period costumes add to the
realistic recreation of Foote's world.
Written by Horton Foote. Directed by Jack Sbarbori.
Design: Jack Sbarbori (set) Kathleen Newton (costumes) Don Slater (lights)
Nick Sampson and Jack Sbarbori (sound) Jeff Bell (photography). Cast: Leah
Mazade, Stephanie Mumford, Barbara Scheide. |
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July 6 - August 5, 2007
Pygmalion
Reviewed by
Brad Hathaway |
Running time 2:25 - one
intermission
A classic comedy of manners staged in cramped quarters
Click here to buy the script |
How very unquotidian of quotidian! The company whose very name means, among
other things, "common or ordinary," mounts a play that is not only decidedly
not ordinary, but one which is about rising above the common. The tale of
Professor Henry Higgins and his "guttersnipe" of a flower girl, Eliza
Doolittle, has become one of Shaw's most famous. This production
demonstrates that the script suffers from some of the unfortunate tendencies
that mark other works by Shaw, including wordiness and an air of
insufferable superiority. Shaw was wise enough to make that insufferability
something ascribed to the Professor, not to himself - at least not until the
fifth act when he simply can resist giving both Higgins and Eliza (not to
mention her father) lengthy speeches expounding on some of Shaw's favorite
topics. Quotidian has the benefit of a superb performance by Maura Stadem as
Eliza to help make this a pleasant evening of theater as well as a refresher
in some of Shaw's social views.
Storyline: A misogynistic English linguist
believes that the most important determiner of class in class-conscious
Britain is the way a person speaks. To prove it, he takes on a project of
teaching a "guttersnipe" flower girl how to speak like a lady so she can be
accepted even in the presence of royalty.
Shaw's play was, of course, the source material for
one of the greatest musicals of the American stage, My Fair Lady.
Using stories from other sources for plays works both ways. Shaw drew from
Greek mythology for the basic concept of his play. The myth of Pygmalion
dealt with a sculptor who created a statue of such beauty that he fell in
love with his own creation. Shaw fleshed out the characters with greater
human interest (the statue in the Greek could not have had a father) and
changed the art involved from sculpture to something he knew a great deal
more about - language. He infused the script with great wit and humor as he
made his points about society, class, communication and beauty.
Stadem makes the journey from flower girl to lady with
a delightful sense of strength of character. In her flower girl stage she's
a real lady in the standards she maintains, even if her enunciation and
diction are execrable. She has an inner charm that can be sensed long before
it can be seen. It emerges in measured doses as she masters the lessons of
the Professor. John Allnutt is that Professor, and, while he has a large
number of line readings that are smashing, the performance seems to jump
from highlight to highlight rather than progress through the evening. Jane Squier Bruns manages the rare feat of doubling on distinctive roles
without becoming distracting in her effort to distinguish between them.
She's quite good as both the Professor's Scottish housekeeper and as his
mother. John Deeker is fine as the Professor's partner in the project,
Colonel Pickering, although he can't quite shake some of the character's
contradictions. Steve LaRocque is very effective as Eliza's father, the
unapologetic, self-proclaimed member of the undeserving poor. Strangely,
however, his dialect is a few notches up the social scale for the part.
Mumford's staging is marred by many awkward touches
including cast members hidden by umbrellas or reclining on the floor, the
constant use of empty glasses and cups in a space too intimate for such
things not to be noticed, and an unnecessarily crowded stage. The Writer's
Center doesn't have any wing space so Mumford and set designer Jack Sbarbori
cram multiple locations onto the already tight playing space, forcing cast
members to squeeze around gewgaws such as hat trees and window frames in
order to make entrances and exits. A nice touch, however, is the placement
of Jean-Léon Gérôme's painting of the Greek legend of Pygmalion and Galatea
as the central feature in Professor Higgins' study. Mumford is also credited
with the costumes and is deserving of kudos in this regard, for the period
feel of the piece is supported nicely.
Written by George Bernard Shaw. Directed by Stephanie
Mumford. Design: Jack Sbabori (set) Stephanie Mumford (costumes) Don Slater
(lights) Nick Sampson and Jack Sbarbori (sound) Audrey Cefaly (photography)
Donald Bruns (stage manager). Cast: John Allnutt, Michael Avolio, John Decker, Steve LaRocque,
Jane Squier Bruns, Maura Stadem and the voice of
Donald Bruns.
