REVIEW: TRUSTUS THEATRE'S STUPID FUCKING BIRD

Trustus Theatre opened Aaron Posner’s Stupid Fucking Bird down on Lady Street on February 9th, under the direction of the theatre’s Executive Director, Jessica Francis Fichter. This play, which is advertised as “kinda based on” Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull, is a 2.5-hour experience that is “kinda” a comedy that explores family, love, unfulfilled potential, freedom, destruction, and art (all present in the source material on which it was kinda based). Trustus’ production is a winning moment for the theatre with a talented ensemble, adventurous technical execution and a team that not only had a deep understanding of what they wanted to try to do, but the expertise to make it a reality.  

Chekhov’s play is not essential to the audience’s engagement with Bird. Academics (read: theatre nerds) will enjoy the fun game of compare-and-contrast that this work allows, but the non-historian will be plenty occupied with experiencing the characters’ journeys, interacting with the actors in an environment without a fourth wall, exploring a dialogue regarding the authentic self and inviting their brains to ask, “what is art, why do we make it and why is it vital…or is it?”   

Stupid Fucking Bird concerns a stormy front of romantic and emotional entanglements amongst a family and their friends gathered at a large beach house. Conrad (Patrick Dodds) loves Nina (Cassidy Spencer), but Nina pines for Trigorin (Laurens Wilson) who is dating Conrad’s mom, Emma Arakdina (Erin Wilson). But wait, there’s more! Conrad’s platonic pal Mash (Martha Hearn) languishes for Conrad, and Dev (Cameron Muccio) swoons for Mash. The term “love triangle” doesn't suffice to explain the plot. Perhaps the geometrists in the crowd can do the math.  

As with all Chekhov and related materials, there must be an estate. Enter Dr. Eugene Sorn (Hunter Boyle), for whose attention all of these lover-friends are wrestling. Sorn is the only character who doesn’t have a love interest and is quite often the only sensible person in the room. Sorn’s questioning of whether we are ever our authentic selves is a particularly salient moment in the play.  

While there is a lot of frustration in watching these characters chase their misguided obsessions, the rewarding part of the Stupid Fucking Bird is the opportunity to engage in a discussion about art. Trustus is no stranger to material that has asked Columbia audiences to engage in this conversation (i.e. Yasmina Reza’s Art and Stew’s Passing Strange), and this type of work starts the dialogue within the walls of the theatre that evolves into colorful debate once you’ve cozied up to a bar afterwards.  

Trustus’ Bird has an excellent cast - not a weak link on stage. These are talented actors tackling challenging material, and they are in complete ownership of the proceedings. Patrick Dodds’ has played a wide range of roles since his first appearance at the theatre in 2011, but his portrayal of Conrad has probably been one of the most demanding jobs he’s taken on - and he delivers. Dodds succeeds in making us believe in his journey from obsession to destruction. His monologue towards the end of the first act, combined with the tech that was used, is jarring in the best kind of way.  

Erin and Laurens Wilson, in the roles of Emma and Trig, are a grounding and necessary presence for this cast which otherwise portray forlorn nihilists who refuse to stop thwarting themselves. Cameron Musccio makes a welcome debut on the Thigpen Main Stage with his Dev being an incredibly endearing straight-man-who-gets-the-laughs. Cassidy Spencer and Martha Hearn, as Nina and Mash respectively, turn in anchored performances. Hunter Boyle as Dr. Sorn exhibits more control and firmness than we’ve seen in recent years, and it is a delightful change of pace that leaves us hoping to see Boyle explore more roles like this - because it’s really really good.  

The production team deserves high marks for a finely-tuned scenic,  lighting, media, and sound design package. From moons that seamlessly cross the entire stage, to the simplicity of scene titles - Matt Pound has used different media outputs to make something quite complicated seem seamless. Paired with Marc Hurst’s sizzling lighting and Teddy Palmer’s use of the space as an abstraction of frames - these elements truly make you feel like you’re watching a production that was tailored down to the last stitch. We would also like to note that there is even a Shen Yun poster hidden in the mix (which can lead to a tangential conversation about art after the show). 

