There is a delightful episode in Chris Phillips’s play Elysian Fields, which was presented at the Kraine Theatre during this year’s New York Fringe Festival, when the characters Maggie (“the cat”) and Skipper, from Tennessee Williams‘s play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, are talking. Skipper is recounting to Maggie the early years of his friendship with her husband, Brick Pollitt, and making a veiled confession about the tenacity of his attachment to Brick. He describes a hot southern afternoon as he watches an old tabby cat patiently riding out the uncomfortable afternoon heat on a rooftop, awaiting a patch of shadow to alleviate its situation. He is struck by the cat’s stoic forbearance. He has it in mind to be just like that cat in life, patiently staying put, expectant that what he desires will one day fall to him. This image is more famously invoked by Maggie in Williams’s celebrated play, when following Skipper’s death, she pleads for her grieving husband’s attention and affection. It’s a clever piece of writing, respectfully returning us to the allusive power of Williams’s theatrical storytelling.

The pleasures of Phillips’s play, and they are many, are watching well known characters from the works of Williams acting in freshly contrived scenes. He releases the characters from their celebrated, somewhat tragical cages, to breathe and talk again in earlier phases of their stories. Most especially he is resurrecting the ghosts of three deceased characters, figures whose tragic demise worked as triggers for Williams’ plays, A Streetcar Named Desire, Suddenly Last Summer, and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Allan, Sebastian, and Skipper never make appearances in these three plays, but their ghosts pervade the stories, propelling the action. They are all coded as homosexual and as such are emblematic of Williams’s relationship with his own sexuality and its configuration in dramatic works that  powerfully addressed the social taboos of his time. Phillips, in large part, is respectful of the mores that prevailed during the period of rapid social evolution these theatre works spanned, from WWII through the dawn of the sixties counter cultural revolution. He is sensible too of the cultural status some of the characters have attained today. So he can throw us delicious treats with scenes in which a youthful Blanche DuBois succumbs to her own carnal appetite; Sebastian rubbishes his poetry and yearns to run through his mother’s garden setting the plantings on fire; and Brick and Skipper go at it in a chair as Maggie sleeps in the room next door. Whether or not Williams might approve such liberties is not so much the point as whether they hold up in context of the original plays. In a rush of desire the young Blanche might well have lost her affected little head, but did the playwright envision the spit-lubricated attachment we are presented with here between Skipper and Brick? The times were the times, and frustrated desire is most pointedly Williams’s theme, not clandestine liaisons. His dramas are filled with allusions to castration and lobotomy. Sex, for the principal characters, is an agent of destruction and chaos, rarely ecstatic release.

But perhaps that’s a quibble. Before the shadow of tragedy overtakes each tale, there is much to enjoy. Suicide and murderous vengeance take their toll on all our resurrected phantoms. Asking why Williams insisted on these endings for these characters is a bit like asking why Iphigenia had to be sacrificed at the beginning of the Trojan War. These are the original blood sacrifices that offend justice, that precipitate the action, that sow potential ruin for all in proximity. It’s one thing to play at revisionism in works like L. Frank Baum‘s “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”, but something else to tangle with the complex psychological, elaborately theatricalized characters of Williams the playwright. Acts of redemption are nice, but can Phillips really have these characters ask their original author why they had to die thus? As affecting as this is, it is a contemporary sensibility addressing that of another era. If you begin that process, there is no likelihood it could ever end. And perhaps there’s something willfully anachronistic about it. Which is perhaps why in the final act we are left with a fantasy realm, with neither recourse to Williams’s world, or our own. Here at least, the three fated figures can arrange themselves into a somewhat classical tableau of heroic brotherhood, no longer alone, rinsed temporarily of the tragedy that hangs over them. Fanciful and affecting sure, but you can’t file down all of the sharp corners of life, in the real world or the fictional one; not if you want anything to be worthy of the term tragedy.

The production, by Revolve Productions, glides seamlessly from opening to end, figured with a minimum of props, some well-used lighting, and just five actors. Amanda Kruger, as the only female cast member, has the unenviable task of filling some major iconic pumps in the parts of Blanche, Catherine, and Maggie, and she does very nicely. Muscular performances are turned in by all the men, Scott Hinson (Sebastian), Aaron Hartzler (Skipper), and Daniel Marks (Brick), with the stand-out Miles Cooper (winner of a Fringe 2011 acting honor) as young Allan, disarmingly vulnerable as he approaches his shrouded desire nature. With his co-director, John Michael Beck, Phillips pulls out all of the drama written in to this accomplished new play, and New York can only hope that this production, so cruelly cut short by the onslaught of Irene, will rise again for a longer run. It should not be short of a captivated audience.

