Coming of age in the days of apartheid

There's a bit of deception in the title of South African playwright Athol Fugard's 1982 play, '"Master Harold ... and the boys,' now on stage in a crackling production directed by Owen Thompson through Sept. 22 at the Schoolhouse Theater in Croton Falls, N.Y. 

Just looking at the title, you might think the play was primarily concerned with someone named Master Harold and a few secondary characters, but this drama, set in 1950 just two years into South Africa's system of racial segregation known as apartheid, places "the boys" -- two adult black servants -- on the same level of importance as "master" -- a 17-year-old white boy. 

The men, Willie (played by Devin E. Haqq) and Sam (Alvin Keith), work as waiters at a tea room in Port Elizabeth. It's not specifically mentioned in the play, but after 1948, the city was a significant example of a South African city that was stratified into racially-restricted areas through land zoning and legislation.

Fugard, who is now 92, has written some 35 plays and was one of the leading voices against apartheid, which lasted until Nelson Mandela was elected South Africa's first black president in 1994. 

"Master Harold" was initially banned in South Africa and was first produced at the Yale Repertory Theater in 1982 and subsequently transferred to Broadway, where it ran for nearly a year. In 2011, Fugard was awarded a Tony award for lifetime achievement.

Schoolhouse Theater since 1986 has been producing classic and new plays, with a reputation for high quality. Last year's "mis-Understanding Mammy," about actress Hattie McDaniel, was reviewed here.    

"Master Harold" begins on a lighthearted note as the men straighten up the dining room, devoid of customers on a rainy day. Willie is struggling with ballroom dancing in advance of a competition and Sam good-naturedly needles and coaches him.

The Harold of the title, a 17-year-old white boy nicknamed Hally (Will DeVary), arrives, wearing his school blazer and carrying his book bag.

The three have known each other for years, but their respective social status is communicated immediately as Willie jumps to help Hally off with his coat. Yet the play is full of surprises. Fugard won't let us settle into a particular narrative. 

From left, Devin E. Haqq as Willie,
Alvin Keith as Sam, Will DeVary as Hally

As Hally's mother has been busy running the tea room and his father is a disabled alcoholic, the boy has partly been brought up by Willie and Sam. 

However, the men also have taken something from the relationship. Sam is able to trade smart banter with Hally about the great men of history because he has drilled Hally in his lessons, educating himself at the same time.

As Hally starts his schoolwork, the three reminisce about seemingly inconsequential things -- a time Sam and Hally flew a kite, young Hally's desire to hang out in the "servants' room."

But the fond regard these three have for one another can't exorcise the underlying tension of a racially-polarized society. Hally mouths rhetoric about society needing a "social reformer," then falls back into the arrogant manner of the white supremacist: "What does a black man know about flying a kite?" "Why don't you start calling me Master Harold ... Thank of it as a little lesson in respect." 

From left, Devin E. Haqq as
Willie, Alvin Keith as Sam

Hally's emotions become more intense after he remembers having to care for his father, including helping Sam clean him up after he's passed out from drink. The rainy afternoon closes in on the three until a searing confrontation threatens to destroy relationships within a few seconds.

Alvin Keith brilliantly embodies Sam's dignity and lifetime of pain in his final speeches that, against all odds, still contain a note of hope that people -- especially good friends -- can find connection in pure humanity. It's worth noting that for this man in his 40s, racial discrimination in South Africa didn't just start in 1948. It was part of the country's reality since Dutch colonization 400 years before.

While Sam is the older and wiser of the two black men, Devin E. Haqq beautifully expresses Willie's more guileless nature. His reactions to the thunder of Hally and Sam's clash are heartrending. One almost thinks that Willie is more devastated by what is happening.

But there is a disturbing element to Willie's character -- he hits his girlfriend Hilda. Although Sam tells Willie to stop, playwright Fugard, writing in 1980, seems to regard violence against a woman as just one of those things that happens sometimes. No one gets anywhere near as emotional about it as they do about racism and, of course, we never hear from Hilda.     

Will DeVary is clearly an intelligent actor, but his (or Thompson's) decision to play Hally throughout with a consistent tone of angry nastiness left this viewer seeking a bit of vulnerability and some variety of tone. DeVary's South African accent occasionally made it difficult to understand lines. 

Thompson's direction seems to have inspired the cast to plumb the depths of their characters and he keeps the action consistently interesting on a one-set play. He notes in the program that "Master Harold" is the play that means the most to him in four decades of professional theater, having played Hally as a young man. Far from being a period piece, "it has much to say to us in the deeply divided America of the present moment."

Indeed. Even in the realm of world politics, Sam's words ring powerfully: "Open a newspaper and what do you read? America has bumped into Russia ... rich man bumps into poor man. Those are big collisions, Hally. They make for a lot of bruises."

Thompson is also the play's sound designer, responsible for the raindrops and juke box song, among others. Tony Andrea's set design and Dennis Parichy's lighting design are particularly fine, especially a beautiful scrim at the top of the show that illuminates softly the rainy scene outside the tea room's main window. 

