{"id":867,"date":"2023-06-11T23:27:29","date_gmt":"2023-06-11T23:27:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stageraw.com\/remake\/?p=867"},"modified":"2023-08-24T19:53:56","modified_gmt":"2023-08-24T19:53:56","slug":"867-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/stageraw.com\/remake\/867-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Merchant of Venice (Annotated) and Scintilla"},"content":{"rendered":"[vc_row type=”in_container” full_screen_row_position=”middle” column_margin=”default” column_direction=”default” column_direction_tablet=”default” column_direction_phone=”default” scene_position=”center” text_color=”dark” text_align=”left” row_border_radius=”none” row_border_radius_applies=”bg” overflow=”visible” overlay_strength=”0.3″ gradient_direction=”left_to_right” shape_divider_position=”bottom” bg_image_animation=”none”][vc_column column_padding=”no-extra-padding” column_padding_tablet=”inherit” column_padding_phone=”inherit” column_padding_position=”all” column_element_direction_desktop=”default” column_element_spacing=”default” desktop_text_alignment=”default” tablet_text_alignment=”default” phone_text_alignment=”default” background_color_opacity=”1″ background_hover_color_opacity=”1″ column_backdrop_filter=”none” column_shadow=”none” column_border_radius=”none” column_link_target=”_self” column_position=”default” gradient_direction=”left_to_right” overlay_strength=”0.3″ width=”1\/1″ tablet_width_inherit=”default” animation_type=”default” bg_image_animation=”none” border_type=”simple” column_border_width=”none” column_border_style=”solid”][vc_column_text]\n

Spite!<\/em><\/strong><\/h3>\n

Merchant of Venice (Annotated)\u00a0and\u00a0<\/em>Scintilla<\/strong>
\nBy Steven Leigh Morris<\/strong><\/em>[\/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”685″ image_size=”full” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default”][vc_column_text]\n

Shakespeare probably never met a Jewish person because Jews had been evicted from England for 300 years when he wrote\u00a0<\/em>The Merchant of Venice.<\/em><\/strong><\/h4>\n

A theater performance in a church. Alright, that alone has got my attention. As it would anybody who connects the art of theater to its theological origins. I\u2019m referring to writer-director Aaron Henne\u2019s\u00a0The Merchant of Venice (Annotated,)\u00a0<\/em>presented by Theatre Dybbuk (the company that Henne leads) in partnership with the First Congregational Church of Los Angeles, where it\u2019s being performed.<\/p>\n

The performance was developed with the ensemble (Joe Jordan, Adam Lebowitz-Lockard, Julie A. Lockhart, Diana Tanaka and Inger Tudor) among others, including consulting scholars such as Jennifer Wells, Erith Jaffe-Berg, and Daniel Pollack-Pelzner.<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s start with what it\u2019s not:\u00a0Merchant of Venice (Annotated)\u00a0<\/em>is not a living room drama.<\/p>\n

Nor is it Shakespeare\u2019s play referenced in the title. It includes swaths of the play, and it traverses the play scene by scene. But while doing so, it analyzes the play; it peppers recitations from the play with historical Elizabethan, pre-Elizabethan, Jacobean, Biblical and contemporary anecdotes that have some bearing on the play\u2019s themes or provide some illuminating context to a scene.<\/p>\n

Some of its references date as recently as March, 2023. Ron DeSantis and the most prior U.S. president put in appearances, for example. In one striking irony, I saw the performance on May 15 \u2014 the one-year anniversary of the mass shooting in Buffalo, New York. Driving to the theater, I heard on the radio a ceremony in Buffalo that included church bells and the reading out of the names of the victims of that shooting \u2014 all Black. And then, in the performance, there was almost the same scene, a ceremonial reading out of the names of those victims, not in honor of the anniversary, but because it was part of the play. Like\u00a0The Merchant of Venice<\/em>\u00a0itself, this is a performance about bigotry \u2014 the kind of bigotry that burns eternal, in a circle of hell, traversing continents and epochs.<\/p>\n

For the record, there\u2019s a subtitle and\/or alternate title,\u00a0In Sooth, I know Not Why I am So Sad.\u00a0<\/em>That mystery of why one might feel so sad is resolved well before the conclusion of this theater piece that examines centuries of spite, leading to pointless cruelty that\u2019s occasionally tempered by gestures of mercy. By play\u2019s end, one doesn\u2019t exactly feel cheered, but this prodigiously researched history lesson provides a strong and sage rationale for feeling \u201cso sad.\u201d<\/p>\n