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Elysian Fields ran until August 26, 2011 as part of the New York International Fringe Festival.
 

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Imagine if you could re-visit a tragedy and restore the hope; take away the shadows of doubt, the shudders of despair. Imagine if you could re-visit shabby rooms, where stale air does little but circulate the layers of dust and melancholy, and breath in fresh life imbued with optimism and energy.

Imagine if you could see a classic play such as Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie from a whole other persective, one of possibility, where the “bitter” of bitter-sweet is removed and all that is left is a revving of the heart at what is yet to come. The Pretty Trap currently playing at The Acorn Theatre (Theatre Row) does just that. Written by Williams as one of the earlier drafts of Menagerie it is a sparkling one-act starring Katharine Houghton as the matriarch Amanda Wingfield.

Katharine Houghton as Amanda Wingfield, Nisi Sturgis as Laura and Robert Eli as The Gentleman Caller (Photo by Ben Hider)

It’s nice to get a chance to visit with a family we think we know so well, put in a situation we think we understand, and see another experience emerge. Under Antony Marsellis’ direction this tightly staged piece brings us into the family of the Wingfields – aging southern belle Amanda; shy, flighty, distraught Laura (Nisi Sturgis) who is terrified of the evening about to unfold;  likeable, creative, not-too-ambitious brother Tom (Loren Dunn); and the reason for the evening’s excitement: the “gentleman caller” – charming go-getter Jim (Robert Eli).

What is meant to appear as nothing more than a dinner is really Amanda’s scheming intentions to have Laura set as the pretty trap for Jim. (“All pretty girls are traps. And men expect them to be.” she tutors her skittish daughter as they await the caller’s arrival.) It is obvious that with Laura’s temperament she is unfit for work (although she’s gone to business school) and with her mother getting older and her father long gone (save for the photo which looms large in the living room) her remaining choices are either to become the spinster aunt living off the charity of her brother (if and when he himself finds his own way in the world) or find herself a husband.

All the same notes of Menagerie are here – but rearranged and uptempo so that the song is very different … and how it sets your internal toe to tapping depends strongly on how cleanly you can delineate between what you know of this family, and what you want to believe of this particular melody. Taken at face value you’ll find yourself beguiled by this one act that is sweet, charming, magical, and yes … hopeful.

The entire cast is strong and each actor in turn gets their moment to shine; particularly Nisi Sturgis and Robert Eli as the gently tentative couple who share sly romantic moments in the dark and sweetly begin a romantic evolution; one that shows no foreshadowing of the ache that comes to bear in Menagerie.  It is particularly satisfying to watch Sturgis take Laura from terrified to tentative to triumphant as she opens up her world to this new man and allows him to see what she sees, to hold what she holds, to know what she knows.

It is Katharine Houghton, however, as the complex Amanda who sets the tone, draws the audience in, and lays the foundation for the entire play. Her incessant chattering about seemingly nothing is actually a finely woven spider’s web of intricately devised manipulation, and in Ms. Houghton’s delivery the smooth layering and complexity is almost imperceptible – a brilliant slight of hand that is almost unbelievably subtle but leaves the audiences with a wealth of knowledge upon which to draw in order to understand this family.

All of this takes place in Ray Klausen’s two-room set which is a beautiful combination of faded, delicate and fragile pieces, gently worn and all in varying shades of pink (or memories of pink) which at any given moment can remind us of Amanda’s faded blush of youth (“I was as pretty as Laura … prettier even, if you can believe it” she says often) or Laura’s deep stain of embarrassment as she is forced to move from her world of safe imagination to the world of real men … with real intentions.

Overall The Pretty Trap is a satisfying, beautifully done piece which is a refreshing night for those who would love to see a “what if” moment retold with a happier ending.

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Kristen Vaughan as Zelda and Montgomery Sutton as Edouard

When Clothes for a Summer Hotel premiered in New York City in 1980, the world wasn’t quite able to wrap their mind around the play. It closed after 15 performances and was Tennessee Williams’ last Broadway production. With a myriad of plays that changed the face of modern theatre across the world, winning everything from a Pulitzer Prize (twice) to a Tony Award, one would think the man would have been given a little artistic license. Alas, no. People were not ready for this “Ghost Play”; and the fact that it’s been re-mounted in New York City only one other time since its original opening is a testament to the stigma surrounding it. It’s a play that is very tricky to pull off properly, and I’m still not sure if White Horse Theatre Company was able to do that.