This production of "Master Harold" marks a distinguished start to Schoolhouse Theater's season.

   

 

   
 

  

Illinoise, a state of motion

There are two kinds of theatergoers: those who like to read about (and listen to, if possible) a show before they see it and those who want to go in pure.

I'm usually the first, but life and time and stuff got in the way and I made a quick decision to get a ticket the day before I saw the Broadway musical Illinoise.

The show opened at the Park Avenue Armory last spring, then transferred to Broadway and is playing at the St. James Theater through August 10. 

My decision proved the power of the Tony Awards show. I had never heard of the composer, Sufjan Stevens, or knew anything about the show, but I was riveted by a number performed on the Tonys (above) on June 16, 2024.

Two men, awakening on the floor, obviously in bed, obviously a couple, danced fluid, passionate movement, tender but not madly erotic until a final kiss. The choreography for the men's arms, as they were intertwined while they were seated, was exhilarating. A male-female couple entered. One of the men on the floor was friends with the couple, but something separated their friendship. These brief moments were deeply poignant and left me wanting to see more. 

The musical won Best Choreography for Justin Peck, who is the Resident Choreographer at the New York City Ballet. Sadly, I've fallen out of the habit of attending NYCB, so I was familiar with Peck's name, but not much of his work. 

I randomly listened to a couple of Stevens' songs the night before the show - lyrical, sensitive songs about love in the singer-songwriter mold. I learned that he is, at age 49, beloved by "geriatric millennials," those born between 1980 and 1985. This 1954 baby liked them, too, and wondered if the term "geriatric baby boomer" is redundant.

Justin Peck
Photo/Ryan Pfluger

The Illinoise set at first looks bare. The onstage band is on a high level platform and three singers are on a mid-level deck, but the stage becomes a field, a bedroom, a campfire.

The show is described as a musical, but there are no words other than Steven's lyrics. Although playwright Jackie Sibblies Drury is credited with the book, her work, with Peck, consists more toward drawing Stevens' songs together in a linear story. 

Storytelling is key to Illinoise. The Playbill program contains a graphically-lovely insert that's a few pages of a diary kept by one of the characters, Henry, that is full of the yearning and questioning of a young person looking at love. 

Sufjan Stevens

He brings his journal to a campfire gathering, where the characters bring glowing lanterns to signify the fire. Henry and the others write in their journals as Stevens' lyrics ask, "Are you writing from the heart?"

I've read posts online from people who were confused about the plot of Illinoise, but a show that's purely dance and music allows us to bring our own memories and experiences to the adventure happening onstage. 

During the campfire scene, I thought, "Yes, I remember my in-laws' family gathered in the summer evenings around a campfire on Prince Edward Island, Canada."

The scenes and songs move smoothly as Henry recalls a road trip to Chicago ("Chicago"), the friendship with Carl and Shelby that ended in tragedy ("The Seer's Tower" - a play on Chicago's Sears Tower), his awakening to his true nature and his love with a man named Douglas:

I fell in love again

All things go

All things go

Drove to Chicago

All things know

All things know ...

The lyrics seem simple, but paired with Stevens' hymn-like, dreamy music, they conjure up emotions and thoughts - "Why did she go?" "Oh yes, I remember him from elementary school. I really liked him." "I had a sense of adventure then."

Not all the songs are related to Henry's journey, but all have some connection to the state nicknamed "The Prairie State."

"A story about zombies," one of my favorite scenes, has a young woman powerfully fighting the undead, who emerge from (what else) a cornfield. The creatures of the night, however, wear the masks of well-known figures of American history: Ronald Reagan, Ulysses S. Grant, Joseph McCarthy, Andrew Jackson, suggesting that the country's past continues to haunt its present and future.

 

Despite the show's deeply-felt moment of sadness, it ends on a hopeful but realistic note about longing and remembering in the song "Epilogue": "I stand in awe of gratefulness. I can and call forgetfulness."

A "forza" of nature

 The Metropolitan Opera's new production of Verdi's "La Forza del Destino" for me accomplished what Wagner called Gesamtkunstwerk -- a totally successful work of art. 

Attending a March Saturday matinee, I was completely thrilled at director Mariusz Treliński's cinematic conception, a brilliant cast led by superstar-to-be soprano Lise Davidsen, conductor Yannick Nézet-Séguin's passionate interpretation of the score and Verdi's driving, intense compositions - "movie music" in the best sense, foreshadowing and underscoring scenic emotion. 

Listen to the ominous three notes right at the beginning of the overture, played by brass and bassoons:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkPOVYg4Bxc

Now, John Williams' Darth Vader theme from "Star Wars":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bzWSJG93P8

Like a good police detective, I say, "Coincidence? I don't think so!" Of course, after the three notes, the themes go in different directions, a heavy militaristic march from Williams and, from Verdi, the violins entering with an anxious, jittery theme. 

