A review of the Kalamazoo College Senior Performance Series

Suddenly Last Summer

Director Michelle Myers pays a wonderful homage to Tennessee Williams with her powerful production of his one-act Suddenly Last Summer. The play focuses on the human collateral damage left behind in the wake of an untimely death. Mrs. Venable (Megan Rosenberg), the mother of the departed, is attempting to have her niece Catharine Holly (Kelly Campbell) lobotomized for sullying her son’s reputation.  She invites not only Catharine, but a doctor from Lion’s View hospital, Dr. Cukrowicz (The Kosmo’s own Joseph Schafer), a surgeon who specializes in radical prefrontal disfigurement to consider the operation.

Doctor Cukrowicz has a sense of character that builds as the play progresses. Raw nerves and hints of condescension chip his helpful demeanor away. His omnipotent smile starts as good bedside manner but becomes subtly disquieting as he discusses his work with Mrs. Venable. Mrs. Venable fields the first of the play’s two long monologues, talking at length about her son and their relationship, her character stemming more from her relationship with the deceased than from herself. Catharine is eventually brought on stage by her chaperone, Sister Felicity (Marianne Stine). Catharine’s mental instability is shown not only through her angry outbursts and rebellious nature, but also in the way she holds herself and moves across the stage, eyes darting between things unseen to the audience.

The most powerful moments in Suddenly come from the doctor’s interview of Catharine. The interplay between the actors is spectacular and enthralling. Catharine takes full control of the play’s second long monologue, and is driven by subtly shifts in lighting and the gradually building cacophonic noise of jungle birds and hand-made percussion instruments. At times of extreme emotion she walks to the stage’s edge and teeters dangerously, swaying with the sound of her own voice as she talks about Sebastian’s brutal death and posthumous dismemberment.

Francisco Pradilla, by Juan R. Medina

The play does a wonderful job of contrasting two subjective views of reality. The short and sparse arguments between Mrs. Venable and Catharine contrast well against their longer speeches. Both women’s want to reject the other’s stories of Sebastian shows a deep-seated inability to reconcile personal truths with idealization.

Tragedy: A Tragedy

Tragedy takes a serious and absurdly humorous look at our media-centric culture. Helped along by a fantastic job by the stage crew and John Reeves’ love of hanging things from the ceiling, the play miraculously blends some great technical aspects with Will Eno’s precisely bizarre style. I was impressed enough when they Camera Crew of the play (Including Wales Christian, Robert Cooper and Nolan Racich) were able to turn on the televisions over the central circular desk. It was truly astonishing when they started broadcasting live video feeds of the physically separated actors.

Eno’s work, superbly directed by Emilia LaPenta, is absurd even in its start, as a news crew begins the coverage of a global disaster: night. The news anchor, Frank in the Studio (Vincent Kusiak) has the difficult job of calling upon the various reporters out to cover various aspects of this new tragedy. At first the play delivers a lighthearted combination of professional journalism and the absolute absurd. As the night carries on, the thin veneer of professionalism breaks down around the characters. John in the Field (Ben Richards) does an amazing job of bringing an enduring humanity slowly into his role as reporter, desperately clinging to whatever he can in the growing dark, which at a few points is The Witness (Martin Goffeney). The reports on the Governor from Michael, Legal Advisor (Stefano Cagnato) are stunningly delivered and a cunning motif.

In a beautiful directorial move the newscasters begin the play by looking into their respective cameras, yet as the night grows longer and their professionalism begins to slip, they start to face each other. Although the actors are physically separated on the stage and mentally separated by their various locales, their more human moments ignore those gaps as they reach out to find one another in the darkness. At one point Constance at the Home (Madlen Meyer) actually walks away from her eternal vigil on a family’s front lawn to go and comfort an increasingly distraught and sympathetic Frank in the Studio.

