REVIEW: Trustus Theatre's The Thanksgiving Play - by Patrick Michael Kelly

“Watching the show feels as close to an evening on Lady Street as possible - you can almost smell the Cromer’s popcorn.”

Trustus bills The Thanksgiving Play as “a woke comedy” and that’s apropos. Larissa FastHorse’s play follows four white people - Logan, Jaxton, Caden, and Alicia - in their attempt to creatively devise a culturally sensitive play about the First Thanksgiving for Native American Heritage Month. They stumble over many obstacles - mainly themselves and each other - on their quest to craft an engaging, equitable educational show and ultimately arrive at the simplest of conclusions that less is indeed more. 

FastHorse wastes no time establishing tone; we know what we’re in for from the jump. The play begins with a Thanksgiving rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” complete with Indian, Pilgrim, and turkey costumes, and choreography that the cast performs with full commitment. These surreal interludes - snippets from the play that might come from the group’s endeavor - recur throughout and serve to break up the realistic scenes with blasts of musical comedy. It’s a pleasing combination. 

Consumer culture, linguistic cliches, gender bias, social media, “upcycling”, vegans, etc. - all are placed on the altar or chopping block, whichever metaphor you’d prefer, and while this play’s glut of contemporary issues could feel tiresome, they are integrated perfectly with the story. Most effective are discussions about the fantasy of a “post-racial” society and what it means to be an ally, and a lovely scene between Alicia and Logan concerning the values of sex and beauty, the dangers of their commodification, and the value of their power. FastHorse tackles big issues head-on and lays out all the angles, but rather than smashing you over the head, she builds them in tactfully. 

FastHorse also skewers the craft and politics of theater expertly. Often, plays about making plays come off as obnoxious and cliquish, but The Thanksgiving Play manages to poke fun at devising, improv, warm-ups, and the like without alienating non-thespians. Furthermore, she squeezes in some terrific commentary about casting issues that plague the industry, from the well-past-timely death of so-called colorblind casting to the usual excuses of producers and directors about how hard it is to find ethnic actors to fill roles appropriately. At one point, Alicia mentions that she’s “maybe part-Spanish” so she should get to play all the Spanish roles because “it’s a drop thing.” We cringe, but it’s real. 

Kayla Cahill Machado is solid as Logan, the embattled high school drama teacher who needs this project to succeed - there’s grant money on the line and a professional actor in the room. Machado drives much of the action of the play and juggles empowering everyone with keeping the project on the rails. We feel her pain. 

Patrick Dodds brings his usual charm and affability to Jaxton, the yoga practitioner and “professional” actor. Jaxton’s heart is in the right place, but his desire to do right by everyone all the time gets in his way of being effective. Dodds’s Jaxton comes off a little too young and dumb at times, but the actor’s passion and vulnerability easily make up for it. 

Clint Poston as Caden is winning from his first entrance. He nails Caden’s enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge and drives the pace in much needed moments. Caden wants so badly to be useful and to have his hard-won authority recognized, and Poston channels his desperation with a sweetness that cuts through his pretension. 

Brittany Hammock plays Alicia (pronounced uh-LEE-see-ya, because of course it is), the self-centered actress with a “super-flexible” look to a tee. Her enthusiastic cluelessness and well-intentioned cynicism both give the group fits and inspire them to rethink their way of being. Hammock steals many scenes with her dry delivery.

Director Abigail McNeely has done a nice job making an ensemble out of her performers while allowing them to play to their strengths. The scenes are dynamic and flow nicely; McNeely clearly knows the story and where the most important parts are and highlights them to great success. The production suffers at times from pacing issues, particularly in the early going, but the actors find their footing as the action builds. The inventive staging and exciting feel of the interludes is a testament to the director’s expansive vision. 

It is a treat to see a true box set. Many contemporary plays are filmic in that they employ shorter scenes and multiple locations, making realism an impossibility. Film does realism better than theater, but a realistic stage production is still a satisfying endeavor for artists and audiences alike. FastHorse’s employment of a single location - outside of the musical interruptions - allows for the production team to create a fully inhabited world onstage. Scenic Designer Sam Hetler is up to the task; his set feels just like an American high school drama classroom. The attention to detail provides lots of little surprises for us to find, like old Columbia theater posters on the back wall and a masquerade-themed bulletin board urging us to “put your mask on.” Clever. 

