Folding, not breaking: Kabuki shows the strength of a paper crane

Published in the Portland Phoenix

Take a seat. Sit mute, without moving. Watch. Listen. Feel. Sights, sounds, feelings, thoughts.

Lights brighten as a girl steps forward from a delicately painted set full of robust colors. They are hues of life, of unbridled energy, of unconquerable power. Youthful vigor and atomic fury collide on the walls.

The girl begins to run, already racing towards a future of untold promise, and trying to elude a past that is close behind her and catching up. She is Sadako Sasaki (Michele Lee), now 12, who was a two-year-old girl when, on August 6, 1945, the US dropped "Little Boy" on Hiroshima, Japan.

In a 40-minute performance heavily influenced by the Japanese kabuki style of theater, Sadako’s story is retold at the Children’s Theatre of Maine.

Kabuki plays often deal with the conflict between humanity and a larger system or social structure, such as a wartime government’s impossible choice between the death of millions or merely hundreds of thousands.

This play combines the two main types of kabuki plays, historical dramas and stories about normal people. It includes ritualized gestures and line-delivery that is more singing or chanting than speaking.

There are also amazing masks with bright colors and strong designs, which clarify character elements in this three-actor, multiple-character show. At the same time, the masks slightly obscure speech — not enough to matter, but enough to anonymize the speakers, as when masked doctors report on Sadako’s condition.

Nancy Brown and Richard Gammon play the roles of doctors, parents, and friends, as well as Sadako’s grandmother, felled instantly when the bomb struck. Brown’s presence on stage — and Lee’s — is a significant departure from kabuki’s no-women-actors tradition, but the adaptation is more than appropriate. While the break from tradition would raise eyebrows in Japan, in the US, having men play the female roles would be worse than distracting.

Brown and Gammon work well together, often separated by an entire stage and not even looking at each other, but moving and speaking together and in counterpoint. Their movements and lines are precisely delivered, with just enough passion to have meaning without losing the strict composure and reserved aspect possessed by many Japanese people.

Even Sadako’s lament, when she is struck down by "the atom bomb disease," leukemia, is subdued.

"I don’t have any scars from the bomb. It didn’t touch me," she cries, not understanding that the bomb’s real blast was invisible. It was not just a bomb that leveled her house, killed her grandmother, and seared her neighbors’ shadows on the walls.

As the dead of Hiroshima later tell her in a vision, "The bomb continues to fall, Sadako. It is falling even now."

Youthful innocence attempts to triumph in this tragedy. Sadako’s friend Kenji (Gammon) arrives with a legend and a message of hope: A person who folds a 1000 paper cranes will have her wish granted by the gods.

Sadako wishes for her grandmother to live, for herself to be well, and for no bomb like that ever to happen again. (She forgets it already did, three days after the bomb came to her hometown.)

As Kenji demonstrates folding the crane, he is turned away from the audience — and toward Sadako. It means we can’t see the nimble fingers and intricate movements that for nearly two full minutes are the only action on the stage. Turning slightly toward those watching would show the skill required in executing a flawless crane under stage lights and dozens of watching eyes.

It is with the crane-folding that the play differs from the story told by the World Peace Project for Children, the real-world organization inspired by Sadako’s story. The play says Sadako did not manage to fold 1000 cranes before she died in 1955, at age 12. The Peace Project says she folded more than that number.

The disparity is important. Either she did not manage to appease the gods in time, as the play suggests, or the gods chose which wish to grant — and it wasn’t her grandmother’s resurrection or Sadako’s own survival. Whichever is the case, the story is an inspiring one, simply and powerfully told.

It ends with the description of a statue of Sadako erected in 1958 by Japanese children in the Hiroshima Peace Park. In her outstretched arm she holds an origami crane. On the base is inscribed, "This is our cry, this is our prayer — Peace in the world."

A replica of that statue in the Seattle Peace Park was vandalized in December. The arm holding the crane was chopped off.

A Thousand Cranes
Written by Kathryn Shultz Miller. Directed by Pamela DiPasquale. With Michele Lee, Richard Gammon, and Nancy Brown. At Children’s Theatre of Maine, through April 18. Call (207) 828-0617.

Backstage

• Correction: After a review in the Phoenix, director Michael Howard did not attend the following performance of Macbeth by the Stage at Spring Point last summer. It was not a rehearsal he missed. Backstage apologizes for the error.

• Starting April 23, Pontine Theatre in Portsmouth will be performing an original production inspired by and based on the New Hampshire ties of e.e. cummings. Pontine artistic directors Greg Gathers and M. Marguerite Mathews created and will perform the show, called Silver Lake Summers: an e.e. cummings revue. Cummings spent many summers, as a boy and as an adult, in the Sandwich Range of the White Mountains. Call (603) 436-6660 or check "Listings" for details.

What price loyalty? Mixing business and friendship

Published in the Portland Phoenix

In an intricately detailed junk shop on Portland Stage Company’s main stage, a battle of loyalties rages. David Mamet’s American Buffalo juxtaposes loyalty to friends with business relationships, showing with what force divergent points of view can collide.

Don (Dwight Bacquie) is a fatherly type for whom giving is important. He would give, for instance, a risky robbery assignment to a friend, Bobby (Gregory Russell Cook), even though Bobby is pleasantly clueless and seems likely to botch the job.

Teach (Don Harvey) also likes giving, but from the other side of the transaction. He demands that his friends give him whatever he wants — whether it’s a slice of toast or the task of breaking and entering.

"Business" for both is a secondary matter, one less personal and less infused with the demands of interpersonal relationships.

The two mix, though, when Don asks Bobby to help with a task Teach considers "business" — stealing back a buffalo nickel bought from the shop. Don figures it’s worth well more than the $90 that was cheerily paid for it, and assumes he needs it more than the purchaser does.

Teach argues he should do the deed because he’ll get it done and Bobby likely won’t. He browbeats Don into changing his mind, swapping business for friendship, and cutting Bobby from the deal.

Teach’s raging-animal is well handled by Harvey, who last appeared at PSC as a similarly disaffected man in Sam Shepard’s True West. Teach’s wildness becomes evident when he fears he is being cheated (by a friend) on the (business) deal. He berates Don and abuses Bobby, even while ignoring signs that there may no longer be a need to steal the nickel.

Then Donny’s wrath surfaces, emphasizing friendship, defending Bobby from Teach’s assault. Bobby and Teach then swap roles to a degree, with Bobby suddenly worldly wise, and Teach cowed into boyish submission.

As is usually the case with Portland Stage, the set is beautiful and the costumes are well done. (Though how PSC managed to convince Bacquie to shave his head into male-pattern baldness is beyond me . . .)

The direction includes elements of slapstick humor and other comic devices to keep the show moving, and to prevent it from being overly heavy. It is Mamet, after all, and Mamet’s language, which some have compared to Shakespeare in its complexity and cadence, is primarily a means of conveying feeling, and of preventing the action from being mime. The words wash over the listener, who need only absorb feelings to follow the meaning. The words themselves bring extra layers, and clues to recurring themes, including oblique references to nickels from time to time.

The blocking carries much of the passion of the story, and all three actors use the physical space very well, alternately occupying the center and fading to the edges. Their individual movements — how they use the space — add depth to their characters and understanding for the audience.

The real conflict, though, is in every house seat, as viewers weigh what they might do in the place of each character, each a very real, very human face.

American Buffalo
Written by David Mamet. Directed by Tony Giordano. With Dwight Bacquie, Gregory Russell Cook, and Don Harvey. At Portland Stage Company, through April 18. Call (207) 774-0465.

Backstage

• Add Verb Productions Arts & Education is seeking a high school student to join the board of directors. AVP’s mission is to bring about awareness, dialogue, and social change using theater. While AVP currently tours two programs around the country addressing eating disorders and dating abuse/sexual assault, additional new programming is in the works. This is an exciting opportunity for a student to be a part of a growing organization that has a statewide and national presence. For more information, contact AVP board secretary Tavia Gilbert at TGilbert@DDLAW.com or ClownPoppy@aol.com

• Newburyport, Massachusetts, playwright David Mauriello has reworked A Passage of Time, produced at the Players Ring in 1995. Generic Theater will give the new version a staged reading at the Rice Public Library in Kittery at 7 p.m., April 13. The story follows two men whose relationship is tested when the family of one of the men comes to live with them.

• British playwright Marcus Lloyd will be at the Penobscot Theatre Company in Bangor April 24 and 25 for the opening weekend of his play Dead Certain. It is the New England premiere of the play, a two-person thriller that opened at the Theatre Royal in Windsor, England, in 1999. Lloyd has been working with director Mark Torres via email during rehearsals. Penobscot Theatre will hold a special reception in Lloyd’s honor and have audience discussions with him as well. For more information, call the box office at (207) 942-3333 or visit www.PenobscotTheatre.org

Think, wait, fast: Siddhartha comes to Portland Players

Published in the Portland Phoenix

In Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha, the man who will become the Buddha searches high and low for meaning and understanding in his world. Along the way, he sees many things and learns three powerful lessons about himself: "I can think, I can wait, and I can fast."

In my own travels, these principles have often proved fruitful, as has a corollary from The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife: "I can hold it."

Marjorie (Irene E. Lemay) is the frustrated intellectual wife of an allergist. She and her husband live down the hall from her mother in a New York apartment building. For Marjorie, everything is trifling, including herself. Perhaps she is right: She has written a book "heavily influenced by Thomas Pynchon" and punctuated with a system of her own devising. This, of course, she considers her most worthwhile accomplishment. Her sense of self-pity is bolstered by her failure to understand Waiting for Godot.

She has a passion for German literature, and repeatedly invokes the inspiring story of Siddhartha as she journeys through life herself, though largely without looking away from the pavement.

Her life is much like the play itself. She begins with insignificance; passes through confusion, introspection, and obscure literary references; and ventures into an uninspiring political moment. Then returns to insignificance.

The acting is strong, for the most part. The oddest thing is that doorman Mohammed (Keith Brown) is supposedly from Iraq but has an accent modeled on that of Apu Nahasapeemapetilon, owner of the Springfield Kwik-E-Mart.

Lemay is herself strong as a tormented rich woman at loose ends because she need not work and is exhausted from 30 years of volunteering. Clay Graybeal is mincing and barely present as her husband, but that’s how the character is written, so he does well. Anne Sibley O’Brien (as Lee) swans around the stage like the diva her character is.

