Kelly Campbell, Emilia LaPenta, and Cooper Wilson in "The Tempest"

What is interesting about this year’s iteration of The Tempest is that female characters of power have replaced male characters of power.  Prospero is now Prospera, the marooned rightful Dutchess of Milan. Antonio is now Antonia, the bitch sister who stole the throne.  Gonzalo is now Gonzalia, one of the court. Ariel, the sprite who carries out the magical wishes of Prospera, is, too, revealed to be a woman.  Penis has been replaced with vagina, scrotum with ovary, chest with bosom.  Vasa deferentia will not be needed.

The gender swapping of characters is the key to the performance, according to Dramaturg Laura Fox’s program liner notes.  This invites a feminist reading of the play, placing a particular emphasis on the performance’s depiction of the relationship between gender and power.  The play is presented as a direct rejection of the patriarchal notions present in productions of the play applying the original script.  Women playing originally male roles, however, is nothing new at Festival Playhouse.  The company’s presentation of Hamlet two seasons ago featured an all-female cast.  Yet while in that production, women played to stereotypical notions of men, lowering their voices and drawing their swords on crusades to avenge slain fathers, in The Tempest, the women of power are portrayed out of the shadow of perceived notions of masculinity.

Emilia LaPenta’s Prospera is the starkest example of this rejection of traditional masculine-sourced power on stage.  While the scripted lines remain unchanged from those of Prospero, Fox writes that “Miranda’s one parent is no longer a tyrant father, but a matriarch who wields her power over everything and everyone on the island, including Caliban.” How does one wield power “over everything and everyone, including Caliban” without being a tyrant?  By being really passive-aggressive and relatively nice about it.  While she may not shriek or bellow as a tyrant may suggest, Prospera still partakes in all the tyranny of Prospero, fucking with everybody on a whim, exercising control over her daughter Miranda’s (the wonderfully deranged Arkham-worthy Kelly Campbell) prospective love life, and making Caliban feel as small and pathetic as a partially-human being can feel.

Prospera maintains the entirety Prospero’s masculine power, but adds a touch of hostess charm and femininity without ever compromising the Dutchess’s political virility.  This suggests the application of a new lens through which to claim notions of power and control.  Her character is the very opposite of Michael Chodos’ wonderfully power-mad Prospero in last year’s Return to the Forbidden Planet.  While Chodos is nearly six feet tall and appears much larger than in life on the stage, Lapenta is not physically imposing by any means, dwarfed, in fact, by her giant phallus of a staff.  While Forbidden Planet‘s over the top Prospero was costumed in flowing black and gold robes inciting notions of radioactive metal, Prospera is dressed in pink, and wears an Amish-looking bonnet that covers her head.  Furthermore, LaPenta’s delivery is in contrast to Chodos channelling his sonority through his imposing stage presence in order to coerce his minions.  While stern and calculated, Prospera foregoes the overbearing volume and projection one might assume would accompany an all-powerful ruler hell bent on returning to their rightful throne.

LaPenta stands not only as a rejection of Chodos’ tirading patriarchal sorcerer, but also to Michelle Myer’s taciturn, darkly clad dominatrix of a Queen Gertrude in the aforementioned all-women production of Hamlet.  Simply stated, traditional assumptions and projections of power have been left out of The Tempest, intentionally so, and with great affect.

As for the other half, the men of the island are all hopeless fools–and thankfully so.  The prolonged boredom of writer William Shakespeare’s long-winded scene-setting dialogue is not aided in its tediousness by Director Karen’s Berthel’s decision to block Prospera and Miranda upstage, at almost the farthest point from the audience.  They never really move throughout the entirety of their lengthy initial scene, and at times it is difficult to hear them.

Theater is added to the play as in stumbles Stephano, (a convincingly drunk Chodos) and Trinculo, a Fool, played with fantastic jest by the slick and quick-witted Sam Bertken. Trinculo unwittingly couples with a recumbent Caliban, who, upon being discovered and given wine by Stephano, worships the drunk as a god.  The three stumble about their newfound kingdom of an island, and they and their source of power are ultimately and understandably mocked by the rest of the cast.

The only male character with any real claim to power is Alonso, King of Naples, and he is mainly a sap.  Played by Stephano Cagnato, who was absolutely brilliant in this Winter’s Tragedy: A Tragedy, Alonso delivers his lines like giving a satirical news report, and is about as imposing of a ruler in his Thanksgiving dress up like a pilgrim hat as wet cardboard.

Other male characters include Calder Burgam’s Sebastian, who steals all scenes with confidence and acting chops, but who wets his hubris at the tricks of Grace McGookey’s bothersome Ariel, the Airy Spirit.  Rounding out the men is the Dwight Trice’s effeminate Ferdinand.  Trice, however, is far too caught up in preserving some unwanted vestige of presumed masculinity to notice that he’s just a little kid all wrapped up in puppy love.

