Henry V at UC Santa Cruz

By Joanne Engelhardt
For the Santa Cruz Sentinel

features@santacruzsentinel.com

{THROUGH SEPT. 1; The Stanley-Sinsheimer Festival Glen on the campus of UC Santa Cruz.  Performance schedule and ticket information available at www.shakespeareshantacruz.org}

Who doesn’t like to watch a grown man snarling and gnashing his teeth while chewing on a large green leek?

While that certainly isn’t the main thread or theme of “Henry V,” it’s the one that resonated the most with the enthusiastic opening night crowd in the Festival Glen at Shakespeare Santa Cruz last Friday.

Yes, there are still epic battles (albeit mostly just alluded to onstage) and surprisingly few sword fights, but director Paul Mullins knows his audience well enough to also wring some lively humor out of the third play in the “Henriad” cycle of young Prince Hal, who is now Henry V (played by Charles Pasternak as a dashing, slightly egotistical, sensitive leader).

Make no mistake about it: This is Henry/Pasternak’s play.  He commands it, he steers it and he is onstage almost all the time.  His intense eyes demonstrate genuine concern for his loyal subjects, although he sometimes tests them to determine their fealty.

It’s somewhat jarring to see artistic director Marco Barricelli in modern dress as the “chorus” (narrator) because all other performers wear clothing of the 1500s.  But it certainly sets him apart as he sets up the first scene: “Two mighty monarchs eager to conquer each other.”  He also apologizes for the inadequacy of the stage and urges the audience to “imagine” horses and ships because there’ll be none in view.

In many ways, “Henry V” is a very accessible play.  Its language is down-to-earth, gritty and, for the most part, understandable even by non-Shakespearean scholars.  It almost seems logical when the long-winded Archbishop of Canterbury (an unexpectedly amusing turn by V. Craig Heidenreich who also plays French King Charles VI) tells Henry he has been denied his rightful claim to the French throne which was “usurped from you and your progenitors,” then sweetens this assertion by offering the church’s financial support.

It doesn’t take long for Henry to do away with three supposedly loyal earls and lords who are conspiring with the French to kill him.  He sentences them to death for high treason, they’re marshaled offstage and immediately there’s the sound of shots: One, two, three.  Done.

Afterward, King Henry, his brothers and devoted soldiers set sail for France.  But Shakespeare provides several diversions before battles ensue.  There are the three runabouts (lowlifes who have joined the English army): Bardolph (Nick Bilardello), Nym (wily Robert Nelson) and Pistol (the ever-entertaining Kit Wilder).  Together with a flirty Marion Adler as hostess Nell (doubling later as a French lady-in-waiting), the foursome provide comedic relief from the more serious scenes.

Besides King Charles, the French royal family includes Queen Isabel (the stately Gretchen Hall) and their vain older son, Louis, the Dauphin (a name Henry intentionally mispronounces as ‘dolphin’).  No one personifies Louis better than William Elsman, who treats the youthful king with disdain and persistently overestimates himself while underestimating Henry and the English army.  When Louis sends the king an insulting gift (two tennis balls), Henry decrees Louis is to blame for the upcoming war between France and England.

There are several more excellent performances here, in particular Nick Ortega as a common English soldier who argues with Henry (roving around the army camp in disguise) about the king’s responsibility to his men.  Conan McCarty as the Welsh captain Fluellen also is compelling.

Then there’s the beguiling, totally enchanting Beatrice Basso as King Charles’ daughter, Katherine.  Whether she’s attempting to learn the English words for parts of her anatomy or innocently feigning not to know that the tongue-tied Henry V – the soon to be king of both France and England – is professing his love for her, she is wondrously charismatic.

For this production, scenic designer Michael Ganio tweaks the outdoor stage by adding tall metal tinker-toy pieces that at times are used by Elsman to climb, swing and jump (with a nod to the famous front-of-the-ship scene in “Titanic”).  Ganio resourcefully uses three slanted ivory-colored sheets to emulate sails on the ship taking Henry to France, and when a scene needs changing (as after Henry’s angry soliloquy), Pasternak kicks over a chair, a sheet covers it, and action begins.