Curtis Smoak’s lighting is cheery with just the right touch of industrial, mimicking the unpleasant wash of public fluorescents while warmly supporting the actors and the space they inhabit. The choice to forgo lighting shifts when two characters are having a private conversation in a public space is confusing; the helpful theatrical convention of separating the groups with light to assist the audience’s understanding should apply, even in a realistic piece like this. During the interludes, the lights shift dramatically to make the performers pop along with the musical numbers, giving it a bit of a rock cabaret vibe.

The recording of this production is well done. The shots and the sound are both clear and we get the feel of watching a play live and in person magnified through the camera’s eye and microphones. That said, shot selection is often static in the scenes and much more dynamic in the interludes, and the editing needs to split the difference more. More often than not, the scenes are played out in a wide shot with close-ups and two-shots few and far between. This might have been an attempt to preserve the piece as a play as much as possible, but if you’re going to make a film, make a film. 

That being said, it’s hard not to notice that the element that gives live theater its power is sorely missing here. As if comedy weren’t hard enough already, taking away the audience puts the performers in a tougher spot, and they respond by pushing in moments where the support of laughter or other audible reactions would otherwise buoy them. Trustus deserves applause for making theater - and polished theater at that - safely, but the interplay between actor and audience is what makes theater...well, theater. 

In its first attempt at producing a fully mounted show for home consumption, Trustus delivers a quality product and should be commended for adapting to these trying times. Watching the show feels as close to an evening on Lady Street as possible - you can almost smell the Cromer’s popcorn. Format-associated growing pains aside, The Thanksgiving Play is well worth your time and your donation and should inspire some spirited conversation at your virtual Turkey Day dinner table.

Patrick Michael Kelly is the theatre editor for Jasper Magazine.

REVIEW: Montgomery Packages the Familiar in a Delightfully Fresh Package - by Frank Thompson

“Once we’ve gotten snagged by the story, Montgomery reels in its audience as a fresh and captivating cat-and-mouse game in which it’s never quite clear who’s winning, nor is it possible to discern the tears of laughter from the sentimental sniffles…

It isn’t often that a troupe of character archetypes and well-worn caricatures can be successfully interwoven from two stories into one, especially when each has its grounding in a largely conflicting style and base of reality, but occasionally the unlikely does occur. Such is the case in the lovably lopsided world of Stephen Brown’s Montgomery, a world premiere comedy making its debut as the winner of the 2018 Trustus Playwrights’ Festival. One part southern-fried knee-slapper, complete with bumbling cops and one-liners reminiscent of the best of Jeff Foxworthy or the late Lewis Grizzard, paired with a slightly twisted Hallmark movie with a twang, this odd couple combination not only amuses and entertains, it works.

Before discussing the production, however, I must tip my hat and raise my frosty bottle of Lone Star to playwright Brown, who obviously did his research and took his time in creating a believable, cohesive, and surprisingly consistent reality while spinning a hilarious tale that isn’t afraid to get serious on occasion. With plotlines harkening back to The Dukes Of Hazzard and All My Children simultaneously, each liberally peppered with tastes of Greater Tuna, Mamma Mia!, The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, and numerous other pop-culture touchstones, Brown clearly revels in gentle parody, yet creates an entirely original and believable story.

Make no mistake; there’s plenty of borrowing/inspiration from other stage and film works here, but absolutely nothing is stolen. Montgomery may feel familiar, but for every punchline you watch approaching from a mile away, there are at least two moments of surprise and a whispered “well, I didn’t see that coming!” Brown’s script lands the audience in the manner of an experienced angler. We may be initially hooked by the foul-mouthed, slovenly, down-home martinet in the Sheriff’s Office or the cute country girl clad in short shorts that would have put Dawn Wells’ Mary Ann to shame, but they’re just the bait. Once we’ve gotten snagged by the story, Montgomery reels in its audience as a fresh and captivating cat-and-mouse game in which it’s never quite clear who’s winning, nor is it possible to discern the tears of laughter from the sentimental sniffles involuntarily presenting themselves at unexpected moments. Overlaying all the action is a subtle lesson about wishes, dreams, and how getting “everything you ever wanted” sometimes yields unexpected losses as well as gains.

