REVIEW: USC Theatre's Production of A Midsummer Night's Dream

By: Kyle Petersen

There’s a reason A Midsummer Night’s Dream ranks as one of the most oft-performed of Shakespeare’s plays—it is, quite simply, fun.

The plot is familiar to many if not most casual theatregoers or folks who actually did their reading in intro Brit Lit classes in college—a comical quartet of lovers both paired and unrequited dash into an enchanted forest full of fairies for an evening, and hijinks ensue. Because it’s a Shakespearean comedy and not a tragedy, all is well at the end, people get married, and a ridiculous play within a play is staged.

For all his breathtaking inventiveness, the Bard loved to return to what works well, hence the many frequent plot devices that appear here, like the use of mistaken identities, romantic comedy of errors or the role of mischievous interlopers, but it’s hardly a bother. It’s such an extraordinarily well-written play, full of his signature lyrical mastery and unfailing blend of bawdy humor and devious social commentary, that any production of it has an automatic head start.

So really, your attention is more drawn to the unique spin and context from which any new production emerges than the play itself—and there’s a lot of that here. As the opening play of USC Theatre’s season and the first with Aquila Theatre and Folger Theatre veteran Robert Richmond at the helm of the department as chair (he also directs here), expectations are high to see some of the brilliance on display with his many re-imaginings of Shakespeare on national (and international) stages. That the production itself features some steampunk-esque promotional material and that Richmond invokes the TV show American Horror Story as we as the recent passing of such flamboyant and gender-bending music icons as David Bowie and Prince also heightens interest, even as it suggests some fairly daring creative risks.

Given Richmond’s pedigree, it’s no surprise that these risks never impede on the play itself—from the moment Puck, played with dashing glee by William Quant, bounds on stage to open the show clad in charismatic leather and retro goggles, it’s clear that the thematic spins put on the play are going to be careful not to get in the way of the story’s considerable power and appeal. And although the staging, costumes, and special effects here are incredibly effective, it’s restraint more than anything that wins the day. The scenic and lighting design, delivered by guest artists Bruce Auerbach and third year MFA student Neda Spalajkovic, is sharp and stunning, featuring chairs fastened to the back wall of the theatre and an elegant use umbrellas hanging from the ceiling as well as on the stage floor itself, easily moved around or manipulated to mimic the twists and turns in the forest. It’s both a highly effective and polished while also staying true to the simple, minimal use of props and production in keeping with Shakespeare’s original minimalist productions. Puck’s costume is a standout, as is the bespectacled Peter Quince’s and the darkly grand feuding fairies Titania and Oberon’s black leather and glam-inspired creations.

While some dancing choreography and modern music have been added to spice up the proceedings as well, what shines most after set and costume are the actors themselves. It’s fun to see the Lysander-Hermia-Demetrius-Helena quartet played by age appropriate actors, and each shines here. Freddie Powers plays Lysander with a young, almost smirking charm, while Tristan Hester’s Demetrius takes on a sort of peevish jock flare. And while both deliver strong performances, it’s the female half of this equation that really brings the hijinks to life, with Allie Anderson’s Hermia zeroing in on the angsty self-absorption of her role and Kelsie Hensley playing the absurd demonstrations of Helena with a captivating and knowing satirical wink. Some weaker links inevitably appear further down the totem of this large cast, but it’s tough to argue that they don’t shine as an ensemble. If there’s a star among them, though, it’s likely John Romanski, who seemed born to play the comical and boisterous Nick Bottom. He had the audience rolling in the aisles with almost every line he delivered, with a dynamic stage presence and an infectious energy which appeared to lift up the actors around him.

All in all, this production of the Shakespearean classic is a remarkable one and well-worth seeing, and one that portends a winning season from USC Theatre.

Hop Along, Or One Man’s Stray Thoughts and Observations About Hopscotch 2016 (Part III)

Jasper asked Free Times music editor emeritus, Those Lavender Whales guitarist, and Hopscotch veteran Patrick Wall to go the festival and gives us his thoughts. This, in three parts, is what he wrote.

Part I is here; Part II, here.

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I’m pretty sure I was lost somewhere in William Basinski’s haunting and ethereal tape loops and drones at Nash Hall when I checked my phone to a litany of tweets and texts about the life-affirming set Savannah metal band Baroness was throwing down at Lincoln Theatre.

As Hopscotch has expanded and broadened its rock ‘n’ roll offerings, I’ve moved away from them more. Saturday offered plenty of stellar rock options, and, indeed, I caught many of them: the Impressionist soundscapes of 1970s Film Stock; the nervy, rumbling post-rock of Maple Stave; the chirping indie rock of Mac McCaughan; and, later, the warped psych-rock of ET Anderson.

The final day of Hopscotch is the hardest, the final hours especially so. The fatigue from a long Thursday evening followed by back-to-back all-day marathons hits in full force around the time the club shows start on Saturday night — or earlier, if you’re unlucky (or, like me, aging). A band like Baroness, one that’s loud and determined and that melds accessible hooks onto corrosive metal, makes it worth pushing through those final few hours.