This is not a style of performance one generally finds on LA\u2019s stages, nor on America\u2019s stages for that matter. But if you see theater in or from Poland, or the Balkans, or is certain quarters of Western Europe, or Central and South America, this will look familiar.<\/p>\n

Local exceptions, i.e. other companies employing Theatre Dybbuk\u2019s presentational, conceptual theater-of-ideas aesthetic: Nancy Keystone\u2019s Critical Mass Performance Group, Ghost Road Theatre Company, sometimes City Garage Theatre and always whatever shows up at REDCAT.<\/p>\n

But let\u2019s get back to church \u2014 the intimate Shatto Chapel to be precise, where the event unfolds. The audience is seated on risers aligned with a stained glass window, portraits of saints, the seating bank faces a platform stage with the visual backdrop of organ pipes that are built into the facility. In fact, much if not most of Daniel Tator\u2019s sound design employs that organ \u2014 from tones whimsical to melodramatic. Fahad Siadat is the composer and music director, Andrew Anderson is the keyboardist.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s tough in a cavernous chapel (yes, the space is intimate, but the vaulted ceiling goes up and up) to sculpt lighting effects with precision; lighting designer Brandon Baruch meets that challenge, combining a general wash of light that bathes the stage (occasionally taking on a red hue for dramatic effect) with strip-ring lights around the stage\u2019s perimeter, supplemented by actors wielding pen lights. A microphone is clipped to each actor to help redress acoustical challenges, though in some of the ensemble chorales, it\u2019s a wash nonetheless.<\/p>\n

Kathryn Poppen\u2019s costumes range from gray overalls to white pantaloons containing snippets of text, to plastic garbage bags fashioned into black cloaks. The consistent costume piece worn by all five actors throughout is an Elizabethan collar.<\/p>\n

On the stage are five music stands and six steel trash bins. Cash notes saturate the stage. Much of the stage activity consists of the actors using brooms to sweep up the cash, like dust, placing it in trash bins or garbage cans. Among the repeated devices, before commencing a speech, an actor will hold a trash bin over their head, turn it upside down and wait for the cascade of \u201cvalue\u201d to saturate them, before speaking.<\/p>\n

The Merchant of Venice\u00a0<\/em>derives its plot from money, and the loaning of it \u2014 with interest. \u201cNeither a borrower nor a lender be,\u201d is\u00a0not\u00a0<\/em>in this performance, though in the logic of a dream, Hamlet\u2019s (and Shakespeare\u2019s) mockery of the \u201cfoolish, prating knave\u201d (Polonius) who speaks that line, percolates into this production nonetheless. Where would the international banking system be, not to mention home ownership, car ownership, small business ownership, were Polonius\u2019s parting counsel to his son actually practiced?[\/vc_column_text][vc_column_text]\n

The beauty of Henne\u2019s play and his production is that it\u2019s not really a play, it\u2019s an oratorio, spoken (and sung) in a church, and gorgeously rendered by the ensemble and the design team.<\/strong><\/em><\/h4>\n

Shakespeare\u2019s play turns on capricious applications of law, on mutual condescension and its attendant grievances between Christians and Jews, and on sundry qualities of spite and mercy \u2014 all stemming from the issuance of a loan, made by a Jew, Shylock, to a Christian (Antonio) with the bond of \u201ca pound of flesh\u201d to be taken from the borrower\u2019s heart should he not repay the loan within three months. The 21st<\/sup>\u00a0century American question of whether predatory loans to pay for a university education should be \u201cforgiven\u201d (mercy) are not so far removed from\u00a0The Merchant of Venice,\u00a0<\/em>despite the distance of some 500 years, though the Biden policy is one of the few contemporary references not included in this production.<\/p>\n

This is probably because author-director Henne\u2019s (and company) production is so focused on bigotry in general and racism is particular.<\/p>\n

Sort of.<\/p>\n

We certainly get an earful on the Christian Right banning books with its battle cry of \u201cwoke indoctrination,\u201d and the grating hypocrisy that accompanies such charges. Yet how exactly is book-banning tied to racism or bigotry? Well, when the books being banned \u2014 and teachers and librarians promoting such books find themselves targets of government investigation \u2014 are accepting of gays and of trans people, or when (even worse!) books are candid about the now, evidently in Florida, unmentionable practice of slavery in the United States, one can feel the racism bubbling up. This is a battle over creation myths \u2013 theological and xenophobic.<\/p>\n

Henne\u2019s primary concern (because it\u2019s repeated in his production) is how, through history, things get\u00a0really\u00a0<\/em>scary when the state becomes the enforcer of Church doctrine, particularly when Church doctrine, as it existed under England\u2019s King Henry VIII and his daughter, Shakespeare\u2019s patron Queen Elizabeth I, comes grounded in bigotry. (Shakespeare probably never met a Jewish person because Jews had been evicted from England for 300 years when he wrote\u00a0The Merchant of Venice.<\/em>)<\/p>\n

