Horace and Pete: Episode 1 (2016)

Horace and Pete: Episode 1 (2016)

The Interiors of Louis C.K.

First serious dramatic film of Woody Allen and as such Allen's first film which was not a comedy. Woody Allen was known for comedy, and wanted to break the mold by having no humor at all in this picture. At one point the family is gathered around the table laughing at a joke which Arthur has just told, but we never hear the joke.

-Explanation in the trivia section of IMBD of Woody Allen’s film “Interiors”

Everything that’s difficult you should be able to laugh about.

-Louis C.K.

It has been said that being an artist is to embrace the idea that you might dedicate your life to being wrong. You will have faith in your work, but others might not. Pity the stand-up comic. Not only are they burdened with the artistic curse of forging a lonely path, they must do so in front of a never-ending assembly of critics. The comedian’s job is to polish a window into their soul in the hopes that a group of strangers will love them. That effort is often rewarded with scorn, rather than affirmation. Offstage, there are no happy comics. One might apply this adage to other artists except that their craft does not rely on the use of comedy clubs as incubator of their talent. This institution is the distant cousin of yesterday’s Roman forum. Our modern-day gladiators either kill or face death. Just as in ancient times their are a few warriors who survive battle and become recognized heroes. Even the winners bear the battle-scars of psychological abuse born years of facing rowdy crowds with their inner-most machinations. Louie C.K. is one of the chosen who has risen above the low-earth orbit of seedy venues to become an entertainment juggernaut.  The path to glory is to land your own TV show after making the rounds on the established talk shows. Louis has gone one better. He created is own virtual network. Basking in the knowledge that he conquered comedy, he stormed the wall of ‘legitimate’ theater. Louis’ latest work, Horace & Pete: Episode 1, is another journey into his soul. You’re not supposed to laugh. That is part of the problem.

After a failed gig on a sit-com Louie took matters in his own hands. Taking advantage of present day distribution options, he launched an extremely successful auteur series on cable; that was re-distributed via the internet. That show highlighted the best of his stand-up routines with an a dramatic storyline showing his struggles as a divorcee, parent and New Yorker. Broadcast TV networks might smile on the Manhattan based, qwerty nihilism of “Seinfeld.”  No such welcome for the dour, Brooklyn existentialism of Louie. It is as if Ralph Kramden’s great grandson embarked on a career as an entertainer after divorcing his wife and quitting his city job. One might imagine a “zany” episode of “Friends” in which Seinfeld shows up at the Central Perk for a cup of joe. If Louis was hired for the same guest spot the plot line would be different. He would be apprehended by the authorities after a frantic 911 call made by Jennifer Aniston taking refuge in the ladies room. Thankfully the real-life Louis knew what the network wouldn’t tolerate in addition to what the general public craved. After a few seasons of the success of the eponymous “Louie”, the comic returned to his standup performances, albeit in nicer settings. He also dabbled in other projects including cameos in feature films (including Woody Allen’s “Blue Jasmine”). Suddenly, without any publicity, he posted a new show on his website, available for $5 per episode. (As of this writing there is only one but the title hints that this will be part of a series). “Horace and Pete: Episode 1” is a departure on both the business and entertainment fronts. There are no middle men to vet the material. The writer/director/creator is selling his wares directly to the public. Regrettably the goods themselves are certified ‘dry’. 

Louis forcefully makes the case that he is a capable author and purveyor of art. Whether the work itself is serious… is an open question. The auteur, however, is the most important comic of his generation and this hour long, two act play, deserves respectful consideration. Charlie Chaplin’s tramp is a seminal icon; but is precisely because of his silence that everyone took note of Chaplin’s spoken word when he played the great dictator. The fact that “Horace and Pete” lacks the genius of Louie’s foundational comedy should not relegate it to being written off with a Bronx cheer. One might expect a dark Louie C.K. drama to bear a resemblance to the sardonic New York humor found in Jules Pfeiffer’s “Carnal Knowledge”. That poignant study of a misanthropic misogynist had some strangely light moments scattered amongst searing social commentary and bitter recriminations. Louie certainly channels the anger but his muses are the standard bearers of the American Theater, Arthur Miller and Eugene O’Neil. “Horace and Pete” has smatterings of the gothic family in “Long Days Journey” meshed with the impossible transition to modernity in “Death of a Salesman”.  The spare storyline is predictable. A family business, Horace and Pete’s saloon, is facing a crossroads of the next generation ownership. The old proprietor, brilliantly played by Alan Alda, is at odds with his niece who wants to sell to outsiders. The play takes numerous side journeys. Louie dabbles in punditry about the current state of affairs. This is the least successful portion of the play. Although the comments are contemporary, they bear a tired, sophomoric resonance. Ditto for the forced generational conflict with customers. Yes, Brooklyn has been invaded by hipsters. Yes, they can be callow and annoying. Yes, Trump supporters can sound brutish and barroom philosophers can hold the floor for a few rounds. The play fairs better with the family conflicts. This is something near and dear to the author.

As a child, Louie was abandoned by his father. He made an interesting 2 minute animated short about managing the rage towards the old man. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTzyudfuUtk) Interestingly the subject matter is never mentioned in the title. The cartoon father-figure bears a physical resemblance to the Alda character in “Horace and Pete”, including large awkward glasses. He shares the same habit of uttering inappropriate responses that are designed to provoke and divide. There is also a parallel powerlessness of the victim-child. The animated film is about the possibilities of acting boldly, albeit in a ‘Walter Mitty’ world. This heroism takes the form of confronting his father. This suggests the impossibility of such actions in the real world. “Horace and Pete” shows Louie to be equally stymied. He has no agency over Alda and a distant relationship with his daughter. She confronts him as being a feckless, out-of-touch, narcissist. That is confirmed by Alda. It is also indirectly proved by his sister. Her push to sell the saloon-business stems from Louie’s mismanagement. It is difficult to blame the erstwhile bar-owner as the inheritance of the building/business is a burden, rather than viable enterprise. In addition to the grumpy uncle Alda, “Horace and Pete” employs Louie’s mentally ill brother. If those people are impediments to effective management there is also his father’s ex-girlfriend/spouse. She is the resident barfly. We learn that drinks are and much more are… “on the house”. The fictional Louie, in terms of career, might have stuck to his knitting as an accountant. His general demeanor, however, hints that his is too emotionally damaged to thrive at any vocation.