Solomon Howard and Lise Davidsen
 as the Marquis and Leonora
Photo: Karen Almond/MetOpera

Treliński dramatizes the overture, so we see a statuesque woman, Leonora (Davidsen), in a gorgeous magenta evening gown pacing in and out of the "Hotel Calatrava," nervously tossing a cigarette away. As Boris Kudlička's trifold set revolves, she walks into the hotel's ballroom, where her birthday party is setting up and the henchmen of her father, the Marquis of Calatrava (Solomon Howard) are giving him a half-Nazi salute, then into his office next to the ballroom.

We soon see the source of her distress: her lover, Don Alvaro (Brian Jagde) climbs through the window, eager to spirit her away. The original story (published in 1835) says he is of South American Native heritage, but in our 21st-century eyes, his being a man of color is no reason why the two should not be together. 

This "Forza" is set in a modern time, but this, friends, is not a modern story. The Marquis discovers the two and violently opposes the match, declaring that Alvaro is beneath Leonora, that she has obviously been seduced and a marriage with him ("the baseness of your origins") will bring disgrace on her family. Alvaro protests and, to demonstrate his worthy intentions, throws his gun at the Marquis' feet. It accidentally discharges, killing Leonora's father. 

Brian Jagde as Don Alvaro
Photo:Karen Almond/MetOpera

This is the terrible event that propels the hand of fate for all the characters. Leonora's brother, Don Carlo (Igor Golovatenko) swears vengeance. Leonora, poor girl, is so consumed with guilt at being the unwitting cause of her father's death that she seeks out a religious refuge in order to do penance. Alvaro flees, wanders the country and joins the army as war sweeps across the land. Don Carlo pursues both, with a determined rage that echoes a Sicilian vendetta. 

The cinematic flow of the action was enhanced by Projection Designer Bartek Macias' moody scene-opening videos showing such scenes as soldiers marching through snow and  Leonora driving through the rain.

 

Davidsen has, up to now, been known for roles in the German repertoire, such as Elsa in Die Meistersinger. She did not disappoint in her first Italian role. Her commanding yet beautifully rounded tone, seemingly effortless projection and dynamic control received several ovations during the performance. For example, in Act IV, Leonora, completely broken in spirit, asks God for peace. In the aria "Pace, pace, mio Dio," Davidsen spun out a high B flat so that the note floated through the house on pure wings of magic. 

Lise Davidsen as Leonora
Photo:Karen Almond/MetOpera

All the principals meshed well in this cast. Jagde's ringing tenor and passionate acting gave Alvaro the same emotional strength as Leonora. Golovatenko's baritone matched Jagde in their three sizzling duets. Howard's majestic bass brought dignity and a sense of cruelty to the dual roles of the Marquis and Padre Guardiano, the abbot of the monastery where Leonora is to live in seclusion.

It sounds like an unrelentingly grim tale, but the depth of emotion and constant action are enthralling. The march of destiny progresses inexorably from the elegant hotel of Act I through scenes of army camps, prison-like enclosures and decadent clubs to a final scene in a bombed-out, gutted train station that reminded me of another apocalyptic movie - "Escape from New York." In "Forza," there's no escape.   

     

Hattie McDaniel: Always in the picture

The question, "Who gets to tell your story?" receives an emphatic answer in Joan Ross Sorkin's play with music "misUnderstanding Mammy: The Hattie McDaniel Story," starring Tina Fabrique and directed by Seret Scott, being performed at the Schoolhouse Theater in Croton Falls, N.Y. through July 30. 

McDaniel, an accomplished actress and singer, was the first African American actor to win an Academy Award. In 1939, she took home the prize for Best Supporting Actress for her performance as Mammy in "Gone with the Wind."

In this one-woman play, which debuted in 2007, McDaniel literally takes center stage to celebrate her "firsts" (the Oscar wasn't the only one), relate her many-sided entertainment career, answer those who criticized the cook and maid's roles she played (especially the NAACP's Walter White) and stake her claim to being not just a survivor but a star in Hollywood and American society.

Hattie McDaniel receives the 1940 Academy 
Award for Best Supporting Actress

The play is Schoolhouse Theater's second post-pandemic show (following the play "Red" last spring), and there's still a palpable sense of joy among the house staff that live theater is back.

Not that the path to "misUnderstanding Mammy" was smooth. Artistic Director Owen Thompson announced before the show that the originally-contracted star had to bow out due to health issues (it was Myra Lucretia Taylor). Fabrique agreed to take on the 80-minute role with two weeks' notice, so the audience shouldn't be surprised if "a script magically appeared," Thompson said. 

We see McDaniel near the end of her life, coping with breast cancer and wearing a lavender robe, in a room in the Motion Picture House in Los Angeles. She's obsessed by the post-WWII campaign that the NAACP's White launched against "mammyism" -- stereotypical depictions of grinning servants rather than fully-rounded characters in a variety of roles -- and against her personally.