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November 10 - December 10, 2006
Tomorrow
Reviewed by
Brad Hathaway |
Running time 1:35 - no intermission
t A Potomac Stages Pick for absolutely
absorbing story telling
Click here to buy the DVD |
This theater company is at its best when it is presenting
material that builds a story from the accumulation of understated, seemingly
everyday details that add up to momentous results. This 90 minute play, with
six actors playing eight parts, doesn't have one moment of a raised voice or
emotional outburst, and yet the emotions run deep and the consequences of
apparently routine decisions are life-altering. The touching story is told
through a flashback of thirty years, and yet the world it creates seems
timeless, or at least changeless. Under Jack Sbarbori's meticulous
direction, the cast delivers all the nuances in the text without ever
seeming to emphasize a single detail beyond its momentary importance. The
cumulative effect of the details, however, delivers an emotional punch that
makes the climax touching indeed.
Storyline: Viewed through the eyes of a lawyer seeking to understand the
outcome of "the only case that he ever lost where he was convinced that
right and justice were on his side," this one-act play presents a lonely
love between a watchman sitting through the winter at a closed sawmill in a
remote section of northeast Mississippi and the pregnant woman who seeks
shelter from the bitter cold in his one-room shack.
The path to this absorbing evening of theater began
back in 1940 with the publication in the Saturday Evening Post of a short
story by William Faulkner that began with the matter of fact wording "It
should have been an open-and-shut case." The story was adapted for
television's Playhouse 90 by Horton Foote, who then adapted his teleplay for
the stage. Robert Duvall played the loner in the New York production and
later made the movie version with his original co-star, Olga Bellin. There
is a match between Foote's theatrical use of everyday events or observations
and Faulkner's legendary eye for revealing details. The characters are not
so much shallow as they are reserved, hesitant to display their emotions or
expect attention.
John Collins uses physical understatement in the role
of the soft spoken watchman the way Faulkner/Foote use verbal
understatement. At times it seems that the two word reply "Yes, ma'am" is
the longest speech he has. But that is misleading. In fact, he has some very
important speeches - short though they may be. It is just that he creates
such a solid impression of the strong silent type that it pervades the
entire play. His taciturn approach is matched by Michele Osherow, who adds a deep
sense of fatigue to her portrayal, which gives the part a poignancy that
serves the story well. Steve LaRocque avoids any excesses in the role of the
narrating lawyer.
Sbarbori creates a detailed replica of a tiny
watchman's cabin with a wood stove's warmth and light battling the chill
represented by a whistling wind. Every time the action shifts outside of the
cabin the magic seems to falter just a bit. It is as if the scenes taking
place at the wood pile or the wash basin somehow distract from the warmth
and comfort represented by that tiny space with its single cot. There is no
credit for costume design but each performer is decked out in just the right
garb, especially Steve LaRocque who is dapper in a lawyer's light linen suit,
and John Decker who is the opposite of dapper in his farmer's clothes as
Collins' pa.
Written by Horton Foote. Adapted from the short story
by William Faulkner. Directed by
Jack Sbarbori. Design: Jack Sbarbori (set and sound) Don Slater (lights)
Amber Krause (stage manager). Cast: Michael Avolio, John Collins, John
Decker, Steve LaRocque, Stephanie Mumford, Michele Osherow. |
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May 19 - June 18, 2006
Frankie and
Johnny
in the Clair de Lune |
Reviewed May 19
Running time 2:05 - one intermission
v
Nudity and intimate situations
A solid presentation of a superbly written play
Click here to buy the script |
Director
Bob Bartlett puts all the pieces together with a sense of restraint and
tastefulness that audiences have come to expect of this company which
specializes in slice-of-life plays depicting daily life in a realistic
manner. Many of the plays they pick reveal their author's view of life
through the lens of a normal day. This is not necessarily so for Terrence McNally's 1987 two performer piece about a one
night stand that at least one half of the couple would like to be something
much more than a just sexual event. As nicely played by Erika Imhoof and Ken
Arnold, this couple - if a couple they are going to be - go through the
discovery process of baring more than just their bodies, although they do bare
all of those. Left unanswered is whether this is the day that made the rest
of their lives different because they became a life-long couple, or whether
they went their separate ways when the sun came up. Both "futures" hang in
the moonlight.
Storyline: After their first date, a waitress
and a short order cook have returned to her apartment and gone to bed
together. After making love, she is ready to have him leave so she can have
her privacy back. On the other hand, he thinks he knows a good thing when he
sees it, has fallen in love, and has no intention of leaving.