“Horace and Pete” has a repellent quality that is built on the back of the inept central character. Louie’s choice of ignoring comedy is fatal to the enjoyment of the narrative. This decision is rooted in fear of rejection. The audience’s blind love for the established “funny-man” will snuff out hope of accepting the “new” Louie. Unfortunately being dour prevents the audience from establishing a connection with the material. Woody Allen faced the same conundrum when stepping out the comedy enclosure. Ironically he made the same missteps in trying to remedy this imaginary problem. In the mid 1970s, the heretofore bawdy slap-stick gag-man, turned to… Ingmar Bergman. “Interiors”, the forgotten feature film produced after the smash success of “Annie Hall”, is inspired by the master’s “Cries and Whispers”. Allen’s version should have been titled “Moans and Whimpering”. Allen even attempted to secure Ingrid Bergman for a leading part. She was committed to working with Ingmar in “Autumn Sonata”.  Instead of imitation Scandinavian angst, the film renders inauthentic Brooklyn neuroticism. A lack of confidence in an American ‘long days journey’ spurred a hagiographic re-enactment of a European style family break-up.  Unlike Louis, Allen did not appear in the film and stayed, safely, behind the camera. Maybe an unconscious act of distancing himself knowing the inauthentic quality of the drama?  Louie, in “Horace and Pete”, shares this lack of sincerity, despite being front and center. The wonderful ensemble cast, featuring a host of pitch-perfect veteran performers, failed to move the heart. They were unable to break the gravity of badly drawn characters locked in a uninspired premise. Unlike the portrait of the patrons, the family friction has some resonance. (Write what you know); unfortunately not enough to evoke pathos. The moment when a dark family secret is revealed it triggers a grimace, rather than a tear. In this light the struggles of the uncle-daughter-sister-brother never really stand a chance. Louis strangely embodies the failure of his dramatic character in bringing forth a strangely ineffective production. The acting is as wonderful as the writing is lacking. One trick he might have learned from Allen is to take advantage of the film medium. Gordon Willis’ photography made the slog of watching “Interiors” an  
aesthetically pleasing two hours and ten minutes.  “Horace and Pete” adopts a surveillance camera approach to cinematography. The claustrophobia of a security guard booth does not add to the audience experience. Fortunately all these missteps are merely a passing moment. "Stand-ups" are the masters of resilience and reincarnation. No doubt great things will be forthcoming from this important artist. Maybe even in the coming episodes. 

The comic, Rodney Dangerfield, was famous for yelling, “I get no respect”. It is the plight of any stand-up who mounts the boards to face a lifetime of a snarling and disinterest. Masters of this craft, not surprisingly, hunger for legitimacy; hence Louis’ craving for “legitimate” theater. The fantasy is that cantankerous, rude audiences are replaced by erudite pillars of society. This give birth to the dangerous notion that respectability can be born by killing the inner-jester. The self-hating clown can morph into the polished cultural icon. In reality audience craves artists who play the entire orchestra of human emotion. Louis needs to wear Dangerfield’s lament as a badge of honor. He needs to recognize the seriousness of being funny. It is a craft that resists formal training and is bestowed on a very select group. As Mr. Rogers would say: 'You've made this day a special day by just your being you. There's no person in the whole world like you. And I like you just the way you are.' Some people made fun of this children’s TV host. In the end, the dignity of his art gave him the last laugh. Be serious, but never forget: you are Louis C.K.. Be true to yourself. This is the only path for successfully resolving ownership of Horace and Pete’s bar. 

Ira Glass at the Flynn Center (2015)

Ira Glass at the Flynn Center (2015)

Through Ira Glass, Darkly

Journalist: Do you think of yourself primarily as a singer or a poet? 

Bob Dylan: Oh, I think of myself more as a song and dance man, y'know.

--  Dec. 1965 press conference at KQED, San Francisco

Ira Glass, the famed radio host and creator of “This American Life” (TAL) came to Vermont to perform in a one night spectacle. The title of the piece was “Three Acts, Two Dancers, One Radio Host”. That is an accurate account of the evening’s performance - to a point. Needless to say only someone of Mr. Glass’ stature could command a sold out venue with such an obscure premise. He has, for decades, transformed the mundane musings of over-looked people into life parables. He is known for his analytic, incisive questions delivered in a self-deprecating manner. His speech has a nervous quality, think of the silent nerdy kid tasked with explaining a homework assignment in front of the class. This person, mostly known as a disembodied voice, has teamed up with two professional…. dancers? Well if anyone could make it work…. and he did. He produced a mesmerizing evening filled with wit, charm, gravitas, dogged professionalism and… humor.

Many ambitious celebrities focus on self-promotion rather than skill. Glass is about craft.  Certainly mastering the mechanics of  journalism combined with a solid work ethic can bear fruit. In Glass’ case it goes beyond merely being a great reporter. He has taken 1960’s New Journalism and added the sublime. Tom Wolfe or Gay Talese can deliver highly polished entertaining portraits of cultural happenings or celebrities. Glass manages to put you in the frame of the story with a cast of nobodies from nowhere. A great TAL segment is akin to a Buddhist koan or a biblical parable. It’s not simply entertainment. No matter how dispossessed the protagonists or how odd the setting, the audience becomes enmeshed with the two runaway sisters, or the man who spends days trying to win a car, or the kidnapped North Korean film actors, or man who is delivering mental health surveys on an Indian Reservation….  .  He is in a league with Mark Twain or t H. L. Mencken. The latter even shares Ira’s Baltimore roots. In this performance Glass makes reference to his mother commenting the TAL debut.  Whereas many parents might feel the need to shower their children in unmitigated praise, Mrs. Glass is severe in her honesty. She tells her son he is not good at beginnings but better at ‘middles’. She adds that life is mostly ‘middles’ then judiciously weighs in on the side of success.  The son has made his mother proud but one wonders if he shares his mother’s skepticism. On stage Mr. Glass alludes to his Peabody Award, the highest honor in broadcast journalism.  No one could accuse Ira of bragging as its mention is in the context of a humorous aside.  Nevertheless there is a tension between acknowledging personal achievement while discussing yourself . That can also be said for the performance as a whole. The evening is a meditation on the struggle of being an artist and maintaining confidence despite never-ending awkwardness and searing loss. It is a lonely struggle. At the same time the show goes to extraordinary lengths to pretend Mr. Glass is not the main attraction. The result is a delightful evening where Glass touches on his vulnerability without revealing too much. One wonders, however, if the work might have benefited from the main attraction being more overt with his demons.

Back to the dancers. Although the performance discretely centers on Glass’ struggles, it is a collaborative effort with two important, albeit less acknowledged, performers.  Monica Bill Barnes and Anna Bass are the definition of seasoned professional working artists. It is interesting that Ms. Barnes, in addition to handling the choreography, is also credited as director. Artistic joint ventures are born of being a team of rivals. Naturally this very topic becomes the focus in a segment in which the dancers perform and Mr. Glass plays an interview in which one is extremely explicit in her belief that her ‘partner’ is constantly upstaging her.  It is fascinating to watch them move while hearing the stream of consciousness musings about what is in their mind’s eye. In a sense this speaks to why the dancers are ideal foils for Mr. Glass’ menagerie. They are literally silent. One might say that since one of the two women is directing she is ‘in control’, furthermore half the evening is pure dance. In reality Mr. Glass is steering the action. This is not to say he is abusing his position of power but it’s important to note he does not relinquish it, despite what your program indicates. Their silence renders them unable to probe Mr. Glass in the same manner he explores their struggles. Once again our Radio Host’s ineptness as a physical performer gives a veneer that his partners have the upper hand. The bedrock of physical comedy was born in watching rank amateurs attempt to mimic professionals. Watching Mr. Glass follow Monica and Anna brings to mind the best of comedia dell’arte or Chaplin. Ira is an unabashed clown - but he also has the last laugh. In these carefully mapped out sequences Glass heartily plays the fool - but this is on his terms. Of course no one would knowingly create a stage production highlighting their unflattering attributes. The point is that this production shades qualities that seem to unnerve Mr. Glass himself. Would Ira Glass trust Ira Glass to ask him questions in the same manner he asks the dancers? Categorically the answer is NO. That would lead to revelations experienced by one of the performers who exhibits a unflattering competitiveness. Mr. Glass colors disclosing his embarrassing traits. Making an ass of himself as a dancer is his offering in exchange for their trust. It’s much safer than being them. He knows it’s not fair trade and his disquiet is the hidden seam of this show. He desperately wants to be a good guy but, in lock step with discussions about his success as journalist, it is not that simple. What is the true nature of the relationship between interviewer and, victim?