Ruminating about her life and seeing White in her mind, she addresses him, noting that she is the "first colored patient" at the Motion Picture hospital. 

Hattie McDaniel as Mammy in
"Gone With the Wind"

Fabrique powerfully brings McDaniel to life, forcefully expressing her bitterness at what she sees as unfair criticism and lack of respect for her many talents. Born in Denver in 1893, she was the youngest of 13 children to parents who were formerly enslaved. "I sang everywhere," McDaniel says in the play, and Fabrique, with a fine gospel/blues voice, demonstrates McDaniel's talent as a songwriter as well as a singer. 

She performed in her father's minstrel show and other touring ensembles. In the 1920s, a new radio station debuted in Denver, and she recalls that "I was the first Negro woman to sing on the radio." Nothing kept her down for long. Stranded in Milwaukee by the Great Depression, she worked as a washroom attendant at a nightclub, but her talent could not be repressed and eventually she became a regular singer at the club.

However, more opportunity beckoned westward. "I arrived in Los Angeles with $20," and found her way to radio again, performing as "Hi-Hat Hattie," a bossy maid character. When radio work flagged, she worked as a maid. Gradually, she won parts in films, appearing opposite Mae West, Will Rogers and Jean Harlow. Look up the dinner scene in "Alice Adams," with Katharine Hepburn. McDaniel plays a maid who really couldn't care less and steals the scene. 

She was making very good money (the legend is she once said she'd rather make $700 a week playing a maid than $7 a week being one) when she auditioned for "Gone With the Wind," as she says, "dressed as Mammy."

She made $450 a week for "GWTW," in 1939, when a loaf of bread cost eight cents. "I was paid to act. Did you think I had control?" she asks, sharply pointing out that she took what she could get. "I was making those parts funny, honest, not demeaning ... I fought for our people, lifting them up to the silver screen," she protests.

She's clear-eyed about colorism as a heavyset, dark-skinned black woman. The implication is that she wasn't about to get the parts that went to Lena Horne or Dorothy Dandridge, light-skinned and glamorous. "I'm black as Africa and proud of it!" McDaniel declares, then needles Walter White for his name, his light skin and his white wife.   

Racism, as always, entered her career. The "GWTW" black actors were not allowed to attend the all-white Atlanta premiere of the film. It's not in the play, but the story is that Clark Gable threated to boycott the premiere, but McDaniel convinced him to go. In the play, she says disdainfully, "I said I was otherwise committed."

 

She did attend the Hollywood premiere and, of course, the Oscar ceremony, but was seated at a separate table with her black escort and white agent. 

If you doubt Hattie McDaniel's acting prowess or why she received that Oscar, just look at this scene from "Gone with the Wind":

Hattie McDaniel as Mammy tells Melanie

of Rhett's distress at the death of his child

 

Tina Fabrique is always riveting as Hattie, even with a script in her hand, leaving me to wish that she'd had the time to memorize the part and bring even more nuance to it. No matter, Seret Scott directs with a sure hand, keeping Fabrique's movement about the bedroom set interesting, whether she is reminiscing, excoriating Walter White or addressing us, her audience, both in the 1930s and now. 

By the way, McDaniel went on to star in the early 1950s in a popular TV show, "Beulah," where she played a maid yet again, but as always, she stole her scenes. When she died, five thousand people attended the church service and the funeral procession consisted of 125 limousines. Many of her Hollywood friends attended.

McDaniel was barred from her first choice of cemetery, Hollywood Cemetery, due to her race, and was buried at Rosedale Cemetery in Los Angeles. In 1999, Hollywood Cemetery erected a memorial to her. 

If you can, you should make Hattie McDaniel's acquaintance in this play.  

       

 

 

   

   

The secret Ava Gardner

Elizabeth McGovern as Ava Gardner

A week's sojourn in Los Angeles developed a Hollywood theme - a visit to the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures, a tour of Sony Pictures Studio and a play, "Ava: The Secret Conversations," at the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood.

Elizabeth McGovern, who played Lady Grantham in "Downton Abbey," wrote the play and stars as actress Ava Gardner, who arrived in Hollywood at age 18 and attracted attention from the beginning for the kind of looks that society deems extremely beautiful.

The drama is based on the book, "Ava Gardner: The Secret Conversations," written by journalist Peter Evans after a series of interviews with the actress in the late 1980s.

What could have been a very talky play has been turned into a nifty piece of theater by director Moritz von Steulpnagel and scene, lighting, sound and projection designers David Meyer, Amith Chandrashaker, Cricket S. Myers and Alex Basco Koch.

Ava Gardner as Julie in
"Show Boat" (1951)

In publicity materials for one of her movies, Gardner was described as “The World’s Most Beautiful Animal.” She possessed dark eyes, full lips and a cascade of brunette hair that all apparently turned men's nerves to water, with a cleft in her chin that only added delicious intrigue. Her gaze was direct and a devastating sexual come-on, and her appeal was that of a classy goddess.  