There\u2019s also a reference to Queen Elizabeth\u2019s \u201cAnti Buggery Law of 1593,\u201d a 530-year-echo of\u00a0the 240 anti-LGBTQ laws proposed in the U.S. in 2022, the latest in a rising wave of intolerance.<\/p>\n

The beauty of Henne\u2019s play and his production is that it\u2019s not really a play, it\u2019s an oratorio, spoken (and sung) in a church, and gorgeously rendered by the ensemble and the design team. It takes factoids from the contemporary culture wars and filters them through fastidiously researched history, dating back to the Crucifixion, all seen through the lens of one fascinating play by William Shakespeare.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s pretty good, in my view.<\/p>\n

This doesn\u2019t make one less sad that we continue to grapple with the same shit deposited eons earlier, though we\u2019re swatting different flies that now buzz around it; however, it does provide some solace that our generations did not invent the kinds of miseries that our culture seems so doggedly determined to perpetuate.<\/p>\n

The drawback of the entire endeavor is that sprinkling contemporary anecdotes, in the attempt to provide relevance to ancient patterns of behavior, runs the risk of conflation. Victor Orban, the autocratic, Putin-friendly president of Hungary referenced in this production, is quite different from Ron DeSantis \u2014 \u00a0both are worlds apart from King Henry VIII, yet this production aims to paint them with the same brush, or roller. The parallels are not untrue, they\u2019re just imprecise.<\/p>\n

I imagine this a consequence of Henne trying to carry the entire world, dating back to the Crucifixion, on the back of his play. The ambition is admirable, even if the weight causes the knees to buckle. The play is also too long, but that\u2019s a quibble.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll take such ambition any day of the week.[\/vc_column_text][vc_column_text]\n

Burning Down the House<\/em><\/strong><\/h3>\n[\/vc_column_text][image_with_animation image_url=”871″ image_size=”full” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default”][vc_column_text]\n

How do we cope with the end of the world? How do we live with ourselves, when the essences of who we are, our memories, are slipping away?<\/strong><\/em><\/h4>\n

Over at North Hollywood\u2019s Road Theatre, Alessandro Camon\u2019s\u00a0Scintilla\u00a0<\/em>is burning down the house. Literally. Almost.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the wine country in Northern California, and we meet Michael (Kris Frost) and his girlfriend, Nora (Krishna Smitha) driving to his mom\u2019s house. And what a house! Holy crap. Stephen Gifford\u2019s set gives us what looks like a mahogany frame to a gorgeous, expansive living room and dining room framed by looming windows that look out onto a verdant forest.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a fire on the other side of the river and the highway, and Michael wants to swoop his mom Marianne (Taylor Gilbert), who owns the house, to safety. Michael can\u2019t stand his mom, but that\u2019s a different story. No, seriously, it\u2019s a different story.<\/p>\n

The actual story is the fire. It\u2019s the story and it\u2019s the symbol of what we\u2019ve done and what we continue to do to ourselves. It\u2019s the outward-facing existential crisis that makes this play matter. But there\u2019s also an inward-facing existential crisis. Marianne has early onset Alzheimer\u2019s, and is fully cognizant that a lifetime of memories are all going to vanish.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the juxtaposition of these two end-of-the-world scenarios, one so public and one so private, that gives this play its poetry. There are poetical passages, but that\u2019s not what I mean. It\u2019s the juxtaposition of a unstoppable fire and the erosion of memory. How do we cope with the end of the world? How do we live with ourselves, when the essences of who we are, our memories, are slipping away?<\/p>\n

Defying her son, Marianne doesn\u2019t wish to go with him, or with anybody. This may sound crazy, but it\u2019s not. She has her reasons for being so stubborn, and they\u2019re plausible.<\/p>\n

Nora is vegan-ish and aches to be close to nature; however, boyfriend Michael works algorithms for a tech company in San Francisco. You know when you buy a T-shirt online, and for the next six months, your phone is bombarded with ads for online T-shirts: That\u2019s his job. Which kind of makes you want to slap him. But even without that job, he\u2019s smug, being the first to snap, \u201cDon\u2019t patronize me,\u201d when all he\u2019s been doing is patronizing everybody in the room. He and Nora are living what she describes as a hamster-wheel existence. She\u2019s looking for balance, he\u2019s looking for success.<\/p>\n