In a nutshell, the primary plot centers around Megan and Kimmy, two Texas teenagers who manage to kidnap country music star, Rick Montgomery. Though the grab succeeds, the detention is exactly as slapdash and immature as one would expect from a pair of kids whose biggest previous transgressions were most likely hiding in the woods smoking cigarettes or sneaking into an R-rated movie.  Aspiring badasses though they may be, Megan and Kimmy aren’t even yet of legal driving age, which makes their attempts at swagger and menace all the more endearing and hilarious. In parallel time, (with occasionally intersecting moments) there’s trouble afoot at the police station, as the Governor himself is pressuring local law enforcement to find Montgomery in time to play at a re-election fundraiser. Along with Patty, the perpetually irascible and arguably hungover officer in charge, the law is represented by classic good-ole-boys Larry and Chet. Larry is good-hearted but meekly ineffectual, while Chet is largely ignorant of, yet obsessed with such technology as body cams and his YouTube channel.

The stories link when we learn that Larry is actually Megan’s adopted father, who makes excuses for her teenage antics (such as twice “accidentally” setting her school’s chemistry lab on fire) while desperately trying to connect with her and create a stable family life. In a scene that manages to be LOL-funny and heartbreaking, we see Megan manipulate Larry’s paternal instincts as a cover for having a kidnapped celebrity detained in her bedroom. Meanwhile, beta-female Kimmy (who always follows Megan’s orders) opens up to an increasingly befuddled Montgomery about her own musical aspirations. There is more to Kimmy than meets the eye, however, as she eventually winds up displaying sufficient backbone to bring the insanity to a fulfilling, weirdly happy conclusion.

Elena Martinez-Vidal, Kevin Bush, and Gabe Reitemeier

The casting is superb, with praise being due to Director Sharon Graci for her expert eye in filling each role with an ideal and perfectly-suited actor. Having been around Columbia’s stages for about a decade, I know or have at least seen performances by most of the area’s performers, and I truly could not come up with any alternative casting that would have improved on Graci’s. This is an assemblage of pros which fully embraces the material and works together seamlessly. As Megan, Cassidy Spencer proves true a hunch that I had several months ago, having seen her in Trustus’ Heathers: The Musical. Though she had a small ensemble role, I kept noticing her, to the point of having mentioned in the review that I hoped to see her take on larger parts in future productions. Having had that opportunity with Montgomery, I am happy to say that my instinct was correct, and that she can handle a leading role with aplomb and great skill.

As Megan’s foil and underling, Lilly Heidari provides an excellent counterpoint as Kimmy, who is slightly younger in years and significantly more childlike than her world-weary-at-fourteen mentor. Though the script doesn’t delve too deeply into the subject, we do learn that Kimmy lives with her grandmother, which likely served as a subliminal connecting point with the adopted Megan, who brusquely rejects the parents she sees as “not really hers.” While presented as rural, middle-class Texans, the girls are hardly sophisticates, but neither are they impoverished or victimized by the hazards facing slum-dwelling outcasts. Each has her own unlikely dreams, (ironically, each involving a guitar) and have most probably shared their aspirations over many weekend sleepovers and square-pizza-and-corn high school lunchroom repasts. I have no idea how close Spencer and Heidari are in real life, but they have done outstanding work in establishing two characters who interact with the verbal and physical ease of old friends.

Having been most recently seen on the Trustus stage as the ever-so-dapper and smooth-talking Jay Gatsby in last spring’s The Great Gatsby, Jason Stokes does a delightful 180 as the aging, haggard, somewhat over-it-all, music industry burnout who still retains a country-boy handsomeness and charm. There’s a hint of a fiftyish Harrison Ford to his characterization, which immediately reminded me of the line from Raiders Of The Lost Ark, when a battered, exhausted, and punchy Indiana Jones admits “it’s not the years, it’s the mileage.” Stokes’ Montgomery is a cynic suffering from a minor head wound and recreational drug deprivation, but even in his moments of anger, he never comes across as unsympathetic. It’s clear that this guy has seen it all and done most of it twice, but he obviously realizes he’s dealing with a pair of messed-up but harmless teens, even serving as the voice of reason on occasion. Solid throughout, Stokes rises to the peak of his performance near the end of act one, when an unlikely situation leads to a revelation that could have been overplayed in reaction by a less skilled actor. No spoilers, but watch for a cliché plot twist made new and interesting through a unique, believable response from a much more substantial Rick Montgomery than his concert audiences might imagine.