It is Betty Longbottom (as Frieda, Marjorie’s mother) who steals the show, though, with the most laugh lines. Sadly, nearly all of them involved gratuitous profanity that was only funny because it was said with a straight face by an old Jewish grandmother-type.

Indeed, playwright Charles Busch has Marjorie lament the "dumbing down" of culture to "the lowest common denominator," and then has an old woman say "fuck" over and over again, predictably drawing huge guffaws from the audience.

To be fair, Longbottom also did very well with her bitter aspect and the detailed descriptions of her intestinal function. She also had a wonderful lament for what apparently used to be her "beautiful BMs." Again, though, we see a denominator not far above the floor.

Much of the plot is very funny, with good writing, interesting twists, and great acting. Even weird plot developments — is one of the characters really there? and if so, how can there be a menage-a-trois about to happen? — are handled well by the cast and director Michael Rafkin.

And yet, by the final scene, Busch has lost focus, leaving director, actors, and audience at sea. It is as if Busch noticed that his play was getting close to an end, and hadn’t yet Said Anything Important. Frustrated with his inability to maneuver complex literary allusions and purely comic plot lines into a Message For The People, Busch gave up.

He starts by dropping "fucks" all over the dialogue, drawing more and more laughs with less and less meaning. Then he launches Ira and Marjorie into an indictment of Lee that gives a current-events tie-in, a clue about why Portland Players chose this script when others might have been more entertaining, and more satisfying.

They call her a terrorist. Over and over and over, they call her a terrorist, of the soul, of the heart.

Suddenly, a pleasant, fun evening of light theater turns into a clichéd, poorly argued piece of political theater. It is a stunning piece of theater bait-and-switch.

What’s worse, it drags on and on, as Busch gets his characters around to their points — lacking all of the wit and mental cleverness that made the first six scenes fun and interesting. And then the play just stops, leaving a sense of relief that the ordeal is over. The audience wants no more.

The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife
Written by Charles Busch. Directed by Michael Rafkin. With Irene E. Lemay, Keith Brown, Clay Graybeal, Betty Longbottom, and Anne Sibley O’Brien. At Portland Players, through April 4. Call (207) 799-7337.

Backstage

• Prospective cast members beware. "Backstage" is officially stunned: Michael Howard, who didn’t show up to rehearsal after the Phoenix panned Macbeth last summer, didn’t get fired. He will be back directing for the Stage at Spring Point, which will have 12 performances of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night in July. No word yet on whether Stage executive director Seth Rigoletti will attempt to star again.

• Sunday nights from 9 p.m. to midnight, hit rtsp:/./wmmc.mmm.edu/wmmc.sdp to listen to Theatre Trash with Braden Chapman, originating from New York and including news, gossip, reviews, interviews, and more.

• The Escapists are arriving at Casco Bay Books with a sizzling 20-minute show, including short plays, pop songs, comedic improvisations, and one aria. Performers Chris Fitze, Ryan Gartley, Christine St. Pierre, and Shelia Jackson, with writers Jason Wilkins and Jamalieh Haley, and director R.J. McComish, will be there on Friday evening, April 2, with three shows: at 7:30, 8:30 and 10 p.m. Admission is free.

Feeding the hungry: Theatergoers find tough love

Published in the Portland Phoenix

"Orphans are always hungry," says grown-up orphan Harold (Mike Genovese) in Orphans, at the Public Theatre in Lewiston. They’re not just starving for food — though on a diet consisting solely of tuna fish they can’t be well-nourished — but also for love, guidance, help, and attention.

Philip (Righteous Jolly — can that be his real name?) and Treat (Evan Mueller) are grown orphan brothers who have managed to evade capture by social-services agents and somehow still appear to pay rent on a two-story apartment in north Philadelphia.

They have a Lost Boys-type life, playing and cavorting in their pleasantly disarranged home. Mueller is excellent as the subtly menacing Treat, providing for and caring for his brother and yet keeping him subservient, illiterate, and afraid to go outdoors.

Jolly is, well, jolly in his innocent portrayal of Philip, a mentally underdeveloped boy who learns to dream by watching TV. He is manically silly and has a great time with little-kid toys and big-boy strength, racing and crashing around the living room, handling dinosaurs that attack rubber balls and then slam-dunking them into a wastebasket atop a cabinet. Jolly also renders well Philip’s meeker side, complete with fake bravado, and needy I-want-you-to-love-me tenderness.

One night after a bender, Treat brings home an older businessman, Harold, who has apparently come willingly, though his briefcase carries his worldly treasures. Genovese is a great drunk, blustering around the place alternately comforting Philip with a tough-love approach the boy thrives on and calling Treat’s bluffs with a disciplinarian attitude.

Playwright Lyle Kessler’s characters are fascinatingly complex, combining elements of various archetypes into very realistic people on stage. There are elements of the Lord of the Flies, as well as Bloom County, The Wizard of Oz, and Mrs. Doubtfire.

Philip is a curious-but-scared boy whose personality is best suited by the color pale yellow, he and Harold decide. He needs protection from someone, and his courage is only borrowed.

Treat mirrors what he sees, whether it’s passive aggression, outright opposition, or affection. He has an attitude, which barely contains his rage against a world he can’t control. New ideas are dangerous, and Harold can impose order on nearly any amount of chaos, it appears, whether it’s a kitchen full of food, a bus, or an apartment inhabited by kids who have never really had a parent.

Harold is more, though. He’s on the run from unnamed "enemies" from Chicago, and has drunkenly stumbled — literally — onto an easy safe house in Philadelphia. He pays the boys "salaries" to "work for" him, and runs a tight ship.

His main difference from the other adults the boys have dealt with is that Harold’s raised hand signals loving encouragement, not a threat.

It is an engaging play, working the audience’s brain as much as its heart, and never offering a simple solution, except perhaps that love and luck play together to make life interesting and exciting.

Director Christopher Schario has found the moments in this play that keep it moving, and has worked them all very well, empowering Philip with a passionate speech declaring his independence just moments after a riotous lesson in social norms and how to deal with people who take up too much room on the bus.

The experience is fraught with questions, and more arise after the show ends. They’re not just plot-level musings about the characters’ uncertain futures. Instead, the larger questions loom. What happens to orphans in our society, which is short of foster homes? Who cares for the kids who manage to escape the system? And how do people without parents handle losing the only parental figures they know?

Orphans
Written by Lyle Kessler. Directed by Christopher Schario. With Mike Genovese, Evan Mueller, and Righteous Jolly. At the Public Theatre, through March 28. Call (207) 782-3200.

Backstage

• Meetings, Part 1: Artists’ Collaborative Theatre Of New England (ACT ONE) will host an informal gathering in the meeting room at the Lane Library in Hampton, NH, on Wednesday, March 31, from 7 to 8 p.m. The theater’s organizers want to know what the wider community wants from its theater elements. They’re also taking email suggestions at rlnuge@aol.com

• Meetings, Part 2: Mike Levine is the "point man" for a group forming to develop a shared rehearsal/office/small performance space for individual artists and small performing groups. Levine is inviting interested people to join him at 10 Mayo Street, Portland (A Company of Girls’ space), on Wednesday, March 31, from 6 to 8 p.m. He’s also taking email inquiries at info@acorn-productions.org

• If you want to know what the next generation of theater folks are up to, check out what USM’s Student Performing Artists company can do with under $1000 and Neil LaBute’s script The Shape of Things. They’re putting it on at the Russell Hall Lab Theater on the Gorham campus from April 1 through April 6. Call (207) 780-5151 for times and tickets.

A love untold: Sharing hidden joys and sorrows makes Good Theater

Published in the Portland Phoenix

The daily tension of dreams vs. reality can be overwhelming. Some couples dwell inside themselves, holing up and committing to a fate — whether blissful or turbulent — completely tied to each other, with few friends or family members keeping watch, armed with lifesaving rings to throw to sinking partnerships.

Others retain strong ties to people outside the partnership, drawing strength, relief, and perspective from extramarital wisdom. Outside perspectives have helped save relationships and salvaged individuals from shipwrecked love.

Into this messy world, Good Theater brings Same Time Next Year, a play in which two married people seek refuge in each other, though their wedding vows were to others. The two, who meet in a chance restaurant encounter in 1951, devise a unique way to get a break from their marriages, and find some solace and perspective.

We follow the couple, Doris (Lee K. Paige) and George (Stephen Underwood), through 24 years of annual weekend reunions, as they explore each other and themselves (doesn’t that sound sexy?), and as their lives and worlds change. The story revisits them roughly every five years, making plain what would otherwise be incremental changes in personality and society, not to mention appearance.

Paige and Underwood are both excellent laugh-line deliverers, and alternate in the role of straightman to the other’s funny man. But the biggest laugh-getter at a performance last weekend was actually in Good Theater artistic director Brian Allen’s intermission speech. Apologizing for several technical glitches — not to mention the black piece of Styrofoam that quit blocking light from an exterior window and instead fell on the head of an audience member, Allen draw guffaws and applause with: "We’re glad you’re here to share our pain."

And while some of the problems stole a bit from the show, Underwood and Paige performed mightily, demanding audience members’ attention turn to them and away from whatever was going wrong. After intermission, all was well, and what could have been a distracted, failed set of climactic scenes was instead a wonderful romp through laughter, into heartbreak and tears, and back again.

Apart from the comic lines playwright Bernard Slade has supplied, the play depends on the connection between the two actors.

Paige and Underwood show their skills, transforming through the play from blushing, teen-like first meetings into the solidity that only comes with time.

They expertly marry humor and relief — the weekends they spend together seem truly a vacation for each — with phone calls from home, stories of the past year, and the guilt that racks them even as they try to indulge in pleasure.

As the relationship deepens, it becomes more than an annual one-night stand, providing each the comfort of familiar company and a simultaneous escape from quotidian stressors. They provide new perspectives on each other as they grow up together and apart.

It is in the fourth act, just after intermission, that the characters collide most spectacularly. In 1965, the newly liberated Doris is an adult student at Berkeley and marching and rallying with the best of them. George, on the other hand, is a year past voting for Goldwater and still thinks the nuke-the-Vietnamese presidential candidate was right.

Doris’s affable greeting that year, "Hey babe! Whaddya say? Wanna fuck?" is met with stentorian disbelief from CPA George, forcing the two actors to suddenly not rejoice in each other’s presence.