As the constant barrage of media finally dies away, each crewmember is able to find their own little piece of humanity, still terrified and alone in the dark. In the end when all the cameras are left unattended and each reporter has given up, The Witness takes up the mantel of storyteller and motivational speaker for the whole team. The Witnesses’ story transforms the play from an abstract commentary on human connection into a demonstration of its importance.

Overall both plays succeed in teasing out subjective truth from a maelstrom of information, be it through the rambling stories of two emotionally disconnected women or the constant barrage of empty media. Together, the two student-directed plays provide a great two hour escape and a powerful look at staged humanity.

If you’re like me, you love pizza.  If you’re like me, you love local pizza.  So I thought a good way to start off this three part series would be a comparison of two great pizza places in Kalamazoo: Bimbo’s and Bilbo’s.  The purpose of this series is not to determine the superiority of one aspect of Kalamazoo to another, but rather to give our readers the kind of help they need in varying their morning, afternoon, or evening experiences in the city.  Kalamazoo has a lot to offer; let’s check it out.

Bimbo's Modest Storefront

Bimbo’s Pizza is downtown at 338 East Michigan.  If you’ve ever walked past Olde Peninsula, you’ll see that Kalamazoo has plenty of restaurants the further east you go, including Coney Island, Ouzos’, and Monaco Bay.  Bimbo’s menu sports very little other than pizza; under “sandwiches” are listings like “ham” and “turkey,” so I imagine that the non-pizza foodstuffs aren’t their strong suit.  Despite that, the pizza, if a little pricey, is excellent.  The soft, thin crust and fresh toppings are good, but don’t really compare to the sauce, which is clearly homemade and deserving of some kind of reward (if only the Kosmo gave out awards…).  The aesthetic of the restaurant’s interior is great too.  There are some old fashioned high-booths with large tables in the middle, always crowded on Friday and Saturday nights.  Bimbo’s also boasts their superiority in a storefront preparation area, where employees toss dough back and forth and make their sauce by the gallon.  The whole establishment is understated.  My only complaints are that Bimbo’s is cash-only (there’s an ATM inside) and that they don’t deliver.

Bilbo’s, unlike its downtown counterpart, is a little bit out of the way at 3307 Stadium Drive.  While this may deter the unadventurous college student, worry not, Bilbo’s will deliver your pizza to you at no charge (other than the expectation of a tip for the driver).  Also unlike Bimbo’s, Bilbo’s doesn’t pretend to be anything but a pizza joint: if there’s something other than pizza on their menu, they supplement it with pizza (pizza sandwiches, stuffed pizza, etc.).  Bilbo’s sports some very thick crust, fluffy and filled with air, rather than the thin, concise crust at Bimbo’s.  Here, you can choose between white and whole wheat crust; I chose wheat because I’ve never had such an option before; truly delicious!  Bilbo’s is also a little pricier than some of the mainstream joints and you get a little less (quantity, not quality) than you do for a comparable Bimbo’s price.  Despite that, there’s certainly a reason why Bilbo’s had the money to expand to a second location at 6202 South Westnedge in Portage.

Me, I’m a thin crust guy, and I’d rather walk to get my pizza than have it delivered to me.  So for my buck I’d choose Bimbo’s, but the whole wheat crust and free delivery charge from Bilbo’s makes it a difficult decision.  In the end I feel good supporting either establishment, since both are locally owned and operated.  It all boils down to how you’re feeling the next time you’ve got some extra cash and a rumbling stomach.

Check out Kalamazoo Comparisons, Part 2: Downtown Drink Deals next week.

It is amazingly difficult to be more tragic than Greek tragedy. The myth of Orpheus is the perfect example of quintessential Ancient Greek pessimism. Say what you will about the ancient Greeks, they knew how to pull at the heartstrings. Losing the love of your life once is bad, but twice is just devastating. Based on the tragic myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is the play by Sarah Ruhl, Eurydice. Helped along by an amazing cast and a spectacular set design, the Western Michigan University performance at York Arena Theater is both infinitely funnier and devastatingly more tragic than the original myth.