Cassidy Spencer and Jason Stokes

Meanwhile, back at the police station, Patty does her best to get the B-team of the four officers under her command to grow some sense and find Montgomery, all the while dealing with the Governor and his Chief of Staff who demand constant updates. Elena Martinez-Vidal introduces Patty as a female version of Jackie Gleason’s famous Buford T. Justice of Smokey And The Bandit fame, complete with almost-affectionate but scathing commentary on Larry and Chet’s incompetence, yet reveals a softer side when things get truly serious for a minute about halfway through the second act. Though the two characters have no connection, Martinez-Vidal uses Patty’s gruff-but-decent personality to provide another link between the somewhat disparate storylines, mirroring Montgomery’s hard-boiled exterior and significantly gentler soul. Both Patty and Montgomery are grownups who have been “rode hard and put up wet” more than a few times, and neither is thrilled with having to deal with a pair of goofballs who are unable to act their respective ages. While Montgomery is forced to deal with a pair of teenagers who think they’re adults, Patty must endure the travails of shepherding two grown men who act like not-so-bright high schoolers. As does Stokes, Martinez-Vidal rises to the challenge of both embracing a stereotype and playing against it.

Having praised Kevin Bush’s versatility in multiple reviews, I will now repeat myself in saying that his Larry is yet another example of Bush’s chameleon-like ability to literally transform himself into a role. His first appearance finds Larry shooting a commercial of sorts for Chet’s ambitious shot at creating a COPS-style reality show. Complete with cowboy hat, slouching posture, and a dialect somewhat reminiscent of Slim Pickens with a hint of Andy Griffith tossed in for good measure, Bush was literally unrecognizable to me for about the first five minutes of his stage time. At turns both pathetic and heroic, Bush once again somehow manages to leave his real-life embodiment offstage, creating Larry from a presumably blank slate. Though not as textured by dialogue, Gabe Reitemeier’s Chet is an eager, if not-too-bright, little brother figure to Larry, oftentimes calming the situation when Larry’s anxieties get the better of him. In keeping with the myriad of nods (intentional or otherwise) to other characters and realities, Reitemeier pulls his share of belly-laughs with a close approximation of the patois and speech patterns of the mumblingly philosophical Boomhauer from Mike Judge’s King Of The Hill. As with Spencer and Heidari, Bush and Reitemeier present a relationship that seems completely natural and long-established, which plays successfully off their mutual respect for/aggravation with Patty. The police station is an internal reality to the larger world of the show, but it follows its own rules to the letter. Again, no spoilers, but keep an eye out for the golden moment of hilarity while the three officers wait for the office printer to complete a job. No words are spoken, but it’s one of the most side-splitting moments in a very funny show.

Curtis Smoak’s scenic design, much like the script, simultaneously manages to pull off sleek minimalism and a vaguely cluttered reality. Projections are utilized, but not overused, giving the show the look and feel of an extended sketch-comedy skit, which embraces a staged theatricality to great success. Such expansive locales as a packed concert arena and a crowded interstate are cheekily created with little more than lighting (courtesy of Lighting Designer Laura Anthony) and small furniture pieces, which suits the theme and style of Montgomery. Costume Designer Janine McCabe dresses her actors appropriately, with an eye toward costuming as an extention of each character. From Spencer’s rocker-chick look to Martinez-Vidal’s gradual transformation from half-dressed slob to crisply ironed and outfitted officer, the costumes reinforce and support the action without ever getting in its way. Director Graci serves double duty as Sound Designer, and has included a playlist of country music standards from the 70s and 80s, which give the action a satisfyingly old-school feel. If Montgomery were a film, you would expect to see a touch of graininess to the print, as well as the occasional jump of a few seconds resulting from a slightly botched reel edit. In addition to the radio classics of old, Montgomery features two original works composed by Eliza Simpson; the title theme and a dream-sequence concert number, “Star Quality,” sung by Kimmy as she imagines her future as a Nashville icon.

Elena Martinez-Vidal, Kevin Bush, Lilly Heidari, Gabe Reitemeier, and Cassidy Spencer

Montgomery continues its run this weekend, so there are only a few more chances to catch this little jewel of a comedy with heart. Now get on down to Trustus, pop open a cold beer, munch some popcorn, and enjoy a wild ride that will occasionally melt your heart.

-FLT3

Frank Thompson is proud to serve as Theatre Editor for JASPER.

(CORRECTION - Chad Henderson both designed the sound and cast the actors for Montgomery. Jasper regrets our error.)