Mr. Glass does reveal personal information that puts him in a very negative light. He would consider his most daring truth to be his marital discord. Ira plays a TAL segment from the first season in which a man is given a marketing assignment. The spouse in the story decides to sell himself to his wife. He deconstructs their marriage in terms of “branding” and “customer needs”. Needless to say most mammals feel a great deal of sympathy for the wife. Upon hearing the piece decades ago I felt a wave of unmitigated revulsion towards the husband. Glass shared this feeling during the initial airing but, after years of marriage, he now sees the husband’s point of view. He adds that his wife sometime accuses him of being “Mr. Spock”, the Star Trek character who scrupulously replaces “emotion” with logic. It is brave that Glass would publicly admit an emotional empathy towards the worst caricature of male thoughtlessness. That nerdy voice is assuming a darker cast. More revealing and disturbing, however, is a small aside in which Glass speaks of a strategy he adopted as a child to gain friends. Ira decided that he needed to connect with people so he embarked on a deliberate effort to ask questions of his classmates in order to win their trust. Unfortunately he discovered that, although they had felt a bond with him due to his ability to listen, he felt even more isolated from them. He went so far as admitting it was bothersome. As Mr. Glass is famous for saying, “let’s stop the tape for a moment.” Any child who consciously devises a plan to 'win people over' by careful probing is Mr. Spock, squared. Furthermore the degree of isolation he experienced must have been extraordinary. It is also interesting that his reaction to having them as confidants was, annoyance. The heretofore avuncular disembodied voice is, unconsciously, morphing into something closer to the sociopathic computer HAL in 2001, who places ‘the mission’ over human lives. Incidentally there is a TAL segment in which the staff is given a test for this disorder. Guess who scored highest? One wonders if Ira’s mother ever heard about his “asking questions to get friends” ploy.  Maybe she encouraged him to pursue reporting? The frustration he felt with his new confidants might be put to better use than fretting about lack of emotional connection. In fact here is a quote from an interview about his craft, “The best storyteller is a crossover … the person who doesn’t actually belong to a group but is familiar and comfortable with and accepted by the group.” (Stefani Twyford, “Epiphanies, Ira Glass, and Why I Tell Stories”, Legacy Multimedia). Glass harnessed his outsiderness into one of the great journalistic careers of all time.

Ira’s mother, with her knack for candor, might have told her son that he would have a dystopian relationship, part friend part clinical subject, with all those individuals who have born their souls on TAL. The marketing husband is a case in point. Would a friend let this poor soul make an ass of himself on national radio?   Glass subtly shields him, albeit decades later. He not only takes his side but he obscures a the central embarrassing detail. Everyone in the audience wanted to know: is that guy still married? Glass never says. It would have been easy to discover and would have enhanced the story. Yet he held back. This hints at a struggle Mr. Glass has as his role as reporter. There is an invasive edge to uncovering truth. Sometimes that “reality” can negatively impact someone who gave you their trust. One would have assumed that Glass joined most of his colleagues in accepting this unfortunate relationship as part of the trade. Unfortunately the usual font of introspection goes dry in terms of weighing his own relationships with his subjects. Although Glass suffers from personal demons, e.g. being a callous spouse, the real devil is in the reporter’s notebook. That childhood strategy of probing others’ lives has turned into a legendary career, unfortunately so has dearth of connection. Given all the accolades and a job everyone envies, what is he to do with all this trust that has been thrown on his shoulders? Cue the music.

The opening number is a tongue in cheek vaudeville routine, complete with literal air kicks, bit of the ole ‘soft shoe’,  a mini proscenium arch and some confetti at the climax. Despite Monica and Anna’s technical prowess, the elder Mrs. Glass was correct. Beginnings are not Glass’ strong suit. The audience’s unease about the feasibility of combining dance are story are heightened as the performers are having a better time than the perplexed audience. Adding to the strangeness is Glass’ insatiable need to deconstruct. We are told that there was a discussion amongst the collaborators about the structure of the play. Should the opening be a “radio segment” or “dance routine”? Perhaps it was the correct choice but , inverting an old theater maxim, there should have been “more art, less matter”. The in-depth commentary about the creative process undermines the free-flowing nature of the work. Strangely all the chatter about the mechanics draws the audience away from the action. It is as if the performers are acting out an elaborate inside joke. As the dancing ends Glass opens his large leather suitcase and brings forward the tools of the trade, a lectern complete with microphone. The show settles down as all performers join to illustrate the parable of Act I. This is a TAL tale about a troupe of dancers who are grinding through a never ending tour of “Riverdance”. Mr. Glass explains this story would be ideal as a medium to combine his strength in storytelling with his collaborators' art. Once again lets stop the tape for a moment. Monica and Anna are outstanding in physically giving form to an artist’s battle with that rare commodity in the creative community, enthusiasm. What is most interesting, however, is Glass’ choice of the narrative. The “reveal” of the story is that the audience is completely oblivious to the artists struggle. The dancers are able to mask their extreme joys and sorrows and deliver a solid performance regardless of their personal triumphs or turmoils. One might see this as Glass meditating on his own feelings and those of his friends/audience. The selection of this material, despite the veneer of playfulness, reflects Glass’ discomfort with the inauthenticity of performers own truth vs. their audience’s beliefs. This is especially difficult for Glass, whose hallmark is trust. One might even see him as the Walter Cronkite of our time.

Act II is focused on awkwardness. Although Mr. Glass announces it is an exploration of “love” it is really about learning the craft of masking emotion in order to appear appropriate. Glass brings us the paradigm moment of feeling “out of place”, the prom. He selects individuals from the audience to come up to a mock up of a high school gym, complete with picture taking booth and mirror ball. The sheepish, wide eyed, participants perfectly create that excruciating moment of having to slow dance with a stranger. The chosen adult audience members  have experience in interacting with the opposite sex but being thrust on stage was a perfect analogy to the awkwardness of tweens enacting their first formal social dance.  This segment showcases Glass’ tender genius. Only someone of his extraordinary capacity for capturing the detail of ritual could have produced something that rang true for even the most the socially disengaged audience member. Glass manages to wring a wry smile from life’s never-ending “grin and bear it” demands. This moment was pitch perfect in terms of conception and execution. Glass smoothly managed cueing a number of interviews via his iPad lectern while supplying pithy commentary. Monica and Anna casually glided across the stage and gentlely managed the couples. Bravo. Note: the couples are given small props and actual pictures in payment for their services. No doubt most would do it for free but perhaps Glass wanted to avoid any hint of exploitation. Once again there is an awkwardness in the relationship that extends beyond this simple skit. In a rare moment of anger on TAL our usually genial host angrily confronts a performance artist who stages happenings that revolve around coopting uninformed participants. Some of these people seem genuinely traumatized by the experience and Glass come to their aid. The degree of his annoyance might touch on an uneasiness about the relationship people in his work, which moves us to the final sequence.

