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.