REVIEW - Heathers at Trustus Theatre by Frank Thompson

Here she is with two small problems

And the best part of the blame

Wishes she could call him heartache

But it's not a boy's name…

-From the song “Appetite” by Prefab Sprout (1985)

Lisa Baker, Brittany Hammock, and Katie Leitner

While the music and lyrics for Heathers: The Musical are all original, created for the stage version by Kevin Murphy and Laurence O’Keefe, I couldn’t get the above Prefab Sprout song out of my head when pondering how to address the production from a critical standpoint. For those unfamiliar with the Daniel Waters film upon which the stage adaptation is based, the story centers around Veronica, a seventeen-year-old high school student who develops a darkly romantic relationship with a charismatic nihilist, J.D., whose moral relativism is softened by a genuine concern for the underdog. Coming from a dysfunctional, single-parent home, J.D. is cynical beyond his years, and quite capable of handling himself in just about any situation. Veronica comes from a different world, with an almost-stereotypical loving-but-clueless “Mom and Dad” straight out of central casting.

Veronica’s life isn’t a horror story, but she suffers all the usual travails of a cute-but-nerdy young woman navigating the world of geeks, jocks, outcasts, and the rest of the archetypes that exist in high school to this day. In a funhouse-mirror version of the Pygmalion myth, Veronica finds herself thrust into the world of the uber-cool girls who rule the school’s social scene. Her malevolent new mentors, each named Heather, decide to make a sport of transforming Veronica into one of their own, yet maintain social dominance over her. After utilizing Veronica’s skill at imitation handwriting, the Heathers enjoy unlimited hall passes and excuse letters, and decide to play a cruel trick on a nerdy girl who happens to be Veronica’s best friend. The joke goes terribly wrong, resulting in the breaking up of a party and Veronica’s expulsion from the group by ringleader Heather Chandler. While attempting to make amends, Veronica (with J.D. at her side) accidentally poisons Heather Chandler, having just dismissed J.D.’s suggestion that they do exactly that. A hastily-forged suicide note covers their tracks, but their victim’s ghost remains prominent in Veronica’s psyche. After several comparably dark experiences, Veronica wants nothing more than to return to her previously-normal life, but J.D. has the conflicting goal of essentially murdering the entire student body. Without spoiling the denoument for those seeing the show for the first time, I will simply say that the final few minutes will not only have you on the edge of your seat, but also leave you pondering the concepts of right and wrong in this particular situation. This is by no means meant to suggest that Heathers: The Musical is without lighthearted moments, but even the hilarity is grounded in a macabre reality that never completely releases the audience from a feeling of impending disaster.

The cast is comprised of an outstanding brio of Trustus regulars, familiar faces from other venues, and a few first-timers, all of whom come together to create a believable and cohesive ensemble. Katie Leitner’s Veronica is immediately relatable and sympathetic, falling (as did most of us) somewhere around the middle of the school’s social spectrum. Presenting her as a latter-day Carrie, minus the pig’s blood, would have not only been overdone, but would also have somewhat absolved Veronica for her actions. Leitner displays her strength at creating three-dimensional characters by making Veronica a normal kid caught up in a disturbingly abnormal set of circumstances. As with her recent portrayal of Daisy Fay in Trustus’ The Great Gatsby, Leitner succeeds in being likeable but flawed. As her figurative reverse-mirror image, Michael Hazin provides a level of sync with J.D. that brings to mind a well-choreographed ballroom dance. Hazin offers a darker reflection of Leitner’s image, with J.D. flying (for the most part) under the social radar, as opposed to swimming midstream. Each character has the potential to survive through relative social invisibility, but neither their respective personalities nor the situations that arise allow either to embrace that option. Both Leitner and Hazin are in fine voice, and only a small suspension of disbelief is required, but their clearly trained and experienced vocal work almost cracks the façade of their being teenagers. Both are youthful twentysomethings in real life, and are physically believable as high school students, so this is hardly a negative point, but when they sing, it’s obvious that these are well-taught professionals.