But it is in that same scene, as Doris gently calls out George’s fears, that we see the true power of the love they share. Unable to mourn a huge loss properly at home, George finds tears in Doris’s arms.

Five years later, in act five, they are completely different characters again, testing the range of Paige and Underwood — who are well known for their ability to play diverse roles.

Underwood shows gentleness in place of his former cold heart, even talking Doris’s husband down from a marital high ledge. And Paige has reformed her belligerent student ways, now running a growing business and finding power within.

Costume-designer Joan McMahon is also put to the test. George’s suit of 1961 has turned to a dashiki, just as Doris’s flower-child flowing hair and dress have become more conservative.

As we watch the annual confessional visits of this torn-but-loving couple, we share heartbreak and triumph, lonely bitter moments and sweet tender times. We exult in their mutual joy, hope they can keep the secret of their love, and our hearts break with theirs as time and life take their due.

A story of these two people’s actual marriages would be less compelling than the tale of their hidden romance. And yet we get that, too, learning about their spouses and families from their annual stories of the past year. And we remember that most important, though rarely spoken, promise of true commitment: "If you won’t make me laugh, just hold my hand."

Same Time Next Year
Written by Bernard Slade. Directed by William Steele. With Lee K. Paige and Stephen Underwood. Produced by Good Theater at St. Lawrence Arts and Community Center, through April 4. Call (207) 885-5883.

Backstage

• Congrats to the Camden Opera House for investing in their space, to make the historic building even better for modern uses. They have renovated the backstage area, updating rigging, rehanging lights, and replacing drapes. The stage is five feet deeper and the drapes now hide the off-stage areas from the audience. And for audience members, there are new climate-control and fire-alarm systems for comfort and safety.

Overlooking presidents: Contrived script too much for this one man

Published in the Portland Phoenix

Looking back across the street to the White House from a bus stop, Alonzo Fields (Larry Marshall) also looks back upon his 21 years of service as a butler in the president’s mansion.

"The ol’ house," as Fields calls it, is familiar ground. He knows every inch of the place, and every moment of its history, from its construction by black men — both slave and free — to the day he retired from service.

Fields, black himself, served four presidents there, in real life and in James Still’s play, Looking Over the President’s Shoulder, based on Fields’s memoir and his personal journals.

It is an entertaining play, exploring the more personal attributes of Herbert Hoover, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Harry Truman, and Dwight Eisenhower. It views the presidents as men, and judges them on how they treat their household help.

As playwright, Still collected a set of interesting tidbits about the presidents’ domestic lives, and used them to construct a chronologically choppy narrative. Perhaps it was meant to draw the audience in and heighten the dramatic tension, but it was disorienting to hop from 1941 to 1939 to 1940 to 1942.

He also uses Fields’s longing for music as a device that seems contrived at times. While Fields put off his singing career to support his family through the Depression, Still returns to the theme over and over. Still makes Fields seem a whiner who really would rather do something else than serve in a position of incredible luxury and privilege, sheltered from the bread lines and homelessness of the Depression.

Such an attitude is surprising, given Fields’s background. He is a grandson of slaves who speaks four languages, studied at the New England Conservatory of Music, and learned etiquette working at the home of MIT president Samuel Stratton.

It’s more likely — as suggested by the play’s final aria — that Fields longed for more time with his sickly wife, who spent most of her life in Boston visiting doctors. But most audience members won’t get that suggestion — the aria is obscure and sung in Italian, making it impossible to know what it was lamenting. (I was only able to learn that much by asking PSC staff, who had to ask around themselves.)

Beyond the play’s own challenge to belief comes Marshall’s acting. The role of Fields is hard to cast. It needs a black man, at least six feet tall and solidly built, who can sing with an opera-quality voice, do a range of impersonations, and memorize a two-and-a-half-hour show.

In Marshall, they found all that, including a man who has a very expressive face and can spin a good yarn. They also found a man who hesitated at a large number of lines — not just for the effect of an aging man reminiscing about his career. It seemed at times that he was struggling for his lines.

Marshall is also no butler. A man with 21 years’ experience butlering in the most protocol-conscious building in the entire country would not touch his nose with a white glove, nor allow a tablecloth to touch the floor, nor drop a giant piece of lint on the floor and allow it to remain there, nor shut a door anyway other than silently. All of these small flaws, repeated throughout the show, weaken the suspension of disbelief.

PSC Artistic Director Anita Stewart wrote to the audience that she chose the play to have its presidential anecdotes contrast with election-year scrutiny of presidential candidates.

And the play does offer fascinating insights. They include Hoover’s assumption that FDR wouldn’t run because "the American people don’t want half a man for president" and a Supreme Court justice’s prediction that the handicap would be made invisible to the public by FDR’s handlers. Fields throws new light on old stories with FDR’s reaction to the attack on Pearl Harbor — he called the Japanese "the little yellow sons-of-bitches" — and generals’ talk of a retreat from California to Chicago.

Fields also gives good presidential advice, showing examples we can only wish for in today’s political environment. Hoover was so rich he gave his presidential salary back to the government. Just imagine! Arnold’s not the only one working for free.

There are contradictions left untouched, however. Under FDR — who appointed a Klansman to the Supreme Court — the atmosphere in the mansion made Fields say, "It felt like the White House belonged to the people — all the people."

One piece of advice would be well heeded in by politicians who only act when forced by public outcry. "A good servant always anticipates the needs of those he’s serving," says Fields, who could be admonishing public servants as much as household ones.

Looking Over the President’s Shoulder
Written by James Still. Directed by Regge Life. With Larry Marshall. At Portland Stage Company, through March 21. Call (207) 774-0465.

Backstage

• A group of directors, actors, and others convened last week at the St. Lawrence Arts Center, because, in the words of Mel Howards, "We rarely ever talk to each other and we hardly ever meet each other." The group, seven panelists and 10 audience members, all voiced different aims for their work, but found significant areas of common ground in which to potentially cooperate. Some group members plan to attend the "creative economy" conference in Lewiston in May. Others may be planning to lobby the city of Portland for help. "If this city doesn’t have an arts policy, it’s in the Dark Ages," said actor Drew Harris, who urged the group’s members to get city help with space and funding. More meetings are in the works.

• On Tuesday, March 16, explore the complex issue of self-inflicted violence in a workshop performance at Portland Stage Studio Theater at 7:30 p.m. Admission is free, and there will be a short "talkback" with the author and actors after the show.

Surfin’ safari: Sampling the hidden treasures of community-access TV

Published in the Portland Phoenix

Tired of corporate "reality TV?" Me too. The remedy? Explore the local version. My South Portland home theater (uh, basement 19-inch TV) features the best basic-cable package Time Warner Cable of Maine offers. It’s called "Lifeline," and it comes complete with one TV Guide channel, five major-network affiliates, C-SPAN 1 and 2, two public-television stations, and 4000 shopping channels. Blah, blah, all of it.

To interest me, it has to be local. I don’t mean "We have studios in Portland" local. I don’t mean "We used to employ actual native Mainers until we sold to a big out-of-state company" local.

I mean so local it hurts. Raw, uncut, "I think I saw that woman in the line at Hannaford" local. And, in fact, the first face I saw when I turned on South Portland’s Channel 2 Thursday night was a familiar one.

There in living color was Al Barthelman of Cape Elizabeth. He was asking the South Portland Rotary club for a donation to help maintain and improve Fort Williams. And in the first five minutes of his plea, I learned something new about the landmark park: folks who look out to sea help pay for upkeep, Barthelman told the Rotarians. "The binoculars, you know. Every quarter helps," he said.

I settled back into the recliner couch, nursing my Labatt’s (party leftovers — it’s my chore to clean out the fridge). This was what I was hoping for. Barthelman had it going on. All the facts, the figures, his lines well-rehearsed.

The lighting showed his face clearly as he worked his way through a single emotion. Standing in front of the unseen Rotarian hordes, Barthelman evoked memories of fun times spent at the fort, lit my patriotic fervor with allusions to its past military grandeur, and above all, won the thunderous applause of the audience, and me, as he wound up his presentation with a simple expression of gratitude.

Suddenly considering joining a group whose symbol is a sprocket, I switched to Channel 4, the Greater Portland Community Television Network.

It bears reminding that these public-access stations are our birthright.

In exchange for co-opting public-communications assets for profit, Time Warner is required to provide equipment, funds, and channels for local folks to have our say, even as we drown in "content" about Michael Jackson’s role in the Princess Diana crash. (Is Ashton his alibi?)

Over on Channel 4, PowerPoint slides full of tiny print sped past — too fast to read completely. The slides’ topics included the Maine Association of Nonprofits, the United Way, and strangest of all, Cumberland County. (Does a geographic area really need to advertise?)

Later, on Channel 2, I got to watch an Air Force Television News report about domestic violence. "The Air Force has always taken an aggressive approach to the problem," the newscaster said. They’re so tuned in to "early warning signs" that Air Force authorities offered one couple counseling right away when "the problem progressed to the point where Beverly got injured." It made me glad we took over Iraq before seeing any "early warning signs" of WMDs.

I also learned, in a helpful notice from the Portland traffic department, how to push the "pedestrian button" when trying to cross the road.

Friday evening, I sat down again to enjoy the fruits of our local videographers. I found South Portland Fire Chief Kevin Guimond opening a new fire station. Not content to explain that now residents of the western half of the city might actually get some water before their houses burn to the ground, the chief called it a "wonderful, practical building."

Network execs had pitted Guimond against a self-promotion show on Channel 4, in which a vapid interviewer lobbed questions at Channel 4 program hosts. Asking longtime host Janet Alexander about her show, Healthviews, the interviewer queried, "You have doctors and experts and people like that involved?"

No doubt shocked at her simpleton interlocutor, Alexander flubbed her line. The script read, "Yes, you moron. It’s a show about health. You think I’d just go grab the clients of Portland Biologicals?" Instead, Alexander treated the probe like a serious question, helpfully explaining that people with "MD" after their name sometimes know a thing or two about sickness.

Channel 4 features two shining stars. One is No Hit Videos, in which a cameraman records live concerts of local bands and televises them, in case we prefer to have our music experience un-enhanced by body odor. The other is Shine, on which local artists perform in a sort of TV talent show.

It is "packed with talented Maine performers," said Jill Newman, the airy emcee who should be recast immediately. (Her delivery improved when she read directly from the index cards in her hand.)

