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Scena Theatre
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1436 Swann St NW
Washington DC 20009
703-684-7990

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  A small professional theater company - specializes in international repertoire
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Mother Courage and Her Children
June 1- July 5, 2009
Thursday - Saturday at 8 pm; Sunday at 3 pm
Reviewed
June 5 by David Siegel

A scratch-and-claw world of brooding and resilience
Running time: 2:30 - one intermission
Performances at Clark Street Playhouse
Tickets $25-$35

Click here to buy the script


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.

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.