But as I get older, I find I no longer need that shot of insurgent energy dangled like a carrot at the end of my night. I no longer find moments of affirmation in bleary, blustery solos or colossal walls of distortion. (As much as I might still like either.) Instead, at Hopscotch, I find them in other places, and in smaller moments.

Patrick Haggerty of Lavender Country didn’t play too much material in the early part of his set; his backing band — comprising members of fellow Paradise of Bachelors bands Promised Land Sound and Gun Outfit — mostly stood idle as he told long, engrossing stories about growing up gay in rural America. It was particularly given how timely Haggerty’s stories of struggling for gay rights felt in the current political climate.

Seeing William Basinski at Nash Hall was about as exciting as one would imagine. Dressed something like a cartoonish representation of spaceman come to earth in oversize sunglasses and a sparkly purple sportscoat, Basinski mostly stood motionless over his setup of two tape machines and a laptop. Occasionally, he’d bend over and tweak a knob. Sometimes, he’d just sit down and lean back. But the gauzy drones his machinations were producing were a hypnotic treat — a sort of lullaby that seemed to me just as fitting a way to close out a festival of mesmeric wonders as any ballistic metal band.

As is my tradition, I ended with a brass band — The Stooges Brass Band, which wound up the would-be winding-down crowd Kings Barcade — to burn off what little energy I had left. Baroness, I was told, was still raging just down Wilmington Street; their first encore wouldn’t come until at least 2 a.m., I’d find out later. And there was an afterparty, too, that some friends from Charlotte told me about that was to be DJed by Sylvan Esso.

Still, I was sated. I had no need to push through anymore. Instead, I biked back to the hotel, got stoned with a friend, and went to sleep. It was the earliest I’d turned in on a Saturday night cum Sunday morning since the first Hopscotch festival in 2010.

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Sunday morning, I took my sister to the airport. She’s lived in the Triangle for about as long as Hopscotch has been around; if I don’t stay with her during the festival — I haven’t for several years, as the drive from Carrboro to Raleigh is a long one (and especially ill-advised if you Hopscotch as hard as I used to (buy me a beer sometime, and I’ll tell you about the worst driving decision I’ve ever made; it involves Hopscotch, Drive-By Truckers and weed treats)) — we get together for brunch on the Sunday morning after.

Invariably, we end up at a Whole Foods, and, invariably, she asks me what my favorite act of the festival was. Invariably, I freeze at the question. Invariably, I stammer through an answer, even though, as I’m giving it, I know whatever response is fumbling out of my mouth is variable. I know I will invariably give a different answer every time someone asks me.

I prefer to take, especially these days, Hopscotch as a whole, to judge the festival holistically as an end-to-end experience. (Indeed, trying to justify Hopscotch’s ticket price with just one set would be incredibly silly.) I have, I suppose, more regrets about this Hopscotch than any other. Yes, missing Erykah Badu and Young Thug were disappointing. But waiting around for either would have effectively eaten up all of Friday night, and I’d have missed two of my favorite sets in Dai Burger’s and Julien Baker’s stunner at Nash Hall. Yes, if I’d had to do it over again, I’d have traded the disappointing Television for the avuncular 12-string slide guitar of Don Bikoff, or the good but enervating metal band Cobalt for DJ Spinn and the Era Footwork Crew. Or maybe I’d have braved the maddening horde of young, hip white people waiting in line to see bounce queen Big Freedia. Or stayed for those last few minutes of William Basinski’s dissolving drones.

I’m 34 years old, now, and growing up, I’ve realized, is recognizing — and maybe even embracing — your faults and your flaws. And maybe Hopscotch is, too. For all its flaws and foibles, Hopscotch still offers a lot to the music lover with a broad palate and appetite for live performance. And for as much as it’s changed and for all its foibles, Hopscotch hasn’t lost what makes it a great — essential, even — festival.

So has Hopscotch changed more, or have I?

Yes.

Patrick Wall is music editor emeritus of Free Times. He now lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where sometimes people pay him to write things. He is carbon-based.

Jasper Indie Grits Picks, Day 3: Overall and Aprons (7pm, 4/16)

First, BIG FREEDIA!!!!!!!

Now that that's out of the way, Overalls and Aprons (7pm screening 4/16) looks like a fascinating choice for tonight if for some reason you don't plan on catching the bounce queen in action. Indie Grits always prides itself on digging into the corners and crevices of Southern culture, and this feature documentary does exactly that by celebrating the farm-to-table movement while critically examining if, why, and how sustainable agriculture is viable for modern-day farmers. And, in some sense, this is really just a love letter from filmmaker Thibaut Fagonde to the thriving culinary and farming communities in Charleston. Familiar faces and places abound in the trailer, and it's hard not to get wrapped up in the obvious excitement and fervor Fagonde brings to the subject.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3rdTZ0QUKdw

Jasper Indie Grits Picks, Day 2: Paperback (4/15, 9:30pm, 4/16 2pm)

Amid a deep slate of films on Day 2 of Indie Grits, we want to highlight one of the few narrative features that dot the festival's lineup, Adam Bowers' Paperback. On spec it looks like a romantic comedy crossed with wry slacker existentialism, but one of the great things about Indie Grits curation is that they tend to pick films that subvert such expectations.