Shine co-host Will Berlitz was no better. He tried to deliver a nursery rhyme about "Will and Jill," who went up the hill to have a tag-team wrestling match with reading teachers Dick and Jane. Did it fail? And how.

The show itself did feature talented Mainers, from the Hurdy Gurdy puppet show to Katherine Rhoda on antique "play-by-number" instruments such as the Marxophone and the violinguitar. There would have been more room for talent without Will and Jill’s insipid banter.

Other thrilling programming on Channel 4 includes the meetings of the Portland Water District, in which elected bureaucrats discuss things like "storm-water events," which is technical shorthand for "when sewage overflows into Casco Bay."

The PWD trustees got a good laugh from a proposal by the town of Windham to spend $10,000 improving public access to an MTBE-contaminated pond. The laugh came when two trustees asked that the project be "low-impact." For $10,000, they snorted, Windham could barely do anything.

They did not need to explain that while $10,000 would re-side my entire house and leave enough to repave the driveway, in a municipality’s hands, it was about enough for a single gumball at the supermarket.

This was high comedy, and after I got up from the floor — I’d fallen in a fit of laughter (or was it pique?) — I decided it was high time to change the channel.

Back on Channel 2, I heard from a spokesman for the Maine Army National Guard, who said the work of the Mainers in Iraq would "perhaps bring some vestige of freedom" to Iraqis. Certainly not the whole complicated democracy thing. And definitely no incendiary community television.

It’s not the economy: How a Portland movie-maker is helping unseat Bush

Published in the Portland Phoenix

With a restriction like "we’re not going to have any pissing or farting or burping in this movie," you might be wondering how anyone could make a film about George W. Bush.

But Matt Power, obeying his wife’s diktat, has set out to do just that. Working with Dale Phillips, a friend he met 20 years ago in the Society for Creative Anachronism — that’s the slightly loony but fun-loving group of folks who dress up like medieval knights and villagers and go at each other with double-handed battle axes — Power is melding timeless themes.

The story is one of a bumbling half-human upon whom falls — literally — a position of great power. This might seem boringly like The Lord of the Rings on something like one-quadrillionth the budget. Power has already anticipated that — and not just by adjusting the length of his work to about 20 minutes running time.

You will find in The Nine all of the familiar Tolkien themes — wise elves, capitalist Rangers, unionist dwarves, and "Democrats all sitting around the Rivendell Country Club," lamenting the state of the nation but powerless to fight the evil creeping over the land.

Except the evil is more like roaring over the land. And The Nine are the members of the Supreme Court of the United States. Robed in black, they wield great power without any viable opponents. They ride black snowmobiles through the pristine landscape of Yellowstone, which these nine decaying men and women, entrusted with the rings of lifelong tenure, reopened to motorized traffic.

That scene was shot last January in Mechanic Falls, shortly after Power finished a four-year effort making Throg, a feature-length movie about an "immortal idiot" who travels through time trying to escape his destiny — being eaten alive by a monster.

"We finished a feature film that holds together and has some really funny moments," Power says. He’s not waiting for it to succeed, though he’s submitting it to several film competitions and continuing to market it.

"We’re just going to be like pit bulls of persistence," making another movie with the experience he and the crew earned.

"For basically 35-thousand bucks, we all got a film-school education," he says. It helped that Power sold his house in the middle of production, to help cover the debt. He thinks the education was better than a formulaic approach to filmmaking: "You move your own lights" and learn "what doesn’t work."

Throg was filmed on a shoestring, with actors and crew working for a pittance, if anything at all. "In this project, pretty much everybody gets paid," Power says. "After you make your first movie, you can’t rely on goodwill anymore."

It’s still a cheaper effort than it might otherwise have been, because computers have made production easier. "We try to put all the money in front of the camera," Power says.

That puts the Nine — whom Power calls "the root of all evil" — right in the crosshairs, along with the man they installed in the Oval Office. "We all want to get rid of Bush," Power says.

He’s trying hard to remember that life is more complicated than that. "I want the audience to have to think a little," he says.

"There’s an awful lot of sameness in politics," he says. "We’re going after everybody," trying to get them to "snap out of it." Democrats take a beating, too, for pandering to special interests and for not standing up for their principles.

Co-writer Phillips says too many politicians make deals, not decisions, saying, "We can have this as long as I get my share."

The film’s set itself is an unusual place, with costumes and makeup going on in nearby corners, a dead bird (attention PETA: it’s fake), fencing foils and a miner’s helmet stacked next to oranges, and a key prop that looks remarkably like a Frisbee. (It’s the Seal of the President of the United States of America.)

As crew members watch, Shrub — Bush’s Gollum-inspired character — cavorts about in front of a bluescreen, one moment fishing for dinner in a pool of water and the next, well, you know what happened in Florida.

It’s Phillips who best summarizes the movie’s message of humor and hope, satire and scandal: "Life should be fun, but life should be interesting and you should have to think about it."

Phillips and Power will have you thinking about The Nine later this year.

Backstage

• The Center Stage Players, a theater company for seniors, will present a theater festival on Friday and Saturday, March 5 and 6, at 2 p.m., at the 55 Plus Center, 6 Noble Street, Brunswick. The group, actors, directors, writers and storytellers, will perform a group of short plays, many original works in development for the past few months. Admission is by donation. For reservations, call (207) 729-0757.

New racino proposal under investigation

Published in the Current and the American Journal

A member of the legislative committee that came up with a new racino law last week claims his fellow board members shut the public out of negotiations on the plan.

Rep. Kevin Glynn, R-South Portland, has accused legislators of hashing out the proposal in a locked-door meeting.

The proposal would allow Scarborough Downs to seek a new home in two years, according to Glynn, who filed a complaint alleging the meeting was “inappropriate if not illegal,” because it violated the state’s public-access law.

House Speaker Pat Colwell, D-Gardiner, said he takes Glynn’s allegations “very seriously,” and has begun an investigation, which will include interviews with every member of the committee. “This was a bipartisan mistake,” Colwell said. “There’s nothing more important than public access to public meetings.”

The proposal combines the referendum approved by voters in November with a request from Gov. John Baldacci to increase regulation of racinos, and a new proposal from the harness-racing industry.

Committee documents indicate it would give more money to the state of Maine for “administrative and enforcement costs,” give a percentage of the take to a host community – in addition to any independent arrangement a track might make – and give some of the slot revenue to the state’s two largest Indian tribes.

It would also maintain or increase the percentage of the take approved by voters to support harness racing, prescriptions for seniors and college scholarships; share some of the money between the state’s two harness tracks, even if only one had slot machines; and give part of the take to off-track betting parlors.

New shares of the profits
The bulk of the proposal came from the committee’s two chairmen, Sen. Ken Gagnon, D-Waterville, and Rep. Joseph Clark, D-Millinocket. Gagnon told committee members that officials from Penn National Gaming had approved the allocations, which would give the company 58 percent of the racino take.

If a single racino operates in Bangor, the company’s take is estimated to be worth $15 million in the first year and as much as $48 million by 2006.

Penn National owns the Bangor Raceway and holds a harness-racing license for that track. Penn National also has an exclusive deal with Scarborough Downs to develop a Southern Maine racino.

Glynn, who demanded that committee members end their session in Gagnon and Clark’s locked office, and hold their discussion in the public committee meeting room, thinks the deal would be different if it had been arranged in public.

“I would not believe that the end result could be the same,” he said. “I am hoping that the decisions that were made will be nullified” because of the alleged violation of the state’s right-to-know law.

“Basically, the committee is behaving badly,” Glynn said. “We’ve shut the public out of the process.”

Gagnon and Clark could not be reached for comment on the matter.

After the committee returned to the public committee room, Glynn and others suggested several changes to the proposal. Glynn has repeatedly asked his fellow committee members to prevent Scarborough Downs from seeking a new home, and wants any change to the racino law to go back to voters in a combination question that would also allow Mainers to repeal the law entirely.

Glynn’s changes and others were rejected, though some minor changes in allocations of racino proceeds were made.

“If it wasn’t agreed to in the closed-door meeting, they weren’t going to do it,” Glynn said. He said his complaint was not a result of the rejections of his ideas.

Money talks
In the complaint, addressed to Colwell and Senate President Beverly Daggett, D-Augusta, Glynn said he did not entirely blame the committee leaders and members.

“The (committee) has been under attack by extreme lobby techniques of Governor Baldacci’s office through his staff, paid lobbyists who outnumber the members of the committee and just about every other special interest group within the Statehouse,” Glynn wrote.

“There is so much money on the table” that the committee hearings have turned into “a feeding frenzy,” Glynn said later. Gagnon had at one point suggested a portion of the racino proceeds go to the state’s dairy farmers. That proposal failed.

The Penobscot Nation and Passamaquoddy Tribe had also failed their request that the committee allow them to bid for the racino contract at Bangor Raceway. They would get 1 percent of the racino take under the newest proposal, to compensate the Penobscots for expected losses in their high-stakes bingo operation, Glynn said.

The Passamaquoddies are also cut in, because committee members thought it would be unfair to give money to one and not the other, said Glynn, who opposes any cut for the Indians. The proposal does not give any money to the state’s two smaller tribes, the Houlton Band of Maliseets and the Aroostook Band of Micmacs.

“All this was supposed to do was regulate the slots,” Glynn said. “They’re taking so much heat from so many people that they had to go off into a locked room and cut a deal,” he said. “Now we feel like what the politicians in Washington must feel like.”

Colwell agreed that the committee is under lots of pressure. “The lobbyists have been so thick up there that it’s difficult for the members of the committee to feel comfortable,” he said. “I think there’s more Gucci shoes up there than you would find on Rodeo Drive.”

Rep. Gary Moore, R-Standish, was in the meeting that Glynn complained about. He said there was “a convergence of people” in the office shared by Gagnon and Clark.

“There certainly was no formal meeting,” he said. “I would doubt whether at any one time there actually was a quorum there.”

He said he is still interested in allowing the Downs to look for a new hometown that would allow slot machines, and said he is still finding support for that position among his fellow committee members.

“Nothing has been voted in; nothing has been voted out,” he said.

My bloody Valentine: Hellas no fury like a god scorned

Published in the Portland Phoenix

The initial rumblings about Mad Horse’s production of The Bacchae included a warning: Don’t wear nice clothes to the show. There would be too much blood. Admittedly, it would be stage blood, but the Mad Horses were considering issuing ponchos to the audience, Blue Man–style.