The “war” scenes are remarkably effective though they are simple stationary tableaus.  B. Modern’s costumes – especially the royal clothing (the French court wears all-white and gold), the armor, soldier’s uniforms and scumbag outfits – seem accurate.

And what of that green leek? Check out Pistol (Wilder) sitting stage center angrily chewing the veggie (and the furniture).  Now there’s an artist at work!

Damn Yankees at Foothill College

By Joanne Engelhardt
For the Daily News

They call baseball players the “boys of summer,” so how better to celebrate summer AND baseball than by taking in a family-friendly version of “Damn Yankees,” running through Aug. 18 at Foothill College’s Smithwick Theatre.

It’s based on the book “The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant” by  Douglass Wallop who, with George Abbott, developed it into an award-winning musical (seven Tonys in 1956) that ran on Broadway for nearly three years.  No doubt Richard Adler and Jerry Ross’ memorable musical score including “Whatever Lola Wants,” (You’ve gotta have) “Heart,” and “Two Lost Souls” contributed significantly to its success.

At Foothill, the large (35-person), exuberant cast features some excellent singing, acting and chuckles, despite a few casting missteps and sound problems.  But director Tom Gough keeps things lively with an earnest team of young ballplayers, a smart, heartfelt and passionate Daniel Mitchell as the young ballplayer Joe Hardy and a devilishly fast-paced Jeff Clarke as Mr. Applegate (i.e., Satan).

“Damn Yankees” tells the story of a middle-aged baseball fanatic Joe Boyd (a credible Matt Tipton) who agrees to sell his soul to the Devil for the once-in-a-lifetime chance to help his hapless Washington Senators baseball team beat the New York Yankees and win the pennant.  He’s miraculously transformed into young baseball phenom Joe Hardy, but in the end he realizes that it’s his sweet wife Meg (a wonderfully genuine Mary Melnick) and his former life that is most important to him.

While musical director Catherine Snider and her 13-piece band try mightily, some of the beautiful songs in “Yankees” are too languid and a few times are even off-key.  That’s unfortunate because then some of the dance numbers are too slow and the dance corp seems a little lethargic as well.

But there’s still a lot to enjoy about this production – starting at the entrance to the theater some of the “ballplayers” handing out programs.  Another nice touch: Prior to the curtain opening, the audience is treated to a soundtrack of typical ballpark noises (“Peanuts!  Get your peanuts here!”).  For pregame (show) announcements, a uniformed umpire steps out and announces, “Before we start today’s game, we need to go over a few ground rules.”

Tipton and Melnick start off the show on the right note as they sit in comfortable armchairs in their living room, with Joe Boyd glued to an unseen telecast of his beloved Senators loosing once again to the Yankees.  As his long-suffering wife, Meg, Melnick looks a shade too young to be middle-aged, but her caring demeanor and crystal-clear vocalizing are just right for the melodic lament “Six Months Out of Every Year.”  Although Tipton’s voice suffers by comparison, he is at least vocally adequate.

There’s a marvelous scene that requires split-second timing and it’s done very well here.  Once “old” Joe makes his deal with Applegate, he walks in the front door of his house to get his glove and baseball shoes, and then he walks out two seconds later as “young” Joe.  It was executed flawlessly.

Then the scene shifts to the Senators’ locker room and the dispirited ballplayers.  Their crotchety old manager Benny Van Buren (an exactly right Richard Lewis) admonishes them to keep trying and together they sing the moving song, “Heart.”

Clarke is a marvel at bringing energy and mischievousness to his scenes – and he’s got some great lines.  When a newspaper reporter asks him if he is anyone worth interviewing, he arches his eyebrow and says, “Not a soul,” and when Lola (Jen Wheatonfox) asks him how he is, he looks genuinely pitiful and says, “I’m overworked.”

It’s rather difficult to assess Wheatonfox’s take on Lola.  She has a lovely face and her voice is really nice, but still there’s something missing in her characterization.  It doesn’t help that for some reason costume designer Janis Bergmann sabotages her with clothes that certainly don’t belong on a Lola.  She’s supposed to be a femme fatale, not Little Red Riding Hood.  For “A Little Brains, A Little Talent,” Wheatonfox wears an unappealing too-long, flowered dress with ruffles – very un-Lola like. Only the sexy dress she wears in the last scene is in sync with her hussy persona.