Act I is about the loneliness of being a performer. Act II centers around the awkwardness of social engagement. Act III meditates on heartfelt loss. Stop the tape. The overarching theme of the evening is connection (or lack thereof). Monica and Anna brilliantly ‘dance’ to a carefully crafted monologue in which an established poet meditates on his elderly wife’s death. The dancers embrace on top of a table which is laid out for dinner. The cutlery and the plates crash to the ground as the couple morph from a loving hug to desperately holding on. It was an a mirror image of the prom dance but equally brilliant. Glass then went into monologue about his beloved friend, and fellow TAL contributor, David Rakoff, who died an early death after a bout with cancer.  Glass mentions his colleague’s love of dance and mentions a TAL stage show in which Rakoff, in the final months of life, gave a monologue about life entitled “The Invisible Made Visible”.  This work, which is available on youtube, might be the seed of Glass’ production. Rakoff intersperses his talk with simple dance gestures. One of his arms is immobile and he is clearly showing the effects of radiation and yet, it is gripping. There is a singular beautiful sorrow involved in watching great artists push through their pain. It is akin to listening to the recording of Charlie Parker, deep in the throws of heroin addiction, stumbling through the song “Lover Man”. The sound and gesture are amateurishly awful yet the effect is sublime. Glass does not show the actual images of Rakoff’s struggle. The dancers do their best to create the moment but it would seem a genuine image would have given the audience more connection. Perhaps Glass felt he was protecting his friend. Ironically in this instance Glass’ impeccable ability to read situations fails him and the show as a whole. There are moments where the author, for complicated reasons, muddles the material. This production is a wonderful, entertaining evening, however it fails to reach the very high bar set by Mr. Glass himself in his work with TAL. In his many talks about storytelling Glass refers to “moments of reflection” in which the author unpacks the sequences of material. This show, for all its wonder, lacks this crucial component. 

The ultimate sin, in Glass’ worldview, is narcissism. Here is a quote where Ira discusses the mechanics of storytelling:

Often people submit stories to our radio show which show, I don’t know how to say this except that it shows that they have a HORRIBLE (his emphasis) personality, which is to say they’re someone who only talks about themselves. When someone has a good personality, someone who is good in a conversation, they talk amusingly and interestingly about themselves for awhile and then they let the other person talk for awhile because they’re INTERESTED (his emphasis) in other people and they’re interested in the world.

Glass goes to great lengths to avoid being self-involved during the evening’s performance but perversely this usually solid impulse softens the punch of the material. This is, or rather should be, a show about the man himself. Perhaps amendments to the storytelling rules are in order as this is an occasion where Ira should investigate Glass.  It is gracious of him to constantly remind everyone of Monica and Anna but artistically he needs to acknowledge being the main event. There is a great deal of hemming and hawing about this strange collaboration and the seemingly random nature of the material. The fogginess is born of Glass not wanting to accused on being myopic. This might be a problem for most, but the creator of TAL possesses the genius to bring his story front and center without fear of being a bore. His lack of confidence hurts the production artistically. It would have been fascinating to witness a straightforward treatment of his difficulty feeling a part of the whole combined with his ambivalence towards his subjects and his audience. There is a revealing segment from TAL in which Glass speaks of his relationship with his dog, who suffers from life threatening food allergies. It is a rare moment of deeply personal connection with the voice who delivers so many stories about strangers. Perhaps Glass’ conversations with his mother and the loss of Mr. Rakoff are the only other times where one sees the man behind the Wizard. The evening of live performance should have, unabashedly, gone back stage with the person who is Ira Glass. The individual who has mixed feelings about his role as a reporter and a cultural celebrity.  Maybe this is too much to ask. In the current production he appears to be having the time of his life. That should be qualified with the asterisk of “within the limits a hip intellectual public radio star’s ability to exhibit jubilance.” Kidding aside, Glass' ecstasy stems from his shedding the austere office of reporter and turning to entertainer. But perhaps there is a way to have both the joy and gravitas. Suggestion for an alternate opening of the show. Glass comes forward in silence and without a music or any flourishes, he sets up his lectern. He looks out into the audience and speaks into the microphone: “I’m Ira Glass. I’ve listen to you. NOW YOU’RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME. I’ve got a a dog and…”. Cue the music and dancers. It’s an opening every mother, even Ira’s, would love. He should also reveal if the husband/marketing genius is still married. An image of Rakoff must also be displayed. Glass is good enough not to worry about hurt feelings. That is the lonely nature of his art. It's time to recognize this truth. It is the fate of all outsider artists, especially the great ones.

Tommy (1994 stage production in Los Angeles)

TOMMY CAN YOU HEAR ME?

   
   
Broadway musicals have survived in recent years by re-staging past hits and recycling old tunes: 42nd Street, Guys & Dolls, Carousel, Jerome Robbin's Broadway, Crazy for You, Show Boat, Damn Yankees… This trend stems from Producer's unwillingness to take risks on untried material due to the exorbitant cost of mounting productions. The 50+ crowd has been eager to spend the $60+ per seat to see elaborate re-enactments of the best of yesteryear. There is a familiar sense of "this is what Broadway should be". The challenge lies in attracting the next generation of theater-goers who are not as nostalgic; to them Oklahoma is just a state near Kansas. What's a Producer to do? Classes in American Musical Comedy might not be very popular. Tommy to the rescue!

Tommy the musical, is based on the seminal rock album of the same name by the group the Who. Most Americans with a cursory knowledge of rock (i.e.the under 45 crowd) would be immediately familiar with at least three of the songs if not the entire album itself. This late '60s so called "rock opera" spawned a cultlike following including a Ken Russell film based on the "story". One can hear the Producer's salivating. A musically based narrative which appeals to "younger" audiences who can afford the price of a theater ticket. There is only one problem - no plot. Well this is a small obstacle in the eyes of a zealous theatrical producer who sees gold. The rationalization for mounting a production might be along the lines of: Classic American Musical Comedies were always "light" on plot; for that matter look at Lloyd Weber's CATS - not much on story either.

Connoisseurs of the theater would question the artistic merits of anything based on a Cats model. Furthermore the "thin" plots of classic musicals were buttressed by the fact that the composer and playwright conceived of the piece as a staged event. Despite the massive amounts of drugs available to  Pete Townsend (the composer) in the late 1960s it is doubtful whether he could have envisaged a set of circumstances which would make Tommy a sought after Broadway Musical property. Tommy is first and foremost a rock album; albeit a revolutionary one. It sought to expand the notions of what could be done within the confines of Rock'n'Roll as experienced through woofers & tweeters and not a proscenium arch. Rock'n'roll is felt and not necessarily understood. It is common to for Rock fans to adore songs without comprehending or even knowing the lyrics (from the Kingsmen's "Louie Louie" to Nirvana's "The Smell of Teen Spirit"). This casualness fits well with the carefree ambiance with which the music is heard. It is uncommon for fans to cease all activity and give their full attention to an entire album. In fact such an act might me counter-productive in terms of gauging the success of the work. Theater is the exact opposite. It requires a maximum amount of attentiveness within a set time frame. The challenge of making the transition from album to stage relies on understanding the undisciplined power of Rock and harnessing it to the rigors of the stage.