And there was a missive from director Christine Louise Marshall: Also the show’s costume designer, she was worried about "the challenge of hiding bra straps, the way men’s legs look in skirts, and how to wash all the blood out of the clothes. Plus a cast of 14, which is somewhat like herding cats, although they are awfully cute cats, except once they’re covered with blood, when they’ll be far less cute. January and February will be all about blood," she wrote me.

Now February is here, and there were no ponchos issued at the door to the Portland Stage Studio Theater — which one day I will call the Portland Performing Arts Center Studio Theater, but not until people know that the PPACST is in the same building, and up the same stairs, as the PSST. And not until the acronym for the former is shorter and cooler than the latter.

Suitably forewarned (and simply clad), my wife and I headed to the PSST for a nice Valentine’s evening of theater. With a small but full house, some quite clearly also on romantic dates — "Aren’t you brave," mocked Mad Horse artistic director Andy Sokoloff in his opening remarks — we settled in for the bloodbath.

(When given a choice of Mad Horse shows to sponsor this season, the Phoenix chose the bloodiest, most mind-twisting one of the lot. I had nothing to do with the choice, and have no idea if it sheds any light on the workings of corporate Phoenix-dom.)

First, there was a nice, slowish, Greek scene-setting first act, to begin this 2400-year-old play written by a prolific hermit/writer who was fatally dismembered by royal hounds, perhaps in fulfillment of some Bacchan prophecy.

A stranger visits Thebes — Dionysus in human form — driving the women mad and into the hills to prey viciously on animals wild and domestic. Clad in fawnskin and crowned in ivy, they celebrate the god of wine, nature, and theater. Worship of Dionysus, also known by his Roman name, Bacchus, included trance-like ecstasies and secret rites, which he taught his followers.

The women, a writhing, keening, hissing, drumming, surging band of eight, make a wonderful chorus, and their meaning was clear, despite the energetic drumming drowning out a few lines here and there. The group (Nancy Brown, Darci LaFayette, Lisa Muller-Jones, Jessica Porter, Tootie Van Reenen, Joan Sand, Reba Short, and Barb Truex) seemed truly entranced by their worship, which might have included some wine-drinking off-stage, as there was none on.

Pentheus, Dionysus’s cousin and king of Thebes, is outraged by "this obscene disorder" and vows to restore order to his city, and dominion of men over women. The king (played by Brian Hinds) has not a small measure of hubris, and refuses to come to Earth even when receiving a tongue-lashing from a blind, aged sage (Teiresias, played by Johnathan "J.P." Guimont).

Hinds’s Pentheus is a strong man, with a loud voice and the light touch of tyranny endowed by Euripides. Hinds and Marshall know the playwright — a fan of complexity and confusion — wants us to like this insistent king, despite his disrespect for the gods.

Pentheus is deaf even to his own grandfather, Cadmus (Chris Horton), who begs the king to go through the motions of worshiping Dionysus if only because the god is a blood relation and brings honor to the family. (See, blood again.)

In a confrontation with the god, Pentheus denies the divinity and wonders at the stranger’s escape from a dungeon. Dionysus then turns from his normal gleeful lightheartedness into an angry god, demanding respect or a sacrifice. Stamell — a Dionysus helped at times by the theater’s sound system — flips the emotional switch back and forth with grace, at once threatening the king and smiling beatifically at his followers.

As the second act begins, Euripides melds traditional Greek dramatic forms, turning the scene of foreboding into one of laughter and disbelief. The king, trapped by the god’s words, sets forth incognito to spy on the cavorting women. Hinds displays a youthful enthusiasm and a gender-swapping brilliance as he portrays a warrior-king worrying about the lie of his hem and the placement of his curls.

Much of the action in the play takes place off-stage, and is related by the messengers (David Currier and Burke Brimmer), who perform well the re-enactment of events first imagined millennia ago and never actually seen by anyone.

They make clear the recursive nature of a scorned god of wine: Not only does he bring great misery, but supplies the only true means of relieving suffering.

The maddened women exercise unwomanly — and ungodly — power and energy, routing men sent to subdue them, bathing in the blood of their slaughter. A messenger escapes, and must describe the incident to two Dionysian devotees still in Thebes. Currier changes character with ease as he retells the tragic story, and is later joined by a sorrowful Brimmer bearing home a bloody burden.

A gruesome death scene is left to the imagination — for which we can thank Euripides, who has done more combining words and imagination than any actors could do in person. The mourning begins as the madness abates and realization dawns on the women of Thebes, who include Pentheus’s mother Agave and his aunts.

The anguished lament of Agave (Joan Sand) is what first drew Marshall to this play, when she was in a college theater class. Here Sand keens her heart out, understanding what has occurred while the veil of madness was cast over her eyes and mind.

Cadmus’s farewell to a bag of body parts topped by a severed head is powerful and moving as well, grieving his loss and the fate imposed by a vengeful god. (Summary: There will be much call for wine in the lives of the banished Thebans.)

His final plea is one no religion has yet attained: "The gods should be exempt from human passions."

The Bacchae
Written by Euripides. Directed by Christine Louise Marshall. With Joshua Stamell, Brian Hinds, and Joan Sand. Produced by Mad Horse Theater Company at Portland Stage Studio Theater, through March 7. Call (207) 730-2389.

Backstage

• The Center Stage Players, a theater company for seniors, will present a theater festival on Friday and Saturday, March 5 and 6, at 2 p.m., at the 55 Plus Center, 6 Noble Street, Brunswick. The group, actors, directors, writers and storytellers, will perform a group of short plays, many original works in development for the past few months. Admission is by donation. For reservations, call (207) 729-0757.

• Head up to the St. Lawrence Tuesday, March 2, at 7 p.m. for a forum on the general "state of theater" in the region. Mel Howards is hoping to "develop a collaborative spirit among all those who value theater."

Saving the lives of unwanted horses

Published in the Current, the American Journal, and the Lakes Region Suburban Weekly

Cassie Fernald of Standish was on a mission. In January, she was calling farms and businesses around Maine, trying to find a place to house two dozen horses for a few hours.

She had no luck – people didn’t have the space, the time or the desire to help – until she called Hauns Bassett at Camp Ketcha in Scarborough. Bassett, the camp’s new program director, heard Fernald describe the plight of these horses and said he’d help. Fernald burst into tears, and Bassett “very nearly did too,” he said.

The horses were coming from Alberta, Canada, where they had been on a large farm, raised to supply estrogen to the pharmaceutical industry. Drug companies need estrogen to make hormone supplements for menopausal women. One way they get estrogen is from the urine of pregnant mares.

Fernald is part of FoalQuest, a group originally set up to help handle the “by-product” of the mares’ pregnancy – foals. The group links adopters from the U.S. and Canada with farmers who want to get rid of their foals.

Without the group’s help, many of the foals would be slaughtered, Fernald said.

The group has taken on a new mission in recent months. A medical study late last year called into question the safety of one of the drugs made with pregnant mares’ urine (PMU). As a result, demand for the urine has dropped, causing most of the farms to close or drastically reduce their stock.

The horses Fernald was hoping to unload were mostly pregnant mares, which would be adopted largely by people in Maine. Some horses in the shipment were adopted by folks from Connecticut and New York.

Bassett agreed to donate the use of one of the camp’s corrals, and to coordinate having hay and water on the site when the horses arrived.

The horses arrived Tuesday morning, after a 3,400-mile trip from Canada. People were there to greet them, and horse trailers streamed down Black Point Road for much of the morning, as adopters arrived at Camp Ketcha, picked up their horses and left.

Outside the corral, one spectator, whose friend is adopting a horse, said the gathering was like a meeting of “horse-aholics anonymous.”

“It’s such a relief to see them here,” Fernald said.

“We’ve been waiting for this for a couple of months now,” said Joyce Carney of Rochester, N.H. It’s her first mare from the PMU program, though she has adopted foals in the past.

The mare will be the 11th horse on the family farm, and when she foals in May or June, there will be 12. “I would like to fox-hunt her,” Carney said.

The group may have another shipment in coming months and is asking adopters to visit the Web site www.pmufoalquest.com to look at available horses.

The mirror has two faces: How to write double entendre

Published in the Portland Phoenix

There is an art to doing it. The approach must be soft and gentle, though the intent is obvious. Unless of course you’re thinking of something else. In which case its meaning is equally plain, but completely different.

Ken Ludwig has great skill at it, carefully constructing his characters’ words and actions to present two versions of reality: the one we think should be happening, and the one we know the characters believe their parts in. Vague words assume specific meanings and errors in judgment abound.

In Lend Me A Tenor, Ludwig has created a mad world inhabited by a John Cleese–like theater producer, a boring dweeb (who turns out to have incredible strength in his, well, you know), a mercurial Italian opera singer, an incredibly capable bellhop, and a gaggle of women who see right through the men, except when the men don’t get it either, at which point the hilarity begins. That’s right at the start.

The Portland Stage promo literature says the comedy hinges (ha, ha) on a door opening or closing at "just the right moment," but it’s fortunate that isn’t true. In fact, if it were, this play wouldn’t be funny at all. Synchronized door-opening, intended to move the action from one part of the set to another, is not a strength of this cast.

But only the promo-lit writer might care. These actors — the actual crux of this or any comedy — are wonderful, with movement and timing honed by long nights of rehearsal. They have immersed themselves, with the help of director Drew Barr, until they see the brilliant comedy of each moment.

It doesn’t hurt that the aforementioned dweeb-cum-hero (Max, played by Tom Ford) is familiar from two years as Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, adding a new facet to an old character, or that Aled Davies, playing the theater manager Saunders, has been heavily influenced by Basil Fawlty (and has played Scrooge, himself, interestingly). And they’re helped along by Ron Botting, as tippling womanizing Italian tenor Gary Hart — I mean Tito Merelli — who channels Governor John Baldacci’s physical mannerisms and Father Guido Sarducci’s accent. (As an aside, has anyone ever met a hotel bellhop (John Hildreth) who is both fluent in Italian and could play a wonderful Parsifal?)

The women are excellent, too. Janice O’Rourke (as Maggie) opens with a lip-sync number Milli Vanilli should emulate, and goes on to discover true passion in disguise. Barbara Mather (as Julia) swans around the stage like a good theater-board diva; Jordan Simmons (as Diana) hunts down her quarry but misses the final blow. Meanwhile, Michele Ragusa (as Maria) lays down her smoky blaze around Tito, lighting fires under Max and Saunders.