Wheatonfox also has an unfortunate habit of looking directly at the audience when she is talking or singing to others onstage.  That’s a distraction.

As dogged reporter Gloria Thorpe, Caitlin Lawrence-Papp adds zest and confidence to every scene she’s in, and she has a strong, forceful voice to boot.  The two sisters, Doris and “Sister” Miller, Dana Johnson and Holly Smolik, garner the show’s best laughs as they experience heart palpitations and  exaggerated swoons falling all over the young ballplayer (Mitchell).  They look too young, however, to be Meg Boyd’s bridge-playing friends (perhaps some gray-haired wigs for both them and Melnick would help).

There are a number of actors who wander around the stage but don’t really seem to know what they’re supposed to be doing (nor does the audience).  It is certainly difficult to figure out what roles the two women in the blue suits have.

Despite a number of really good song-and-dance numbers like “Heart” and Act 2’s opening song “The Game” featuring all of the ballplayers, there are a few that could be cut (the limp mambo number “Who’s Got the Pain?” for one).  Although choreographer Katie O’Bryon relies some on Bob Fosse’s original choreography, in the “Two Lost Souls” number several of the dancers just look weird.

As Joe Hardy, Mitchell carries a lot of this show on his capable shoulders.  His stellar vocals (especially the sweet duet with Melnick, “Near to You”) as well as his sincerity and believability are just what this production needs.  He’s not bad at ad libbing, either.  During the Sunday matinee when a horrendous crash was heard not once, but twice while young Joe and Lola are sitting on a park bench,  Mitchell says “I guess God doesn’t like this deal” (with the devil).  It was priceless.

Margaret Toomey’s scenic design is simple, but pleasing, especially the 1950-ish front porch of the Boyd home and the Senators locker room.  It’s unfortunate, however, that 22 scene changes are called for in “Yankees,” because making those changes leaves some dead time onstage.

Ruth E. Stein does a yeoman’s job in rounding up authentic-looking 1950s-era props, and Edward Hunter’s lighting seems right (other than leaving Melnick in the dark while she is singing part of the opening number).  Ken Kilen has the monumental task of providing quality sound, but it’s a shame some of the singer’s mics don’t always work at the right time.

Despite these shortcomings, clearly “Damn Yankees” resonates with many members of the enthusiastic audience – both young and old.  And who doesn’t love baseball??

Theater review

What:  “Damn Yankees”

Where:  Smithwick Theatre at Foothill College, 12345 El Monte Road, Los Altos Hills

When:  8 p.m. Thursday – Saturday; 2 p.m. Sunday

Through:  Aug. 18

Tickets:   $12-$28 plus $3 parking; 650-949-7360 or www.foothillmusicals.com

Solemnity doesn’t suit me, so why not do it my way?

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately, and not because I think I think I’m about to kick the bucket.

But a lot of our friends are, unfortunately. For the last two Mondays my husband and I attended services either celebrating the life of…. or memorializing the death of… In his usual, irreverent style, hubby said that maybe we should just start reserving all our Mondays for these events.

There was a big difference between the two services we attended, although both were in churches. The one that should have been the most solemn was actually quite a gay affair. Perhaps it was because the deceased, who suffered a massive heart attack and died at the all-too-early age of 53, was an actor…..a man who discovered only five years ago that he loved being on stage–the adrenaline rush of having to say the right words at the right time, all the while nonchalantly wandering around a set, picking up a water glass here, sweeping a broom there, or looking crestfallen when the script called for it. He didn’t look the part of an actor, but then who among us does other than Nicole Kidman and Jude Law? Ward stood about five feet tall and was about the same circumference as Humpty Dumpty. You couldn’t look at Ward without breaking into a grin.

Ward’s service was punctuated with lots of juicy stories of antics both onstage and behind the scenes from his fellow actors. The result was that we all walked out of that church with a tear or two, but a very warm feeling.

By contrast, the Catholic mass that was said for a wonderful history teacher who had suffered much from cancer seemed too solemn and formal. If it hadn’t been for the fond remembrances of one friend, very little would have been said about the Pat we all knew. Pat was the kind of a teacher whose students returned years later to say they learned their appreciation of history from her. She was also one of the most astute bridge players I’ve ever known.

