Oh, What a Night

The Jekyll and Hyde of theatrical troupes, the Aquila Theatre Company tends toward madness when it does anything but Shakespeare plays; most of its recent productions of works by scribes other than the Bard have been uneven in the extreme. So we are pleased to report that the Aquila people have returned to what they do best in their current production of Twelfth Night.

They’ve done their usual cutting and out-and-out changing of the text, to which purists will object; but they’ve made the play swifter, lighter, and largely satisfying. It’s so much fun, in fact, that a kid in the audience was shrieking with laughter. Now, really, how often do you see a kid not only “get” Shakespeare but find him hilarious? Let’s give credit where it’s due: to Peter Meineck and Robert Richmond, who created and directed the show, and in particular to Kenn Sabberton as Malvolio, who played that kid like a trumpet.

The first act is particularly well done. In one of the great performances of the new theater season, Louis Butelli plays the clown Feste with huge dollops of pathos and humor. A superb physical comedian, he also sings with heart and acts with versatile wizardy. The supporting players truly have their day in this production; in addition to Butelli and Sabberton, Anthony Cochrane is wonderfully bellicose as Sir Toby, Natasha Piletich has a natural sauciness as Maria, and Lincoln Hudson is a fool’s fool as Sir Andrew Aguecheek.

The ostensible leads of the play, Viola (Lindsay Rae Taylor), Duke Orsino (Andrew Schwartz), Olivia (Lisa Carter), and Sebastian (Stephen Stout), all have somewhat reduced roles, but they are all well cast. Taylor brings a delicate vulnerability to her portrait of a young woman hiding her love for the Duke. Carter, who looks regally beautiful as Olivia, swoons amusingly when she’s with Cesario (Viola in male drag).

This adaptation only seriously falters in the second act, when a couple of characters are left undone. Malvolio simply stomps off stage ranting after the trick played upon him by the other supporting characters is admitted, having been deprived of his usually more sympathetic exit. Worse, Antonio (Schwartz again) is completely forgotten; he’s left to languish in prison, and no mention of him ever made again. These relatively minor distractions aside, the production is fluid, fast, and fun.

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Ah, Heck, It’s Hecuba

“Hey, Socrates, put down that hemlock! Can’t you take a joke? Listen, I hear there’s a hot new play by Euripides that they’re calling this year’s Medea with a twist. This time, the mother kills somebody else’s children! Ben Branteus at The Athens Times found fault, pointing out that the eye-gouging gag is getting a little tired, but come on: How many plots are there? Two, right? Anyway, the new play is called Hecuba. Wanna go?”

As it happens, thousands of New Yorkers showed up at BAM over the past two weeks to see Hecuba, in large part because the Royal Shakespeare Company production of the tragedy starred Vanessa Redgrave. The chance to experience one of the world’s best actresses in one of dramatic literature’s greatest female roles was too good to pass up, yet we have to say that she wasn’t the right actress for the part. Whereas Redgrave is a subtle artist, Hecuba is nothing if not operatic. Moreover, Redgrave didn’t get much support from the stunningly static, uncredited direction; there was about as much movement in this show as there was in the bricks in the back wall of BAM. The best thing about the production was the set design by Es Devlin, which consisted of rows of tattered tents that filled the upstage area, showing us in graphic perspective the homes and fates of Troy’s women.

None of these women is more woebegone than their defeated Queen, Hecuba. If we were to make a generalization about Redgrave’s performance, it would be that she was at her best (vulnerable and subtle) when grieving and at her worst (obvious and heavy-handed) when manipulating others to get her revenge. Hecuba has been revived several times in recent years, and this is the least satisfying version of it that we’ve seen, despite its modest attempt to be politically relevant to the war in Iraq.

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Jackson in Action

We’ll be very sorry to see the Brits Off Broadway festival end on July 3, since it tossed up one terrific show after another. One of its latest plums was particular juicy: a one-person show called Jackson’s Way that tickled our intellect as well as our funny bones. This nutty satire on motivational speakers introduces us to Chris John Jackson (Will Adamsdale), a fellow who insists he has a method that will inspire us to greatness. Well, it inspired us to laughter, at least.

We won’t try to explain what his “system” actually is, except to say that it has a consistent logic but is also the absolute height of silliness. Before long, Jackson had the audience shouting “Achieved!” when someone managed to throw a towel to the floor. And things really started hopping when he had one member of the audience dancing behind a curtain while another was staring at a wall and yet another had to yelp something and leave the room on cue. He called it a Complex Jackson; we call it a scream.

You could try to buy a ticket to the show even though its all too brief three-week run is over. That would be a Jackson. The box office probably wouldn’t enjoy it, but Will Adamsdale would certainly get a kick out of it.

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[To contact the Siegels directly, e-mail them at siegels@theatermania.com.]