Other participants in the opening night production included a chatty, well dressed group in the seats behind me, who often had useful information to add to the play’s goings-on. For example, when Tito takes too much phenobarbitol in this 1930s-era play, a man helpfully remarked that the drug was "one of the first medicines." In the past I’ve inveighed against the surround-sound nature of performances at other theaters. I am glad to see that Portland Stage, no doubt mindful that access to theater is a culturally enriching experience, has not yet banned nattering nabobs from its seats. (Can’t plays, like movies, include brief mind-your-manners scenes before the main show begins?)

A note of caution for those who fail to suspend disbelief upon entering a theater: Don’t believe Max’s words when he tells you, "This is not an opera." Of course it is. Besides the obvious operatic singing from time to time (which is very well done), this play bears all the hallmarks of good opera, not least of which is the larger-than-life performance by an underdog who becomes the real star.

Another excellent indicator of the play’s true genre is the amount of alcohol consumed by the main character. Ron Botting downs a half-bottle of wine in about 10 minutes; blissfully, the next task assigned to his role is to lie still abed for quite some time. Nevertheless, he is prepared for a second-act Keystone Kops-like runabout. (It should be noted that those illustrious officers never had women like these. Seems they’ll toss off their clothes for anyone who can find the right note.)

The finale — a reprise of the entire show in under two minutes — showcases the physical comedy and illustrates the fun playwright Ludwig — and the audience — has with words, made notable by their absence in the mimed closing credits.

Lend Me A Tenor
Written by Ken Ludwig. Directed by Drew Barr. With Ron Botting, Tom Ford, Aled Davies, and Janice O’Rourke. Portland Stage Company, through February 22. Call (207) 774-0465.

Backstage

• Democracy in action at Portland Stage Company: PSC is asking for input on what you want to see on its stage next season. A short list of plays for your perusal is available at the theater, so go check it out and cast your vote!

• For those who say new or unknown theater work doesn’t draw well, you should sit down with Mike Levine, who has figured out how to get big audiences to come to unknown plays by little-known playwrights. In the I-hope-you-didn’t-miss-it department at the Maine Playwrights Festival this past weekend: Paul Haley howling like a wolf, Stephen McLaughlin as a short-order genie, Miranda Hope releasing stress and an egg, Michael Crockett wishing for pierced eardrums, and Suze Allen’s twisting look at incest.

Returning with energy: Mike Levine finds a sprout from Acorn

Published in the Portland Phoenix

The year 2001 was "a brutal, brutal year" for Mike Levine. The Oak Street Theater — for six years his project — had just closed. He then worked with Deirdre Nice and others planning the restoration of the St. Lawrence Church into an arts and community center. But construction ran late, forcing the postponement of the center’s long-awaited first show.

And tragedy struck at home. Mike and his wife lost a baby. He took time off, closing Acorn, a production company that had put on must-see shows in Portland in the mid to late 1990s. He almost brought Avner ("the Eccentric") Eisenberg and company back for a Phyzgig reprise in late 2001, but September 11 put a stop to that. He took time to think, reflect, heal, grow.

Levine and his wife now have a second baby, and though she was three months premature and spent six months in the hospital, she’s healthy and home. And with some real-life dramatic experience under his belt, Levine, a high school theater teacher in Sacopee Valley, is finding the Acorn he stashed two and a half years ago.

"It’s nice to be able to pick up old connections," he says. Portland hasn’t forgotten him: A fund-raising letter sent out in the early fall netted some encouraging donations, and a $5000 grant from the Davis Family Foundation. It was enough to put on a few performances of Phyzgig in December and plan a third Maine Playwrights Festival, on this weekend at the Portland Stage Studio Theater.

It has also started a new chapter for Acorn. "Right now I’m trying to be financially responsible," Levine says. When at Oak Street, the conflict between the artistic half of his mind and the accountant half was no contest: The theater put on "very nice productions of stuff that would lose tons of money." This time, with a new perspective, he’s changed his tune. "We want to make this a stable venture," ideally self-sustaining, without needing grants and donations, except to expand and innovate.

"Otherwise you’re on the edge of death," he says. Without financial support "you’re just building a house of cards."

He has retooled Acorn to meet a need he sees in the community, one others have also seen. "We’re sort of looking more to Acorn as a catalyst for new work," dreaming of using the Portland Stage space — both main stage and studio — to showcase new work, workshop plays in progress, and expose directors, actors, and audiences to the living art of theater.

He is focusing more on the logistics end of things than creativity, preferring to avoid that artist-accountant dispute of past years. "If I want to direct a play, I should job myself out," he says. He is directing some of the work in this festival, but swears that’s it for his artistic involvement with Acorn.

This production sprang from work Suze Allen, of the Amma Performing Arts Studio (the studio Acorn morphed into in Levine’s absence, now a separate enterprise), did with local playwrights and short pieces. "These plays are written specifically for this event," Levine says. The plays were not chosen by competition, but that’s in the cards for the future.

The closeness of the playwrights to the process has allowed a degree of artistic give-and-take rarely found in theater, Levine says. Directors can ask the playwrights what their intentions were, and for background information on characters.

"I love these kind of short plays," he says. "They’re short but they have a complete dramatic arc." The performances can begin with more intensity, because they lack time to develop their own moods.

"The first time the characters see each other you not only want to, but you have to establish a clear connection."

Among the plays are stories of a man who, after 34 years or marriage, plugs his ears with wax and finds he has never been happier; eggs who decide to seek their own sperm donors; and couples who face a wide range of challenges in life.

"There are no subtleties," Levine says. As a director, "you can make these sort of extreme choices."

They’re also less demanding of time and energy — and money. The previous two festivals Acorn put on were for full-length plays, where 50 submissions came in and three were selected and performed in full. "That was really, really hard."

Shorter plays may draw more people, Levine hopes. "There’s something about theatergoers’ attention span that’s reflecting what’s going on" in the wider world. The first question most people ask about plays is not, "What is it about," but "How long is it?"

He’s hoping brevity, intensity and variety will draw "the ever-elusive 28-to-34 demographic" into the seats.

The future of Acorn is a bit uncertain. With no long-range plan, "in a sense we are almost like a new company." He’s enjoying the freedom of not having a theater building’s overhead, while at the same time being "a little worried about becoming a gypsy company."

"This is kind of an experimental year for me," he says.

Maine Playwrights Festival
Eleven plays by nine local playwrights, performed by 17 actors, with three directors. Acorn Productions at the Portland Stage Studio Theater, Jan. 29 through Feb. 1. Call (207) 766-3386.

Backstage

• Check out the SPACE gallery’s present show, "Touch," for an audience-participation theater exhibit, including scripts, costumes and blocking. If you’ve always wanted to try acting, but never found a way, now you have.

Gorman appeals conviction

Published in the Current and the American Journal

Jeffery “Russ” Gorman has appealed his conviction for the murder of Amy St. Laurent, asking Maine’s Supreme Court to grant him a new trial. His appeal asks for a judge to exclude damaging testimony from his mother about the killing.

In January 2003, Gorman was convicted of the “intentional and knowing” murder of Amy St. Laurent following a night out in Portland’s Old Port and at a house on Brighton Avenue in Portland.

The key issue in the appeal is the testimony of Gorman’s mother, Tammy Westbrook. She testified at a grand jury hearing that resulted in Gorman’s
indictment for the murder. At the grand jury, she testified that Gorman had called her Dec. 9, 2001, the day after St. Laurent’s body was found buried in a wooded area off Route 22 in Scarborough.

In that conversation, Westbrook told the grand jury, Gorman confessed to the crime and told his mother something nobody but the killer knew – that St. Laurent had been shot once in the head.

During the criminal trial, Westbrook testified she had no recollection of testifying before a grand jury and no memory of any conversation with her son about St. Laurent. She also testified that she was receiving psychiatric treatment for delusions and post-traumatic stress disorder.

The prosecution argued that an audio tape recording of Westbrook’s grand jury testimony should be presented as evidence during the trial. Superior Court Judge Nancy Mills agreed.

The evidence figured strongly in the prosecution’s case against Gorman, and jurors in the criminal trial asked to see a transcript of the recording during
their deliberations. That was not permitted, but they were allowed to hear the tape played again.

After five hours of deliberation, the jury unanimously convicted Gorman of the murder.

He was later sentenced to spend 60 years in prison, following a prosecutor’s sentencing recommendation that claimed Gorman tried to rape St. Laurent and killed her to cover it up.

Gorman’s new lawyer, Chris MacLean, told the Current allowing the tape of Westbrook to be played to the jury was unfair because it prevented Gorman’s trial attorney, Clifford Strike, from confronting Westbrook about her taped claims.

The right to cross-examine witnesses is guaranteed in the U.S. Constitution. Westbrook could not be effectively cross-examined because she did not
recall making the statements, or any discussions regarding the case, MacLean said.

MacLean makes two additional arguments in the appeal filing. He says Westbrook should not have been allowed to testify at all because she was not mentally competent to do so.

He also says the jury’s conviction was in error, arguing that evidence presented by the prosecution was not sufficient to convict Gorman of “intentional and knowing” murder. The filing asks for the conviction to be overturned and for the case to be sent back for a new trial.

MacLean told the Current there may have been enough evidence, depending on how the state Supreme Court views the case, to convict Gorman of manslaughter, but not murder.

The case is scheduled for oral arguments before the Supreme Court in Portland on Friday, Feb. 13. A decision could take months.

Theater Project for everyone

Published in the Portland Phoenix

Theaters across the state say they want to boost audience numbers, to have attendees reflect Maine’s diversity — ethnically, socially, economically. They say they want anyone to be able to see any show. Now somebody means it.

The Theater Project, in Brunswick, has introduced pay-what-you-can ticketing, for all shows, all the time.

Will more people in the seats build a more vibrant, supportive community than a few folks with high-priced tickets? It’s a good bet: "Ticket receipts never support a theater," says Al Miller, the theater’s artistic director. "We want people to come see our shows, and we don’t want them to stay away because they can’t afford the tickets."

We can hope they’ll also score more grants for being an inclusive theater environment, allowing families, young adults, and working people of all ages to see quality theater without breaking the budget.