Clearly reveling in every malignant power move and verbal smackdown, Brittany Hammock deliciously chews the scenery as Heather Chandler. Her alpha-of-all-alphas interpretation of the role is spot-on, taking command of the triad in everything from physical presence to the occasional “putting in place” of the other two Heathers. Interestingly, once she becomes a ghost, Hammock asserts her new quasi-immortality through a slightly softened approach to Veronica. Sometimes a whisper is more frightening than a shout, and Hammock utilizes both between her corporeal and ghostly forms. Though not physically connected to the world of the living, Heather Chandler becomes even more of a puppeteer after her death, as we see her leisurely chip away at Veronica’s sanity. Her eponymous cohorts, Heather McNamara (Rachael Mitchum) and Heather Duke (Jazmine Rivera) initially appear to be Heather Chandler clones with slightly less authority, but after her death, they begin to reveal more depth of character. Mitchum, while never coming across as deferential, is somehow the most humane of the three, heaping slightly less attitude and intimidation on her fellow students. It’s a subtle choice, but Mitchum makes it work well in setting up a moment of high drama in the second act. Rivera’s Heather Duke, by contrast, brings out the fangs and claws when Heather Chandler’s death leaves an opening for the group’s leader. Though not mentioned in the script, the performances of all three Heathers suggest a variety of control mechanisms employed pre-mortem by Heather Chandler. Combining Hammock’s dead/undead personae, one could easily see her slightly softening to control Heather McNamara, while displaying a more fierce approach to managing Heather Duke. Kudos to all three for creating a depth and texture that enhances the story while remaining faithful to the playwrights’ dialogue.

As “bad boy” football stars, Kurt and Ram, Paul Smith and Josh Kern are less defined by the script, yet never allow themselves to slide into caricature. At first they appear to be nothing more than bullying jocks, but a set-up midnight encounter with Veronica displays their more vile and predatory natures. Jordan Harper’s ever-put-upon Martha adopts a similar style, introducing herself as a stereotypical nerdy girl, then revealing herself to be much more emotionally textured in a second-act spotlight number that showcases her impressive vocal range. The rest of the cast fills in the remaining students and adults orbiting the main story, and there truly isn’t a weak link in the bunch. A particular standout is Cassidy Spencer, whose work I’ve not seen before, but look forward to seeing in future productions. As an ensemble member, Spencer may have had two or three lines, but most of her acting was done through face and body language, which she presented most memorably. (In reviewing my notes, I referenced her several times as “girl in denim skirt,” each time with a comment on her commitment to the scene, her character, and the reality established by the principal players.)

On the technical side, Heathers: The Musical is mostly successful. Sam Hetler’s set is streamlined, yet totally evocative of a neon-hued, white-tiled 1980s, Amy Brower Lown’s costume design is scrupulously faithful to the period and gives a respectful nod to the film, while maintaining an originality and freshness of vision, and Lighting Designer Frank Kiraly brings his customary skill at creating multiple settings with different combinations of shading and color. Choreographer Grayson Anthony and Musical Director Randy Moore keep the movements (both physical and musical) brisk and sharp, and Stage Manager Brandi Smith nicely corrals all of the elements into a cohesive and smooth production. My only real complaint is that the vocals, even in ensemble numbers, were a bit difficult to hear over the band. In talking with Moore and several cast members following the performance, I found out that there were several mic and sound issues the night I was there, and I feel confident that those small issues have since been ironed out. One other small issue is entirely script-related, as I had the same reaction when reviewing another production of the show earlier this year. The adults are double/triple cast, often with little or no time for costume or wig changes, which can lead to a bit of confusion as to which is whom at any given moment. Matthew DeGuire, Jonathan Monk, and Lisa Baker turn in delightful performances as the multiple grown-ups, but I do wish the script made it easier for them to change back and forth more easily.

Director Dewey Scott-Wiley has, as usual, assembled a winning cast and created a world which is both believable and captivating. I frequently find myself using the word “thoughtful” to describe her work, and Heathers: The Musical is no exception. In her Director’s Notes, Scott-Wiley observes that in today’s more violent society, things like murdering your classmates aren’t as outrageous as they were thirty years ago, and this level of directorial awareness is part of what makes the show work. By immersing the audience in an era-specific set of mores, she succeeds in getting stylized-yet-believable work from her cast while essentially giving the audience permission to laugh at things that would strike too close to home in today’s world.

Heathers: The Musical runs through 27 July, and tickets can be purchased online at Trustus.org, or by calling the Box Office at (803) 254.9732. They’re likely to go quickly, so don’t delay in making your reservations.

-FLT3

Frank Thompson is proud to serve as Theatre Editor for JASPER.

REVIEW: Jon Tuttle's Boy About Ten at Trustus Theatre

“A talent for drama is not a talent for writing, but is an ability to articulate human relationships.” 

