Showing posts with label OSF 2017. Show all posts
Showing posts with label OSF 2017. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Oregon Shakespeare Festival 2017: The Odyssey


Christopher Donohue and ensemble. Photo courtesy Jenny Graham and the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.


Theatregoers familiar with the oeuvre of writer/director Mary Zimmerman may have some idea of what to expect from OSF’s The Odyssey. The play features the grand plotlines and imaginative effects that have become a hallmark of Zimmerman’s mythological adaptations.

While most of Zimmerman’s previous productions have remained reasonably faithful to the setting and time period of the original myth, The Odyssey uses numerous anachronistic elements. Much of this results from Mara Blumenfeld’s costume design: Alcinous (Armando McClain) and the members of his coastal kingdom, for example, are dressed in 1910s sailor outfits with straw boaters, while lord of the winds Aeolus (Armando DurĂ¡n) resembles a mad scientist from a children’s show. Occasionally, extra meaning is added through these changes, such as the feminist themes in the Siren section. These changes and additions don’t create a new myth as much as they interpret the old one differently: The Odyssey is a living story, born from oral tradition, that exists to be readapted.

Many of the fantastical elements of the play are relayed through theatrical metaphor. To express the titanic size of the cyclops Polyphemus (Daniel T. Parker), for example, Zimmerman projects a giant shadow on a curtain and uses toy boats and dolls to represent Odysseus’ hapless crew. These effects make use of the audience’s suspension of disbelief to provide an imaginative experience that something more realistic wouldn’t achieve. The fight between Odysseus and Penelope’s suitors at the end of the play, in particular, is a breathtaking work of visual poetry.

The play is primarily an ensemble piece, with actors playing multiple characters over its course. Thus, it’s difficult to discuss the work of one particular actor playing one particular role. A few exceptions exist, including Athena (Christiana Clark) and Odysseus (Christopher Donahue). Clark’s Athena isn’t as stern as other portrayals of the war goddess, instead urging Odysseus to go forward with positivity and energy. Her silent presence over the play adds new layers of meaning and insight into the Ancient Greek views of destiny and divine favor. Donahue provides an excellent contrast: He mutes Odysseus’ famous cleverness with a veil of frustration and helplessness. The pain of having home snatched from under him over and over has worn Odysseus down: He just wants to be in Ithaca now.

Other standout characters include Kate Hurster as Penelope, Odysseus’ long-suffering wife, and Benjamin Bonenfant as Telemachus, their son. Their struggles against Penelope’s suitors begin the play, and not only set the stakes for Odysseus’ long journey but provide a more human context for the events of the epic poem. Hurster adds a dash of mischievous glee to her Penelope, as her multiple deceptions bring her not only safety but also satisfaction; meanwhile, Bonenfant’s Telemachus is  prideful and deadly serious, attempting to resolve the situation directly even though he knows he’s outclassed.

The Odyssey is one of Western civilization’s oldest stories, one whose structure continues to resonate even today. Zimmerman’s use of anachronism calls this to attention, implying that even though we don’t live in Ancient Greece or worship Athena, there is something essential at the core of the work that still speaks to something deep witin us.

The Odyssey runs until October 14th.

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Oregon Shakespeare Festival 2017: Henry IV, Part 1


Left to right: Daniel José Molina, Jeffrey King. Photo courtesy Jenny Graham and the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.


Prince Hal, soon to inherit the throne of England, is busy living a hedonistic life with Falstaff and his band of merry rogues. But as Henry IV, Part 1 sets the stage for Shakespeare’s epic trilogy about the soon-to-be Henry V, the weight of the crown becomes increasingly heavy upon Prince Hal’s head. OSF’s 2017 production, continuing with Part 2 this season and Henry V in 2018, brings this classic tale of royalty into a modern setting.

Bringing Shakespeare into the current day is fairly common, most famously (or infamously) represented by Baz Luhrmann’s film Romeo + Juliet. However, with a modern setting comes a difficult balancing act. If the direction is successful, the themes and meanings within the play become more evident. However, if the adaptation gets too cute, it could spell major problems for the production. Director Lileana Blain-Cruz, however, displays good judgment in her adaptation. Falstaff’s carousing makes more sense to us in a trendy club, and it doesn’t detract from the language or original plot.

Daniel JosĂ© Molina portrays the part of Prince Hal, which he inhabits with spectacular versatility. His drunken antics are frequently too much, even for his drinking buddy Falstaff (G. Valmont Thomas), but Hal respects his own limits, quietly avoiding actions that would actually hurt his reputation as an heir to the throne. Molina’s Hal becomes princelier when he’s thrust upon the battlefield – not, perhaps, nobler, but matured by the reality of war. Thomas’ Falstaff, conversely, hardly develops at all: He’s the big fun friend who’s useless in a crisis. His antics change from entertaining in the bar to pathetic on the battlefield.