Sure, other companies have pay-what-you-can nights, but it’s a separate-but-not-equal feeling, and it’s on their schedule, not yours.

At the Theater Project, even their requested amounts are low: ranging from $6 to $15. But there’s no shame, and no problem, if you can’t afford it. Just pay less.

Start now, at the Winter Cabaret, from January 23 to February 8. Pay what you can. Then add a penny — literally — to that amount, to help support a theater that says it wants everyone to attend, and means it. Call (207) 729-8584 for reservations.

In the name of love: Parents should listen to children

Published in the Portland Phoenix

The busy streets of Chicago are broken by automatic gunfire as Romeo and Juliet opens, in this 1920s-Chicago version of the classic love tragedy. It’s the Children’s Theatre of Maine, but this production is for kids 10 and up. A mother and baby are among the first to fall as the Montague/Capulet feud heats up.

The story line is familiar: Teenagers fall in love, without obeying the constraints of social or family repercussions. Each must hide true feelings from adults, who will use logic to quash that which is purely emotional. The grownups, determined to have their way, make unreasonable decrees — at least by today’s standards — and force the hands of the lovers.

All the while, teenagers’ proclivities to make bad choices result in serious consequences for Romeo, and a sympathetic counselor must devise a complex scheme to rescue young love from adult rage. In one of Shakespeare’s classic twists, a vital message is not conveyed, ripping tragedy from the jaws of joyous reunion.

These actors — mostly teenagers themselves, or in their early twenties — know well both the fictional story and its real-life themes. Julie Civiello, who alternates with Alex Brinkman-Young in the role of Juliet, is sensitive and strong in the role of the 14-year-old lover, whose father thinks her too young to marry, until he meets the "right man" for her. Who is, of course, not Romeo (Mark Friedlander) but Paris (Adam Gutgsell), a powerful nobleman and friend of the prince of Verona.

Civiello reaches deep into her own heart, tugging at Romeo and the audience as she struggles between love and duty. The balcony scene is sweet, earnest, and loving, though tinged with the despair of those who know they must oppose their parents’ will.

It results in a beautiful mimed wedding ceremony with soft lighting giving the couple their moment amid the chaos of the family feud. The music and lights throughout the production add to the ambience, including a swing-dancing masquerade ball at which Romeo first truly meets Juliet.

The supporting cast is generally strong. Mercutio (Brian Hinds) and Juliet’s nurse (Shannon Campbell) are wonderfully ribald, playing to the base elements in the audience, even as the web of sorrow draws nearer about them. Some of the lines are hard to hear, however, either because they are spoken too fast or because of the acoustics in the Children’s Theater space.

Chris Gyngell (as Romeo’s kinsman and friend Benvolio) speaks too quickly for any of his lines to be comprehensible. It is a sad casting choice, for his devotion to Romeo is one of Shakespeare’s great friendships.

The choice of this play is bold, dealing with adult and teen themes together, mixing no small amount of violence, both physical and emotional. And yet, these are important issues today, as they were in Elizabethan times.

Parents still strive for what is best for their children, even as those children redefine their own dreams. Youthful rebellion can lead not just to adult-feared failure but also to child-hoped success, or at least a valuable lesson learned. Adults and children should communicate more openly, not hiding behind preconceived ideas or latent fears. The real burden of this falls to the parents, who must create an environment of open, loving honesty, not a charade of fear and obedience.

As a reminder stands Shakespeare: With young lovers poised on the brink of their future together, adults and the stars conspire against them, bringing all to grief.

Romeo and Juliet
Written by William Shakespeare. Directed by Pamela DiPasquale. With Mark Friedlander, Julie Civiello, Alex Brinkman-Young, and Brian Hinds. At Children’s Theatre of Maine, through Jan. 25. Call (207) 878-2774.

Backstage

• Carolyn Gage’s one-act Calamity Jane Sends a Message to her Daughter won the Boston Play Slam, on January 13. The audience chose the single-actor short play as the best of the lot. It was performed by Leslie Bernardini, who had also performed Gage’s play The Parmachene Belle in an off-Broadway festival early in 2003. Gage is raising money to bring both shows to Portland.

• Another reason to head to Mad Horse’s production of The Bacchae in mid-February: The Portland Stage Studio Theater expects to have new seating! In six months of fund-raising, actors and others put together $2100, enough to buy 50 new chairs, leaving 35 old chairs still to be replaced, at a cost of about $1500, plus shipping. Be sure to thank the cast and crew of The Food Chain and Wicked for their efforts.

McKenney running for state Senate

Published in the Current and the American Journal

Paul McKenney of Scarborough, who recently moved to town from Cape Elizabeth, is running for state Senate as a Republican and hopes to challenge Democrat incumbent Lynn Bromley in November’s general election.

He does not know of any other Republican running for the seat, which represents Cape Elizabeth, South Portland and part of Scarborough, but may have to face a primary runoff in June if any others put their names in.

McKenney calls himself a “moderate Republican,” saying he is “pro-environment, pro-jobs and pro-family,” and wants Maine to “be more fiscally prudent.”

McKenney will be running a “clean campaign” under Maine’s clean elections law, which requires him to get 150 people to donate $5 to his campaign. In exchange for agreeing not to accept large donations from private supporters, McKenney gets access to state funds to run his campaign. If he is opposed in both a primary and the general election, he could get as much as $23,000 in state funds, plus additional money if his opponents spend more than his limit.

“I am running because of what I see happening in the state of Maine, and I want to make a difference, and I know I can,” he said.

“I’ve always had an interest in public service,” he said. “I’ve served the public for many years in the military.”

He is now co-owner, with his wife, and president of Dirigo Financial Group, a financial planning company in Cape Elizabeth. McKenney is also a major in the Maine Army National Guard. He served nine years as an Army aviator and has been in the Guard for six years.

He has military and civilian university training in leadership and management and is active in the Pine Tree Council of the Boy Scouts of
America, Rotary and the Greater Portland Chamber of Commerce.

He wants to improve Maine’s business environment and lessen the tax burden.

“It should not be an arduous task to open a business and to run a business,” he said. In particular, businesses often have to fill in several state-required forms with the same information going to different agencies.

Making Maine friendlier for business will help the state’s finances even as it helps residents.

“You cannot tax your way into prosperity. You have to grow your way into prosperity,” he said.

Town and state spending are raising coastal property taxes “without consideration for the people who have been there for decades,” he said. “We’re driving these people right out of their family homes.”

McKenney has a general guideline: “Every time we pass legislation we need to keep in mind Maine families,” considering how laws affect workers’ ability to earn a living.

He also has some specific ideas: “I think our tourism industry could grow 10 times,” he said. The state should spend more money promoting tourism, because money tourists spend stays in the state.

State program spending should focus on areas where dollars are proven to yield results, such as early childhood education.

The state should not spend money on building schools in towns with small growth and should consider privatizing some services.

“It’s not the public sector’s job to do everything for everybody,” McKenney said.

Another way to save money could be the impending retirements of many state employees, he said. As they leave, the state should analyze the services it provides and “realign these jobs, realign these departments,” without laying people off.

The Republican county caucus will be held Saturday, Feb. 28, at Southern Maine Community College. If there needs to be a primary, the vote would be held in June.

Maine RX Plus launches amidst protest

Published in the Current and the American Journal; co-written with Kate Irish Collins

Despite a much-hailed launch, a new state prescription drug program called Maine Rx Plus is not getting support from three pharmacy chains in Maine.

RiteAid, Community Pharmacy and CVS are not participating, saying Gov. John Baldacci asked them earlier this month to accept a reduction in state administrative fees and is now asking them to voluntarily cut prices of prescriptions.

Hannaford and Shaw’s, through their pharmacies, are participating in the program, which will allow low-income people to get reduced-price prescriptions when they present a state-issued card.

Wal-Mart has not made a formal decision about the program, but a pharmacist at the company’s Scarborough store said that if someone arrived with a card, they “would likely honor it.”

The program was launched last week by Baldacci, state legislators, the attorney general and activists interested in the issue. The governor hailed the program as making Maine “a leader in bringing lower-cost drugs to our citizens.”

Cardholders will be eligible for 10-25 percent discounts off brand names and 60 percent off generic brands for a wide range of drugs that are also listed as preferred drugs in the state’s Medicaid program.

Discounts became available on Saturday.

Pharmacies participate in the plan voluntarily and can opt not to honor the cards. RiteAid, Community Pharmacy and CVS objected to a proposal in which the Medicaid program would cut pharmacy administrative fees 40 percent. The companies said they will “consider” participating in Maine Rx Plus if the governor withdraws the proposed cut, which they termed “devastating.”

Prescription drug costs have long been an issue in Maine. After the Maine Rx program was challenged by federal regulators and then upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court, state officials reworked the plan.

“We have reconfigured the program to meet federal concerns, to integrate it with Drugs for the Elderly and to make it ready to coordinate with the new Medicare drug benefit when that program starts,” Baldacci said.

Maine Rx Plus will also use its volume to negotiate discounts from drug companies “later in the year,” he said.

House Speaker Patrick Colwell added, “Maine Rx Plus will negotiate lower cost prescriptions for Maine seniors and working families by using our buying power as a state. The Medicare bill Congress recently passed takes the opposite approach by forbidding the federal government from negotiating prices.”

“Until the federal government allows the bulk reimportation of prescription
drugs,” said Rep. David Lemoine, a member of the National Legislative Association on Prescription Drugs, “Maine’s Rx Plus model is by geography and price the nearest thing to Canada.”

To be eligible, individuals must earn less than $31,440; for couples it is $42,420. For a four-person family, the cutoff is $64,400. Program enrollment will be phased in. Maine Rx Plus cards will be sent automatically
to 73,000 Maine residents, who had participated in the now defunct Healthy
Maine program, which was halted by the federal government in December 2002. Others who may qualify can apply for a card by calling 1-866-Rx-Maine (1-866-796-2463).

Legislature to debate slots at non-profits

Published in the Current and the American Journal

Local lawmakers who voted in June to allow slot machines at VFW halls, Eagles lodges, and other veterans’ and civic organizations may be changing their minds.

In a June 3 vote on a bill that could come back to the Legislature as early as next week, all of the local Democrats in the Maine House of Representatives, and half of the local Republicans, voted in favor of installing up to five slot machines at veterans’ halls and lodges of nonprofit civic organizations.