George Frederick Watts's Orpheus and Eurydice

The humor comes in two forms; the new spin on the classic Greek chorus and the unfettered interpretation of the Lord of the Underworld. The energetic Chorus of Stones is a permanent fixture in the underworld and serves as translator while helping transition the less-than-living to their new home. The three stones, identified as Loud Stone (Katy Copeland), Little Stone (Shannon Hill) and Big Stone (Ben Maters), are all dressed head-to-toe in grubby, soot-stained mining gear, which helps to remind us of the setting on the bare stage, including the Stones’ headlamps, which are perfectly suited to their use in the lighting design. The chorus pulls the show together, injecting the play with a powerful energetic feel and acts as a distorted emotional mirror: cheering at the failure and misery of the protagonists and jeering their successes.

The most thrilling performance of the play comes from Zack Apman, who portrays the Nasty Interesting Man and the Lord of the Underworld. Between his outrageous dance moves, perfectly disturbing evil cackle and daring journey on a tricycle, he brings much needed character to the play. He provides an unlikely mix of power-hungry, devastatingly lonely and slightly malicious, the synergy of which becomes ridiculously hilarious.  Foreshadowed in the opening, however, it is the interplay between the protagonists, and not The Lord of the Underworld, that causes their truly tragic downfall.  Orpheus (Michael Lopetrone), ever the musician in his gilded burnt-amber headphones, thinks of nothing but music while Eurydice (Rachel Napoleon) is fixated on him and disheartened that the artist does not reciprocate her devotion. The cute and pantomime-filled romance between Orpheus and Eurydice culminates in their short-lived marriage. The Nasty Interesting Man lures Eurydice away from her wedding party and towards her wake. After Eurydice’s untimely death, the real action of the play starts.

The Chorus of Stones, Eurydice, her loving, supportive and dead father (Joel Hoard), and a spectacular lighting array populate the underworld half of the stage. In contrast, the other half is barren and shows the continued suffering of a heart-broken Orpheus. The two halves of the stage alternate, switching the action of the play from the underworld to Orpheus. The underworld scene depicts a touching reunion between father and daughter and a growing familial bond; the other scene shows Orpheus slowly losing touch with reality. Michael’s portrayal of Orpheus’ growing detachment and the intense pain of his loss comes across amazingly as he shouts at the stage floor, begging his dead wife to hear his cries of undying love. As this pathos-inducing display is playing out, the father and daughter are sharing memories of life and family, displaying sweet sentimentality and a compellingly-performed father-daughter connection.

The relationships that have built up over the play’s course are used heart-wrenchingly well to heap tragedy upon tragedy at the end of the play. Overall, the acting is compelling, the twist on the old myth breathes new life and depth into the story and the lighting and sound design is more than effective, adding an element of spectacle to an otherwise bare stage.

The show continues to play in WMU’s York Arena Theater; February 4^th-6^th at 8 p.m. with a Sunday matinee on the 7^th at 2 p.m. Tickets are $20, $15 for senior citizens and only $5 for all students.

Amidst seemingly international pressure to have Plans for After College, I am applying to Teach for America.  “At the very least, it’s a paycheck and full hours,” one friend points out.  I encounter two camps regarding TFA.  The first are academic types that say “TFA is a great opportunity,” pointing to the acquired professional and graduate study qualifications the program allows, not to mention the “real world” experience.  I counter that if I currently am not gaining real world experience, to please unplug the back of my neck from the motherboard and pull the hose out of my throat. The other camp comes more from my colleagues: “I heard TFA is really fucking hard.  I knew someone whose friend dropped out.

Sitting in the office of a professor whose opinion I highly value, I popped the question: “So, what do you think of Teach for America?”  “I love it,” he responded, referencing a former student of his who completed the program while gaining an expensive accreditation from a local university, made affordable by TFA. “It’s really fucking hard though,” he added.  “No easy stuff.”

