No Good Men in Oklahoma

When it comes to nationalism, there are no white hats.

Oklahoma!, now playing at Camelot Theatre through January 10th, uses Jud the creep as a foil for Curly the hero. It fails, however, to present Curly as a morally unambiguous protagonist. Instead, the only meaningful difference between the two is that Curly's chauvinism is accepted by their community.

Oklahoma! follows the courtship of Curly (Nathan Monks) and Laurey (Grace Peets) in post-Sooner/pre-state Oklahoma. Curly's desirability is supposed to be set in relief by the sexually aggressive loner Jud (Aaron Garber). Curly and Laurey, like Benedick and Beatrice, are attracted to each other but make a point of pride not to admit it. Everyone knows they like each other though: Aunt Eller (Linda Otto) suggests that Curly "just grab her and kiss her when she talks to [him] like that" after Laurey rebuffs him in the opening scene. The play begins in anticipation of a box social, in which women will be auctioned off to the men by proxy of the lunches they make. To jerk Curly's chain, Laurey agrees to go to the box social with Jud. In a member-measuring scene, Curly visits Jud in his shed and suggests he kill himself in "Pore Jud Is Dead," predicated by nothing but Jud's asking Laurey out on a date. Laurey has second thoughts after reflecting on the porn that Jud keeps pinned to the walls in the shed where he lives. Her cold feet come to a climax with a ballet sequence, choreographed by Rebecca Campbell, in which Jud rapes her and kills Curly when the latter comes to her rescue. Tensions rise between the two men in waking life as Curly moves in on Laurey, and her fears about Jud begin to come true with regards to his sexual aggression.

Curly, at least in this Oklahoma!, is morally ambivalent. While he is better than the morally turpitudinous Jud, he still engages in sexually possessive behavior towards Laurey even when she tells him "no." Rather than presenting a White Knight - or, since this is the West, a White Hat - Oklahoma! asks us what exactly differentiates Curly and Jud. The best answer it presents is that, ultimately, Curly is a native member of the community, while Jud came from elsewhere. In that sense, Curly's chauvinism is accepted and shared by the community, while Jud's represents a foreign threat. Their chauvinism is intimately related to the word's nationalistic roots: we can't forget that this story is built upon incipient statehood and patriotic excitement. Oklahoma! levels a candied critique at the chauvinistic identity of nationalism.

Curly may be better than Jud, but he's no good guy. He encourages his rival to commit suicide, apropos of nothing but juvenile jealousy, and ultimately kills Jud, committing the only homicide in a play that otherwise never crosses into bloody violence even while being on the verge of doing so. Curly's specific moral ambiguity reflects universally upon the moral ambiguity of nationalism. The effectiveness of this subtle critique is primarily indebted to Monks and Garber. Monks matches his charisma as an actor with an unsettling earnestness in recommending that Jud hang himself, and Garber plays a Jud who's simmering sexual frustration is ready to boil over at any moment.

Camelot Theatre and the Bloody Politic

Camelot Theatre's production of The Manchurian Candidate explores the exhibitionist and exploitive ontology of the pleasure taken in the vicarious experience of violence through war news on the part of Jackson County and communities like it that exist on the periphery of the United States' imperialist agenda.

By telling the story as a juxtaposition between live theater directed by Roy Von Rains, Jr., and videography by Brian O'Connor, The Manchurian Candidate casts journalistic depictions of violence as specious accounts based upon likely events that primarily serve to sate the consumers' bloodthirsty appetites. Since American consumers equal American voters, war journalism serves to entrench power in a the hands of antisocial hawks.

Camelot's production begins with a video account of a UN peacekeeping platoon's capture by an unidentified foe in Kuwait. The story cuts to a staged homecoming event for Raymond Shaw (Aaron Garber), a survivor of the ill-fated platoon and stepson to Republican Senator Johnny Iselin (Jeff Golden). Iselin uses the event as a campaign stump. Through fellow survivor Ben Marco's (Mark Schneider) videographed dream sequence, we learn that Shaw could have been brainwashed to act as a sleeper agent for an unknown entity. Also likely, these dreams can easily be chalked up to his untreated PTSD. The story, staged and videographed, follows Iselin and his wife's (Presila Quinby) rise to power, and Marco's struggle to unravel the mystery of Raymond Shaw.

