Why We Tell the Story

I grew up in a very musical family. Both my parents played the piano, my dad played the guitar, and everybody sang. And I do mean EVERYBODY. We sang everywhere. We sang grace at the table. We sang on car trips. We sang in front of the fireplace. We sang in the camper. We sang at church. So, not surprisingly, when my 6^th grade class put on Pirates of Penzance, I was first in line to audition. I got my first leading role, and I was officially hooked on musical theatre.

Hey, it was 1980 and I was 11. Shut up.

But as well as performing, I loved to be in the audience. My whole family went to see Annie when it came through Boston; my dad took me to see Cats a few years later. I managed to wangle a ticket when a drama class that I wasn’t even in went to see 42^nd Street. I remember going up to see the three different summer musicals put on by Theatre-by-the-Sea up in Portsmouth every single summer, and once or twice we even drove all the way up to the Ogunquit Playhouse to catch their summer stock productions.

But then I went to a college that had only a tiny black-box theater, and I discovered the wonderful subtlety of straight plays. There were no huge production numbers or characters bursting into song or ensemble casts four dozen strong. They managed to communicate the emotions of their characters through spoken words rather than sung lyrics and through physical postures and movement and facial expressions rather than full-blown choreography and dance. I dipped my toe into the “straight play pool” and was cast in a small role in a classic play, Lillian Hellman’s The Children’s Hour. Because my role was minor, I spent most of my time during the rehearsal process making costumes or watching the other actors and listening to the director’s comments. It was a wonderful learning experience for me on many levels.

But one of the things that it taught me was that I’m not a naturally talented actor. Oh, I have some solid instincts, and I’m definitely capable of learning, but I was not a born actor. My acting skills definitely fit better in the broader, bolder, more stylized world of musicals.

And that’s fine, because I really do enjoy acting through singing and dancing more than I do acting through lines and blocking alone. My relationship with acting is kind of like that old saying about jazz music: Nat King Cole swings the band, and the band swings Frank Sinatra. Both styles are great; they just work differently. In theatre, the play actor swings the material, and the material swings the musical actor. I definitely need the material to swing me.

The reason this concept is running through my head at the moment is that I attended a rehearsal of a straight play this evening. It doesn’t really matter what play it was; this performance will be the New England premiere production, so chances are you haven’t see it. I’m coordinating the costumes, so although I have already read the script numerous times, I wanted to see it “on its feet,” as we say; to see the actors bring to life the characters I had imagined in my head.

It’s still quite early in the rehearsal – and technical creation – process, so I was watching the actors on a sparse set with half-painted walls, a mish-mash of wooden chairs standing in for various pieces of furniture, mismatched mugs in place of wine glasses, miming various props, scripts in their hands. But even so, a story was being created in front of me.

That’s really what theatre is, after all: storytelling. Here are some people; here are their relationships; here’s something interesting that happened to them that you can probably relate to on some level. Have you ever struggled with a relationship, be it with a family member or a friend or a romantic partner? You understand the feelings these characters are dealing with. Have you ever been uncertain of a decision you made? You understand the situation these characters are in. Have you ever grieved, or rejoiced, or been angry, or been confused? You can see yourself in these people up there on the stage. A good story, well told, makes you forget that they’re experiencing it, not you. A good play immerses you in its world for a few hours, and when it releases you from its spell it leaves you thoughtful and contemplative. A good play makes you think. It changes how you think.

That’s why we tell the story. 

Reagle's Kiss Me, Kate: A Review (Sort of)

Reagle Music Theatre of Greater Boston’s production of Kiss Me, Kate opened this past Thursday, and I attended last night’s spectacular performance. I don’t often write reviews of local productions, and this is less of a review than a summary of the show with my commentary, but I hope my description will inspire some of my readers to check it out for themselves.

Kiss Me, Kate is a delightful and witty Cole Porter musical about a pair of warring exes starring together in a production of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew. The show opens on the final rehearsal of the production (“Another Op’nin’, Another Show”), and we learn that the leading lady, diva Lilli Vanessi (the luminous Sarah Pfisterer, a veteran Broadway performer and regular on the Reagle stage), is not happy to be working with her egotistical ex-husband, director and co-star Fred Graham (played to the pompous hilt by Pfisterer’s real-life husband and fellow Broadway veteran and Reagle regular, Rick Hilsabeck). 