Marianne has a Vietnam vet neighbor\/ex-lover named Stanley (David Gianopoulos), a rugged old-school survivalist. He\u2019s even built a bunker, should the fire get too close, to sweep Marianne to safety. This pisses off Michael. Stanley has a great story, well told by Gianopoulos, of how, as a child, he learned to cope with an inferno. And then there was the war.<\/p>\n

As the fire gets closer, add to the mix a houseless neighbor Roberto (Carlos Lac\u00e1mara), beaten up and seeking refuge, because some thugs decided that he (or his type) set the fire. Roberto didn\u2019t set the fire. The violence against him is just bigotry. And\u00a0there\u2019s<\/em>\u00a0the connective tissue linking\u00a0Scintilla\u00a0<\/em>to\u00a0Merchant of Venice (Annotated)<\/em><\/p>\n

Scintilla<\/em>\u00a0\u2014 referring to a tiny spark that, in the current environment, can trigger the seventh circle of hell \u2014 couldn\u2019t be more different in style from\u00a0Merchant.\u00a0<\/em>With Gifford\u2019s set, it\u2019s the embodiment of the style of cinematic plays that dominate LA\u2019s intimate theater landscape, and much of American theater. It\u2019s all a bit antiquated, emulating the style of drawing room plays from the 1930s, but it\u2019s what we do in a TV\/movie town, sometimes quite well.<\/p>\n

With its vaulted, oratorical scale,\u00a0Merchant\u00a0<\/em>has no interest in family squabbles and recriminations and reconciliations. But inside the living room of\u00a0Scintilla<\/em>, we\u2019re going to learn why Michael so resents his mother, and, by God, they\u2019re going to fix it. Family secrets will be exposed. As the old proverb goes, \u201cThe house is on fire, and they\u2019re trying to fix a leak under the sink.\u201d Within a frame as profound as the blending of an inferno and the loss of memory, the family drama feels both contrived and trite. Multiple villages are now on fire \u2014they barely have time to grab their documents, but they have time to fix mommy issues?<\/p>\n

There\u2019s also a scene where Stanley has a health crisis. Well, there\u2019s the kitchen sink.<\/p>\n

So, no, it\u2019s not a perfect play, but it has profundity in its grasp; director Ann Hearn Tobolowky has tempered the melodrama by eliciting a quintet of tender, often moving performances in a staging that\u2019s both smart and credible.<\/p>\n

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE (ANNOTATED), or IN SOOTH I KNOW NOT WHY I AM SO SAD | Written and directed by Aaron Henne | Theatre Dybbuk at the First Congregational Church of Los Angeles, Shatto Chapel; 540 S. Commonweatlh Ave., LA; Fri.-Sat., 8 pm; Sun., 7 pm; through May 21.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>https:\/\/merchant-annotated.eventbrite.com<\/em><\/strong><\/a>\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Two hours and 45 minutes, with one 15 minute intermission.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>SCINTILLA | by Allesandro Camon | Road Theatre Company, 10747 Magnolia Blvd., North Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 pm; Sun., 2 pm; through June 4.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>https:\/\/roadtheatre.org<\/em><\/strong><\/a>. 80 minutes, no intermission<\/em><\/strong>[\/vc_column_text][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row type=”in_container” full_screen_row_position=”middle” column_margin=”default” column_direction=”default” column_direction_tablet=”default” column_direction_phone=”default” scene_position=”center” text_color=”dark” text_align=”left” row_border_radius=”none” row_border_radius_applies=”bg” overflow=”visible” overlay_strength=”0.3″ gradient_direction=”left_to_right” shape_divider_position=”bottom” bg_image_animation=”none”][vc_column column_padding=”no-extra-padding” column_padding_tablet=”inherit” column_padding_phone=”inherit” column_padding_position=”all” column_element_direction_desktop=”default” column_element_spacing=”default” desktop_text_alignment=”default” tablet_text_alignment=”default” phone_text_alignment=”default” background_color_opacity=”1″ background_hover_color_opacity=”1″ column_backdrop_filter=”none” column_shadow=”none” column_border_radius=”none” column_link_target=”_self” column_position=”default” gradient_direction=”left_to_right” overlay_strength=”0.3″ width=”1\/1″ tablet_width_inherit=”default” animation_type=”default” bg_image_animation=”none” border_type=”simple” column_border_width=”none” column_border_style=”solid”][image_with_animation image_url=”902″ image_size=”full” animation_type=”entrance” animation=”None” animation_movement_type=”transform_y” hover_animation=”none” alignment=”center” border_radius=”none” box_shadow=”none” image_loading=”default” max_width=”100%” max_width_mobile=”default”][\/vc_column][\/vc_row]\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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