Although Gardner never expressed much confidence in her acting talent, she had a top-notch career, with her best-known movies in the 1940s and ‘50s (“Show Boat,” “The Barefoot Contessa,” “The Killers”). Her private life was equally in the headlines, with marriages to Mickey Rooney, Artie Shaw and Frank Sinatra, as well as a long affair with Howard Hughes.

When we first meet Gardner, in her London apartment in 1988, she is 65 years old, in a grey sweatsuit and not in good shape. A stroke has affected her left hand and she needs money, she informs her interviewer-to-be. “It’s either do the book or sell the jewels and I’m kinda sentimental about the jewels,” she tells him, in a voice redolent of cigarettes and whiskey.

Aaron Costa Ganis as Peter Evans

Evans, played by Aaron Costa Ganis, intrigued that she called him, breaks the fourth wall, speaking to offstage agent Ed Victor (Ryan W. Garcia) and agrees to take on the project. There’s a bit of “Sunset Boulevard” vibe, with the writer fascinated by the aging star.

They enter a dance of biographer and subject, punctuated by Gardner’s desire to tell her story on her terms and the writer’s awareness that the commercial market wants to know about her sex lives with “Mickey,” “Frank,” “Howard” and a legion of others.

She plays the game (“I loved to f---!”), then jumps back (“Let’s begin the book with my stroke.”)

McGovern beautifully inhabits the mercurial Gardner, with a touch of the Grabtown, N.C. accent that was so thick, MGM gave her voice lessons to modify it. Unintimidated by the starmaking machine, she rose to the top, but also says, “They took away my voice.”

In her sessions with Evans, Gardner seeks to know herself, in all her real and fantasy roles. “I was the woman men dream about. Where’s my third act?”

She’s amusing, tough and honest about her bittersweet lives with famous, strong-willed men. Divorced from the philandering Rooney and bullying Shaw by age 23, her marriage to Sinatra was a tempest of alcohol and nightclubs, but both also produced very solid work such as “Mogambo” (her only Oscar nomination) and “From Here to Eternity” (an Oscar win and career resuscitator for him). She reveals Hughes physically assaulted her, (“Oh, he pinned me to the couch.”) in a matter-of-fact tone that appalls Evans.

Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner

In addition to Evans’ dialogue with the unseen agent, Steulpnagel skillfully uses projections of the real Gardner, Sinatra, etc., lighting changes that flow with Gardner’s moods and Evans’ confrontations and costume changes by Toni-Leslie James that by the end see the fragile actress restored to glamor in a glittering black dress.

While McGovern is magnetic to watch, Ganis actually has the more difficult role. This extraordinary actor plays the British Evans in addition to Rooney, Shaw and Sinatra, in scenes from Gardner’s life.

Ganis doesn’t “do” imitations of each man, but subtly inhabits each persona and voice - including Rooney and Sinatra's very well-known voices. Leaving the theater, I heard more than one person remarking on Ganis’ great skill.

One question one has to ask is what relevance does this all have today? Much of the audience were people old enough to remember Gardner’s films and era (she died in 1990). In an age when women in show business have much more power – look at Beyonce, Lady Gaga? Kardashian? for example – how does Gardner’s story resonate?

For one thing, she’s not forgotten. There’s an Ava Gardner museum in Smithfield, N.C., not far from where she grew up, that welcomes 7,000 visitors per year.

Then in Hollywood, there’s no doubt women still face predatory men – witness the #metoo movement spurred by the sexual abuse charges against producer Harvey Weinstein. Actresses still face the challenge of balancing sexuality as performers with personal values and a sense of who they are.   

Maybe there’s a lesson in the way Gardner never seems to be a victim, unlike perhaps another stunning beauty, Marilyn Monroe. Gardner certainly was not always in control and wild behavior hints at a deep unhappiness, but her core of steel told the world it would not get the better of her.

“Love is nothing,” is her conclusion, yet her vivid narration shows she held onto life with both hands and had few regrets.

In the end, the book project as it was envisioned in the beginning never came to fruition. Gardner withdrew her involvement when she learned Sinatra had sued Evans for mentioning certain Mob associations.

Years later, Evans wrote about doing the interviews in the book this play is based upon, but the text is more about him than her. The play sometimes feels disjointed, with too much attention focused on the less-interesting person.

In the end, Gardner remains an elusive character, to the biographer and possibly to herself. 

'Camelot' -- the once and future musical

If the original production of My Fair Lady was my first Broadway show, in 1961 at age seven (as I posted here), then Camelot was my second, in 1962 at age eight.

I even know exactly when my mother took me to the show, since she bought a program and memorialized it on the cover.  - "Saturday matinee, September 8, 1962" (black line added digitally to photo).

There was very good reason that this was my second show - the lyricist-librettist/composing team of Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe were following up their megahit (Fair Lady) and both shows were relatively family-friendly, but with complex adult themes.