Camelot explores our relationship to fictional and documentary violence as an event wherein "fictional" and "documentary" aren't, at least for the consumer, entirely distinct. By focusing heavily on depictions of violence often similar to those in fictional videography and film, journalism's violent focus serves prurient, rather than educational, purposes. In a community like Jackson County, geographically distinct from high-violence regions like current war-zones, such depictions are exhibitionist to the benefit of distant power struggles in Washington, and exploit actual victims and perpetrators of violence. O'Connor's contributions, as Video Designer, take primacy in this story. By staging artificial and intimate footage of war stories, from brainwashing to PTSD, O'Connor comments upon the insincerity of such footage as it's usually seen in Jackson County: broadcast and internet journalism. In using stage, a medium wherein artifice is acknowledged and accepted, as the venue wherein to present his videos, O'Connor comments upon the artifice inherent to video-journalism, a medium wherein acknowledged artifice is equated with failure. O'Connor, as the primary artist in this Manchurian Candidate, levels a critique at our relationship with journalistic war stories.

As described by Camelot's Manchurian Candidate, the relationship of Americans living outside sites of power and/or sites of violence with journalistic depictions of violence is defined by exhibitionism on the part of those in power, and exploitation of those actually experiencing the depicted violence. It's a particularly appropriate description during a post-9/11 election cycle. O'Connor, as the de facto primary artist in this production, uses his new-media stage-craft to its fullest extent to level this critique so tactfully that it reads as stupefying Aristotelean coercion, as opposed to a more pedantic Brechtian A-effect. While potentially soporific, this approach seems to best fit the overall story that O'Connor is telling: like Bill Watterson says, Marx only called religion the opiate of the masses because he'd never watched TV.

"The Last Five Years" 16 Years In

Jason Robert Brown's The Last Five Years is a sturdy and stubborn piece whose charms and problems persist from the Northlight premiere in 2001 to Camelot Theatre's current production.

Chris Jones's Variety critique of The Last Five Years' world premiere praises the emotional range of the score, but finds fault with the underdeveloped characters. Change the names of the artists involved, and he could almost have been writing about Camelot's revival.

The Last Five Years follows the birth, life and demise of Jamie (Nathan Monks) and Catherine's (Amanda Andersen) five year love affair. It follows Jamie's story chronologically, and Catherine's in reverse chronology: his arc begins with the first blush of love, and hers with reading his "Dear John" letter. For the most part, the musical is structured around solo numbers, with duets when their stories intersect during the wedding.

Livia Genise, artistic director of Camelot and director of this production, writes in her program note that she chose this particular play because "...it resonates with me. We all go into a love relationship, any relationship really, with all the naiveté and hope that make us who we are. And once you 'open your heart, one stitch at a time,' you may get hurt. But one thing is sure; you are never quite the same person again. And sometimes, that's a good thing." To paraphrase, she chose this text because the story resonates with her. In spite of that, her production deemphasizes narrative in favor of music. And maybe that's a good thing. The Last Five Years has an exciting score, into which both Monks and violinist Beth Martin are particularly successful at sinking their teeth and horsehairs, respectively. Genise thinks that this play asks "who is responsible for the relationship not working?" and that her "audience will ultimately decide based on whose story resonates with them the most." I contend, and Variety's Jones seems to agree with me here, that The Last Five Years is not open to such a Rashomon-esque reading: our sympathies are clearly meant to rest with Jamie. By structuring Jamie's story chronologically, we can follow his logic as to why he feels a relationship we're told at the outset is doomed is a good idea. Catherine does not have that benefit. By making a Jamie a successful novelist and Catherine a struggling actress who is, it's implied, jealous of his success, Catherine is too easy to read as a nagging wife and deuteragonist in her man's story. She's too hard to read as a protagonist. A marked difference in singing abilities between Monks and Andersen only serves to highlight these textual problems. In fact, and I'll go back to Jones' critique of the Northlight premiere again, Brown's created relationship reads as a little sexist. In short, The Last Five Year's songs are good and its story's not, and it's been that way for the last 16 years.