Aristotle's Poetics, the paradigm work on structuring plays, lists plot as the central element of drama. Although the Greek philosopher might be somewhat out of fashion few could argue his point. Tommy's purported plot centers around an abused boy's life-long search for his identity. In reality the storyline is a series of loosely related moments: Tommy witnesses the murder of his step father by his war-hero father. The former assumed the role of father when it was thought the latter was killed in action. The newly discharged soldier comes home and sees his wife in the clutches of another man. The result is the murder. It seems to have mattered very little to the loving wife. She never misses a beat and falls into a heartfelt swoon as soon as one body hits the floor. Her ambivalence is shared by the audience who also have difficulty distinguishing between the two men. The parents react by demanding the young boy's silence. He is a very impressionable child and takes them at their word: he turns deaf, dumb and blind. Tommy goes on through numerous cruel and inappropriate "treatments" as well as suffering abuse at the hands of his alcoholic uncle and sadistic cousin. Finally his genius is unmasked - he is a pinball wizard. A love interest appears. His fame leads to cultlike religious status and the predictable exploitation by Uncle & Cousin.  Tommy has an epiphany and stops being deaf, dumb and blind. His implores his followers stop following. A reconciliation occurs with his exploiters and his disciples. There is a happy and grand moment when everyone comes together and starts singing for no discernible reason other than the band starts playing the catchy "Listening to You". The play ends. So much for plot.

It is obvious that Tommy is about nothing and makes no sense. Pete Townsend is not to blame. In the context of the original medium Tommy is brilliant. The producers and directors of the stage version have much to explain. Instead of accepting the heartfelt illogic they attempt to force Tommy into being a straight-line narrative with intervening musical numbers. In a sense they are as absurd as any of the strange assortment of miracle cure quacks who attempt to "cure" Tommy's affliction. Tommy needs to be accepted for what it is: a magnificently crafted rock album with a passing nod towards story. Given the undisciplined nature of rock'n'roll it is no surprise that the "plot" fails to translate to the stage. The producers ignore the visceral sense of the music and focus on the non-existent plot. Mr. Townsend, sensing trouble, shied away from writing an extra song which would "tie the whole story together". The producer inspired musical addition is, not surprisingly, forced and forgettable.      

The play is not the thing; the music is. Forget plot just play the songs and stage a series of flashy disconnected stage happenings. Focus on two elements: music and special effects. A sign greets current audiences: WARNING THIS PRODUCTION CONTAINS FLASHING STROBE LIGHTS AND LIVE GUNFIRE. Unfortunately not enough of either to make any lasting impact. The fact of the matter it would be more entertaining if this production gave up any pretense of being a play and instead embraced a Lazerium or rock concert approach. Underscoring this point is the placement of the musicians. The current production, taking its cue from musicals, places the band in the orchestra pit. It only becomes apparent that live musicians are performing when the conductor occasionally bobs his head & arms above the sight-line. All the actors must play instruments in order to fully integrate the music with the show. The sound system should be "Cranked up" and  the smoke machines and the laser guns must be at full throttle. All the songs should be eliminated except. "Tommy Can You Hear Me", "See Me, Hear Me", "Listening to You" and "Pinball Wizard". If the required time-frame isn't met just repeat the songs at a different tempo with a different light show until the crowd feels its received $60+ worth of entertainment. Any Audience member who complains about missing Pete Townsend's imaginative story (with all those delightful characters) should be directed back stage for a live encounter with Tommy's dear Uncle and Cousin. If that isn't enough they should be placed in a sensory deprivation tank where they can experience Tommy's angst.     

Angles in America Part 1 (original 1993 b-way production)

PART 1: LES MISERABLES

   
   
The Angels are very at home in New York. Everyone waited for months after hearing the praise about the stagings of Angels in America in San Franciso, Los Angeles and London. Even the choice of showcase became news. The New York Times ran an article about the snubbing of the Public Theater in favor of a prominent Broadway house. The play lived-up to expectations and received numerous accolades (Tony Awards, Drama Desk Awards, even the Pulitzer). The New York producers decided to divide the epic in two. (The entire play runs over 5 hours) Part I is titled Millennium Approaches. Part II, Perestroika, is scheduled to open next week. I decided to bear witness later than most, the opening was a few months ago. I assumed that since the fervor was at a lull, in anticipation of the second opening, attendance would be slack. I was mistaken. There was not a seat to be had. The Angels have some staying power. The superscript of the title reads "A Gay Fantasia on National Themes". It is impossible to examine this work without an understanding of the plight of the homosexual community in the United States in the post Reagan era. This is what makes this play an important period piece. It is also what undercuts it attempts at profundity. The Angels will not be around forever; maybe not even till the end of the Clinton era.

The play is far from revolutionary in its composition. It is structured as a television Soap Opera with three intertwining linear narratives. Two of these plot lines revolve around couples in which one partner is unable to cope with the responsibilities of caring for an ill spouse. In one case the husband is actually culpable for his wife psychosis because of an inability to admit that he is a homosexual. The other pair, a male gay couple, is faced with the tragedy of AIDS made even more horrific by the test of moral strength which the disease-free partner fails miserably. The characters are defined by their problems. These are embodiments of torment, not tormented souls. It is difficult to conceive of these people divorced from their hardships. They are metonyms for the problems themselves. Without AIDS the gay couple consists of a man who likes to complain and a man who likes to dress up. Without the issue of the husband's sexuality the other couple metamorphoses into an ambitious Yuppie man. The woman disappears. She does not exist. Her schizophrenia and drug abuse are inextricably linked to the husband's feigning straitness. The playwright, Tony Kushner, fails to conceive of woman outside of being foils to illustrate male problems. Aside of the madwoman their is a generic nurse, a generic mother, a generic real-estate woman, another madwoman, a cameo by Ethel Rosenberg and an angel, complete with gossamer wings. Women are more substantive and in control when they play men (e.g. Kathleen Chalfant's Rabbi Chemelwitz and Henry  or  Marcia Gay Harden's Martin Heller). In short there are inconsequential woman who buttress men who represent recognizable hardships of being male homosexuals. It is no wonder Mr. Kushner felt the need to tell more than one story. Neither couple could sustain treatment as a full length play. The third narrative breaks the couple mold. It features an historical figure and not a product of Mr. Kushner's imagination. The enigmatic, controversial Roy Cohn rears his ugly head. Ron Leibman's brilliant portrayal certainly throws Mr. Cohn's persona into the limelight. There is a more central reason Ron as Roy steals the show. He is the only primary character who has life outside of his affliction. In fact the two plagues of his life, AIDS and disbarment, are introduced late in the game. Here is a man who lives and breaths outside of the issues. He is a loathsome paper-pushing Richard III. He is detestable, captivating and, dramatically speaking, alive. This devil is what drives Angels.