Personally, I've always a bit bowled over by truly independent narrative features. The amount of time, money, and energy which go into making them without studio backing is astounding, and it's a tremendous artistic achievement to go through all that for an uncertain screening future. It's also something that, given the overwhelming amount of movies and television we have access to, is far too easy to take for granted.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sWAAwUFvEYQ

Jasper Indie Grits Picks, Day 1: The Color of Fire (4/14, 7pm @ The Nick)

The 2016 Indie Grits Festival is coming at us full steam today (Thursday, April 14th), with a great slate of films, the launch of both the Indie Bits video game showcase the Scenario Collective's The Sweet Spot venue for the weekend, and the riverside performance of eighth blackbird.

While the gorgeous outdoor venue for the latter group is likely to steal most of the thunder of this year's festival, particularly when the day-long festivities there on Saturday culminate with the twerking spectacle of bounce queen Big Freedia, we here at Jasper always have a special affection for the indie film heart of this annual event. In that spirit, each day of the festival we're going to try and highlight a film or two we think is worth your time.

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The Color of Fire (70 min, dir. by Dorian Warneck; Screening 4/14, 7pm @ The Nick )

While we hate to steer anybody away from eighth blackbird's unique performance next to the Congaree, The Color of Fire was one of the initial film announcements that really caught our eye. Directed by Dorian Warneck, a young Charleston photographer and editor at the Lunch and Recess creative agency, the documentary is an exploration of Dorian's father Diether, who experienced the bombing of his hometown of Dresden, Germany, at the end of World War II and was an enlisted soldier in the Nazi army at the age of 15 for the final month of the war.

The younger Warneck interviews his father as the two travel to Germany to visit Diether's elder siblings and see Dresden "for the last time." Most of Diether's life is filled with "love, family, intrigue, art, and personal accomplishment," but the film's intent on getting at how such a single, pivotal decision at a crisis point in world history can alter the trajectory and meaning of a person's life is heavily poignant, as is Dorian's desire and willingness to dive this deep into such a tragic part of his family history. This has all the makings of an Indie Grits selection to remember.

https://vimeo.com/122779507

More From Tess DeMint: Ed Madden Compares Notes with Former Vista Queen Participant Jason Watkins (Tess Tickles)

This is the fifth in a series of blogs written by Tess DeMint (aka Professor Ed Madden), a contestant in the 18th annual Vista Queen Pageant, a fundraiser for our beloved Trustus Theatre.

Please support Tess by visiting Trustus Theatre. Each vote costs $10 and all money goes to Trustus Theatre.

You can also donate to Trustus (and support Tess!) at Tess’s donation site:  https://www.gofundme.com/fxudjbhs

“Just have fun,” he said.

Last week Bert and I had dinner with Jason and Katy Watkins–Jason is also known as Tess Tickles, the 2014 Vista Queen. I wanted to know what the experience of Vista Queen was like for someone who had been through it, what advice he might have for me, drag novice and VQ newcomer.

When we walked in the restaurant—one of their favorites—the wait staff welcomed Jason by name, circling around us almost like courtiers for royalty. Jason made his way between tables, shaking hands with other regulars. We got a special corner table—one apparently usually reserved for another regular patron and his wife. It was made available to us. The waiter already knew what Jason wanted.

In another corner, I saw Jim and Kay Thigpen. A good sign. This was the place to be.

Katy is an old friend (we tied for “most liberal” when we went through Leadership Columbia together, ages ago), so there was some catching up, new jobs and old acquaintances. But then we quickly got down to business. I asked about costumes, about practicing in heels. I asked about talent.

Jason didn’t have a fitting with a costumer, he said. No fake hips. Katy laughed, “He’s a perfect size 6.”  Both of them talked about particularly beautiful queens, particularly memorable acts, particularly drunken contestants.  She said Tess/Jason was hilarious, though she occasionally wanted to crawl under her seat.

Jason wrote a song for his talent. He pulled out his phone at the table, read me the lyrics.  That year, the sixteenth contest, the theme was “Sweet Sixteen,” so Jason wrote a song about being 16—a boy at a military school, rebellious, desperate for sex, the chorus emphasizing that he could never have dreamed, when he was 16, that he might be a Vista Queen.

“Just have fun,” Jason kept saying, telling me about the madness of backstage. “And just remember, they’re all drunk,” as if that might temper my stagefright. I wasn’t sure.

Tess Tickles and Tess DeMint. It was the old Tess and the new, and their faithful consorts. It was instruction in local knowledge and vernacular practices of drag—what to expect, what to avoid. There at a corner table over sushi and salmon, royal counsel, advice from a queen.