-Gore Vidal

John Tuttle is, by any standard, a man with a talent for writing, but after seeing the world premiere of his play, Boy About Ten, I can affirm that he is also quite adept at articulating human relationships. Indeed, the oft-troubled intertwining of Boy About Ten’s dysfunctional, but (somewhat) connected nuclear family of four, drives the plot of Tuttle’s work, taking a well-written piece to the level of a performance bristling with all the sharp edges relationships can provide. This is not to suggest that the production currently running at Trustus is without laughter or light-hearted moments. It may be a tragicomedy, but Boy About Ten doesn’t hesitate to let the tragic cede the stage to the comedic in a legitimate, story-faithful way. In his program notes, Trustus Artistic Director, Chad Henderson, comments that “this play has undergone a more involved development process than our previous Playwrights Festival winners or commissions,” which no doubt contributed to the feeling of polish and streamlining found in the script. I managed to make notes on some of the truly standout lines, but by no means is my list comprehensive.

The play opens with D’Loris (Lonetta Thompson), a kindhearted but world-weary social worker, dealing with what is clearly a family in distress. She is trying to prepare Todd (Tommy Wiggins), the elder son, to go to his mothers’ house for a week. Todd is obviously troubled in multiple ways, but is largely nonverbal, using a set of oversized headphones to drown out the conflict which surrounds him, while hiding his face behind his chin-length bangs.  As usual, Thompson creates a fully-realized, textured character, who has flaws as well as sincerely caring nature. I never tire of seeing Thompson onstage, as she is always completely immersed in and committed to her character and the moment. It would have been the easy way out to depict D’Loris as either a hyper-idealistic Wonder Woman, or as a “honey, I’ve seen it all,” world-weary cynic, but Thompson chose to create someone in-between, and in the process, gave the audience a layered, complex, and realistic performance. Kudos also to Wiggins, a former Trustus Apprentice Company member, making his mainstage debut. Though Todd doesn’t speak much, especially in the early scenes, his body language, movement style, and a sort of self-embrace clearly establish him as a damaged human being, doing his best to avoid his psychic pain. When it is revealed that he is a self-cutter/burner, it is a bit of a shock, but totally believable for the character he has, by that point, made three-dimensional. I suspect we’ll be seeing much more of Wiggins on the Trustus stage in seasons to come, and I look forward to watching his development as an actor.

The arrival of Tammy (Jennifer Hill), lightens the mood by, ironically, introducing the least likeable of the five characters. Hill’s Tammy is brash, flashy, loud, and obnoxious, fancying herself far above the rest of the family. She dresses herself in designer clothing, while a couple of mentions are made of the kids’ clothes coming from Goodwill, and she personifies the cliche of the “helicopter parent,” dispensing screechy advice and criticism thinly veiled as “encouragement.” Hill’s comedic timing is absolutely spot-on, and she brought Friday night’s house down with such well-penned verbal spewings as “I was once a Sweet Potato Queen, now I’m a Cyclops!” (It seems that Tammy has a glass eye, which is broken, requiring her to wear an eye patch.) Clearly proud of her somewhat meager accomplishments, she touts having played Yum-Yum in a community college production of The Mikado, along with a few other small successes, in an attempt to impress D’Loris, who is eventually prompted to ask “what the hell is wrong with you people?” The moments of conflict between Tammy and D’Loris establish a curious dynamic. Tammy, in her own twisted, control-freak way, wants the best for her children, while D’Loris tries to help establish exactly that, which eludes the self-centered Tammy.

One gathers fairly quickly that Tammy is at her ex-husband’s house to swap out the younger son, Timmy, (Daniel Rabinovich), who is a straight-A, rule-abiding, do-gooder, complete with Webelos Scout uniform, and practically a stranger to Todd, and the two react somewhat cautiously to each other. (I may have missed an important line or mention of the situation, but it is clear that the brothers have not spent much time together.) Rabinovich demonstrates an actor’s sensitivities quite impressively, especially for a young actor. His character arc may well be the most dramatic in terms of growth and change, and he handles it like a true pro. As with Wiggins, this is a young man to watch.