Upon closer examination, it is difficult to pinpoint what is “so fucking hard” about TFA, when, in fact, what you do is quite simple: you teach, and nobody who teaches does so because it is easy.  As a four-year Woodward School for Technology and Research veteran, having co-run the program in 2007-2008, and currently involved in nuturing personal long-term relationships with specific students and their families, I can vouch that the rewards for such time-alotment are often retrospective, best reflected upon after a good meal and a nap.  Hearsay, however, can be gold when it comes to “life transition programs” such as TFA, and one thing that I hear is that corps members quit, or become discouraged because they feel impotent to fight the greater forces at work in their respective classrooms.

flickr.com image courtesy of hellosputnik

The K student liaison to TFA came into my Shakespeare class Fall Quarter to plug the upcoming application deadline.  She recounted a story of two public high schools in the same Chicago school district.  One was well funded and in a wealthy area, and a majority of the students performed well on national tests, and the expected number went on to higher education.  The other high school was more urban, poorly funded, and [I believe] serviced a predominantly ‘minority’ community. An astoundingly low percentage of the students there åperformed well on national tests, and very few went on to higher education, let alone graduated or passed an equivalency exam.  And this was why we were supposed to join Teach for America.  I sat in the back of the room and screamed “DOESN’T ANYBODY REALIZE THAT THERE ARE LARGER AND SYSTEMIC ISSUES AT PLAY HERE?  THEY’RE IN THE SAME FUCKING SCHOOL DISTRICT.  THERE SHOULDN’T BE A SINGLE FUCKING DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWO SCHOOLS AND THEIR STAFF!”

I brought up my “plugging the cracks in the dam” theory with my trusted professor.  He nodded and said “Oh, yes.  I see now.  Yes.” and then he nodded again.

In May 2009, U.S. Secretary of Education Secretary Arne Duncan called Detroit “ground zero” for education, though he added that he felt “‘a sense of real hope … [that] people here understand’ the importance of education and the need for reform.” That following December, Detroit Public Schools learned that their students set the nation record for inferiority on the National Assessment for Educational Progress.  69% of the fourth graders and 77% of the eighth graders participating in the hour long exam scored “below basic” on math.  The Freep mused,

“The results are perhaps the most damning indictment to date of a district already pummeled by reports of poor graduation rates, labor disputes, financial collapse, and even gunfire in the hallways.”

The buck stopped at the school district administration, and then Lansing-appointed “emergency financial manager” Robert Bibb took the Washington and deposited it into the district’s waning coffers.  “Just one of three of DPS fourth-graders, the test suggests, can correctly subtract 75 from 301, given a choice of three answers,” the Freep observed.

In the print edition of the Free Press I picked up that evening, one column opined that this was the district’s fault, while one blamed the teachers.  Another vaguely asserted a connection between parental involvement and educational success, and all parties agreed that this, above all else, was not the student’s fault.  There was even a nice graphic to illustrate how two-thirds of Detroit’s publicly-educated fourth- and eighth-graders were stumped by 301-75 = ___.  (My iPhone calculator says ‘226′).

And I’m thinking: this isn’t one person’s fault.  This isn’t just bureaucratic vacuousness, or teacher inanity or family fatuousness or a student’s lack of respect for him or herself: this is everyone’s fault.  Every person who has ever meaningfully encountered these kids is to blame for this pathetic academic showing–including the students themselves (though we are all so much a product of our environments).

In an age where Washington plans to spend $663.7 billion on the DOD (not including $42.7 billion allotted to the Department of Homeland Security) compared to $46.7 billion on education–and $164 billion to cover the interest on our national debt–Teach for America employs around 7,300 college grads to help fill and ameliorate the nation’s classrooms, none of which are located at the academic “ground zero” of Detroit.

The final application deadline for 2010 is February 19.

The views expressed herein are not necessarily those of The Kosmopolitan Online.  They reflect the personal opinions of the author.