Camelot Theatre's production reproduces the qualities and failings of The Last Five Year's world premiere verbatim, suggesting that these are not brought to the script by any particular theater, but in fact hardwired into the play's DNA. The music's good enough, though, that audiences continue to be willing to forgive the story. Thus, the real danger with this play, though, lies in artistic directors like Genise with whom the story actually resonates. Thankfully, Genise deemphasized narrative in her production by playing fast and loose with temporal landmarks: there's only one projected on the scrim after the first number. By relying on her established musical taste and musical background, Genise emphasized the part of The Last Five Years that works and deemphasized the part that doesn't.

Producing a Gay Minstrel Show

https://www.camelottheatre.org/2014/producers.html

According to Theatre in America: Appraisal and Challenge, community theater is the most popularly accessible theatrical venue, but all too often settles for being a "diversion" or social gathering place, drifting away from the idea of theater as art. Camelot Theatre's current production of The Producers limits Camelot's accessibility not only by eschewing professionalism, but also by creating an exclusionary environment with clumsily homophobic jokes.

Camelot has seen great success with its Spotlight series, biographic pieces about historical pop singers that feature "a little bit of story and a lot of music." Unfortunately, that formula doesn't work for The Producers. Brooks uses Leo Bloom's character arch to soften the blow of his homophobic minstrelsy. That story is lost in amateurish acting and directing that pulls the punch that would legitimize this production as communally inclusive art.

The story's about Leo Bloom (Peter Wickliffe), and his journey to self-realization by forsaking his hellish job as an accountant for the fantasies of male virility offered by Broadway production. Max Bialystock (David King-Gabriel), the lately unfashionable Jewish producer, ushers him into this new life of tax fraud and buxom Swedish secretaries (Kelly Jean Hammond as Ulla). They license a neo-Nazi musical for their scheme to create a lucrative flog, and hire the worst director in town, the gay Roger DeBris (Don Matthews), only to see their fraud go up in flames when people love the play. Leo and Ulla skip town, letting Max take the fall, before returning for the reconciliatory "'Til Him."

That whole story hinges on Leo's journey. First he's a repressed accountant. Then he realizes his male virility with Broadway production and sex. But then he finds something else - love for Max. That's the story that needs to be told to make this compelling theater. But the story we see is "Leo's weirded out by Jews. Leo's weirded out by Nazis. Leo's weirded out by gays. Leo's weirded out by women." All of this, of course, is true initially, but the story ought to be about how Leo overcomes his prejudices. However, Leo doesn't get past this due to Wickliffe mugging his way through what ought to be a fraught journey, and director Livia Genise focuses on gay stereotypes (drag queens, the Village People, etc.). Most of this heteronormative prejudice can be chalked up to Brooksian satire (even though a straight man parodying the gays is suspect). But Brooks does soften the blow with a love song by a man for a man at the end of the play:          

"No one ever made me feel like someone

'Til him.

Life was really nothing but a glum one

'Til him.

My existence bordered on the tragic,

Always timid, never took a chance.

Then I felt his magic and my heart began to dance."

If you don't play this as "I came back because I love you," then the depictions of homosexuality in the play are all heavy-handed caricatures, and Leo's journey stops at becoming an alpha male like Max was. If you play it as a love song, then Leo's journey continues into the realization that he's bisexual. If you want a theater that includes the whole community, and not just the heterosexual mainstream, then just guess which story you want to tell.

Community theater not only needs to cultivate professionalism, but also to create a safe space for the whole community. The first means developing the technique to tell a compelling story, and the second means telling stories that embrace an inclusive world view. Camelot's The Producers is a good example of how not to do that. Instead of the courageous story about a young man realizing himself as a producer and bisexual, this Producers is simply a gay minstrel show.