His story also makes the most poignant statement about the travails of being gay in America. His ruthless paranoia is rooted in a survival strategy. It is best illustrated when he threatens to destroy his physician of 30 years for even associating the name Roy Cohn with AIDS, and by default homosexuality. The mask of the demon slips and we see a lonely scared man determined to instill terror in everything around him to avoid even an appearance of his own fear. His bravado in claiming that he alone is the reason Ethel Rosenberg was sent to the electric chair betrays a man filled pathological self-hatred. He rants about the fact that she violated a wide-ranging sense of "trust". She was a traitor to her country and he made sure she died. Mr. Cohn delivers this speech in the midst of trying to convince a young lawyer, whom he has seduced, to risk his career and commit a felony on his behalf. Given Roy's civic virtue one ponders over the reasons for Ms. Rosenberg's death. It appears more likely that in killing this communist, Jewish, woman in the mid-1950s Mr. Cohn was somehow establishing his own credentials with the mainstream heterosexual goyem. It further begs the question of what kind of world could create such an alienated desperate man? Roy is never sympathetic but bigoted societal attitudes about his sexuality help illuminate his tragic disposition. It is impossible to feel sorry for the him, given the extent of his evil, but it is difficult not to empathize with the isolation of any gay power-broker. It also raises questions about the push behind the disbarment proceedings (which incidentally succeeded - not in part I). Mr. Cohn's story has all the ingredients for a solid full length play. It is unfortunate that Mr. Kushner placed it amidst all the stale one dimensional couples and his ill-conceived metaphysical musings.

Angels borrows from the church as well as television. Mr. Kushner feels the need to evoke the spirits and be long-winded. This is an old Kushnerian tradition. Anyone who can recall the Devil appearing after many tedious moments in A Bright Room Called Day can vouch for both. Here the playwright seems to have discovered heaven or at least 19th century conceptions of how benevolent spirits appeared. There are bright flashes of light, thunder and lightening, a chorus with voices swelling and at last an angel with gossamer wings. It is difficult to know what the author is trying to say. In Mr. Kushner's defense this was only Part 1. It was, however, three hours long. Hopefully something will occur in the remaining hours which will clear up this metaphysical mish-mash. A Bright Room Called Day is evidence for pessimism but one must have faith. That play also included time travel and re-incarnated apparitions which Kushner re-evokes to no avail, again. There are spirits from ages past! Why? Maybe Kushner knows but it is doubtful any audiences members share his private metaphysical cosmology. Obscurity is the hallmark of most religions but it is debatable whether that cryptic sense can be channeled into a positive theatrical experience. Certainly Mr. Kushner has failed to prove the possibility.

The playwright parts ways with the most of the clergy in that he demonstrates a sense of humor. There are numerous moments of genuine levity throughout the performance. Mr. Kushner has a stand-up comic's sense of a well timed, one-liner. In addition there are several name jokes. One of the protagonists in Prior William. He is visited by ghosts his prior ancestors, aptly named Prior: one from the Dark Ages and one from the Age of Enlightenment. It is all very amusing. It is unfortunate that blandness seemed to be a family trait. None of the Priors from any age had anything to say. It must be pointed out, once again, that this was only Part I. Perhaps in Part II all the Priors will blossom into a irresistible trio that will forever be emblazoned in the consciousness of American audiences. Once again, we must have faith in order to safeguard our belief in those professional accolade-givers (theatrical institutions of great esteem, well-regarded critics of stage & writing, people in the know…).

Part 1 could turn anyone who follows the theatrical Zeitgeist into a unbeliever. The play is badly written. All the acclaim and support casts a dark shadow over the state of the stage. One can be generous and say that the need for a play depicting the plight of male homosexuals overrode the breath of knowledge about what makes good theater. Certainly the gay community has suffered greatly from a dreadful plague and widespread discrimination; often officially sanctioned. (As I write the Senate of the United States has passed a bill which states that homosexuality is incompatible with military life and can be grounds for dismissal from the armed services). Given these harsh realities the arrival of a play depicting gay men in a positive light might serve some benevolent social function. In the early stages of the AIDS epidemic the play AS IS, a saccharine portrayal of a gay couple facing the disease, served the cause well in heightening awareness and generating sympathy. No one treated AS IS as great art. Perpetrating a lie of that dimension would be an insult to the intelligence of theater-goers but, even worse, it would patronize those victims of the disease by making their suffering a fashion statement. That is precisely what is occurring with Angels In America. There is something lurking behind those gossamer wings which has a malevolent face. Hopefully Part II will redeem my faith. The title is ominous. "Perestroika" is taken from Michael Gorbachev's late 1980s book about the new "openness" of the Soviet Union. It is doubtful that Mr. Kushner meant to be ironic. His work  has, thus far, never plumbed that deep. More likely the book and the phrase were pivotal at the time he was writing Part II. Events overtook Mr. Gorbachev. It is doubtful anyone would claim Perestroika has any currency in the remnants of the Soviet State. It was merely a vacant political catchword which played at exposing a horrible crisis; significant only in the context of a brief tumultuous period. Perhaps Mr. Kushner should saved this title for Part I.

The Crucible (2013 Lost Nation Theater Production)

Pride and Prejudice



60 years ago Arthur Miller wrote a play called “The Crucible” addressing the national turmoil born of post WWII anti-communist crusades. It was based on the witchcraft trials that occurred in New England 260 years earlier. Lost Nation Theater’s production of this work stands the test of time. Many theatrical ‘standards’ that feature social justice are performed based on the sheer momentum of their legacy rather than contemporary relevance. Here are two examples: “To Kill A Mockingbird” seems locked in a simpler pre-1960s American landscape. It delivers a pat, one dimensional portrait of small town racial justice. “Hair”, the radical parable about non-conformity, is a solid period piece that has little relevance to a over-indebted, over-burdened, over connected younger generation.  Miller’s work is exceptional as it manages to make the upheavals of a small 16th century Massachusetts village uncomfortably contemporary. Just this week the authorities in Alabama considered bringing charges against a 15 year old for streaking during a football game. What raised the ire of the local police were the online accolades from his classmates. The powers that be decided to ‘get tough’ with a fierce prosecution.  The prospect of being a registered sex offender was too much for the boy... he hung himself. (see story - http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/alabama-teen-hangs-days-arrest-streaking-field-high-school-football-game-article-1.1482614 ) It is not a direct parallel to Salem but it speaks to Miller’s nightmare of arrogant officials using the state to crush desperate innocents.