Unlike many real-life couples who lack onstage chemistry, Pfisterer and Hilsabeck positively sizzle as the warring Vanessi and Graham. The tension is palpable, but dissolves into sweet reminiscence during “Wunderbar” as they recall their early days of marriage, quickly crashing back to reality as they retreat to their adjoining dressing rooms. 

We are also introduced to the secondary leads in Shrew, the suave Bill Calhoun (Kevin Patrick Martin) and his flirtatious girlfriend Lois Lane (Lisa Dempsey). Calhoun has just lost 10 grand gambling, and Lane is horrified to hear that he signed the I.O.U. in Graham’s name. A pair of thugs (Aaron Dore and Daniel Forest Sullivan, sporting delicious gravelly voices, stereotypical gangster drawls, and fabulous spectator shoes) soon appear in Graham’s dressing room demanding repayment.

 

Graham, of course, denies writing the I.O.U. and attempts to throw them out, but they pull their guns on him and tell him they’ll be back. Graham also discovers, to his horror, that the opening night bouquet he meant to send to Lane was accidentally delivered to Vanessi, who is touched that Graham has remembered that it is the first anniversary of their divorce. Graham races into her dressing room to retrieve the note addressed to Lane, but Vanessi finds it first. Without reading it, she tucks it into her bodice as her good luck charm and they both take their places onstage.

The vaudeville-style opening number of Shrew (“We Open in Venice”) includes a pair of tumblers, a donkey pulling a wagon, and signs popping up proclaiming the cities mentioned in the song. 

The curtain then rises on the city of Padua, and a breathtaking vision it is. The set is masterfully done, and the beautiful lighting creates lovely textures and levels.  The gorgeous costumes, featuring plenty of richly draped velvet and brocade, add even more color to the stage.

 

We are quickly introduced to the characters in Shrew: Vanessi’s Katharine, the shrew herself; Graham’s Petruchio, her would-be suitor; Lane’s Bianca, her younger sister; Bianca’s suitors, including Callhoun’s Gremio; Katharine and Bianca’s father, Baptista (a hilariously longsuffering Rick Sherburne); and the townspeople of Padua. Bianca explains her frustration at being unable to marry until her sister finds a husband (“Tom, Dick, or Harry”). Petruchio offers a solution by announcing he is in search of a wealthy wife, not caring if she is old, ugly, or unpleasant (“I’ve Come to Wive It Wealthily in Padua”). Bianca’s suitors immediately offer to pay for his suit of Katharine and with Baptista’s doubtful blessing, Petruchio begins to woo her.

 

 

Katharine will have none of it, however, and Pfisterer breaks out of her usual lyric soprano to angrily belt out “I Hate Men” with great relish, accompanied by much throwing of objects.  Petruchio, undaunted, continues his suit, but the scene suddenly becomes more complicated as Vanessi reads the note from the bouquet, realizes it was not meant for her, and begins to improvise, repeatedly attempting to slap Graham, who warns her that if she doesn’t stop, he’ll spank her right there on stage – and in a masterful turn of physical comedy the two wrestle and he proceeds to do exactly that as the curtain falls on Act 1.

Act 2 opens with the company cooling off in the alley during intermission, performing a brilliant and energetic rendition of “Too Darn Hot” featuring superb vocals and dancing by Paul (Darren Bunch) and the entire company.

 

Back in her dressing room, Vanessi angrily calls her fiancé and demands that he come and get her, claiming she has been beaten so badly that she can’t even sit down. Graham tries without success to persuade her not to leave the show, but when the thugs reappear he has a sudden brainstorm and tells them he can only repay his debt if Vanessi completes the run of the show. They begin to threaten her while Graham intercepts the fiancé, Army bigwig Harrison Howell (Rich Allegretto), warning him that Vanessi, like all women, is prone to exaggerate, and will probably tell him she is being forced to perform under duress and ask him to call the FBI.

 

Naturally, she does just that (even pointing out the thugs, now awkwardly dressed in doublet and hose), and Howell and Graham exchange knowing (and patronizing) looks as Vanessi continues to fume. Howell encourages her to stay, and the second act of Shrew begins with Graham making a smirking announcement that they will be skipping the next scene, as it requires Katharine to ride the donkey, which Vanessi is currently unable to do. The scene begins with a disheveled Kate entering, accompanied by the two thugs, who look even more awkward and are soon directed offstage by Graham. Petruchio criticizes their dinner and sends it away, sending the starving Kate inside and gleefully informing the audience of his plot to tame her by allowing her no food or sleep. He discovers she has locked him out of the house, and sings longingly of the joys of bachelorhood (“Where Is the Life That Late I Led”), a tour de force performance by Hilsabeck, whose rich voice, crisp diction, and humor bring to life Porter’s witty and absurdly quick lyrics without letting the audience miss a single word.