Spotlight on the USO

This Thursday, Camelot Theatre premiered its new show, Spotlight on the USO. Camelot’s Spotlights are a recent innovation that, to paraphrase Artistic Director Livia Genise, feature “a little story and a lot of music.” This particular show is a deviation from previous Spotlights in that it doesn’t present the biography of an individual artist through music, but rather that of an artistic organization – the USO.

But I’ll come to all that later, because really the show Thursday night was a captivating 40s and 50s jazz concert by the Southern Oregon Jazz Orchestra. They played two sets of songs that I suppose were played for the service people overseas during the 40s and 50s, but that story was only secondary to what they were doing. They did branch out from their usual fare twice, both in the second set after intermission – once to give an example of the country music that started to appear in USO tours in the second half of last century with “Route 66”, and their final number was a medley of songs from the branches of the armed forces during which narrator Shirley Patton invited veterans of each branch to stand and be recognized during their song.

The meat and bones of the concert, though, were 40s and 50s jazz standards, and were they ever a hit! They had the audience singing along with “Minnie the Moocher” and others, and nearly every soloist got a rousing applause when they sat back down. Dianne Strong, a singer, was the featured soloist of the evening. An alto, she has a powerful focal and stage presence while she stays within her range. And when she takes short-note forays above her comfortable range, she’s riveting! But she certainly should not try to hold those higher notes – her attempt in “I’ve Got You under My Skin” was acoustically uncomfortable. While I’m pointing out weaknesses, the trumpet and saxophone sections could probably use a tune-up for “American Patrol,” but besides those two mistakes the concert was certainly a good night out.

Now let’s move on to the story part of the “little bit of story and a lot of music” equation. Peter Wyckliffe wrote the script, and Shirley Patton said it. Wyckliffe has certainly done his homework and has written a feast of information. This feast, however, lacks consistency: it ranges from history lesson with facts and figures to penetrating insights into what the USO was all about. The USO was and is meant to help the troops stay connected to home, and Wyckliffe illustrates that beautifully with a verbal illustration of the phones and letters and how they were and are often the only way the troops have to connect back to their families and loved ones.

The result of the inconsistent nature of Wyckliffe’s script is that it sinks or swims with the actor saying it, and it did both with narrator Shirley Patton. She got off to a slow start, and it definitely came off as a fairly dry history lesson. After she got into her groove, she came across as more grandmotherly and inviting. But she was always reading the script, and that was always a distraction. I suggest that a script is not necessary: the role of the narrator in this particular Spotlight was that of an MC. Some kind of structural outline that the performer can do from memory is what this part called for, but a word-for-word script is a death-trap. It makes the storytelling seem artificial, and Patton’s mixing up the U.S. Navy and Air Force songs when asking veterans from the different branches to stand at the end didn’t help.

While I’m on about inconsistencies, I have to take issue with the use of projections and backlighting. Designers Bart Grady and Brian O’Connor had three different things going on: pictures of the USO from the 40s and 50s up through the 80s and 90s, cool blue and purple washes, and a warm orange wash. The pictures were my favorite – they set the location for the story that Wyckliffe and Patton were telling. The cool washes gave an atmosphere of a smoky jazz bar and fit in a more general way for the orchestra, but not for the story. Orange is jarring color, but I probably would have forgotten about it if it had remained there the whole time. But the seemingly arbitrary shifts between images, cool washes and orange were, frankly, distracting.

That said, these weak points fall outside the crux of the show: the Southern Oregon Jazz Orchestra and their 40s and 50s jazz standards. If that’s your kind of music (and even if it’s not) it’s worth a listen. But if you’re going for the story of the USO, that part of the show has a few wrinkles it needs to iron out before I can walk away satisfied.

Spotlight on the USO is playing at Camelot Theatre, 101 Talent Ave., Talent, Oregon 97540 from January 12-22. Their box office can be reached at 541-535-5250. Tickets are $22, plus $2 for reserved seating.