Regional Theater is sometimes belittled by city-folk as delivering dull imitations of formally grand works. This type of attitude misunderstands the role of these institutions. They are the guardians of what is accepted in the cannon of ‘great plays’. Although sub-standard performances might haunt some areas, Vermont is blessed with Lost Nation Theater in Montpelier. This is an organization that delivers quality productions of ‘classic’ works. A straightforward rendering of “The Crucible” might seem pedestrian to an urbanite. City-folk often fall into this pit of believing successful art relies solely on radical innovation. Regional theater sets standards in favor of ‘cutting edge’ gimmicks.  These institutions are the only avenue for most non-city dwellers to witness professional actors perform in live settings. This requires the productions to be somewhat formal in presentation rather than attempting to break barriers.  That is not to say the works are musty museum pieces. This rendering of “The Crucible” included the, usually omitted, scene in the woods where the girls are dancing. This was a solid decision as the free-standing openness of the woods stood in  stark contrast to the intense four walled ‘crucibles‘ that the rest of the action is confined.  In addition the choice of converting the seating to a ‘theater in the round’ arrangement, made one feel as ‘a juror’ taking in all the angles and realizing fellow audience members have a different POV. An excellent choice as this play is really a extraordinary court-room drama. Your view is, literally, not your neighbors.  The blocking, lighting and set design served the story and combined with a first rate cast to deliver the goods. I felt a tear well up inside when John Proctor spoke of the value of his name in the closing scene.  I can think of no better ‘test‘ in judging the success of this particular work.  On a minor note the stage smoke gave a grave eeriness to the drama but as the action became clearer the mist should have taken the same cue. This is a small matter as the entire artistic team worked in unison to illustrate the horror when private wars are given the imprimatur of the state.

The ensemble nature of this play gives the greatest challenge to a small scale professional production. There are 21 performers in the cast.  Miller’s writing has a clockwork symmetry so each role holds the drama in place. The Rebecca Nurse character has very few lines but the central action of the play revolves around her believability.  If she fails to have enough righteous gravitas, the motivation of John Proctor and Reverend Hale is unconvincing. They see her as a beacon of piety, which informs their actions.  The same is true of Abigail’s hold over the courtroom proceedings. This is someone who, while playing a teenage girl, must intimidate, not only her sorority, but an a number of seasoned elderly judges.  In other words the town’s madness centers on her abilities as a nefarious ringleader. Once again kudos to the producers at Lost Nation as the cast created a perfect ensemble of terror.  Everyone hit their marks AS A TEAM.  The seasoned lead actor, Paul Riopelle, who played John Proctor, interacted brilliantly with his spouse Kathleen Keenan.  Abigail, played by Katelyn Manfre, portrays her ability to dominate everyone; with the exception of her love interest, Proctor. Although some of the cast was more experienced, noone stole the show. Although grandstanding might suit some plays this particular work relies on the group. If one star is too bright it undercuts the universal theme that evil acts in concert. It is a roaring cauldron of rage; rather than a bright beacon.

This is a play about the tyranny of small rivalries that are given weight by what Shakespeare referred to as “The insolence of office”.  “The Crucible” is the nightmare version of “The Emperor's New Clothes”. Truth is subverted by the pride of failing to admit obvious wrong combined with obsequious bending to authority. Each faction plays out their petty grievances in a minutely choreographed dance leading to the undoing of everyone. In the entire ensemble is metaphorically “pressed”. This is the old English practice of crushing people to death with heavy objects. It was reserved for those who failed to recognize the righteousness of the court. They refused to answer “Guilty” or “Not Guilty” - rendering the proceeding impotent.  The entire cast is forced into the position of collectively failing the deference test. Miller plays this theme in a manner akin to a Bach fugue with an endless repetition of the question “when is it appropriate to submit?”. The genius of the work is that the ‘good’ people are as prideful as the ‘evil’.  This is not to make a moral equivalence: the feckless toady neighbors are bad  and John Proctor is the paradigm  of a great citizen. Abigail is a sociopath and Rebecca Nurse is saintly.   The body-count builds and it is due as much to Rebecca Nurse steadfast piety as it is to Abigail’s morally bankrupt revenge quest. Reverend Parris and Judge Hathorne are begging Proctor to end this by bending his will; but Proctor’s response is the ape the behavior of his martyr neighbor who died moaning: ‘bring more weight’.  Once again the cornerstone of the drama lies in the tight knit interaction off the ENTIRE cast bearing the weight of honor in an impossible moral conundrum.  This is not the story of Proctor or Hale or Nurse; but of us and our communities  Are more stones always the answer in the face of the terror of mob madness? Does preserving your ‘goodness’ take precedence over other earthly obligations?

I am a official in a small New England town which gives me a front row view of the intricacies of neighborly relations. Salem Massachusetts, where the actions occurs, is a three hour drive. The physical proximity only adds to the uncomfortable familiarity of the dangers of petty acrimony mushrooming into actual violence.  We are NOT on the cusp of actual witch trials but we need to work hard to keep demons in check. Our modernity can give a false impression that we have moral superiority over our 17th century ancestors. This week a young highschool Vermonter was forced to suicide due to the relentless online bullying of her class mates. This is akin to another case in Florida involving the death of a 12 year old girl who was targeted by a 14 year old.  These instances involved young people so this added to the disappointment that the entire audience at the opening night was middle age or older.  It would be foolish to view “The Crucible” as merely a ‘message’ play about the importance of speaking truth to power. Whether or not this play has the ability to ‘sway’ behavior is unknown. There can be no question, however, that it provokes meditation on the responsibility of being a citizen within a community. It is unfortunate the the younger, more computer savvy, crowd failed to attend. A brief perusal of any local social media sites shows the fault lines of our contemporary community.  “The Crucible” is 60 years old... but still has a great deal to say; especially to young people. We are all pressed for answers when witnessing the state’s overreach or a neighbor’s petty grievances or a weakling being crushed by a mob. This play has no solutions... but it does give us something even more vital: good questions.

Robert Frost: This Verse Business (2013)

Vermont Frost

Lost Nation Theater, a Montpelier Vermont based playhouse,  produced a one man show about Robert Frost. It brings to mind the apocryphal figure who brought coals to Newcastle. What could anyone say about our beloved state icon that we don’t already know? It is de rigueur for any New England higher educational institution to have a black and white photo of the ruffled white haired gentleman shaking hands with the former President of the College or head of the English department. One senses the old man spent his later years on a perpetual reading tour.  He is a superstar whose celebrity eclipses the claustrophobic hyper-literary world where most poets reside. There is a strong chance that even the jockiest Vermont highschooler would be able to identify his image and maybe even recite a line or two: “Good Fences Make Good Neighbors...” He is, after all, our small state’s claim on culture... President Kennedy gave a speech in his honor the year of his death. But what do we know of the person? What is behind the scruffy, hard-edged yet avuncular, knowing, old man?