The machines would accept a maximum bet of $5 and make maximum payouts of $1,250. Of the money the machines took in, 80 percent would be
returned to bettors, who would have to be over 21 and either members or guests of the organization – not the public.

Of the rest of the money, 75 percent would go to the organization hosting the machine, 2 percent would go to a statewide problem-gambling treatment fund, 2 percent to state regulatory expenses and the rest would be divided between statewide revenue sharing and payments directly to the town hosting the machines.

How they voted
Voting in favor were Janet McLaughlin, D-Cape Elizabeth, Larry Bliss, D-South Portland and Cape Elizabeth, Chris Barstow, D-Gorham, Ron Usher, D-Westbrook, Bob Duplessie, D-Westbrook, Louis Maietta, R-South Portland, Gary Moore, R-Standish, and House Republican Leader Joseph Bruno, R-Windham and Raymond.

Voting against it were Kevin Glynn, R-South Portland, Harold Clough, R-Scarborough and Gorham, Philip Cressey, R-Casco, Naples, and Sebago, and David Tobin, R-Windham. Darlene Curley, R-Scarborough, was not present for the vote.

Now some who voted in the favor of the slots are changing their minds.

“My position right now would be against any expansion of gambling,” said Barstow. Saying he had learned more about the gambling industry and heard more from constituents since June, “it’s best that we try to cut back gambling,” not expand it, he said.

Usher said he didn’t know why he voted to allow slot machines at veterans’ halls and lodges for other civic organizations in June and didn’t know how he would vote if it were included as part of new gambling legislation this session. “I want to get some more details on that,” said Usher.

He did say, however, that he was concerned that with the new smoking ban in bars, bar patrons may already be headed for halls and lodges of civic organizations.

Adding slot machines would be another draw to bring people into those establishments.

“What a change in environment,” said Usher. “Are we getting minicasinos?”

Duplessie said he had not changed his mind and still supports regulating slots at the organizations. With over 1,000 illegal slot machines operating in the state, he said government should regulate them and get a share of the take. “People are going to gamble,” he said.

Bliss said he did not recall the June vote, and would have expected himself to vote against it. (A House roll call shows him supporting it.)

Bliss said he would oppose the issue now. “I don’t think slot machines are the answer,” he said. “Economic development doesn’t come from slot machines.”

Glynn, who voted against it in June and said he would do so again, remembered the June vote and the 90-minute debate on the issue that preceded it. He was surprised that some legislators said they didn’t remember. “Any bill that comes out as a divided bill that we debate, I know how I voted,” Glynn said.

Back before committee
The bill passed the House by a vote of 84-53, and went to the Senate, which did not take a vote.

Instead, the Senate sent it back into a legislative committee to review after the statewide Nov. 4 racino and casino referendum votes.

Now the Legal and Veterans Affairs Committee, which has jurisdiction over gambling legislation, is sending the proposal back to the House.

The changes could allow slot machines at veterans and non-profit organizations, as well as off-track betting parlors, while simultaneously regulating slot machines at harness racetracks. The changes could also consolidate regulations on high-stakes bingo, beano and the state lottery, according to Rep. Moore, the ranking minority member of the committee.

The request for slot machines came from veterans organizations and other civic groups, Moore said. “Usually, there’s not a lot of agonizing when, for whatever reason, a veterans group comes forward and asks for something.”

The groups pointed out their civic activities and told the committee they needed more money to do more work.

“Basically, they were saying, ‘we’re dying off because of old age, and we need a new revenue stream,’” Moore said.

He supported it in the committee and in the House vote, in part, because “there are a lot of places that it’s already happening.”

Gaming already exists
Maine State Police records indicate that 14 organizations have licenses to operate bingo, beano and other games of chance – including video poker. Most of them are for bingo or beano, though state records don’t differentiate between types of licenses.

Westbrook’s 32 licensed organizations include the Holy Name Society, granges, Knights of Columbus halls, veterans organizations, sports boosters, Little League and the fire department.

Windham’s eight licenses are held by the Rotary Club, three fire companies, the Lake Pine Association, the Lake Region Eagles, Maine Junior Chamber of Commerce and the Msgr. William Cunneen Knights of Columbus.

Scarborough’s 14 licensed organizations include the VIP Bingo hall on Route 1, as well as Bayley’s Camping Resort, the Higgins Beach Association, St. Maximilian Kolbe Parish, the Scarborough Chamber of Commerce and the Scarborough Athletic Boosters.

A license for the Loyal Order of Moose to operate a game of chance called “pull tabs” was approved by the Town Council Nov. 19, but has not yet been sent to the state, according to Moose lodge administrator, Bob Lerman.

The game involves tickets similar to scratch lottery tickets, but instead of scratching to win, you peel back a perforated tab to uncover the results. The Moose would use the roughly $800 it would make for every 4,000 tickets sold to add to their charitable donations, which total about $6,000 a year, Lerman said.

Glynn, who also serves on the Legal and Veterans Affairs Committee, fears allowing the slot machines will create “little minicasinos of up to five slot machines per establishment.”

He said the state law would prevent towns from increasing regulations after the law passed. Town councils will have to approve the slot licenses the same way they now approve liquor licenses, but organizations will be able to appeal to a state regulator if the town denies a license. That would effectively allow the town’s decision to be overruled.

“A town would have to preemptively block it,” Glynn said. “If towns do nothing and this law passes, they will have slot machines.”

Look up: And see what's going on in the air around you

Published in the Portland Phoenix

Victims of domestic violence are in your neighborhood, possibly even next door. We picture them in urban settings, poorer families, where alcohol or drugs are problems. And the victims are there. But they are also in more affluent communities, suburban neighborhoods.

Why do we have the picture we do? Because "the majority of times the cops show up, it’s not the wife who calls," says Michael Cruz, a USM sociology professor who studies domestic violence. Someone else overhears the altercation, and calls for help. Suburbanites buy "peace and quiet." If they’re abusers, they also buy privacy — nobody to overhear the screams, the crashing furniture.

Let’s think about a few numbers — just briefly, I promise. According to people who know these things, 60,000 women in Maine are victims of domestic violence. That’s one in 10 women.

Pictured another way, if you’re in a supermarket line on an average evening, picking up a few things before heading home, you would hear between three and five voices pipe up if you called out, "anyone here been abused at home?" That’s if you had the courage to ask and they had the courage to answer, of course.

Mostly likely, though, you wouldn’t hear a sound. Like Elysia (Tara Smith) in Sean Demers’s new play Dreams of Elysia, victims are scared to speak up. And it’s our fault — yours and mine.

After a recent performance of the play, a group of panelists held a discussion with the cast and audience about domestic violence. On the panel were several local experts in studying the problem or helping victims. In the cast, at least one abuse victim (he openly discussed it). In the audience sat another, near tears as she described her upper-middle-class upbringing, learning only later in life that she and her mother and her siblings had all been abused. She asked the experts why her mother wouldn’t leave.

The most revealing answer was not their explanation, saying it’s often the abuser’s brain-washing, telling her no one will believe her. It wasn’t even the play’s beautiful illustration that love is present in abusive relationships, tying victims’ hearts to their tormentors, giving them hope that things will change, as all lovers dream of Elysium.

The best answer came from Michael T. Toth, who played James, the gone-but-not-at-all-forgotten domestic abuser in the play: Society tells women it’s disgraceful to be in an abusive relationship. We say, tacitly or even directly, "You should be strong enough to walk away."

Battered in body and spirit, these women are not as strong as we righteously demand. Most of us don’t say to them, "I will help you be strong enough to walk away." Instead, when they start to come clean to the world about the nightmare they live in private, we blame them into further silence.

No wonder nobody in the supermarket answers your call. They’re all expecting you to abuse them further. "You knew it would happen again," you’ll point out, unwilling to listen to their explanation that maybe they did, you’re right, but they also hoped it wouldn’t. They hoped the magic moments would return, when he was happy and loving and kind, like it used to be, like it still sometimes is.

Demers, a young playwright finishing a theater degree at USM, expanded the play from a one-act. "When I first wrote the play, [domestic violence] was kind of this subtext," he says. During revision, "it became clear that domestic abuse was more than just a subtext. It was the driving force."

Elysia’s relationship with James is over, but not gone. ("Battered women are always looking over their shoulder," says a crisis counselor.) And in fact, there he is, on the stage, as Elysia tries to break free, seeking a new life, rebirth.

When they fall in love, she learns, two people surrender control to each other. "The control is just waiting around to be picked up," a character says. Sometimes one of the pair picks up too much, and is able to use love as a weapon. This is abuse.

Elysia re-establishes an old friendship, tries to avoid the helping feelers from society, in the form of a condescending, superior nurse (Marita Kennedy-Castro) who offers a way out.

But she stays in the apartment she shared with James for eight years, its battered furniture, askew doors, and picture frames silent witnesses to the maelstrom. And she visits him in the hospital, where she reprises her weak, supplicant role, even as he lies unconscious, unable to move or speak.

Elysia tells Anna (Erika Silverman) a little bit about her abuse, but like the others in the supermarket lines, is silent when questioned directly. Even when she meets Isidore (his nickname is better: "Izzy," or "Is he?"), she is subdued. Demers’s dialogue gets at the root of the issue, probing and stretching to show the audience how far Elysia will go to avoid truth.

Perhaps the best review of the play came from a member of the audience, who talked about her concern over the issue, but her wariness of being forced to look too closely before she is ready. This play, she said, allows communication and connection between audience members and victims — allows people to see into that world — without being uncomfortable.

"I would like a lot of people to see this," she said.

Dreams of Elysia
Written and directed by Sean Demers. With Tara Smith, Caleb Wilson, and Michael T. Toth. Two Lights Theatre Ensemble, at the St. Lawrence Arts and Community Center, through January 17. Call (207) 839-9819.

Backstage

• On the night of January 16, the youth theater ensemble at the Schoolhouse Arts Center at Sebago Lake, will perform Ayn Rand’s Night of January 16th, a courtroom drama in which the audience plays the role of the jury. Call (207) 642-3743 for tickets to the performance, by young actors, aged 10 to 20. (It will also be performed the night of January 17.)

• The Schoolhouse folks are also looking for actors who want to be in a new group of daytime actors, to rehearse and perform during the day for senior and community groups. All are welcome, "if you are old enough to vote and have a sense of humor." If you’re up for it — and can be awake in time for 10 a.m. rehearsals, call Gayle Clarke at (207) 892-4461.