In these days of bad behavior by so many, is the gritty, scratch and claw
world of Mother Courage and Her Children really so far-fetched? Why
see this production which dramatized both big and small miseries so tangibly
that they cannot be escaped? There is only struggle, death, and - if
fortunate - a chance to wake up the next day. Here we have Mother Courage
and Her Children, which premiered in 1941, as a darkly visible classic
revived for a new generation to partake of its rough magic and bitter
instruction. Here we partake of visceral work by Nancy Robinette as a most
masterful Mother Courage. She grabs attention with the simplest of gestures
and oh, that face; worn, lined, eyes at the ready to search out for
enemies, and a powerful figure that moves quickly away from perceived
danger. Robinette spits out whatever the mean world throws her way.
Sympathy is not what she gives the role; what she gives is a complex sense
of wear and resilience. She gives meaning to the Brecht text, not as an
academic, moralistic Marxian theoretical exercise, but as a lower-class life
of survival by any means necessary … even after horrific happenstances. She
gives dense meaning to the words “slogging forward,” facing down whatever is
set before her - even the death of her children - so she can “get back into
business.” With an inward-centered approach, she graphically presents the
thorny conundrums of what it takes to stay alive during miserable times. She
is a tough old bird and your reviewer writes those words with deep
affection. Her voice carries over the din of war. Under uncomplicated,
earthy direction by Berlin’s Gabriele Jakobi, the production briskly moves
about scene by scene, always with a mission to have the audience squirming.
The famous little cart is now a more modern concoction; part motorcycle,
part worn/half squared-off van without a motor and needing to be pulled
along. It becomes endearing like a scruffy little engine that could. Wall-E
would love this little three-wheeled she-devil.
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Storyline: Set during the Thirty Year’s War (1618-1648), the play
follows Anna Fierling (“Mother Courage”), a traveling saleswoman pulling her
wagon of merchandise and her three children through the war zones in
Europe. With a dilemma as a mother and businesswoman, and in her quest for
profit, she trades goods for money – ultimately losing her children in the
process.Brecht (1898 – 1956) is
an acquired taste for many. For some he is just too poisonous to deal with.
After all, he makes an audience work rather than just be entertained. He
does not shy away from the difficult as his Mother Courage tries to
enlighten us about the very violent bare-knuckles world we inhabit. The
original music by Paul Dessau is of the Kurt Weill and Marc Blitzstein aura.
They are tunes not to whistle or remember, and as sung by some cast members
do sound as if coming from appropriately untrained voices in keeping with a
disheveled outlook. Director Jakobi has a touch for the shabby and untidy,
a post-apocalyptic approach. She gives few creative flourishes to this
production which provides time for the text to
reverberate. She has the audience become part of the show from the top
when two solders speak from the seats. She makes good use of the cavernous,
ratty Clark Street Playhouse with its concrete walls and echo chamber
sound. The cart, the essential presence, is wheeled about in circles; pulled
easily at first but by the final black-out met with the grunts of a crone.
Colleen Delaney, Courage’s mute daughter,
gives a touching expressive performance. No words needed as she longs for
the feminine in life, lovingly caressing a pair of red pumps. When she
climbs up a rope ladder and defiantly plays a drum to worn townspeople of
impending doom and is shot dead, she gives the most intense scene without
Robinette at the center. That Delaney’s remains are not buried even after
money changes hands is emotionally striking without a word said. Joe Baker
seems too handsome as Courage’s older son. Perhaps it is his real life
beauty, but somehow his edginess seems forced. Yet his delivery of the
contradiction of the soldier’s life - one instance it is heroic to kill and
the next instance it is punished by death - does resonate. Rashard
Harrison's work as younger son, Swiss Cheese, is sweetly understated; his
bewilderment is eye-catching and he too dies for doing what he thinks is
right. Kryztov Lindquist as an on-again, off-again chaplain, just
inhabits the part. When he sucks in his cheeks, already with a face lean,
and then holds himself straight up in his cassock, he is a figure of
irritating faith and authority. When he is in work clothes he takes on the
persona of someone out of his element. Delaney Williams as the randy Cook is
just tangy. Whether he sits and toys with his feet or sexually gazes at
Mother Courage, Williams gives meaning to being down-to-earth. Jenifer Belle
Deal is an eye-catching hooker who uses her skills to catch a rich old man
but finds herself still alone.
The Clark Street Playhouse is unadorned, its
grimy concrete walls and hard bare floor giving a glowering wartime feel.
Two light towers dominate as in a concentration camp. Marianne Meadow’s
lighting is as brooding as the text and the venue, with an overall fitting
griminess. The pre-recorded music does its job, though the sound seems to
echo off the concrete walls to its detriment. Military costumes and weaponry
place events in World War II rather than hundreds of years ago. Costumes are
shades of grey and hues of black except for Deal and Delaney who wear
colors that become dirtier over time. Black and white projections provide
narrative and additional set design elements.
Written by Bertolt Brecht. Translation by John
Willett. Directed by Gabriele Jakobi. Music by Paul Dessau. Additional
Compositions by Achim Gieseler. Choreographed by Jaime Coronado. Design:
Richard Montgomery (set) Alisa Mandel (costumes) Marianne Meadows (lights)
David Crandall (sound) Alisa Mandel (costumes) Ian C. Armstrong
(photography). Cast: Joe Baker, Sara Barker, Frank Britton, Kim Curtis,
Jenifer Belle Deal, Collen Delaney, Rashard Harrison, Kryztov Lindquist,
Michael Miyazaki, Tel Monks, Lee Ordeman, Ellie Nicoll, Nancy Robinette,
Delaney Williams. |
