A happy little war . . .

Troilus And Cressida - by Shakespeare

directed by Stephen A. Brown

Shakespeare In The Wild - November 5 - 26, various venues

Review Nov. 8, 2002 - by Louis Lopardi


Sir William Walton labored for six years writing an opera on Troilus; by the end he swore he would never write another; there were just "too many words." This production strikes a happy bargain with the multitude of words, but one must take it on faith that the glossed-over sections are truly inconsequential. Often they are, as with some of Ulysses' prattle after he gives up on trying to define universality. But sometimes "they'll some of them be missed."

The in-the-rough production style - (it was performed ensemble style, with much of the cast sitting in plain view, and with but fixed and stark lighting) - gave a genuine feel of at once both Elizabethan and Aegean street theatre. Shakespeare's audience could undoubtedly have sometimes seen a similar effort, done in a bare outdoor courtyard, with whatever accouterments were readily available.

The music by James Smith (performed live by Mr. Smith and Karissa Krenz) also aided this feel, especially in bright processionals framing the Acts. At its most effective it provided a tonal haze of color to softly underscore some poignant scenes; sometimes adding a percussive takeoff on a rhythmic element in a scene (this Grecian sort of thing needs more rehearsal to really work). But ultimately it was uncontrolled, used too much, and (since so much of the amplified portion lay in the same mid-range frequencies of the human voice) became - as several in the audience pointed out - a distracting and sometimes line-obliterating fog.

The costuming (Debra RonsValle?) was an eclectic mix of militaria, ranging from Napoleonic Trojans to Army Air-Corps Greeks (Ulysses appropriately in a P-coat), and a few space-age Myrmidons for good measure. Amusing, when the acting was good enough to overcome it. One small but constant distraction: The peculiar frogs which supported the swords were a mistake - They held the swords at a permanent back-angle, making it impossible to sit properly. Defeating even the most agile of cast members, they should have been rejected at once by someone in artistic control. The wild anachronisms did provide for some good-humored fun - (E.g: Thersites taking dictation on a laptop). But The violent pitting of swords and knives against pistols and machine guns simply didn't work; that sort of thing never does except as visual humor.

The largely young cast could with rare exceptions speak the language well. One hidden prize: Debra RonsValle as Cassandra, whose "Virgins and boys" speech ("Troy burns, or else let Helen go") was a gem of understatement. Her careful diction and poise elevated every scene she was in. Bill Fairbairn had a similar elevating effect on his scenes as Agamemnon; less so as Priam, and he is capable of a far beefier Prologue which we would take more seriously. He brought great meaning to his speech depicting the Greeks as "A stirring dwarf . . . Before a sleeping giant."

Michelle Kovacs made a believably flirty Cressida, best in her resigned and more intimate moments, despite a few odd line readings. Her physical acting is highly influenced by a TV sitcom style that afflicts so many young actors today. Her Troilus, Gideon Banner, seemed too light and buoyant at the start (These were people at war for seven years already!), but developed stature as the play progressed (and inexplicably appeared dressed like the Greeks at his last appearance).

Ajax - a solidly consistent Andrew Cucci - was used as a caricature, and played for low comedy so much of the time that his visible entrances had to be carefully monitored (they weren't always, and resulted in one funny but one painfully planned bit of upstaging).

Colin Ryan created a powerful, well developed character for Achilles. And Philip Wilhelm struck just the right balance of machismo and flirtatious as his Patroclus. As Paris, Marc Cittadino controls his lines, and is never thrown by emotion of the moment. Tracy Larson was convincing as Helen. Larry Weeks gave us a smarmy and believable Pandarus.

Stephen Graybill seemed at first insecure as Hector, but settled down both into the role and a command of the language. Menelaus seemed much too young, but was well played by Arol Jahns. As Aeneas Timothy Foley did well with the "half Hector" speech.

This was a production largely painted in broad strokes. The Trojans were romantics, the Greeks buffoons. Their oddly comic salute lent fascistic overtones to their scenes. How strange this looked amongst the Greeks, themselves always a bare moment away from anarchy. And the black and white shawl/headdress of Cassandra, especially when coupled with her poses of misery, gave a Palestinian feel to her plight. These are unavoidable cultural/historical references that no modern auditor can abstract away.

There was delicacy at times. Mr. Brown gave us perhaps the most powerful bit of classically balanced, abstract staging as Andromache and Cassandra beg Hector not to go to battle. It foreshadowed and indeed evinced the latter image of "Priamus and Hecuba on knees, Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears."

In the Illiad, Homer describes Thersites as above all a survivor, who from a position of envy and hatred, could comment on the abominations going on about him. In Shakespeare's hands he becomes more of a fool - the safest way to keep one's head while making such commentary. But unlike in Shakespeare's true tragedies, nobody learns from this fool.Derek Johnson was a brilliant Thersites, keeping his head about him with dynamic acting and a musician's timing. He tossed-off the fiendishly difficult "Now they are clapper-clawing one another" speech like the child's play it should be at best. Whether playing off Achilles and Patroclus, or fooling with Ajax, he was master of the latter play, as his character is meant to be. Perhaps wisely, the Director gave him the last word, in a final bit of judicious editing: Ultimately, the play ended quite abruptly without the bitter epilogue. After all, "Hector is dead; there is no more to say." The poignant implication? The war simply goes on. And on.