As Shakespeare wrote the play, King Henry IV (Jeffrey King) has a surprisingly small number of on-stage appearances. Yet it’s his interactions with Prince Hal and his ongoing struggle against Hotspur (Alejandra Escalante) and her aunt, rebel leader Worcester (Kimberly Scott), that drive the plot of the play forward. King’s portrayal is troubled and serious, splitting his attention between problems ranging from Hotspur’s military rebellion to Prince Hal’s adolescent one. His actions aren’t driven by emotion, but by a sense of self-preservation for his bloodline and his country. Hotspur and Worcester are as righteous as Henry IV is resigned; Escalante injects a powerful passion into both Hotspur’s battles and love life, and Scott’s Worcester possesses a cold, powerful indignation.

The technical element of Henry IV, Part 1 keeps pace with the constantly changing tone of the play. The scene introducing Falstaff’s gang makes use of garish neon colors and pulsating music, while the climactic Battle of Shrewsbury is executed with a brutal military grittiness not seen on the Ashland stage since 2012’s incredible Troilus and Cressida. Accolades go to the technical team (scenic designer Adam Rigg, costume designer Dede M. Ayite, lighting designer Yi Zhao, and composer/sound designer Palmer Hefferan, among others) for their adept navigation of a difficult text: They know when to go over-the-top and when to let Shakespeare’s writing speak for itself. The ever-present back wall, featuring a torn mural of King Henry, writes volumes on its own.

Henry IV, Part 1 at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival is a more balanced view of the weight of royalty than Macbeth or Richard III, which descend quickly into madness and betrayal; rather, it looks at the weight of character needed to be an effective ruler, and the vast gulf between “prince” and “king.” Despite being the first in a trilogy, OSF’s 2017 production of Henry IV, Part 1 possesses the deep meaning and character development required to stand on its own.

Henry IV, Part 1 runs until October 28th.

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Sunday, June 18, 2017

Oregon Shakespare Festival 2017: Julius Caesar

Left to right: Stephen Michael Spencer, Rodney Gardiner (kneeling), Armando DurĂ¡n, Danforth Comins. Photo courtesy Jenny Graham and the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar has a misleading name. Although the Roman leader does play a significant role, and his assassination is what sparks most of its action, we never learn much about him or see him develop. Rather, Julius Caesar is an examination of political ambition, public opinion, and how the worst acts are often paved with good intentions. Shana Cooper’s bare, unsettling production strips away the formal veneer of ancient Rome to expose the action as men committing acts of horrific violence for unclear reasons.

Armando DurĂ¡n portrays the role of Caesar in this production. His interpretation is very different from that of Vilma Silva, who played the same part in OSF’s 2011 production: While Silva was composed and quiet, DurĂ¡n has a casual, Reaganesque charisma that makes it easy to see why the Roman public adores him. Vaguely aware of the plot to assassinate him, DurĂ¡n’s Caesar resigns himself to his fate: He accepts that Caesar the public figure is something that has eclipsed Caesar the man, and that his death is no longer anything over which he has control. The objections of Calpurnia (Amy Kim Waschke), his wife, complicates the topic, however: As her sincere, emotional dialogue work correctly notes, Julius Caesar is still a human being, regardless of where history has seated him.

After Ceasar is assassinated, war ignites between loyalist Mark Antony (Jordan Barbour) and the turncoat senators led by Marcus Brutus (Danforth Comins) and Cassius (Rodney Gardiner). Barbour’s emotional interpretation of Antony, combined with our perspective of the events mainly coming from the senators, leads one to believe that he is strong but straightforward; however, his famous “Friends, Romans, countrymen” speech is so terrifyingly persuasive that it undoes not only the hold the Senators had on the common people, but the audience’s conception of Antony himself.

Cassius has the clearest conscience about killing Caesar, but because the audience is never given a clear vision of Caesar’s actions, we don’t know if  this is a mere power play or done out of some kind of conviction. Rodney Gardiner’s performance leads us to believe Cassius’ motives are more on the selfish side, as his preparations for the killing are tinged with an almost innocent enthusiasm. Comins’ Brutus is a fairly standard handling of the role – a conflicted man who doubts his actions from the start of the play – but his performance is heartfelt and powerful.

