★★★★★ Into the Woods
Two concurrent Barrington Stage Company shows, two blocks apart in Pittsfield, Mass., explore the tension between narratives fed to us and the underlying truths they too often obscure.
Through the mashup of a host of fairy tales—Cinderella, Rapunzel, Jack with his beanstalk, and so on—James Lapine and Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods speaks to us on such elemental issues as individual responsibility, the power of the collective, and the human impulse to both nurture and dominate each other. The 1987 musical is so meaningful, not to mention so colorful and melodious, that it’s always been catnip to ambitious producers everywhere, notwithstanding its large cast, costume and effects requirements, and ungodly vocal demands.
Of the dozen or so times I’ve gone into the Woods in 30-plus years, Barrington’s production is easily the most committed and emotionally rewarding experience, and the reason is largely directorial. Joe Calarco has assembled a remarkable cast that surprises at every turn. I don’t believe I’ve ever before encountered any of the following (have you?): A native-born Spaniard (romantic Pepe Nufrio) as Rapunzel’s Prince, bringing a touch of Latin musk to the forest glen; Red Riding Hood as an Asian-American punk (Dorcas Leung, feisty and real); a truly debonair Narrator (Thom Sesma); a giant-killing Jack (a winning Clay Singer), who himself towers over the other humans; his sympathetic mother (Leslie Becker) delivering the difficult lyric “While her withers wither with her” with perfect clarity.
There’s more: A life-sized, hand-operated cow marionette, reminiscent of War Horse‘sJoey, as withers-challenged, lovable Milky White (and kudos to designer Brandon Hardy there); two strong actors (Jonathan Raviv of The Band’s Visit and Mara Davi) notable not for their obvious comical qualities but for their sensitivity and sense as the central Baker and Baker’s Wife; and a gender-bending, turbocharged Witch in the person of the brilliant Mykal Kilgore, whose snaggletoothed hag transforms into a Bedazzler-gold Queen of the Night. As ready with droll snaps as invective, Kilgore unleashes the full power of “The Last Midnight” in an unforgettably hair-raising rendition.
Even the more conventionally cast Cinderella and her prince—darling Amanda Robles and ruefully studly Kevin Toniazzo-Naughton—are as dynamic as I’ve ever seen in these roles, which speaks to the other directorial success. The intensity Calarco brought to his four-boyo, prep-school-set version of another fable, Shakespeare’s R&J, is every bit in evidence here, as the cast plays the piece with high stakes throughout. The story’s excitement never flags, and Mayte Natalio offers choreography to match. Brian Prather’s set, dominated by hovering white tree branches and three clunky, white picture-frame set pieces shoved uncomfortably around, isn’t as coherent or lovely as everything played on it. But the rest is magical.
★★★ America V. 2.1: The Sad Demise & Eventual Extinction of the American Negro
The Into the Woods cast’s effortful set-shifting has nothing on the troupe’s labors in Stacey Rose’s world premiere America V. 2.1, in which, in a not-too-distant future, those wanting to bleach America have triumphed (only sketchy details provided). Our MAGA overlords demand that actor-manager Donovan (Ansa Akyea, outstanding) and three recruits perform 12 hours a day, six days a week, 10 shows per day in a topsy-turvy musical version of the national black experience for an audience primed. (And locked and loaded: A disembodied loudspeaker voice tells us when we may set or release our weapons’ safeties.) We witness an outrageously distorted vaudeville in vignettes ranging from the slavery era, treated with wistful, respectful nostalgia, to the present day, when the titular extinction seems well on its way to completion, if not literally than in historical and cultural terms.
That techno-totalitarian tannoy, insinuatingly voiced by Peggy Pharr Wilson, rivals 2001’s HAL 9000 in noticing everything, ever-ready to summon an errant thespian to some sort of Kafkaesque “Office.” So there should be great drama whenever the action shifts backstage, where Leigh (a stunning Kalyne Coleman) and Grant (Jordan Barrow, with a voice like an angel) chafe at the pageant’s strictures while working toward a relationship, and Jeffery (an intensely-focused Peterson Townsend) yearns for a reunion with the son of which the government has stripped him. Sadly, director Logan Vaughn never acknowledges that hushed voices and misdirection might be in order to escape detection, so potential suspense dribbles away.
For that matter, though Vaughn has assembled a super cast and Kevin Boseman provides wonderful choreography, the performance scenes lack energy and cue pickup; surely a brainwashing elite wouldn’t give the spectators so much leisure to think. The show also commits three violations in denying a curtain call. It’s an error of vanity, for with all due respect, the work isn’t so transcendent that we forget we’re in a theater. It’s an error of confusion, as we don’t realize the play’s over. And above all, it’s an error of rudeness. This cast is so sensational that we deserve a chance to acknowledge them, and they deserve a chance to be thanked.
Despite poor production choices and a need for some tightening and sharpening, this script merits respect and further consideration. It’s playing in the same metatheatrical court as the likes of Robert O’Hara, Jackie Sibblies Drury, and Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, but Rose’s effort has its own political integrity. Numerous totalitarian governments have successfully denied their national history and wiped out the past, and whether or not you believe the U.S. could ever follow suit, this vision of black America’s cultural destruction feels mighty plausible.
Moreover, I’m not sure everyone in the audience gets the joke. Portraying Rosa Parks as an urban terrorist whose claiming of a seat led to the infamous “Birmingham Bus Massacre” is brilliant Joseph Heller-worthy satire, but the attendant laughter in Pittsfield struck me as a little on-the-nose. Rose’s writing is acutely aware of the poisonous consequences of misinformation, whether it be lies about a former president’s birthplace or the repulsive stereotyping of an entire people as “shiftless” and “undependable.” Careful the things you say, especially about race. Children will listen.
