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| Rory Lambert-Wright, Caroline Lawton & Jeff Marcus in "Orlando" (photo: Mark S. Howard) |
In the history of theater, there has long been a tradition of choral storytelling, much of it very fondly remembered (such as Paul Sills' 1970 Story Theatre or the Royal Shakespeare Company's epic 1980 The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby). It often appeared as an outgrowth of improv theater, with a sense of controlled spontaneity and exhuberance. In this same vein has arrived Virginia Woolf's Orlando, now being performed by Lyric Stage (in collaboration with Suffolk University's Theatre Department). An adaptation by Sarah Ruhl from Woolf's long love letter to Vita-Sackville-West, it consists of a half dozen episodic ventures (or adventures) involving half a dozen actors through half a dozen centuries (that's a lot of half-dozens) beginning with the Elizabethan era and ending in the “present moment”. In ninety gender-bending minutes (including an intermission), our hero/heroine Orlando (Caroline Lawton) encounters members of a five person acting chorus (here played by Elise Arsenault. Michael Hisamoto, Rory Lambert-Wright, Jeff Marcus and Halyey Spivey. The journey, reminiscent of that of another youth (in Voltaire's Candide) is Directed by A. Nora Long, the company's Assistant Artistic Director, with versatile Scenic Design by Richard Wadsworth Chambers, impressive Costume Design by Jessica Pribble and complex Lighting Design by Steven McIntosh. Here is a bit of a triptik for theatergoers (with what one hopes are not too many spoilers) to aid in one's appreciation of this take on Orlando's journey, which as noted above, despite its title, does not remotely feature a voyage to the land of the Mouse.
Orlando, a sixteen year old boy when first introduced by
the chorus, longs to be famous, so he sets about writing a great
poem, “The Oak Tree”. Queen Elizabeth, quite taken with him, sets
him up at court with titles, land and her heart until she catches him
with another and falls ill. The Great Frost occurs, trapping some
Russian ships in ice, which is how Orlando meets and falls in love
with the Russian Princess Sasha. Jealous at catching Sasha in bed
with another, he first rages but then decides to run away with her,
but the Great Thaw occurs, freeing the Russian ships which depart
with Sasha. Orlando returns to his poetry, but the Romanian
Archduchess attempts to seduce him, so he asks to be sent to
Constantinople, where he beds the gypsy Rosina Pepita, eventually
awakening as a woman. She returns to England to work on her
poem,where the Archduchess exposes herself to Orlando as a man and
tries again to seduce Orlando to no avail. A century later Orlando,
finding herself surrounded by nothing but married couples, trips and
breaks her ankle. A man on horseback arrives and they are shortly
engaged and subsequently married. Finally, a century still later
(the twentieth, if you've been keeping score), Orlando feels a bit
like a duck out of water amidst all the technology that surrounds
her, and decides after a visit from an old friend to return to
writing her great work, The Oak Tree, as a clock strikes midnight.
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| Michael Hisamoto, Jeff Marcus, Caroline Lawton, Rory Lambert-Wright & Hayley Spivey in "Orlando" (photo: Mark S. Howard) |
As Director Long puts it, Woolf “relished the idea
that the mind of the artist is androgynous”, so she most likely
would have enjoyed the wordplay and transtheatrical hijinks. Whether
an audience member concurs might well depend on how one appreciates
the literary short story form versus a more coherent and sustained
storytelling work, or a novella as opposed to a more in-depth novel.
There is much to be learned and loved in all of these possible
choices.
But, unlike the previous plays noted above, Ruhl's take
is by definition episodic, which leads to a lot of repetitious
themes. The cast tries nobly to keep the narrative threads
reasonably intact, but the text divides rather then conquers. There
were also some pacing issues, which may have been due to one cast
member's being indisposed (and, with remarkable poise on the part of
the other actors, seamlessly dropped from the last scene). There are
some cogent points made by the adapting playwright (equating being
dead and a woman, in the context of women's lack of power or
influence over the ages, or how one can be struck and disoriented,
then altered, by exposure to the arts). But one wishes she had
provided a more focused romp, such as the way in which Story
Theatre utilized Grimm fairy tales and Aesop's fables with a
complete story in each of its segments, or the opposite approach with
Nicholas Nickleby's continuing narrative with more time to
devote to development of a few supporting characters. In this
Orlando, one never has a sense of who the various roles are,
with comings and goings so fleeting that they leave little impact.
It's as though one were at a banquet sampling appetizers without
feeling sufficiently satisfied in the end; it may be that Ruhl is
slightly fearful of overdoing the message she wishes to convey.
What's indisputable about this piece is that she
certainly isn't afraid of Virginia Woolf.