Based on British author T.H. White's version of the King Arthur legend, "The Once and Future King," Camelot tells the story of Arthur and Guenevere's romance and marriage, Arthur's establishment of the Knights of the Round Table as a force for good, Lancelot du Lac's arrival from France to join the Round Table, Guenevere and Lancelot's illicit affair and its destructive force upon Camelot and the ideals of the Round Table. 

Among other characters, the two main schemers conspiring to bring down Arthur's rule are his illegitimate son, Mordred, and Mordred's mother, Morgan Le Fay.

Sixty years later, Camelot is getting the full Lincoln Center Theater revival treatment -- 30-piece orchestra, Bartlett Sher directing, original Robert Russell Bennett and Philip Lang orchestrations.

I went to a preview performance, three days before opening night, set for April 13, 2023. Lerner's book has been rewritten by Aaron Sorkin; there's a more-diverse cast and there have been a few other tweaks for modern sensibilities, some of which work and some, I think, do not. 

Hearkening back to the original show, one has to understand its impact. Ticket sales were slow until the Ed Sullivan show featured Richard Burton as King Arthur and Julie Andrews as Guenevere singing a couple of numbers.

The score was acknowledged to be extraordinary -- full of wonderful melodies and elegant lyrics -- but critics thought the show couldn't settle on a mood -- lighthearted in the first act, somber in the second -- and Lerner's book was criticized as being too talky and slow.

Nevertheless, the score became so popular that the LP was found in many an American household, the songs played and sung over and over. 

The show also rocketed a Broadway unknown - Robert Goulet - to stardom. Although he is the third in the Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot love triangle, he was listed below Roddy McDowell (Mordred) and Robert Coote (Sir Pellinore) on the album cover. 

Goulet was astonishingly handsome, with a rich baritone voice like chocolate and red wine, and he made millions of hearts melt when he delivered the ballad that Lancelot sings to Guenevere, "If Ever I Would Leave You."

My fashion editor mom, Florence De Santis, had interviewed him for her celebrity fashion column, so we went backstage after we saw the show and he autographed that program. I remember him smiling and chatting and being very charming to a little girl. 

Camelot also became associated with the three-year administration of President John F. Kennedy, since shortly after his assassination in November, 1963, his widow Jacqueline said her late husband loved the lyrics, "Don't let it be forgot/That once there was a spot/For one brief shining moment/That was known as Camelot."

Andrew Burnap as King Arthur
Phillipa Soo as Guenevere,
Jordan Donica as Lancelot
Photo/Joan Marcus

So - rather a lot of baggage for one show, and Camelot arrives at Lincoln Center with a lot of anticipation.

From the opening scene, when the courtiers are awaiting Guenevere's bridal carriage at the top of the hill, only to realize it is stopping at the bottom of the hill, creating a confusing new tradition, Sorkin's snappy, sitcom-quick dialog is playing for laughs, which it gets. 

One of the courtiers, however, complains consistently that "things are changing too fast," possibly foreshadowing future uneasy changes.

Arthur (Andrew Burnap) drops out of a tree, musing in song that his people are thinking, "I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight?" Terrified at the idea of his unseen bride, he replies, "He's scared." 

Guenevere (Phillipa Soo) runs from her retinue, none too thrilled at the idea of an arranged marriage. She is one tough cookie, showing up in black leather pants, with a pack and knife, yet she also bemoans "The Simple Joys of Maidenhood," in which girls could get a few knights to fight over them before they had to get married. I guess she wasn't wearing that outfit in the carriage and changed clothes going up the hill (?).  

When Arthur realizes who she is, he sings of his kingdom's lovely climate and winsome qualities in "Camelot." However, in Sher's staging, Guenevere constantly interrupts his singing with snarky comments, undercutting the song with which Arthur is supposed to be winning her over.

Phillipa Soo and Andrew Burnap as
Guenevere and Arthur. Photo/Joan Marcus

Nevertheless, Burnap and Soo's beautiful singing voices and excellent diction deliver the essence of the first three witty numbers.

One of Sorkin's declared changes to the book was that he was going to "get rid of the magic," to focus on the human relationships.

So, the magician/Arthur's tutor, Merlyn (Dakin Matthews), makes only a brief appearance in the first act. The nymph Nimue is gone, and so is her enchanting song, "Follow Me," that lures Merlyn away from Camelot.

I have to wonder, though, about taking magic out of a mythical person and place, in this era besotted with Harry Potter and accustomed to filmed entertainment that uses computer animation to be even more magical. 

Merlyn does get a good Sorkin line, however, as he realizes Arthur's plans - "A powerful man, determined to do good. Things can get dangerous."

Determination of steel characterizes Lancelot, convinced that he's the perfect knight for the Round Table, in the song "C'est Moi." Jordan Donica was out for several performances, unusual for a preview so close to opening night, so at this performance, Lancelot was played by understudy Matias de la Flor. I certainly look forward to hearing his voice develop further, because his control of breath and volume was not up to the task. 