Adults who can accept
nudity and intimacy in a non-pornographic, honest presentation will find a
great deal to enjoy in this solid presentation of McNally's lovely piece of
what might be called "quotidian romanticism." Opening as it does with a
sexual climax in the dark, the play skips the awkward process of getting
from first date to first sex act and concentrates on the "ok, where do we go
from here" that follows. Frankie and Johnny have bared their bodies. Now, in
the afterglow, they must get to know each other on a whole new level. As
they dare to bare more than just bodies before each other, they reveal their
histories, hopes, fears, likes, dislikes and standards. Out of it comes not
just a picture of two real people, but also a picture of an embryonic
couple, an entity that may grow to be a life-changing partnership.
McNally gives the cast much to work with and
Imhoof and Arnold do well with the material. These two people, after all,
are going through the process of revealing their characters to each other.
What else is acting but the process of revealing character to the audience?
Arnold gets both the insecurities and the macho hopes and fears right. His
Johnny demands not compliance with his wishes but consideration of his
desires while feeling for the limits of her tolerance. Imhoof has the more
reserved character to bring to life, and she does a nice job of showing
Frankie's tentative efforts to respond to Johnny's advances as she seeks a
balance between risks. She's reluctant to risk true intimacy, but also fears
loosing this chance to build a relationship. Both give honest performances.
Any play that not only deals with the spell
of moonlight but invokes the pure romanticism of the music that French
composer Debussy titled "clair de lune" (French for "moonlight") provides
an opportunity for a lighting designer to work wonders. Here it is Don
Slater who provides the slanting shaft of moonlight which comes through set
designer Howard James' version of the window of Frankie's Manhattan
apartment, and it's properly evocative without being excessively showy. The
voice of the radio announcer who dedicates Debussy's "most beautiful music
in the world" to the couple goes uncredited.
Written by Terrence McNally. Directed by Bob Bartlett.
Design: Howard James (set) Jared Shamberger (properties and set dressing)
Don Slater (lights) Nick Sampson (sound) Charmian O. Crawford (stage
manager). Cast: Ken Arnold, Erika Imhoof. |
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June 10
- July 10, 2005
All My Sons |
Reviewed June 10
Running time 2:20 - one intermission
t
A Potomac Stages Pick for a thoughtful presentation with an emotional punch
Click here to buy the script |
Imagine what it must have been like for audiences
when this examination of guilt and blame for misdeeds during World War II
first opened on Broadway less than sixteen months after the end of the war.
The wounds of war were still raw. Everyone in the audiences had lost friends
or relations. Everyone had done their part for victory for years. Yet Arthur
Miller, an all but unknown playwright at the time, was able to make them
care about a man who failed, at least once, to do his part with terrible
consequences. Now, Quotidian, in its no-nonsense, matter of fact way, makes
audiences feel some of the empathy and some of the pain that audiences
nearly sixty years ago must have felt even though we, of subsequent
generations, don't bring the same collective familiarity with the times of
the play with us into the theater. That is quite an accomplishment.
Storyline: One day and night in middle America, where a year after the
end of World War II, a family is still struggling with the impact of the war
on their lives. The father has been released from prison after being cleared
of charges of knowingly supplying defective parts to the Army resulting in
the death of 21 pilots. The mother holds on tenaciously to the thought that
her missing-in-action son will turn up even three years after the
disappearance of the fighter he was piloting. The surviving son has finally
decided to move on with his life, seeking the hand of the daughter of his
father's deputy who has been convicted of the fatal fraud. She had been his
brother's girl before he left for the war.
This is the first play that director Norman Seltzer has staged for Quotidian,
and yet he has taken to heart the company's trademark uncomplicated
approach. Perhaps that is because he has performed in two of their
productions in the past. It also helps that the play is such a good match
for the style of the company. One definition of "Quotidian" is "found in the
ordinary course of events" and the essence of Miller's style is to find
extraordinary emotions in the experience of ordinary events. The very
familiarity of family and neighbor conversations in the backyards of
middle-America amplify the magnitude of the issues and emotions being
exposed.
Barry Abrams carries the weight of the play as the
father of the family burdened with the twin load of guilt and fear of
exposure. He avoids overdoing the panic that captures his character as the
truth of his past overtakes him. Leo Goodman, as his son, is the one to let
loose the full emotion of the collapse of the fiction the family has been
living, and he does so grandly. There is a genuine touch of affection and
attraction between him and Ghillian Porter as the girl he wants to marry.