Though some music levels could be increased to improve audience-immersion throughout and tattoos could be better covered-up (or not covered?) as to not distract, Stupid Fucking Bird is a tight vehicle for the actors, designers, and audience. This is probably due to the work of Director Jessica Francis Fichter. We are very glad her voice is more prominent in Columbia’s theatre scene these days and look forward to more.  

If you’re into light comedic fare that intends to entertain by way of jazz hands, this is no play for you. However, if you’re just the slightest bit adventurous, enjoy conflict and the promise of a post-show arts salon: trust Trustus with this play. This is the kind of work that the theatre’s co-founders intended the theatre to produce, and true to form - whether you actually like the play or not - this is the only place you can experience work like it in these parts. Stupid Fucking Bird runs through February 24th at Trustus (520 Lady St.), and you can get your tickets to make up your own mind about this production at www.trustus.org. 

(edited 2/11/24)

Review -- August: Osage County

Jasper loves dysfunctional families.  Wait, let's clarify that - Jasper loves Pulitzer Prize-winning dramas about dysfunctional families, and there's a doozy of one running right now through Sat. Nov. 12th, at Trustus Theatre. August: Osage County, by Tracy Letts, is billed as Jim Thigpen's directorial swan song; he and wife Kay, with whom he founded Trustus 26 years ago, will retire at the end of this season (see the current issue of Jasper at http://jaspercolumbia.net/current-issue/ for details.) Fortunately, he has assembled a highly functional cast of family, both literal (brother Ron Hale and daughter Erin Wilson) and theatrical (a veritable who's who of local theatrical talent) to bring this provocative and compelling work to Columbia audiences.

The show recounts a few weeks in the lives of the Weston family, disrupted by the disappearance of the father. His three daughters return home, family and significant others in tow, to support their mother, and along the way we meet an aunt, and uncle, a cousin, and a few innocent bystanders. I was only familiar with this work from some reviews I read a few years ago, when it premiered and promptly won the Tony and N.Y. Drama Critics' Circle Awards for Best Play, the Drama Desk and Outer Critics' Circle Awards for Best New Play, and the Pulitzer. As a result, I had some misconceptions going in.  This is in no way, shape or fashion a comedy, even a dark one.  There are certainly some witty lines; most of the characters are fairly eloquent people connected to academia, and often barbs spoken in moments of great anger, frustration, and passion get some big laughs. Nevertheless, this play is a tragedy of the ordinary, an examination of the dark underbelly of contemporary American society, depicted before us via one truly unfortunate family.

Likewise, the title notwithstanding, this isn't really a rural or country-themed play at all.  While there is a plaid shirt here, some cowboy boots there, a backdrop that suggests dull stucco or adobe walls, and a Native American housekeeper, the setting isn't so much Oklahoma as it is any desolate location, and the desolation is as much spiritual as literal. One character notes that this isn't the Midwest, but rather the Plains, which he compares to the Blues, just not as interesting.  Nor is the show particularly surreal or avant-garde, as I somehow had expected. Sadly, the obstacles that confront these characters (with perhaps one Southern Gothic exception) are all too commonplace: divorce, infidelity, youthful rebellion, repression, substance abuse, suicide, and depression. The language is sometimes quite eloquent and poetic, but more often quite down-to-earth and familiar.

Yet this is a tremendously entertaining evening at the theatre, thanks to the supremely talented cast. While each of the thirteen actors gets his or her moment to shine on stage, top honors have to go to Libby Campbell Turner, in the central role of Violet, the harsh matriarch of the Weston family. We first see Violet helplessly struggling to form her words and thoughts as a result of her addiction to painkillers; the effect is shocking, especially for those familiar with Campbell Turner's assertive stage presence in any number of shows over the last several decades. Have no fear, however: Violet's coherence returns with a vengeance, as she tries to bring down each of her three daughters in turn. We chillingly realize that while the pills may have loosened her tongue, they surely didn't create her venom.