A.M. Dolan’s answers that question in “Robert Frost: This Verse Business”. This is a succinct 75 minute monologue, performed by Gordon Clapp. The playwright could have no better vehicle to embody the old Vermonter that this seasoned stage performer.  The direction and set design were also first rate.  All the elements combined to deliver the presence of the poet.  Dolan’s challenge is to include enough of the poet’s work in conjunction with the right amount of biographical detail. If he tilts far in one direction it would seem a pedantic exercise in facts; the other extreme would be merely a spoken word recitation. Dolan strikes the balance: we hear the written work as well as personal quips and stories.  The play opens in the latter part of the poets life with him at the lectern addressing “his public”.  The playwright cleverly has Mr. Frost unable to see his notes due to the harsh lightning.  This is inspired by a famous incident in which the poet was unable to physically read the poem he created for President Kennedy’s inauguration due to the harsh glare of the sunlight. He banters back and forth with an unseen presence that is guiding the event.  His requests for less light are met with inaction. Frost never misses a beat and continues on with his ‘business’ and suddenly, apropos of nothing, the lights are adjusted.  This small exchange is a physical illustration of the poet’s belief in the ability to improvise in the face of God’s unexplainable actions. The poet himself might believe I’m reading too much into the moment.  He scoffs at all the college profs and over-eager truth-seekers who delve too deeply into his simply metaphors. But the playwright has a larger design as does Mr. Frost. His poems have a simple clarity which is often met with derision by the experts who are skeptical that the general public would have any notions of “good poetry”.  Many ‘sophisticated’ academics look upon Frost as merely a showman; the way scientists viewed the television astronomer Carl Sagan. The approachability of his work somehow gives way to the notion of being pedestrian. I would paraphrase a moment in the play in which Frost is asked by a college professor questions the plausibility of the horse in “Stopping by Woods” ringing his bells “to ask if there is some mistake”. Can animals have the capacity to ask good questions? Frost turns the query over to a seasoned farmer in the assembly who is reported to have said “sometimes better than college professors”. Frost has the healthy American skepticism of authority, especially the kind dressed up with the moniker of “expert”.

Gordon Clapp’s performance rises above being mere mimicry.  He looks, sounds and moves as the elder frost (at least judging by archive footage and recordings) but to really be the man himself a performer must mix what is inside his own being.  It’s paradoxical that in order to fully inhabit someone else one must bring themselves into the picture. There is no clue as to the Mr. Clapp’s off stage personality, but what is being experienced on the boards is more than simply hitting the right notes. Mr. Frost was there in Mr. Clapp and vice versa. This was especially true during the sequence in which he recites the blank verse poem, “Death of a Hired Man”. As someone who has run farms I have met many a “Silas” - the subject of Mr. Frost’s harrowing portrait.  This farm hand is a broken man who deserves no favor; but does.  There is nothing logical about the wife’s sympathy as Silas is, by any definition, a wayward narcissist. But it is in the illogic of finding reason to be kind where we find our humanity. One can’t help but wonder if Mr. Frost’s own passion for the curmudgeon underdog had something to do with his own personal fortunate misfortune. This is touched on during the play with opaque references to pre-deceased children, one by suicide. Mr. Dolan strikes this minor chords in passing... making them all the more haunting.  It prompted me to do some digging to confirm what I had suspected: not only was Frost and his spouse plagued with depression; but as a young man he had to commit his sister to a mental hospital where she perished soon after. His grandfather bought him a farm and supported him financially in the beginning. But the real good fortune was his ability to focus on his work and establish his mark on the world by winning a Pulitzer prize at age 50 in 1924. He lived another four decades.... but one wonders if playing the grand old man was more burden than relief.

My father was a college student in the late 1950s and had the honor of escorting Mr. Frost around the campus before one of the command performances.  By that point everyone wanted to see him as there might not be another opportunity given his age. Frost asked my father to go to the college library and check out a book of his poems as he had forgotten his own. The eager young student knocked on the hotel room door and presented “The Complete Poems of Robert Frost”. The elder poet looked at my father and said “I guess if I write another poem I’ll have to do it on the back of this book”.  This was the man Mr. Clapp became at the Lost Nation production: self-deprecating star of the show. He held the audience in rapture with “I’m going to show you how I write a poem”. This was followed by him on the front porch of his cabin clutching pen to paper while sitting in a chair. He held that pose and all the audience with him for what seemed an eternity; only to say: “sometimes it takes time.”  The cabin appears in the closing third of the play and gives rise to soul bearing.... from a man who has skepticism of soul bearers.  In real life an incident occurred in the actual building a couple of years back.  Some highschoolers had a illegal kegger and trashed the place. Being Vermont, the penance was to have a noted Middlebury Professor give them a lecture about the man and his work in order that they realize the gravity of their crime. I felt a cackle from Frost’s grave when I heard the ‘punishment’. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the old man would have approved.  The professor chose the poem “Out, out” which tells the story of a young man who cuts off his hand with a chainsaw and bled to death. It is not one of Frost’s major works and not featured in the play. It no doubt captured the imagination of  the captive boys who know the dangers of chainsaws... or at least chainsaws. The closing line is revealing in a way that one could only know from having knowledge of the world’s steely nature:

...................................And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs

No doubt it was lost on the classroom prisoners, who were probably planning another party. Frost would have approved. He might not have shown... but he would have wanted to be invited. He’d grown up in the city and personally never partook in the rural social isolation of many of his solitary creations.

Mr. Dolan has a very clever title to this work: “Robert Frost: This Verse Business”.  It is a quote from the script. One takes the word ‘business’ to mean, ‘business’ in the sense of ‘giving them the business’; or poetry is Frost’s ‘shtick’. But in a broader sense ‘business’ can also mean, vocation. The play is peppered with Frost reflecting on the art of forming a poem. He has an aside where he states “Free verse is like playing tennis without a net”. He derides other poets for being too lax in their structure.  One senses the craftsman, not the artist. In other words Frost seemed to imagine himself as a glass-blower, blacksmith or barrel maker. There is a distinctly tradesman-like kinship he shares with his inspirations. Once again Frost was personally more urban and urbane and never had to fear the result of pecuniary burden of losing a crop.  Here is an excerpt from his NY Times obituary which chronicles his career:

Strangely enough, Frost spent 20 years writing his verses on stone walls and brown earth, blue butterflies and tall, slim trees without winning any recognition in America. When he sent them to The Atlantic Monthly they were returned with this note:
"We regret that The Atlantic has no place for your vigorous verse."
It was not until "A Boy's Will" was published in England and Ezra Pound publicized it that Robert Frost was recognized as the indigenous American poet that he was.
-NY Times, Jan. 30, 1963

Tradesman don’t wait two decades to see if something works... that’s the realm of college men... in fact Frost attended two Ivy League schools but never graduated.  He met Ezra Pound while briefly living outside of London... once again not exactly what one would expect from a homespun frugal Yankee... but he wasn’t... he was actually born in San Francisco before being brought East after his father’s death. Mr. Clapp captures this odd contradiction but Mr. Dolan shaded the duality.  My only note on this very fine production would be to witness the disappearance of the beautiful facade that appears after the ‘lecture’ segment. In other words we see Frost sitting on that porch ‘playing’ the rustic. But I feel it would have been more appropriate if the New England cabin facade literally vanished at the end of the play: Frost in a Godot-like emptiness. He could look at the audience and visually communicate his disdain for people who think they have answers.  He might even recite the epitaph which he took from his poem, “The Lesson for Today”. This work imagines a dialogue with failed poets/teachers of the past. Here are the closing lines:

And were an epitaph to be my story
I’d have a short one ready for my own.
I would have written of me on my stone:
I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

He was good to his word. That last line is on his tombstone in Bennington. That’s what I took away from watching the hardscrabble romantic... behind the tweed jackets, the adoring fans, the cultural posing, the family grief, the not so simple rustic simplicity... was a lover.