Lois Sanders, as the mother of the household who is holding tight to one
fiction in order to avoid confronting a different truth, sets up her final
undoing so well that the intensity of her final breakdown comes as something
of a surprise.
Jack Sbarbori's set is an economical mixture of
simplicity and effectiveness. Faux-brick surfaces on flats create the
exterior of the house with patio furniture establishing a sense of
familiarity and informality. The plot calls for a damaged apple tree stump
off to one side, so Sbarbori puts it in a bit of earth enclosed by wooden
borders - simple but sufficient. Kathleen Newton's costumes look as if these
people actually wear these clothes in their daily routines. At the
start of the first act, the sound system slowly fades the program of popular
recordings of the era that has been playing as the audience enters, and the
lights linger at a low setting as if to say "sit back and take your time
absorbing the events of the play." It establishes just the right feel for
this play.
Written by Arthur Miller. Directed by Norman Seltzer. Design: Jack Sbarbori
(set and sound) Kathleen Newton (costumes) Don Slater (lights). Cast: Barry
Abrams, Kevin Baker or Simone Grossman, Chris Batchelder, John Collins, Leo
Goodman, Ghillian Porter, Lois Sanders, Ted Schneider, Andrea Spitz, Sherry
Tyra. |
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April 15 - May 15, 2005
The Roads to
Home |
Reviewed April 15
Running time 2:40 - two intermissions
Gentle portrayals of genuine characters
Click
here to buy the
script |
A book about the author of the three one act plays which make up this
evening bears the fascinating title "More Real than Realism: The
Impressionism of Horton Foote." It is a very accurate description of Foote's
style and a tremendous challenge for any company attempting to stage his
deceptively simple plays. Quotidian, a company that specializes in his works
and which proudly lists him as an honorary member of their board of
directors, has developed a particular skill at handling this tricky material, and this, their sixth production of his works, offers a fascinating evening
that feels - as Foote obviously intended - like eavesdropping on interesting
strangers.
Storyline: Three connected one-act plays introduce three women who live
in Houston, Texas, in 1924. One woman hosts her next door neighbor and an
acquaintance from across town and is torn by the tragedies affecting their
lives. Her neighbor is struggling with the infidelity of her husband while
the cross town acquaintance is loosing touch with reality due to a
psychological trauma in her childhood.
Not really a full length play nor the
traditional evening of one act plays in which each is a stand-alone piece,
this collection is a hybrid. The connection between all three is clear, but
two are connected to each other with a stronger bond than is the case with
the third. The first two could really constitute a satisfying whole as next
door neighbors face the twin problems of coping with troubles close to home
and those a bit more removed. The third, on the other hand, continues one
thread of the story and is certainly satisfying on its own, but it really
doesn't need the earlier material as a set up, nor does it provide more
resolution to the story as it existed at the end of the first two.
Foote's three main female characters are
compellingly human and the performances here capture the combination of
ordinariness and idiosyncrasy that makes his stories feel so real. Audrey
Cefaly and Erika Imhoof bring the neighbor housewives to life with
performances marked by many tiny touches, nicely nuanced gestures and a
sense of comfort between their two characters that can only be a result of a
long friendship. The fact that the two have worked together frequently in
the past certainly helped in creating this feeling. Both have also worked
with Quotidian co-founder Stephanie Mumford who plays the third major
character, the woman who can't cope with the horror of one event from her
past. As a trio, they are quite impressive.
The men in these ladies' lives constitute a
colorful collection of characters. Ted Schneider masters the tiny shifts in
posture as his character falls asleep or pretends to be asleep to either
overhear or to avoid being included in a conversation. Doug Prouty subtly
shows the audience the frustration his characters' manners wont let him show
to the women when he comes to get his failing wife. Then there is Matt
Wilschke, who doesn't say a word as a silent patient in the asylum. These
and others fill out a world "more real than realism."
