|
Regional Reviews: Minneapolis/St. Paul Mr. Burns, a post-electric play Also see Arthur's reviews of And the World Goes 'Round, Annie and Fruit Fly: the Musical
Yet it turns out that Mr. Burns is not actually about "The Simpsons." Yes, it draws on one of the series' most revered episodes, a riff on the suspense movie Cape Fear from season five. It utilizes "Simpsons" characters and plot devices, with references to other well-known episodes, which drew waves of appreciative chuckles from the audience, the type of laughter that signifies shared experience. Mr. Burns, a post-electric play is actually about a group of survivors following the apocalyptic destruction of the earth's energy grid who draw upon shards of shared experience to cope, to rebuild, and to recreate culture. That playwright Ann Washburn posits the notion that "The Simpsons" would surface out of the vast trove of shared American culture to re-knit communities torn asunder is both comically ludicrous and weirdly logical. With years of episodes, repeated beyond counting in syndication even as new ones arrive, they provide a wealth of themes and stories. Among the characters we find a host of archetypes, such as domestic harmonizer (mom Marge), thrill seeker (young Bart), wise voice of reason (Bart's sister Lisa), ne'er-do-well bumbler (Homer), upholder of virtue (neighbor Ned Flanders), and evil incarnate (Mr. Burns). Further, imbedded in "The Simpsons" storylines are references to a cornucopia of American culture, fads, issues, and outlooks. They lampoon everything from Cape Fear to A Streetcar Named Desire, "Star Trek" to Carl Sagan, vegan diets to supersized fast foods, an encyclopedia of the popular culture of our times. The play is divided into three acts. In act one we meet the band of survivors gathered around a fire, distracting themselves from the dread that has befallen them by retelling the "Cape Fear" episode, each chiming in with parts they remember. If an aspect of the real crisis facing them begins to loom large, they quickly return to their comforting thoughts of the bizarre and hilarious TV family that always manages to land on their feet. Even an elaborate mental detour about the likelihood of any Diet Coke remaining on the planet leads to high anxiety. A stranger comes upon the group with sketchy news of areas through which he has traveled, underscoring the isolation of all who've endured the catastrophe. Act two is set seven years later. Our group of survivors have begun adopting to a new age, calling for total re-invention. They have formed a theatrical group whose repertoire is comprised of "Simpsons plays, created by cobbling together lines they remember and lines they collect from the public in some form of barter exchange. Their stories have gaping plot holes, and wind up being told in broad strokes, though they bicker about minutia—proving some things don't change. They also produce commercials, or what they recall commercials to be, which end up as ungainly patchworks of mundane interactions depicting life before the fall ... not actually selling any particular products. The products, after all, no longer exist. Act three zooms ahead 75 years. A troupe of actors has transformed "Simpsons" characters and plot lines into a highly ritualized opera, using sweeping gestures and grand pronouncement, though their costumes are surprisingly good "Simpsons" facsimiles. The drama, set to music, amalgamates all manner of cultural scrap from pre-meltdown epoch times. It is a miniature epic, with what must be state-of-the-art stage effects in a world without technology. Under its wackiness, their tale is one of survival against enormous odds and deadly forces, a morality play for those who must endure to create a new society. Mr. Burns, a post-electric play is high on concept, not so high on plot. The ideas proffered on the role of story and ritual in knitting together a community and moving past sheer survival to some form of civil society, are thought provoking. The notion of archetypes helping us make sense of human behavior is well worth exploring. The depiction of memory as less than authentic, acquiring the meaning we need it to acquire, is also food for discussion. And, at least for those in the know, the simulated likeness of the Simpsons in voice, behavior, and costume, is entertaining. I count myself among those who heartily enjoy the TV show, though not a die-hard fan. So this is all good stuff, in my book. Yet, I was hoping for more. With the time shift in each act, and no information even alluding to how things progressed from one time frame to the next, there really is no connecting through-story that makes the scenarios of life post-apocalypse feel like more than really well wrought comic sketches. Further, with a focus on recreating culture based on what can rescued from the past, why is there no mention of books? Certainly, a legacy of centuries of imagination and meaning could endure in written form. Nothing is said about books being destroyed, or that people have lost the ability to read. Were there no scripts, or stories from which to adapt plays? Without addressing that possibility, even as the play is meant to inhabit the realm of absurdity, the author's conceit seems less plausible, less compelling, zany when it might be provocative. Having said that, Washburn's dialog is extremely witty, capturing both the patois of the Simpsons' universe, but also the individuality of responses among the survivors to their shared plight. Even with everything they have known falling apart, Matt maintains an edge of intellectual elitism, Maria a mask of optimism, Jenny a paranoid defense, Gibson a world-weariness. These are real characters, not ciphers, abetted by the excellent acting across the board. Charity Jones as Colleen, who directs the theatricals in act two, and Jim Lichtsheidl as Gibson, the outsider who stumbles upon the group in act one, are well known to Twin Cities audiences, and both deliver their typically high caliber work. As a co-production with the San Francisco-based American Conservatory Theater, the remainder of the cast hale from the ACT roster, making their Minnesota debuts. All are top notch. Nick Gabriel is particularly effective as Matt, whose high self-regard in the face of total catastrophe is highly believable and entertaining. Ralph Funicello has created fantastic settings for each of the acts. The bleakness around the campfire in act one conveys deep loneliness and vulnerability. The second act's makeshift rehearsal hall give the appearance of a space ready to collapse in on itself at any moment, with wonderfully whimsical touches, including a non-functioning automobile. In act three, a riverboat from the pages of a color comic strip serves as the setting for the much bowdlerized pop-opera rendition of Cape Fear. Alexander V. Nichols has lit the proceedings to shift from foreboding to madcap, following the course of the play. Alex Jaeger's costumes fit well with each epoch, and particularly score bulls-eyes in creating "Simpsons" costumes for the act three. Mr. Burns, a post-electric play is a play of ideas. It is funny, exceedingly clever, and rife with insights into the constituent parts of a society. The production of the Guthrie is impeccably acted, with outstanding design and technical work. Mark Rucker directs with an ear for meaning and an eye for engagement. And of course, all those references and images of the "Simpsons" universe. That is a great plenty for one evening of entertainment, yet I felt the potential to dig further. If, as Washburn seems to tell us, story is a unifying force, a stronger connecting story line here might provide more meaning and deeper satisfaction from the work. Mr. Burns, a post-electric play continues at the Guthrie Theater's McGuire Proscenium Stage through May 10, 2015. 618 South 2nd Street, Minneapolis, MN, 55115. Tickets from $18.00 - $65.00. For tickets call 612-377-2224 or go to GuthrieTheater.org. Produced by the Guthrie Theater in association with American Conservatory Theater. Writer: Ann Washburn; Composer: Michael Friedman; Lyrics: Ann Washburn; Director: Mark Rucker ; Set Design: Ralph Funicello; Costume Design: Alex Jaeger; Lighting Design: Alexander V. Nichols; Sound Design: Jake Rodriguez; Music Director: David Moschler; Choreographer: Amy Anders Corcoran; Stage Manager: Megan Q. Sada; Assistant Stage Manager: Alexandra Gowdy-Jaehnig; Assistant Director: Adam Odsess-Rubin; Casting Consultants: Janet Foster and McCorkle Casting, LTD. Cast: Ryan Williams French (Sam), Nick Gabriel (Matt), Anna Ishida (Jenny), Charity Jones (Colleen), Tracey A. Leigh (Quincy), Jim Lichtsheidl (Gibson), David Moschler (Musician), Kelsey Venter (Maria), Andrea Wollenberg (Edna Krabappel)
|