I have to say I don’t think I’ve ever been to a funeral service that I felt came anywhere near close to what the absent honoree was all about. The closest was when our friend, Bob, died. He was a true American original who couldn’t be pigeonholed into any category. Also a teacher, Bob’s church service was chock-full of so many stories of his wild and crazy life that the minister almost let the whole thing get away from her.

I wish she had. What most of us wanted, really, was to be sitting around a big bonfire up on Bob’s undeveloped ranch outside of Yreka in Northern California. trading stories all night long about Bob’s loveably eccentric ways.

That ranch was the site of one of our most outlandish Bob memories. After discovering that he had built his barn a foot onto the property of his neighbor (who wanted it off his property or he’d sue), Bob invited us all to the ranch for a barn-moving party. He actually believed that if he could cut off the beams at the foundation and get a lot of trucks to pull it, the barn could be moved. No one thought it would turn out that way. We all just assumed the two-story barn would collapse when it was yanked.

Bob dumbfounded us all because the barn…moved! But the most extraordinary part of this whole adventure was when Bob decided to climb atop his barn roof, cowboy hat in hand, and yelp and scream ala Dr. Strangelove as the massive barn moving was attempted. Fortunately the cooler head of his wife prevailed, and he reluctantly got down before the barn moving began.

The upshot of all these death and dying thoughts is that I have compiled “Joanne’s 10 Cardinal Rules to be Followed After her Death.” I already have an Advance Health Care Directive, and a Living Trust–that’s not what this is. These Rules are for what happens “after”:

Rule No. 1: Nothing happens for awhile so that family and friends can get over the weepies and plan a great party.

Rule No. 2: Under no circumstances whatsoever is there to be any kind of ceremony involving a church, a minister or the singing of “Amazing Grace.”

Rule No. 3: Another “under no circumstances”–No one who doesn’t know me, has never met me or TALKED to me will be allowed to say a word ABOUT me.
I mean….really….why would you want that?

Rule No. 4: Whatever is planned (and I’m sure my daughters, hubby and stepdaughters will come up with a fine plan), it’s gotta be at a really cool location. Maybe outdoors depending on the time of year. If indoors, there can’t be chairs lined up in rows. We need chairs, yes, because people get tired of standing up all the time, but chairs and tables need to be scattered here, there and all around the square. If I think up a suitable location, guys, I’ll let you know before I go.

Rule No. 5: Since I always choose Broadway musicals whenever I want to listen to music, just put on a big stack of Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Sondheim (sorry, Ray!), Gershwin, Lerner and Lowe, and Streisand CDs–loud enough to hear but not so loud the music drowns out conversation.

Rule No. 6: I’m expecting a lot of you to tell funny stories about me. I think I’m a pretty funny person (my daughters will attest to all my peccadilloes), so I’d like you to share some strange, weird, cute or just plain zany thing I did or said that you remember (fondly I hope).

Rule No. 7: Absolutely NO floral wreaths, huge bouquets, etc. etc. It has always made me feel terrible that all those funeral flowers will die in a few days–what’s the sense in that? For goodness sake, people! Use your heads and make a donation to some really good cause–like maybe eradicating whatever is going to kill me. (Maybe if you had done that sooner…..no, I won’t go there.)

Rule No. 8: But……..I do love yellow, apricot and white roses, so I’m commanding that my family buy buckets and buckets of long-stem roses, and everyone who comes to my “event” (whatever it is) gets to take one as they leave. Oh, yes. And they have to smell really rosy!

Rule No. 9: Burial? Fagedabouddit! No way. I sure don’t cotton to the idea of people standing around a piece of dirt thinking I’m there–and I don’t like the notion of being put six feet under anyway. Nope….gonna do this my way. I want little boxes of my ashes offered to those in my family (friends, too) who want a part of me. I’d prefer they scatter me in their rose beds (so I’d always be coming up roses, sort of) or atop a high vista somewhere that’s warm, sunny, and has a great view of land and sea.

Rule No. 10: Never mind a No. 10. Nine’s enough.

I can just hear hubby Ray now. “Isn’t that just like Joanne?” he’ll chuckle. “She liked to control everything in her–and my–life. Now she even wants to control her after life!”

Well…..you can’t fault a girl for trying, can you?