All in all for a night of Theatre, The Tempest is a lot of bang for your buck. It effectively presents the opportunity to redefine what it means to have power, and what it means for power to be in relationship with gender.  Another impressively intricate display by Festival Playhouse, Shakespeare’s classic work will wow you into a world of mystery and ambition.

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The Tempest continues as part of the Festival Playhouse at Kalamazoo College, Friday and Saturday, May 21 and 22, at 8:00 pm at the Nelda K. Balch Playhouse and on Sunday May 23 at 2:00 pm.  Tickets, $5.00 for students.

Editor’s Note:

The Kosmopolitan Online would like to formally apologize to master builder and Production Design chief Jon Reeves for spelling his name on what might be upwards of seven instances with an “h”. “He might not even be a Jonathan,” we are told.  In a token of repentance, the extraordinary Mr. Reeves will receive a commemorative replica of the one millionth dollar bill donated to the Kosmopolitan Online Charity Foundation.

Playing in the Dungeon Theatre is a divine performance of Three Days of Rain, by Richard Greenberg.  Directed by Anna Simmons and Georgia Knapp as part of the Senior Performance Series, Three Days features a strong trio cast of Nick Johnson, Abby Wood, and Alden Phillips.  As Dave Brubeck’s piano fills the forty or so stadium seats the Dungeon has to offer, one wishes more could be accommodated to view the urban mania of taxi cabs and jackhammers outside the window of Mr. Johnson’s decrepit Walker, without fear of endangering the intimacy.  Walker’s instability bridges on slight retardation as he storms about the room hurtling cartons and chucking magazines at the innocent bystandards of Ms. Wood’s business-y Nan, narrowly missing Mr. Phillips’  suave actor Pip.

The disheveled loft space had belonged to the silent patriarchal architect back in the 1960s of Act II.  That father, Ned, is portrayed with equal parts sharp demeanor, warmly depressing passion, and ultimately uplifting character by Mr. Johnson.  The transition from the mania of Walker in Act I to the composed and hidden manic genius of Ned in Act II would have been a feat for two actors to accomplish, let alone one whose only physical change was between fitting wardrobes of 1990s money-gushing bum to the conservative suburban of the Cold War America not of the hippie persuasion.

Abby Wood as Lina and Alden Phillips as Theo in "Three Days of Rain"

Such diverse acting is best viewed intimately within a fitting habitat. Alix Reynolds’ transcendingly dusty sky apartment set combines with John Reeves’ perfectly executed lights and the expert inclusion of Brubeck’s piano over scratchy vinyl to effectively set the tone for the city and madness within civilized society.  The conversion of Ms. Wood from her disciplined Nan to the wild yet sultry Lina is equally as impressive as Mr. Johnson’s from Walker to Ned.  While perhaps not with Mr. Johnson’s flare, Ms. Woods provides the perfect female antidote to her counterpart’s -phobias and -philias. Nan, though conservatively dressed in a wretched Bader Ginsberg burgundy and lace business suit, seems tear out from her entrapments of unexpressed emotion–a necessary contrast of restraint to Mr. Johnson’s at times murderous wailings–exploding into the screams of Lina.  Lina is all ’60s sex, but with a tender passion and extreme caring.  She is loving, yet quiet, yet wholesomely real in an apartment-world full of people jockeying for position within the city and within themselves.

Intentionally so, Mr. Phillips’ Pip/Theo is the morally defeatist nadir of the show.  Though Mr. Phillips would do well to not rush quite all of his lines, he, like Ms. Wood’s Nan/Lina, is a necessary weight on the wavery teeter-totter of Mr. Johnson’s Walker/Ned/self-convicted asylum.   Mr. Phillips more than enough makes up for his populist aloofness with coarse energy.  His boyish good looks and colicly curly hair play well into the script’s placement of his character as the outside agitator of the romance between Walker/Ned and Nan/Lina.

These effective elements of convincing yet transcending set, transporting atmosphere, and most certainly excellent acting are not accomplished without exceptional coordination and guidance.   Credit is due to the directing of Ms. Simmons and Ms. Knapp.  Though each directed one Act, the pair were perfectly complimentary, guiding both space and thespian through a dance of hurtful but ultimately redeeming human behavior.

Like all good stories, Three Days is a love story, but it is a love story in the most real fashion, the story of building a home.  A house, yes, literally one of an architect seeking expression, seeing things only he can see, yet can somehow communicate through love.  There are no real villains and there are no real heros.  There is no one there to clean up the crumpled magazines strewn about the apartment of life.  Yet as we switch back in time to before life’s messiness from Act I to Act II, Three Days provides the blueprints of just such a home that is our relationships and our loves and our messy abandonded lofts replete with insane and lost individuals.  As rain washes over us and through us as we are trapped inside our accustomed Manhattan lofts, we pour glasses of rain and take long naps with the pitter-patter against the window pane.  Certain lovers come together with stories of posterity, and certain people go off to die.