A highlight of the second act is the brilliant transitions of both Hilsabeck and Pfisterer between their show-within-a-show characters and their major characters as Graham and Vanessi slip in and out of character to jibe at each other on stage. It is perfectly clear exactly which lines are from Shrew and which are the scripted ad libs from Kate. The clues are often as subtle as a raised eyebrow or a line delivered through gritted teeth, but the jabs are all the funnier for their subtlety.

We peek backstage again to find Callhoun lamenting Lane’s many dalliances with other men, leading to Lane’s assuring him she is “Always True to You (In My Fashion)” as she lists her many past suitors. Dempsey’s characterization of Lane hits a nice balance of giddiness and giggliness throughout the show without becoming annoying or cartoonish (no easy feat), and her vocals were perfectly solid, but I was a little disappointed in the limited choreography in this number, despite her obvious dance skills.

Back in the dressing room, Howell and Vanessi are soothing their own lovers’ quarrel as Howell announces he has been asked to be Dewey’s running mate, assuring Vanessi that he will soon move up to the Presidency himself and she will enjoy life as the First Lady (“From This Moment On”). Vanessi packs up to leave the theater for good.

We move backstage once again to find a series of packages and flowers being delivered to “Bianca,” as Callhoun sings of his love for Lane despite her coquettishness. As the crowd disperses, the thugs make a phone call to their boss only to find that he has been knocked off, thus nullifying Graham’s I.O.U. They inform Graham that his debt is forgiven, and start to leave the theater as Graham realizes he has lost Vanessi once again. Hilsabeck delivers “So In Love (reprise)” wistfully and tenderly, ending by slipping the cork from their wedding breakfast out of his pocket and gently kissing it, as if to say farewell. Such a lovely heartfelt moment amidst the zaniness of this part of the show.

Meanwhile, the thugs manage to accidentally stumble onstage and the orchestra begins to play, prompting them to break into a terrified and stiff performance of “Brush Up Your Shakespeare.” They rush offstage at the first opportunity, but are pushed back on, this time wearing straw boaters, and they loosen up a bit, starting to enjoy themselves as they deliver a few slightly more polished verses. Once again, they slip offstage and again reappear, this time with top hats and canes, delivering their final verses in a posh British accent, finally exiting for good with an exuberant little kick. Dore and Sullivan are both capable dancers and I wish there had been a bit more of a build in the choreography, but they made the most of what they were given and the number was appropriately fun and funny.

The final scene of Shrew now begins, with the newly-married Bianca and Gremio entering in their wedding finery, followed by Petruchio but no Katharine. Graham improvises as the cast looks confused, but suddenly, Vanessi enters as a meek and tamed Katharine, proclaiming her love and obedience (“I Am Ashamed That Women Are So Simple”), and the company comes together to burst out a soaring and exuberant finale (“Kiss Me, Kate (reprise)”).

 

The absolute highlight of this production, for me, was the music. Led by the multiple IRNE award-winning team of conductor Jeffrey P. Leonard and music director Dan Rodriguez, the 19-piece orchestra raises the roof, ably handling the multiple musical styles called for in the show, shining particularly during the Italian-flavored “Cantiano D’Amore” and the militaristic march “From This Moment On,” as well as the sweeping finale. It was especially impressive that such a large pit could dial it back for more intimate numbers like “So in Love” and the numerous featured trios and small group numbers, all of which demonstrated remarkably tight harmonies and perfectly blended voices. Hilsabeck’s and Pfisterer‘s impressive Broadway vocal chops were well-used in this difficult and rangy score, Pfisterer’s operative soprano voice soaring to effortless stratospheric high notes during “Kiss Me, Kate” and the Finale, yet belting out “I Hate Men” with vitriolic delight. Hilsabeck’s rich baritone shines especially during “Were Thine That Special Face.” Credit must be given to Dan Rodriguez for the fine diction of both the principals and the entire cast, doing much-deserved justice to Porter’s clever lyrics, which are easily missed in a lesser production. 

The bottom line is that if you have any love in your heart for musical theatre, Shakespeare, trained voices, clever humor, or witty wordplay, don’t walk, RUN!!! to catch this production. Remaining performances Saturday, July 11 through Sunday, July 19. See Reagle's website for details and to reserve tickets.

See you at the theater!