Written by Horton Foote. Directed by Jack
Sbarbori. Design: Jack Sbarbori (set and sound) Stephanie Mumford, Audrey
Cefaly and Amy Reynolds (costumes) Don Slater (lights) Jim Brantley
(photography) Tim Phelps (stage manager). Cast: Audrey Cefaly, John Decker,
Erika Imhoof, Matt Jordan, Steve LaRocque, Stephanie Mumford, Doug Prouty,
Ted Schneider, Matt Wilschke. |
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October 29 - November 28,
2004
The Weir |
Reviewed October 29
Running time 1:45 - no intermission
t A Potomac
Stages Pick for atmosphere, natural acting and great writing
Click here to buy the script |
Sometimes theatergoing is like eavesdropping on strangers. Seldom is that
eavesdropping so compelling, indeed spellbinding, as it is in this short but
tremendously satisfying production. Part of the reason is the writing by
Irish playwright Connor McPherson who won the Olivier Award for Best New
Play in London in the 1998 season for this piece of naturalistic
storytelling. The superb direction and the performances of the cast of five
is the other reason. The production matches the naturalistic style of the
script so well that it almost seems effortless and artless. But there is an
art to being apparently artless, which the Quotidian Theatre Company's team
knows quite well. It is their mission to create theater that feels like life
and this is one of their great successes at that challenging mission.
Storyline: Into a small Irish pub along the River Shannon comes a woman from
Dublin who has just moved into a house in the neighborhood. The men who spend
their evenings in the pub compete telling stories of local color, many of
them ghost stories or tales of supernatural events as they attempt to
impress the woman. But the woman has a story of her own and so does the
house she's purchasing.
McPherson's
play understates just about everything involved. The relationship between
the men in the pub before the arrival of the woman and the developments in
the wider world outside the pub are all established but only as background
to the evening of storytelling. Many a satisfying solo show is built this
way. Indeed, McPherson has written more monologue pieces than plays
requiring an ensemble. Few multi-member cast plays adopt the form, however.
McPherson makes it work through the myriad little hints he drops into the
conversations among the characters before and in between the stories they
tell. He gives the actors details on which to hang their performances and
just enough structure to give the audience the expected challenge of
figuring out just who is who and what is going on which makes a drama
something more than a story.
The actors here all avoid any excess at all.
If any one of them overplayed a moment or overstressed a line it would break
the spell and they know it. Credit for that must go to director Jack
Sbarbori, co-founder of Quotidian. He has cast four of the five parts with
veterans of past Quotidian productions including regulars Steve LaRocque and
Quotidian's other co-founder Stephanie Mumford. LaRocque makes the first
entry and his understated struggle to remove his galoshes sets the tone of
the piece for the entire evening before he delivers even one line. Each
performer has tiny little details that make their characters come to life
for those who are watching carefully. Ted Schneider's gesture of using his
finger to get the last drop from a shot glass is a classic case in point.
The one newcomer is the youngest of the group, Darius Suziedelis who, as the
bartender in the pub contributes some of the details of time and place but
whose real talent is listening.
More affluent companies might spend a great
deal on a handsome set of an impoverished Irish pub but this one serves the
purpose quite well, especially under the gentle lighting of Don Slater.
McPherson's script calls for the sound of wind to help create and maintain
the mood and Nick Sampson's sound design fills the bill quite nicely with an
ever present but never overstated effect. That wind, so emblematic of the
Shannon River Basin where the pub is set, is just like the rest of the
production: understated, naturalistic, impressionistic.
Written by Conor McPherson. Directed by Jack
Sbarbori. Design: Jack Sbarbori (set) Stephanie Mumford (costumes) Don Slater
(lights) Nick Sampson (sound) Erika Imhoof (photography). Cast: John Decker,
Steve LaRocque, Stephanie Mumford, Ted Schneider, Darius Suziedelis.
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September 12 – October 12, 2003
September 11th was a Tuesday |
Reviewed September 20
Running time 1 hour 55 minutes |
Some day, someone will write a play about the terrible day of the Pentagon
and World Trade Center attacks that can
connect to the psyche of those who didn’t actually experience it. But, for
now, the memory is too fresh and the nerves are too exposed for playwrights
to create such works and for audiences to approach them as dramas rather
than as shared experiences. While we wait, there are plays like Recent
Tragic Events and this new play by Steve LaRocque that will touch us
where we already hurt even though they may not work as well as we would like
as pure theater.
Storyline: In the courtyard of a local hospital, a
survivor of the Pentagon attack and her office colleague, who was absent at
the moment of impact, discuss their experiences during a break from the
survivor’s therapy session. Over the next hour, they also have conversations
with her therapist who has had his own searing experiences, the director of
marketing for the hospital who would like to use the survivor as a
spokesperson for fundraising for the hospital, and a janitor who the
survivor recognizes as the stranger who rescued her on that fateful day.