Sibyl Wickersheimer’s set, and Cooper’s direction of the Roman public, is what gives the play new meaning. The set is somehow both sterile and destroyed, making use of wooden slats, folding chairs, and a statue covered with cloth and packing tape. The members of the public caper about dressed in Greek chorus masks, reminiscent of a gang of cannibals in a Mad Max movie. Nothing we are presented onstage implies that ownership of the Roman empire or of the hearts of the people has any value whatsoever, and that the entire course of the play is a series of pointless acts of violence.



Julius Caesar at OSF’s 2017 season strips away the majesty of ancient Rome from the story of several people who murder thousands for vague reasons. It’s a filthy, bleak, depressing rendition that reveals more about Shakespeare’s original text than any production draped in togas.

Julius Caesar runs until October 29th.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Oregon Shakespeare Festival 2017: Hannah and the Dread Gazebo

Left to right: Cindy Im, Amy Kim Waschke, Sean Jones, Paul Juhn. Photo courtesy Oregon Shakespeare Festival.


The idea of theatre being an accurate representation of reality, unconsciously assumed by playwrights for thousands of years, has been called into question by the newest generation of playwrights. Jiehae Park’s latest work dispenses with these assumptions in order to better deliver its complicated message. Hannah And The Dread Gazebo, which sees its world premiere at OSF this year, twists time, space, memory, and reality to capture the meeting point of heritage, mythology, and identity in the Korean-American experience.

Though the action of Hannah is vaguely linear, it meanders into different places to provide a more complete picture of the characters’ journey. We might take a visit into a lonely subway line to learn the Korean creation myth secondhand, or journey into a dreamland, where resides the ghost of Kim Jong Il. Several long stretches of the play are in Korean, with no supertitles: These dialogue segments are used either to illustrate the difficulties of the English-speaking characters, or as comedy, punctuated with goofy uses of body language.

The plot primarily concerns three generations of a Korean family: the titular Hannah (Cindy Im), a fully Americanized medical student struggling to make sense of her identity; her mother (Amy Kim Waschke), confined and tormented, wanting more in her life but able to mask it with a wry sense of humor; and Hannah’s grandmother (Jessica Ko, who plays a number of other minor roles), who ignites the action of the play by throwing herself off a building and into the Korean demilitarized zone.

Im approaches her role with a kind of beleaguered helplessness: She knows actions aren’t going to alter the Korean political climate enough for her to retrieve her grandmother’s body, nor are they going to lower the language barrier between her and the rest of the country (Hannah barely speaks Korean) or solve her relationship problems. Despite this, though, she refuses to go down without a fight, and combats her absurd situation with kindness and whip-smart sarcasm in turn. Meanwhile, Waschke adapts to her increasingly strange surroundings while still maintaining a sense of bewilderment; despite all the bizarre things that happen, she keeps her emotional development grounded and realistic.

Hannah’s brother Dang (Sean Jones) finds himself on his own journey in a subplot that both confronts him with the mythological origin story of Dangun, the founder of Korea, and allows him to come to terms with developing his own identity in a country where everyone looks like him. While Dang is mainly the comic relief character, juxtaposing important facts about the family with a barrage of swearing, Jones injects a sense of frustration into the role that makes him a more sympathetic character. Dang, of all the characters, has the least idea about what’s going on, but we as the audience aren’t mocking him for it; rather, we understand the unfortunate circumstances that surround him.

The remaining characters in the play serve more to support the development of those more central to the plot, but produce equally excellent performances. Paul Juhn plays Hannah’s father: As the only functional Korean-speaker for the majority of the play, much of the work in finding the grandmother’s body falls to him, and he plays the tragicomic subplot of navigating government bureaucracy with a mixture of outrage and hope. Eunice Hong is a nameless girl who meets with Dang on the street: The role mostly serves to provide information about the DMZ and jokes about overenthusiastic activism, but Hong’s high-energy performance makes her a delight to watch. Jessica Ko’s multiple roles are also great, but because many of them are spoilers, it falls on you to witness her navigate them.

The set, designed by Collette Pollard, matches the mix of tradition and bureaucracy that pervades the play. A gorgeous forest sits behind a gray, square set that – thanks to David Weiner’s lighting work – even lights up at right angles. This conjures images of magic trapped within the confines of society, while also abstractly illustrating the Korean DMZ, a wildlife oasis due to the ongoing cold war between the two countries. The square lighting helps cut the otherwise bare stage into smaller parcels, useful when denoting locations like the subway or Hannah’s mother’s tiny apartment.


Hannah and the Dread Gazebo is a play unconcerned with being “proper”; rather, it departs from the known to better transmit its message of identity, mourning, and ambiguity as part of the Korean-American experience. Its strong cast, playful dialogue, and innovative use of language barriers make it a solid, eclectic work.

Hannah and the Dread Gazebo runs through October 28th.