Guenevere and the court celebrate May Day with a country festival, a maypole and "The Lusty Month of May," made more obvious by Guenevere's way-off-the-shoulder dress and handsy behavior with the guys. Put off by Lancelot's boastful manner, the queen goads three knights to challenge him at the jousting tournament ("Take Me to the Fair").

Lancelot easily bests two knights, then Arthur challenges him - a plot change from the original, in which Sir Lionel is the last challenger. So here, it's Arthur, not Lionel, who is grievously wounded (Or is he? He gets up pretty fast.) and brought back to life by Lancelot's intense faith and prayer. I suppose it raises the emotional stakes for the trio. It's certainly the first time in this production that Guenevere has shown she cares for him at all.

Lancelot (Donica) and Arthur (Burnap)
in combat, as Guenevere (Soo) looks on.

Seeing Arthur defeated felt unsatisfying to me since it seems Burnap has been playing him as a bit of a wimp, and Guenevere continues her snarky ways.

There's little chemistry between the two, and in a conversation about their relationship, he calls her, oddly, his "friend and business partner."

Dramatically, if two romantic leads just continue to snipe at each other, and there's no heat, boredom sets in. The young woman next to me was shifting in her seat and attempting to read her program in the dark. 

Guenevere and Lancelot are supposedly falling in love, but again, little chemistry. But nothing can harm my favorite ballad in the show, Guenevere's conflicted desire to see Lancelot go away - "Before I Gaze at You Again."

Along the way, I realized that the snappy rhythms of Sorkin's dialog didn't jive with the long notes and lush Broadway sound of the score's original orchestrations, which the production proudly cites in its publicity. 

Sorkin again brings us down to earth with a Lancelot speech that argues against magic and God -- well, so much for his faith. But Lancelot has to wrestle with his faith, his conscience and his image of himself as a godly man -- as he pursues his adulterous love for Guenevere. In turn, both of them must feel and express great love for Arthur, as husband, as friend, as king, which makes their sin all the more tragic. Unfortunately, the feeling isn't there with enough force. 

The second act still turns dark, with the appearance of Mordred. Now we're getting a more nuanced picture of the king. He's made mistakes in his youth. Burnap's performance really shines, as he acquires gravity and seriousness as an older Arthur, wrestling with his ideals and with human nature. 

One of the most charming songs, "What do the Simple Folk Do?" where Arthur and Guenevere try to imagine how "ordinary people" cheer up, is staged frustratingly. The final stanza is "they dance," but Guenevere, instead of dancing with Arthur, keeps running from him and their dance lasts just a minute.  

Lured away from the castle, Arthur visits Mordred's mother, Morgan Le Fay, a sorceress in the original and here, a scientist -- which makes no sense. Back at the castle, with Arthur gone, Mordred stokes conflict among the knights and Lancelot comes to Guenevere's bedroom. The scenic video design and lighting (by 59 Productions and Lap Chi Chu) are outstanding here, toggling back and forth between Morgan's lair, with branches and stone floor, and the castle, depicted by shafts of light.

The lovers are discovered, Guenevere is arrested, Lancelot fights his way free and she is to stand trial for treason. To my eight-year-old mind, the most thrilling song is here - "Guenevere" -- which, to a galloping, ominous rhythm, details the danger she is in. I accepted the switch to a more-grave second act. Maybe because mom read stories aloud and I read a lot on my own, I knew that life can turn quickly from light to dark, and that something very grown-up and serious was going on.

Arthur's agony is heartbreaking: Adhere to your declared rule of law and you kill the woman you love. Let her go, and you're a hypocrite. Events drive toward an inevitable climax, but Camelot ends on a note of hope.    

Burnap as Arthur

The show is worth seeing for that magnificent score and Burnap's journey as King Arthur. His struggle with his own nature ("I shall have a man's vengeance!"), his ideals and his love are so affecting that I had the tissues out.

I was also reminded of an event that will take place in three weeks - the coronation of another king of England - Charles III. He, too, is exploring, perhaps struggling with, what it means to be a king. 

For the other leads, it's a shame that Soo has been directed to make her character unlikable and I had no way of evaluating Donica's Lancelot. 

It's a truly bad actor that can't make the most of a great role such as Mordred and Taylor Trensch is a terrific actor, delivering his character's creed, "The Seven Deadly Virtues," with panache. Marilee Talkington is a striking, red-haired Morgan Le Fay and Dakin Matthews embodies old folks' wisdom and comedy in the dual roles of Merlyn and Sir Pellinore. 

If you go, just realize that there might be a couple of places in the show where you think, "hunh?"

Footnote: In the sheer-coincidence department -- my father and brother were/are named Arthur and I just discovered that Robert Goulet's granddaughter is named ... Solange. 

 

 

  

 

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Wagner fans find Valhalla in Vermont

The emerging post-pandemic world is witnessing all kinds of artistic miracles but one of the most astonishing I've seen took place last week -- the resurrection of a wild, improbable idea that Richard Wagner's daunting operatic Ring cycle could be produced in the town of Brattleboro, Vermont (pop. 12,000).