The
opening scene of this play is a simple conversation between two office
colleagues who have bonded over their shared experience on and after
September 11. It is free of artifice and posturing and is performed with
such honesty that your expectations for the rest of the evening are raised
sky high. Here is the essence of the experience - the aftermath of a day
that began as simply a Tuesday like any other (although perhaps a bit
clearer with a sky a bit bluer) but which turned to horror that affected the
lives of everyone who went through it, whether they were in the E Ring and
survived their injuries or they were away from the office or out of the
building and received psychological but not physical injury.
Unfortunately, the standard set by that first scene cannot be maintained as
the script turns a bit preachy and the supporting performers bring less of a
sure touch to their parts than do Cody Jones as the survivor and Susan
Holliday as her colleague. Jones continues to be just understated enough to
be touching but she has to play her second scene with Colleen Estep who
can’t quite pull off the overly broad characterization of the hospital’s
marketing director penned by LaRocque. She has the unfortunate task of
representing crass commercialism and narrow-minded bigotry which LaRocque
sets up for rejection with an all too heavy hand.
LaRocque takes the stage in the role of the therapist but here, again,
things turn preachy as the character tells a stranger things that would not
normally be shared. Much of his dialogue is eloquent, thoughtful and
revealing but it is strangely out of place in a conversation with a
stranger. Things get better when Richard Wilt enters as the savior/janitor
in a scene that, while not up to the standard of the opener, is filled with
subtler touches and some very eloquent imagery. As the evening comes to a
close, the friends reestablish the sense of honest intimacy with which it
began, touching a nerve that is still too raw for dispassionate assessment.
Written by Steve
LaRocque. Directed by Jack Sbarbori. Recorded pianist, Jenny Bland. Design:
Jack Sbarbori (set) Don Slater (lights) Nick Sampson (sound) Jan Faul
(photography). Cast: Colleen Estep, Susan Holliday, Cody Jones, Beatrice
Judge, Steve LaRocque, Richard Wilt. |
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November 8 – December 8, 2002
A Doll’s House |
Reviewed November 29
Running time 2 hours 40 minutes |
This is no simple translation of Henrik Ibsen’s most widely performed play.
It is, as the program says, "an adaptation." While liberties have been taken
both in the setting and in the period of the piece, the final product
remains true to the original masterpiece. The liberties actually make the
essence of Ibsen’s message somewhat easier for modern audiences to discern.
The language sounds less stilted and less formal than a literal translation
of the original, given that the original was written two hundred and twenty
two years ago. The shift from nineteenth century Sweden to twentieth century
Texas helps modern audience’s connect to both time and place easier. Having
thus reduced the difficulty many might have approaching the piece, Quotidian
proceeds to perform the adapted version in a satisfying presentation.
Storyline: A wife and mother, who has always accepted the authority of first
her father and then her husband, is faced with the fact that she has never
been her own person when the one event in her past where she exercised
independent judgment threatens a potential crisis in her husband’s career.
She comes to believe that the only way she can learn to be her own person is
to leave her husband and her children.
Quotidian’s Jack Sbarbori adapted the script and directed the result. He
moves the family’s Christmas celebration from 1879 Christiania (now Oslo) in
Scandinavia to Galveston, Texas in 1918, changing the names in the process
from Torvald and Nora to Wesley and Nola. The date might call to mind "The
Great War" as the armistice was then only a month old, or "The Spanish Flu"
which was then killing off nearly a full one percent of the world’s
population. But, no, the date’s relevance to the play is that it is just
after the House of Representatives had proposed what became the 19th
Amendment granting women’s suffrage but before the Senate followed suit. The
selection of Galveston lends a genteel accent to the scene.
That scene is the front room of a proper home of the time. J-L
Cavaille-Coll’s set is essentially rugs and furniture true to the period
along with a marvelous fireplace and mantle sporting Christmas stockings. It
achieves the cluttered, cared for feel of a home well into the Edwardian
period but sporting touches of Victorian elegance, making the husband’s
repeated statement "How warm and snug it is here!" ring true. The location
of the door creates a bit of a staging difficulty, however. Ibsen’s text
ends with one of the earliest and most famous sound cues of modern theater,
the sound of the wife closing the door on her past. But there is one line of
dialogue after her departure from the parlor. With the door not located off
stage, the line and the sound cue get a bit bollixed up. The costumes by
Stephanie Mumford, who does double duty as costumer and leading lady, seem
similarly true to time and place although they don’t look like the cast
members have worn them as long as the characters would have, so they seem
more museum pieces than real clothing.
