Ashland belongs to Shakespeare for eight glorious months, and Shakespeare belongs to Ashland while the Oregon Shakespeare Festival holds sway. OSF artistic director Libby Appel took the claim even further when she addressed the American Theatre Critics Association in the Elizabethan Theatre during ATCA's July 10-15 conference in Ashland. Appel boldly claimed Shakespeare himself to be American! Fair enough. If ever there were a playwright for all seasons and all peoples, that playwright is the peerless Bard, as the acclaimed Oregon Shakespeare Festival makes plain yet again.
In his Festival summary, "The Quality of Mercy" (BSW, 5/31/01), Back Stage West Editor-in-Chief Rob Kendt reviewed seven plays he saw there early in the Festival's season, finding in them a unifying theme of mercy and forgiveness. Mercy is hard won in The Merchant of Venice, and not at all by the despised Jewish moneylender, but it remains the underlying theme of this classic, in which Portia's "quality of mercy" speech, here delivered by Robin Goodrin Nordli, sounds freshly minted. Furthermore, this Portia sings, charmingly. Surprises such as occasional musical interludes like this from characters not usually given to song are another leitmotif in OSF's 2001 repertoire.
It's uncomfortable, as always, to confront the blatant anti-Semitism in The Merchant of Venice, perhaps more so than usual because director Michael Donald Edwards so clearly sets the stage to motivate Shylock's demand for a pound of Antonio's Christian flesh. Thus dramatized, the Jew's desire for vengeance on his tormentors is understandable—Shylock indeed is more sinned against than sinning. Still, obdurate insistence on his deadly bond and the relish with which he whets his knife are chilling. Suspense is breathtaking even though we know the outcome. Michael Elich's aristocratic Venetian surely is a goner. But—! Enter Portia, disguised as a man and a lawyer, to keep Antonio in one piece, prove herself a genius, wield the letter of the law as a two-edged sword, and provide theatre with an enduring masterstroke of dénouement. (Not at all incidentally, does not Portia's triumph prove Shakespeare an early feminist?)
Tony DeBruno's proud and powerful Shylock ranks with the best. We pity him as we shrink from him. Director Edwards acknowledges Shakespeare's depiction of Shylock as anti-Semitic—as a citizen of his milieu, Shakespeare knew nothing else. But being who and what he was, he wrote "a human being" nonetheless. Politically incorrect as this great play is, it must be played as written, for "censoring The Merchant of Venice is more dangerous than staging it," said Edwards in program notes.
One of its characters sums up Shakespeare's "problem play" of the Trojan wars, Troilus and Cressida, in two words. Battered, tattered Greek "scavenger" Thersites concludes that it is all "war and lechery." Thersites, survivor and keen observer, who takes a lot of punishment from his fellow Greeks, knows whereof he speaks. Played by James Newcome, powerfully, unflinchingly, and bald as an egg, he is a spokesman for the play's cynicism.
Saturnine is a word that comes to mind for this, Shakespeare's most hard-edged play. The star-crossed, ill-matched lovers (no Romeo and Juliet they) are Tyler Layton's willowy, lovely Cressida, and Kevin Kenerly's sturdy bantam-cock Troilus. They proclaim passion for each other, but we don't feel it. Director Kenneth Albers staged the saturnine work splendidly, with clash and clangor of martial arms, magnificent scenic design by Richard L. Hay, lighting by Robert Jared, costumes by Susan E. Mickey, and fight choreography by John Sipes. On the night seen, director Albers stepped in for actor William Leach as Cressida's conniving uncle, Pandarus, whose name as panderer lives in infamy. Albers thus added acting honors to his director's laurels for this Festival centerpiece.