Violet's main adversary is her eldest daughter, Barbara, played by Dewey Scott-Wiley. She and Paul Kaufmann (as her husband Bill) are masters of the stage whisper, which they must employ for a marital spat that they desperately wish to remain unheard.  Scott-Wiley expertly depicts this ordinary yet complex character, as we see her first channeling her father in an alcohol-fueled intellectual ramble, then mirroring her mother, attempting in vain to control all around her, while still clad in her nightclothes.

Another standout is Gerald Floyd, as Violet's amiable but long-suffering brother-in-law whom she bitingly notes is now the family patriarch "by default," after her husband's disappearance. In a play where characters often naturalistically talk over one another, timing is everything, and Floyd is the champ, portraying a man who rarely gets a word in edgewise, yet always makes his point known.  Late in the third act, his demand that his wife (played by Elena Martinez-Vidal) show some shred of decency and compassion to their son, was for me perhaps the most moving moment in the play.

Another cast member whose vocal talent must be noted is Ellen Rodillo-Fowler, as the housekeeper Johnna. Brassy and feisty just a few weeks ago in Third Finger, Left Hand, here she plays soft and stoic, often pausing a half-second before most of her lines, and thus showing the depth and thought behind them.  Ron Hale, as Violet's husband, shines in the opening scene, waxing poetic and philosophical while concealing the depths of despair into which he has fallen. Sarah Crouch as the granddaughter Jean, Joe Morales as the local Sheriff, Kevin Bush as the supposed loser cousin "Little" Charles, Erin Wilson as the frustrated, plain-Jane middle daughter, and Robin Gottlieb as the somewhat spoiled youngest daughter who foolishly thinks she has escaped the family cycle, all do fine work, many playing against type.  Stann Gwynn as Gottlieb's fiancé has perhaps the fewest lines, but is memorable for making the audience wonder which is creepier: his interaction with Jean (which quickly moves into "Like to watch gladiator movies?" territory) or his career as a yuppie entrepreneur profiting from the Persian Gulf conflict.

One suspects that just as every great actor must try Hamlet in his youth, Macbeth in middle age and Lear as he gets older, so too must every playwright, Letts included, take a stab at a tragedy of family dysfunction.  August: Osage County presents us with no moral or lesson, but rather portrays people making the choices they must, but then living with the consequences.  I was reminded more than once during the show of a line spoken by Clint Eastwood in the film Gran Torino, about how "the thing that haunts a man most is what he isn't ordered to do."

Critics have called this the first great play of the new century. I'm not so sure I'd quite go that far, but there are certainly echoes of any number of classics:  Lillian Hellman's "little foxes, that spoil the vines," the spectre of substance abuse from A Long Day's Journey Into Night,  the bleak sense of frustration and yearning from  Chekhov's The Three Sisters and Turgenev's A Month in the Country, families coping with long-repressed secrets from Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean, Ibsen's The Wild Duck,  and a dozen Tennessee Williams works, and the domestic battles in the homes of academics from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and On Golden Pond.   Shoot, stick togas on the Westons and you'd basically have the cursed House of Atreus.  Time will tell if this is the latest retelling of eternal themes from the human experience, or a well-crafted pastiche of those themes, designed as an acting tour-de-force for a talented ensemble.

Either way, it rarely gets better than this if you want to see some of Columbia's finest performers flexing their dramatic muscles in some rich and juicy material. Director Thigpen made a wise choice for his finale, and deftly pulls it all together for a rich and thought-provoking evening at the theatre.

If you're going, note that the show runs a solid three and a half hours, with two intermissions, but it feels like not much more than two. Just be sure to make dinner and babysitter arrangements accordingly.  Call the Trustus Box Office at 254-9732 for ticket information.

~ August Krickel