Sbarbori leads his cast in an almost leisurely exposition of the events
in the play, which casts a subtle spell. The pace doesn’t pick up with the
passing moments of panic afflicting the wife who is played with considerable
skill by Mumford. Without the artifice of exaggerated pacing, she is left to
her own extensive talents to portray, through posture and expression, the
rising sense of dread and then panic that leads her character to conclude
that she can no longer tolerate her situation. This theater company is
dedicated to the presentation of their plays in what they refer to as
"understated interpretation" - which translates into a realism. That leaves
the actors on their own to reveal the inner workings of their characters’
minds. This cast does that well, especially Mumford and Nick Sampson as the
underling at the bank who is the key to the wife’s earlier act of
independence. John Decker has a somewhat more difficult time with this
style, but that may be because his character’s world view is the hardest for
modern audiences to accept.
Written by Henrik Ibsen. Adapted and directed by Jack Sbarbori. Design:
J-L Cavaille-Coll (set and sound) Stephanie Mumford (costumes) Don Slater
(lights). Cast: Stephanie Mumford, Nick Sampson, John Decker, Steve LaRocque,
Erika Imhoof or Cody Jones, Sharon Dodd. |
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May 31 - June 30, 2002
The Last of the Thorntons |
Reviewed May 31
Running time 2 hours |
When a theater company is formed specifically to
produce the plays of one playwright you can expect them to have an affinity
for his works. This company, which was formed to bring the works of Horton
Foote and other playwrights who work in the naturalistic form of which he is
the current master, demonstrates that affinity with this Potomac Region
premiere of his 2000 play. They get it right. What could be a deathly dull
homage to a venerated playwright is, instead, a thoughtful staging of an
engrossing work.Storyline: Like many of Foote’s plays, this gentle
portrait of very human people on a most ordinary day is set in the fictional
town of Harrison, Texas. Specifically, the time is 1970 and the locale is
Harrison’s nursing home where elderly residents interact revealing their
histories in small segments of true-to-life dialogue. The principal story
involves unmarried 60 year old Alberta Thornton, the last member of her
family to still carry the family name. The history of her family, her
friends, the town and the nursing home emerge over the course of a single
day.
Foote cut his dramatist’s teeth turning out scripts for the golden age of
live television drama on programs like Playhouse 90 where he learned the
importance of dropping key plot information into seemingly unimportant
conversational statements. He turned out Oscar winning screenplays like
To Kill a Mockingbird where he improved his ability to create dialogue
with a different, very specific vocabulary and pattern for each character.
He mastered the technique of creating natural settings in his plays for the
stage including his Pulitzer Prize winning The Young Man From Atlanta.
Much of his finest work draws from his store of experiences growing up in
Wharton, Texas which has become "Harrison" in the plays.
The cast assembled for this production has its strength in the most
important roles. Lucy Brightman is utterly believable as a 78 year old
gentle lady visiting her friends at the nursing home. The way she holds her
hands signals a formal training in deportment in her youth and the bright
shine in her eyes speaks of her pride in her age and station. Jack French is
equally convincing as an 85 year old resident who plays a lengthy hand of
solitaire and repeatedly laments "practically everyone I know is dead." The
last of the Thorntons is Stephanie Mumford who accomplishes the difficult
task of making confusion crystal clear. Her character is a bit addled but
her performance is precise with telling little details.
Just as the characters and dialogue Foote created are precise
representations of reality, so the physical production is a detailed
recreation of time and place. From dark brown wood-grained paneling to the
baby blue telephone, the pastel glass lamps and period magazines, the
pictures of Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon and John Tower to the subtly
striped day dress on Brightman or the bright blue shirt on French, the image
is complete. Viewing this production is precisely what Foote seemed to have
imagined – eavesdropping on real people in a real place.
Written by Horton Foote. Directed by Jack Sbarbori. Design: Jack
Sbarbori (set) Kathleen Newton (costumes) Don Slater (lights) J-L
Cavaille-Coll (sound). Cast: Stephanie Mumford, Lucy Brightman, Jack French,
Susan Holliday, Cody Jones, Martha Cashion Abrams, Heather Benjamin, Barbara
Scheide, Barry Abrams, Mark Stevenson. |
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