Theatre Review: Angels in America – Millennium Approaches (Soulpepper)

angels_in_america_-_millennium_approachesAngels in America is a big, ambitious duo of plays, each clocking in a three hours and managing to be simultaneously human, epic, literal, metaphorical, intimate and distant. To take them on at all speaks to a certain amount of like ambition, to say nothing of confidence, and suffice to say that Soulpepper has done a wonderful job.

Written by Tony Kushner partially in response to the AIDS crisis of 1980, Angels nonetheless manages to have a timeless feel about it, and director Albert Schultz taps into that broadness right from the start. Prior Walter (Damien Atkins) may reveal his era-centric diagnosis to his lover Louis Ironson (Gregory Prest) in their first scene together, but little is made, in the moment, of the fact that the scene consists of two men. In fact, for most of the production, AIDS may as well be interchangeable with any other devastating disease one could contract.

As the name suggests, Millennium Approaches anticipates change rather than delivers on it, and as such is the more portentous of the two halves. Every character is on the cusp of a major transition, and what’s fascinating is the different ways they react to this impending doom. Joseph Pitt (Mike Ross) is the poster boy for stereotypical Mormon mental compartmentalization, so utterly able to convince himself of his own heterosexuality that he doesn’t even know he’s lying when interrogated by his wispy wife Harper (Michelle Montheith). It probably helps his cause that she’s in a near constant Valium trance, but her pointed questions constantly penetrate his anger, prevarication and last-ditch faith-based workaround: what does his sexual preference matter? He loves her and prays and wants to make it work. So there.

If Joe is the epitome of self-denial, Roy Cohn (Diego Matamoros in a role so well suited to his unique style of enunciation it ought to be recorded for posterity) is so self-assured of his own grandeur he can admit his sexual proclivities while denying homosexuality on the basis of having made a pretzel out of dictionary definitions. A homo is someone without clout, an ineffectual nobody who deserves to be stomped on; Cohn, on the other hand, has political capital to burn and the attitude to do just that. Matamoros lends a hypnotic gravitas to the role; watching him, you truly believe this man can turn AIDS into cancer just by having declared it so.

What impresses most about this production of Millennium Approaches is how human it is, despite the grandeur, visions and literal angel crashing through the roof to end things off. We’ve all known a philosophizing blowhard like Louis, and yet it’s heartbreaking how his inability to cope with losing Prior cuts through his bluster. Prior’s anger at Louis’ betrayal is palpable, as is his fear and wonder at the voice he hears in his dreams (to say nothing of the accompanying physical reaction he wakes to). Harper may spend half her time with an imaginary, Valium-induced friend (Belize/Mr. Lies, played by Troy Adams), but the pain that drives her to it is written all over Monteith’s face in every scene. The play may be solidly rooted in the AIDS crisis and 1980s politics, but the human element makes it timeless and terrifically easy to access.

The set is incredibly versatile, surrounded on all sides by rotating panels with two to three doors each, making for at least 15 different ways for actors to enter and exit the stage. And despite the chaos so much coming and going could suggest, the production keeps the necessary connections visible and present at all times. Characters not part of a scene are often on stage anyway, in the dark. Prior’s bed is Louis’ bed is Joe and Harper’s bed, and it remains on stage no matter what else changes. Prior himself stays in bed through each intermission, blurring the lines between when the show actually stopped. (It never did, of course; as in life, you’re in bed sleeping whether people witness it or not. Trees falling in the forest and all that.)

By the end Millennium has indeed arrived, with tremors and thunder and fallen chunks of ceiling, and it is wonderfully, simply, powerful. The play began with a eulogy, recalling our connection to the past; who’s to say if it that connection will survive ’til morning?

5 out of 5 angels dancing on the head of a pin.

~Mike!