The play focuses on the lives of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Peter J. Crosby) and his wife Zelda (beautifully played by Kristen Vaughan), in a “if the two could have met as ghosts one last time” scenario on the grounds of the Asheville, NC mental health asylum where Zelda died in a fire. The asylum, as well as all of the people in the play, are ghosts of a kind or another; some moments you don’t know if the people are memories of ghosts, or the ghosts of memory. Time shifts and morphs around the characters, shedding light on events that had profound effect on them – mostly involving the Fitzgeralds and their relationships with Edouard Jozan (a touching Montgomery Sutton) as Zelda’s lover at one time, and Ernest Hemmingway (Rod Sweitzer) with whom F. Scott had a bittersweet friendship.

Rod Sweitzer and Peter J. Crosby

Mr. Williams wrote in the author’s note: “This is a ghost play. Our reason for taking extraordinary license with time and place is that in an asylum … liberties of this kind are quite prevalent; …(they) allow us to explore in more depth what we believe is truth of character.” One has an idea of the time frame when looking at a flashback to their lives, but then we realize that these “ghosts” are actually reliving memories…and are aware of it, on some conscious level. Zelda reminds the audience of this when she says lines to Edouard such as “I felt even your memory with passion”,  referring to the encounter that just played out moments before.

All of this points to a play that is already ethereal and up in the air, so to speak, so it needs to have a firm grounding of the characters on which to land. In a play where the characters are ghosts and the time/space continuum is folding on itself, the audience more than ever needs to have actors truly dealing with each other and characters sharing moments from their lives; the believability of what they feel is so important, because it is the life buoy of reality in an extremely surreal piece. What makes the piece surreal are the circumstances and given situation; but the characters have very flesh and blood emotional turmoil and they have very human experiences.

I felt that there were too many times the actors were playing to the audience (more than simply the effects of a stylized piece) and delivering lines, when they could have been having a conversation. Cyndy A. Marion has worked hard to bring this piece to life, and I applaud the effort, but I do look to the director for moments like this as much as the actors. Things I felt stood out were moments such as: the majority of Sweitzer’s dialogue was delivered to us, and though I understand the structure behind it in the beginning, it distanced me too much from the character. Another was Crosby yelling at Vaughan constantly, to the point that I was so thankful when he was gone from the scene. I also felt that he was weaving all over the place, no matter what the point of reference; and though I understand that he is a man suffering from both alcoholism and a failed heart, some moments I felt it took away from what was going on, and became overacting – not heightened reality. However, the funny thing was that when we finally got both actors alone at the end of the party, really talking to each other simply, and really having intimate emotions, I was moved. It was the first time I really cared for either of the men – but when I did, it was amazing.

Vaughan and Crosby as Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald

The constant rock of believability as surreal character and broken woman was Vaughan. She brought a foundation of truth within the ethereal planes that was the perfect combination to both believe and get lost in. The chemistry between Vaughan and Sutton really worked, and Sutton brings a warmth and tenderness to his character that gives it other dimensions. Through their scenes we learn more about how deeply this affair touched Zelda, how Sutton’s stance of keeping it an affair by the book effected her mental health, and they were deeply moving.

The sound design (David Schulder) and lighting design (Debra Leigh Siegel) were wonderful in heightening the effects of this Ghost Asylum. John C. Scheffler’s set design had some interesting choices that tried to stay as true as possible to the original script, and I applaud the efforts. Unfortunately, I was actually taken aback by the choice of the strips of material (it looked like paper streamers) that was used as the backdrop and the majority of the set; I think a see-through sheer fabric, draped, would have been so much better. The only reason I’m mentioning it is because there were times the set took me out of the piece because it stood out like a sore thumb instead of taking me along for the ride.

The fact that White Horse Theatre Company has made a niche for itself by routinely mounting classic work such as Williams should be noted and appreciated. The evening was mixed for me, because I often found myself waiting for a payoff; I would go along for a while through portions that made me grit my teeth, and then I would find myself delighted by the work. I can’t say that it truly worked, but I did enjoy myself many times during the performance. It should be seen, if anything to see a fascinating play that rarely gets done because it is so difficult to do.

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