Once all is settled, Timmy is left alone with his father, Terry. Played by Trustus mainstay, Paul Kaufmann, Terry is an affable, childlike n’ere-do-well, whose love for his sons manifests in an “at my house, there are no rules” dynamic. (When asked by Timmy if they can attend an Imax film or visit the Planetarium, Terry immediately scoffs at the thought of an educational outing, at least in the traditional sense.) Kaufmann, without ever breaking the established reality of the play, or mugging to the audience, brought to life an enchanting man-child, reminiscent of Tom Hanks in Big, with a dash of Bertie Wooster and Falstaff tossed in. To Timmy’s growing amusement, the two of them chug Cheerwine (no sodas allowed at Tammy’s house), fight ludicrous pretend war games against “Vagicilla, Dark Queen of the Nether Regions” (inspired, no doubt, by Tammy), and Timmy frequently receives his father’s military decorations, which may or may not be legit. It was at this point that I began to wonder about the show’s eponymous title. Was Timmy the Boy About Ten, or was his father? Had the parent/child dynamic between them already shifted before the action of the play began? Kaufmann, incidentally, scores one of the biggest laughs in the show while telling Timmy about his days in an ersatz KISS cover band. “You can always tell when chicks dig you. They chew their gum at you…like meat!”

A brief in-one scene gives us our sole glimpse of life at Tammy’s house, when the focus is, both literally and figuratively, on Todd, who is passively receiving an unwanted haircut from his mother. A special tip of the hat to Lighting Designer Laura Anthony, for transforming a simple floor lamp into a “where were you on the night of the robbery?” beacon. This is an occasion upon which the lighting truly made the scene for me. We, the audience, are semi-blinded by the intensity of the same light shining into Todd’s eyes, and subject to the same jabber from Tammy. Like a police officer in a bad, made-for-TV crime drama, she prattles on and on about how Todd should want to be “normal” and make friends “like all the other boys,” painting a Leave It To Beaver lifestyle, which will supposedly emerge with a haircut and a suit from Goodwill. Interrogation/indoctrination and “tough love” establish an uneasy coexistence at Tammy’s house, and the two children she raised reflect that. Timmy’s unblinking obedience earns him praise, so he obeys. Todd, whom I assumed to be somewhere on the autism spectrum, is unable to deal with what his senses perceive as blinding light and a barrage of impossible commands. Though short, this scene impacted me. I began to wonder through whose eyes we were seeing any given situation, and then viewing each scene from each character’s angle. Thank you, Jon Tuttle, for this (I’m guessing) three-page scene, which widened the lens through which I saw the rest of the play. Though she was the antagonist of the scene, it allowed a glimpse into Tammy’s desperate desire for a “normal, happy, family,” and humanized her for me.

I won’t go into too much detail about the second act, as it is, essentially, a minefield of spoilers, and much of what happens requires the elements of shock and surprise to work. While not without laughs, the second act takes a somewhat darker turn, with a grim family story, involving animal abuse, being revealed. (*While no violence is depicted onstage, a gruesome monologue could be mildly to moderately triggering for some.*) Terry childishly endangers his and Timmy’s lives at the end of act one, the aftermath of which, we see in act two. Todd returns, neatly trimmed and besuited, but still distant, albeit with the occasional smile of hope. Toward the end of the play, we discover that Terry suffered physical wounds far worse than Timmy’s while saving the boy from the dangerous results of his (Terry’s) recklessness. Romantic impossibilities are pondered and argued, D’Loris loses another crumb of her idealism, but hangs on to hope, Timmy takes his first step toward adult cynicism, Tammy reveals some game-changing information, and the family is left as we found them; bruised and battered, but oddly okay. The playwright leaves us with the idea that life will simply go on, and with the insanity and bizarre love in this family, who can even speculate on the eventual outcome?

Director Patrick Michael Kelly has taken an artfully written play, refined by much workshopping, and brought to the stage a world of slightly-heightened reality, never losing sight of the connecting themes of family and what it truly means to care for someone.

So, who is the Boy About Ten? I have my suspicions that each character, with the exception of D’Loris (who serves as the impartial observer and voice of reason) is that boy. Perhaps that answers my earlier question, and tips us off that the show is seen from D’Loris’ perspective.

Boy About Ten is an engaging, thought-provoking, and most enjoyable play, and a worthy addition to the Tuttle ouvre. Only four performances remain, so get your tickets now!

-- Frank Thompson

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Tickets can be purchased online at Trustus.org , or by calling the Trustus Theatre box office on 803.254.9732

Remaining performance dates are:

Wednesday, August 22 – 7:30pm

Thursday, August 23 – 7:30pm

Friday, August 24 – 8:00pm

Saturday, August 25 – 8:00pm

Frank Thompson is the theatre editor for Jasper Magazine - contact him at flt31230@yahoo.com

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