Theatre Review: The Barber of Seville (Soulpepper)

the_barber_of_sevilleEverything about Soulpepper’s The Barber of Seville was a wonderful surprise, from the fact that it was a musical to the related fact that, well, it’s a comedy. In fact, this production has a lot more in common with the Looney Tunes version of my childhood than the stuffy opera I thought it to be, a realization that had me grinning like an idiot for most of the night. To be perfectly honest, my own ignorance of the plot and history of Barber was a huge boon to my enjoyment of the show, and if you are similarly in the dark, then stop reading this right now. Just go, buy yourself a ticket and enjoy. I’ll wait.

Done? Good.

Every so often, you see a show where the actors’ sheer enthusiasm for the material is infectious. The kind of production where flubbed lines, dropped props and Soulpepper veterans such as Oliver Dennis corpsing on stage somehow all enhance the experience rather than detract from it. To be fair, Dennis was acting against Gregory Prest (as Count Almaviva) in some truly fabulous drag, who wasted no opportunity in winking to the audience every time Dennis broke character (Don Bartolo) to choke back a laugh. Even the music, somehow marrying Rossini’s grand opera with an on-stage, costumed folk band, was in character; this show is all about absurd yet immensely satisfying combinations.

Courtney Ch’ng Lancaster brings a fantastic, cartoonish glee to her work as the fiery Rosina, a Rapunzel-like figure awaiting her opportunity for escape from the guardianship of and secret betrothal to Don Bartolo. Her signature song careens from the operatic (with surprising bursts of bluesy angst) to full-on contemporary (with surprising bursts of operatic power), much like her character overall. She’s as comfortable belting out some impromptu Carly Rae Jepsen as she is going from helpless to aggressive to swooning all in the same breath, easily the comic equal of her sly savior, Count Almaviva.

But the true accolades of the night go to Dan Chameroy’s Figaro, whose introduction alone is worth the price of admission. You all know the tune: “Figaro qua, Figaro là, Figaro su, Figaro giù“, et cetera. His is the kind of number that makes you want to use the word “virtuoso,” but you try not to because it sounds so pretentious. Chameroy’s voice is rich and powerful and fills the room, and he imbues every step and movement with purpose and intent. He sets the musical bar for the rest of the show. And in a bit clever writing surely attributable to 1700s madcap playwright Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais (seriously, look the guy up), even as most of the play concerns itself with the forbidden love between Almaviva and Rosina, Figaro is always present, never more so than in the play’s beautiful final scene. He is, after all, the titular character; watch the set transform and morph with but a twist of Figaro’s smile.

My favourite moments all consisted of carefully layered satire and jokes: the manic performance of Figaro adding subtlety to every line and movement, the mercurial Rosina and her on-a-dime mood swings, the foppish Bartolo with his befuddled desperation, and the cavalier Almaviva throwing himself into every new scheme of Figaro’s with worried abandon. From a script perspective, I found less interest in the role of Don Basilio (Soulpepper stalwart William Webster, who nonetheless brings a credible gravitas to his part). Bartolo’s confidant, he’s presented as a savvier sort of confidence man than Figaro, and his crooning ode to slander is amusing and… well, amusing. He’s in league with Bartolo and therefore doomed to fail, but is he a smooth operator who got outfoxed or a fool who’s out of his league? Neither option really came across, which is a shame. Same goes for the ensemble piece praising love and money; is there more to the joke than the simple audacity of committing a whole showstopper to ironic juxtaposition?

Preview period began on May 9 and the performance I saw was on May 11; opening was May 15. If I’ve learned anything from Smash (and to say that I’ve learned something from that train wreck is to be more charitable than it deserves), it’s that shows change quite a lot during previews. Fewer lines get flubbed; props don’t get dropped. Corpsing happens less and less. Little performance and writing tweaks get made and the show improves. It could very well be that my nitpicks above don’t even exist anymore.

The Soulpepper team (and have I really gotten to the end without praising director Leah Cherniak?) does its frenetic source material great justice, and it makes me glad that society no longer qualifies men like Figaro to be a barber, doctor and dentist all in one. Or anyone, for that matter.

4.5 out of 5 shave-and-haircut combos (plus 2 bits for the tip jar).

~Mike!