How to Be An Effective Dramaturg

My friend Casey Faubion has been trying to establish a quasi-dramaturgical department at Camelot Theatre in Talent, OR – or at least to develop the role of the dramaturg at Camelot – and as part of that he invited Martine Green to give a talk on “How to Be an Effective Dramaturg” at Camelot. Martine is a mid-career ‘turg currently working at OSF. Her three-hour talk was nicely organized into two-parts (leave it to a dramaturg to instinctively give an informal lecture a pleasing structure).

In her first half, she went over David Copelin’s “Ten Dramaturgical Myths.” I’ve listed them below with my own thoughts on what Martine said.

1.         “Literary managers and dramaturgs tell playwrights how to rewrite their plays.”

While some bad ones might, I already knew from my work at SBU and Native Voices that the good ones don’t.

2.         “Since dramaturgs have raised staged readings to an art form, playwrights have been encouraged to develop their plays to death.”

I’ve heard this before. Martine made an interesting point about following the organic growth of a play. You can tell when a script can’t benefit from any more workshops. Then it’s time to start looking for a place to get it a production, at least so the playwright can see what it’s like on its feet.

3.         “Literary managers and dramaturgs function as ‘objective voices’ in rehearsal.”

Can any human being really be objective? Don’t we all see the world through the lenses we’ve developed by living? Martine says we’re supposed to be a “creative informed objective voice.” I like that.

4.         “As intellectuals, literary managers and dramaturgs want to replace warm human emotions in the theatre with cold abstract ideas.”

I know I like to be an emotional vampire in rehearsal. Just kidding, I like to be focused on making a fun experience for the audience. Martine says that part of the blame goes to the academic institutions that train dramaturgs to focus more on theory than on production. Not all of them do, but none of them should. I think priority should go towards putting plays up, and only theorize about them later.

5.         “Literary managers and dramaturgs are no more than powerless, stage-struck ‘Ph.D. gofers’ with no real artistic talents of their own, reduced to working as underpaid readers and clerks.”

No, because a good ‘turg has to have an artistic instinct and a feel for the theater.

6.         “Dramaturgs interfere with the ‘natural’ relationship between the director and the playwright (of a new play), and between the director and the text (of an older work).”

Our jobs are to help facilitate that interaction, all the time looking out for the story that the primary artist (be they director or playwright) wants to tell. As Lue Douthit says, we’re the “keepers of the story.”

7.         “Literary managers and dramaturgs don’t like most American theatre the way it is. They want our scripts and productions to be more theatrical, more resonant, less naturalistic, less trivial, more aware of the world, better. Can’t they appreciate how wonderful things are?”

No. There’s always room for improvement, and if things stay the way they are, that means American theater has gone stagnant.

8.         “Literary managers and dramaturgs are just critics in very thin disguise. They’re not ream players, they have little sense of performance, and they’re always demanding instant results.”

Maybe the bad ones. A good dramaturg should be a team player and they should have a great sense of performance.

9.         “Dramaturg is such an ugly word.”

Yep. I want to be called “Guardian of the Dionysian Mysteries.”

10.       “There will always be literary managers, because someone has to read all those plays, but dramaturgy is a nasty fad that will go away.”

Not exactly, because somebody always has to keep the story. But it’s true that theaters are cutting literary departments like it’s going out of style. Martine gives it maybe two years before only a few special companies like OSF have a staff of actual dramaturgs.

So that was the first half! During the second half, Martine talked about her process of doing production dramaturgy. She talked about note-giving etiquette, which I’m already figuring out pretty quickly on my own. She also talked about the forms she gives her protocols. They’re definitely different from Steve Marsh’s five-part binders. She puts a clean copy of the script, her marked up copy, and other editions of it in her binders. She also creates a glossary based on the questions she has on her second read. I liked hearing about her tricks and am already using them. She showed us OSF’s copy of Love’s Labors Lost which has the Quarto, Folio, and production copies of the scripts juxtaposed line-by-line next to each other. I just did that this morning with the different versions of “Coyote/Cottontail Hunts the Sun,” the dramatization of this Karuk/Yurok/Northern Paiute myth I’m working on!