Three Days of Rain continues in the Dungeon Theater in the basement of the Light Fine Arts building at Kalamazoo college Friday and Saturday, May 7-8 at 7:30 pm, and Sunday May 9 at 2:00 pm.  Student tickets $5.00, with $1.00 discount on Saturday night for those dressed in drag in association with Crystal Ball.  No discount awarded for those dressed in drag on Friday night or otherwise.

Even before the first actor takes the stage for Martin McDonagh’s dark comedy The Cripple of Inishmaan, the announcement to turn off your cell phones, or ‘new fangled devices’, is delivered in a carefully studied Irish brogue. In reading through the playbill I found that several actors’ biographies praise the patience of close friends for putting up with their accent practice for the last six weeks. The practice has definitely paid off, if only Irish accents could count towards foreign-language requirements.

Repetition is a large part of the comedy of the play, as seen in the oft-repeated line “Ireland mustn’t be such a bad place, so, [if such-and-such wants to come here].” The list ranges from dentists to Frenchmen, from Hollywood directors to sharks. The characters search out any justification for staying in Inishmann, and makes Billy’s desire to escape stand out in sharp contrast. In Cripple, Ireland has just come out of a disastrous civil war ten years earlier, the world is in the midst of recession, and the folks of Inishmann need every excuse they can find to love the land they were born in.

McDonagh uses the actual filming of the Man of Aran as the backdrop for much of the play’s action. Because of how important film is to the play, it was thrilling to see the work done by the stage crew and lighting design, as clips from the 1934 documentary played during scene transitions. A new scrim was even set up allowing a showing of the documentary within a church hall on Inishmann.

The story itself is centered around a crippled boy by the name of Billy Claven (Michael Chodos) and the community on Inishmaan. Relationships, however, are really the building blocks of the play. It is a real joy to watch the interactions between different pairs of actors, such as Billy’s aunts Kate Osbourne (Laura Fox) and Eileen Osbourne (Sierra Moore) who spend most of the play bickering and finishing each other’s sentences. At least until Kate starts talking to stones, preferring their company to the other citizens of Inishmann. The sister-brother pair of Helen McCormick (Rudi Goddard) and her younger brother Bartley (Alden Phillips) is phenomenal, and leads to the greatest on-stage egging I’ve ever seen. Poor candy-and-telescope-crazed Bartley always seems to gather just enough courage to set off his violent sister who spends her days abusing her employer, his wife, her brother, and really everyone else on the island. Phillips’ simpleton portrayal of Bartley lets him be the eternal straight man and the perfect foil to the rest of the devious and gossip-crazed town.

The town’s main source of news and extortion is Johnny ‘pateen’ (Sam Bertken), who controls the stage at every entrance. He delivers news with a flourish and buffalos everyone else to drop whatever it is they are doing and pay attention to him and him alone. He does have a soft spot in his heart for his old Mammy (Marissa Rossman), who he spends the duration of the play trying to kill with alcohol poisoning. Even in front of the Doctor (Jacob Arnett), who Johnny has called to see to his ‘sick’ (read: alcoholic) Mammy as a pretense for weaseling out some good gossip, Johnny is pouring his Mammy shots of whiskey. Even at the showing of Man of Aran, Johnny has snuck in a bottle for his Mammy to nurse during the show, at least keeping her quiet and non-confrontational for part of the show.

There are only two characters left without a paired character to bicker with: the kind-hearted widower ‘Babby’ Bobby Bennett (Calder Burgam) and poor Cripple Billy. Bobby shows his community spirit by chucking rocks at Johnny’s head as well as providing a source of transportation to Inishmoore for the filming. Burgam brings a melancholy depth to the character, a strong sense of confidence, and a great excuse to peg cows with bricks. Billy is a much more complicated character, keeping silent in a town full of chatter. Chodos’ leg-dragging portrayal of Billy inspires great sympathy, and his ability to not drop character or character flaw made my hand cramp up just watching. Being the outcast and butt of the town’s jokes has made Billy restless and anxious to get off the island, something that comes across in the desperate look Chodos lends to the character.

Ultimately, Kalamazoo College must not be such a bad place, so, if they want to put on theater like this.

The Cripple of Inishmaan runs this week at the Nelda K. Balch Playhouse begining Thursday at 7:30 P.M (“Pay what you want”), continuing Friday and Saturday at 8:00 PM, and concluding with a 2:00 PM Sunday matinee.  Tickets can be purchased at the box office for $15, $10 Seniors, or $5 students.