I confess disappointment with Penny Metropulos' concept in her direction of The Tempest. Demetra Pittman as a rather mild female Prospero, Cristofer Jean as a dignified and unsprite-like Ariel, and John Pribyl as a bleached, beached-fish Caliban simply didn't work for me. Two of the Festival's new plays, both with names that could have come from Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky, underscore the sad fact that really good new plays are hard to find. Regina Taylor's Oo-Bla-Dee, which won last year's ATCA/Steinberg New Play Award, pays tribute to 1940s bebop, black female musicians in general, and, in particular, a gifted fictitious saxophone player self-named Gina Del Sol. Contrived and crammed, it needs cutting and the kind of sharp focus found in such plays with similar themes as Ma Rainey's Black Bottom and Stevie Wants to Play the Blues. But delightful BW Gonzalez is winning as the spunky girl saxophonist. David Lindsay-Abaire's wild and crazy Fuddy Meers pushes the dysfunctional family concept into wild caricature. This is Sam Shepard on speed. The actors perform valiantly, and director James Edmondson, in program notes, claims the hell-bent characters have good intentions. Maybe. Who could tell?
Enter the Guardsman, a musical adaptation of Ferenc Molnar's witty early 20th century romantic comedy—book by Scott Wentworth, music by Craig Bohmler, lyrics by Marion Adler—is a confection and unqualified delight, with suave and elegant performances by Michael Elich as An Actor and Richard Farrell as a sophisticated Playwright, à la Molnar himself. Both have perfect timing. Suzanne Irving, stunning in a red ball gown, is the Actress. Sure, she knows now, but did she know then, that it was her very own husband in disguise with whom she was unfaithful to her husband? She says so, but we'll never know for sure, and neither will he.
Twin cornucopias—ATCA's 2001 conference and its OSF centerpiece—overflowed with hospitality and a profusion of good things. Conference chairman Al Reiss, an enthusiastic Oregonian, merits an ovation for jam-packed scheduling of adventures, activities, and excitements, including, besides day and night theatre, exploration of the historic gold-rush town of Jacksonville, a visit to the Craterian Ginger Rogers Theater, extraordinary examples of cuisine, and a splashy jet boat ride on the Rogue River (towels provided).
The Oregon Shakespeare Festival, in a 19th century Chautauqua site, has flourished since its founding by Angus Bowmer in 1935. It seems to be charmed. The Festival now employs some 450 theatre professionals. It pays its actors well. Many come here and stay, establish homes, and raise families in Ashland. The Festival consistently breaks its own records—last year's attendance of 380,101, highest in its history, filled its three theatres to 95 percent of capacity. It is a cultural phenomenon to make an American theatre-lover proud.
Something my sainted Auntie Carr used to like to say seems appropriate: "Thank you, I've had an elegant sufficiency. Any more would be a flippity flop."
Beloved Bellamy
For three seasons, actress Diana Bellamy was a pillar of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. She was honored with a memorial service in Portland a day after the one for her here. There are Irish wakes, and there are actors' wakes. The one Geo Hartley threw for his friend and star Diana combined the two. It was what she wanted it to be: a generous "Bellamy Bash," appropriately in a theatre, the Court, whose stage and leafy courtyard were filled with pictures and mementos of a brightly smiling Diana and a host of friends. She had so many. Diana's beloved, very old dog Rusty shared the stage with comrades sharing memories of this gifted actress.
Life delivered Diana many body blows; she was blind when she died June 17 of diabetes and cancer, but her smile and spirit never dimmed. Guide and mentor to many, she had a mentor and champion in Geo. He cast her in his productions, including The Ladies of the Corridor at the Tamarind, her last appearance onstage. Though she had lost her sight, she commanded the stage from her wheelchair. I was struck with that ability to command the stage the first time I saw her, in West Coast Ensemble's 1984 Love Suicide at Schofield Barracks. I told her so at Geo's Christmas party last year. She quietly acknowledged that, yes, she had always been a diva.
Geo told me Diana was aware of her power and advised people not to be intimidated. "It was her way of saying, 'I'm a diva, but don't let it scare you,'" he said. "She was passionate about life and theatre, but so kind and gentle, and generous. She always hosted dinner for cast and crew on dress rehearsal nights." When she had to drop out of Ladies of the Corridor, Wendy Worthington took over her role. "Ill as she was, Diana sent flowers and good wishes for Wendy's opening night," Geo told me. Toward the end, at her request, he bought her a dress to replace her hospital gown. She insisted it come from K-Mart. Geo protested that he could get her something really nice. "No, it had to be from K-Mart. Diana said she wanted me to have the K-Mart experience."
There were more smiles than tears at her send-off. "She requested no tears," said Geo. "But she didn't always get her way."