The Latchis marquee also advertised
films in two of the theaters - "Emily"
 and "Beast."

Theatrical reawakening took place with two performances each of Das Rheingold and Die Walküre, two of the four Ring operas, in a semi-staged performance at Brattleboro's historic, ornate Latchis Theater.

They were produced by a new company called Tundi Productions, the brainchild of conductor Hugh Keelan and soprano Jenna Rae, who are married.

With accompaniment by highly-skilled local orchestra players conducted with verve and finesse by Keelan, a company of professional opera singers threw their hearts into the work, communicating with dynamic beauty the essence of Wagner's deeply-felt insight into men, women and the gods of legend. 

There were excellent costumes, minimal stage furnishings and props, and video effects and surtitles on a scrim between the upstage orchestra and the downstage playing area. The focus was on the music. 

But first, some background, dating from pre-pandemic times.    

In August, 2019, Tundi staged Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, possibly as a four-hour hors d'oeuvre to the 21 hours of the Ring. 

Tristan (which gave its name to the production company, i.e. "T und I") and the Ring are usually performed by major companies since they require a full orchestra (plus some instruments that Wagner added, such as anvils and his invention, the Wagner tuba) and the kind of big, tireless voices that can soar above all that sound.

Though I had seen the company's Turandot in 2018, I'd never seen Tristan, coming late to the Wagner canon since my father had had a run-in with the Nazis (a small matter of a year in a prison camp) in World War II and, as a result, Wagner was never heard in my opera-loving household.

 

I'd had my first taste of the Bard of Bayreuth in the 1990s in Toronto, with Der Fliegende Holländer and my eyes were opened. What was this extraordinary sensory flow of constant music, somehow awakening deep emotion? How did he do that?

However, Götterdämmerung, at the Metropolitan Opera about a decade ago, was my entry portal to the Ring. Now, I'd made fun of those Ring crazies who'd pay many, many dollars to fly around the world for many, many hours of what had to be dense, tedious opera. I wasn't the only one. Who hasn't seen Elmer Fudd chasing Bugs Bunny in What's Opera, Doc?, singing "Kill the wabbit!" to the tune of "Ride of the Valkyries?" 

However, a tenor friend was an extra and offered me a ticket in the top ring of the opera house. I came equipped with a sandwich for this 5 1/2-hour marathon -- and was completely blown away by the music and the drama.

Why was Brunnhilde's family so awful and why was she so unlucky in love? Never mind that joking about a horned helmet and stout soprano, Brunnhilde met every betrayal with moral courage and was the true hero of the whole story! I was in tears at Siegfried's funeral music. I was aghast as Brunnhilde rode her faithful steed Grane into that enormous fire at the end.

I staggered out of the opera house, determined to go back and see the other three parts of the Ring - Rheingold, Walküre and Siegfried. I took my then-14-year-old daughter to see Rheingold at the opera house and saw the other two (saving $$) at the Met in HD at a local movie theater.  

The cast of Die Walküre (including the Valkyries)
takes a bow at the Latchis Theater.

Forward to Brattleboro. Tundi's Tristan, with tenor Alan Schneider and Rae in the title roles, measured up to the Met in the most important realm - vocal quality.

As the story of the lovers gave a new dynamic to “I hate you but I love you,” Schneider and Rae poured forth fabulous waves of sound, with Keelan conducting.

You can read that Tristan features "Wagner's unprecedented use of chromaticism, tonal ambiguity, orchestra color and harmonic suspension." Or you can simply marvel at the way the master storyteller keeps you wondering, musically, what's coming next.  

Jenna Rae

The two Ring operas again featured top-notch singers, with Rae as a passionate Brunnhilde, Cailin Marcel Manson as a dignified Wotan (the supreme god), Sondra Kelly as Wotan's wronged wife Fricka, Brian Ember as a riveting Alberich (the resentful dwarf who steals the Rhine gold) -- but it's difficult to single out particular cast members, as the entire ensemble was very strong.

Veda Crewe and Todd Lyon are credited in the program with costume design and I was particularly taken with Crewe's costumes for the giants, Fafner and Fasolt, who build Valhalla for Wotan. They looked like living columns of rock.

Possibly more love could have been given to the sparse stage furnishings and the program, with tiny type and no story synopsis.   

Hugh Keelan

I liked such staging delights as the three Rhinemaidens swirling strings of green lighted cords to symbolize the river's waves and the Valkyries using the balcony and side levels of the theater to join in their "ho jo to ho" battle call. 

With the orchestra driving the "Ride of the Valkyries" and eight sopranos, playing swaggering, badass women flying on magic horses, in full throat, the effect was absolutely thrilling. 

 

If Tundi can come out of a two-year pandemic pause with such vigor, then its future remains bright. A Ring cycle in maple syrup country? Sign me up!