The Diary of Anne Frank: Little Theatre of Savannah

Aristotle once wrote that "Poetry [read drama] was more philosophical than history." This is largely due to the fact that while good drama must, absolutely must, have a coherent storyline, whereas the historical record rests simply on the empirical record. Given these two divergent impulses, it is so rare to find truly effecting, historically-based drama. Either one recounts the epics of bygone days, or one winds up, like Moises Kaufman and the Tectonic Theatre Project, coming off as preachy.

However, none of this is a concern in terms of the Little Theatre of Savannah's Diary of Anne Frank, presented this fall of 2009 at the Freight Station Theatre. Director Benjamin Wolfe, along with his cast, has brought forth a piece of exquisite sentimentality and understanding that truly brings out the highest potential of community theatre. As we draw in individuals from a variety of backgrounds, as opposed to that monetized epithet "show folk," such a theatre is capable of great work built around a number of viewpoints.

Mr. Wolfe's creation gives an excellent view of life in the Annex for the Franks and Van Daans, who have gone into hiding to escape Nazi persecution. Though almost the entire cast remains onstage for the entirety of the play, they become neither distracting nor dead space. This is a significant accomplishment in a play that contains a high number of two-person scenes. Indeed, if one were to glance about the stage while Anne and Peter chat away in the loft, one will find Mrs. Van Daan knitting, Otto Frank reading a book, and Alfred Dussel enrobing to go to bed. It is a testament to Savannah's best director, and the discipline of his cast, that none of this is an actual distraction, but only adds to the living sense within the annex.

The cast, with it's variety of backgrounds and levels of training, have come together and met the challenge of this work with skill and sensitivity. Sean Carleton, as Peter Van Daan, gawkily demonstrates the effects that first love can have on a boy, while Nicole Pearlman as Anne Frank shows us a vital, energetic girl with a largely indomitable spirit. Also highly worth watching were Laura Mesmer as Petronella Van Daan, Eve Butler as Miep Gies, and Logan Padilla as Alfred Dussel.

Despite the delightful performances listed above, the performance of Jeryo Hannah, as Otto Frank, deserves a moment of special mention. Mr. Hannah depicts the sincere yet harassed benefactor and father of this wayward flock with a brightness of spirit and sincere concern that truly causes one's heart to reach towards him in comfort. If there are weaknesses, they are caulked over in order to keep this particular ship afloat. Though he might overindulge the emotion at the end, and the whole play becomes a diet of anchovies after the Nazis kick in the door, this can easily be understood.

At the end of the day, Little Theatre's Diary of Anne Frank demonstrates just how much community theatre, often maligned for lack of quality or meaning, is capable of. The set, designed by Megan Baptiste-Field, was both elegant and functional, keeping a cramped space outside of the realm of claustrophobia while maintaining the pressure on its contents.

As Mr. Wolfe writes in his director's note, there is a coming together as "one family" required of the theatre community in this city. With the recent fluxes experiences by a number of our performing arts companies, we may need to cling to one another all the tighter to fight a rising tide.

Last of the Red Hot Lovers: Little Theatre of of Savannah

It was once written in Time that, "If Broadway ever erects a monument to the patron saint of laughter, Neil Simon would have to be it." And, based upon the Little Theatre of Savannah's recent production of Last of the Red Hot Lovers, this would seem to be a fair enough assessment.

Though Simon is simultaneously considered an award-studded superstar (usually by the general populace) and a cosseted writer of commercially viable fluff, one cannot deny that he is, at the very least prolific. The key is, at this sort of point, to simply accept the work for what it is, a sentimental and unchallenging piece of work that asks little of the audience but to sit back and enjoy.

As such, though one wishes that the Board of Governors had meditated on a slightly more energetic work (particularly given that this piece was done not long ago out at the Savannah Community Theatre), the cast has done a delightful job of spinning these yarns into a light and delicate (if not elegant) lattice of neuroses and sexual repression.

Justin Kent, as nebbish Barney Cashman, is delightful in his numerous abortive attempts to jump on the sexual revolution bandwagon before it is too late. Mr. Kent builds in confidence and attention to detail with each tryst, and one truly does get the idea that he is learning something, even if it isn't what he had originally intended. Elaine Navazio, played by Lynita Spivey, is a stereotypical tough broad from NYC. Given Ms. Spivey's other excellent work in our community (Urinetown and Inspecting Carol to name a couple) it is a shame that she was saddled with a walking cliche of minimal interest. Indeed, this is a problem faced by all three of our ladies, as they are really only ciphers in the transformation of Barney Cashman. Eve Butler, as Bobbi Michele, makes her return to the Savannah boards by building the picture of paranoid, yet compelling, nymph; while Nicole Koplik faces the daunting challenge of playing a depressive prude in a sentimental comedy... while keeping it interesting for nearly forty minutes. Each of these actresses does a fairly remarkable job with the materials given her, it just so happens that the material was woefully short in supply.

Though director Grace Diaz Tootle and he cast have assembled a fairly effective presentation of Mr. Simon's script, the piece is, like much of his early work, weak and one-sided. Given other offerings from the same author (or options for the castable material) it is our sincere hope here at the Savannah Dramaturgy that the Little Theatre's Board of Governors decides to make slightly more interesting choices in the future.

Psycho Beach Party: Little Theatre of Savannah

Sun! Surf! Tans! Trannies! These are the hallmark's of Charles Busch's ode to camp, Psycho Beach Party. And yet, most of these elements are, quite simply, missing from the Little Theatre of Savannah's production of the above. The unfortunate problem to a show is that it can matter very little how hard one tries, but that if there is not a basic understanding of fundamentals, indeed of what the show is even about, success can hardly be assured.

To begin with, this show lacks one of the most basic hallmarks of Charles Busch's work. Director Jeroy Hannah has managed to put together an entire production without one single whiff of transvestitism, something for which Mr. Busch was well known. Indeed, Busch played the lead role of Chicklet in the inaugural stage production. Yet, one can see very little of this aesthetic in this production.

At the end of the day, one cannot help but feel that the director has, essentially, missed the point of the script in a very fundamental way. Though he writes a lengthy piece on the presence of Malibu in the "national sub-conscious," this only demonstrates all the more that there is a failure in understanding. Psycho Beach Party is a renown homage to the camp style, nothing more and nothing less. And, as Susan Sontag wrote in her essay Notes on Camp that, "Indeed the essence of Camp is its love of the unnatural: of artifice and exaggeration. And Camp is esoteric -- something of a private code, a badge of identity even, among small urban cliques." The key here is the badge of identity, and the semi-ironic enshrining of what might be bad taste. More's the pity, the playing seems to be done as straight as possible.

Unfortunately also, and perhaps due to a basic lack of real leadership, there is no real standout in terms of a cast that is generally wooden, and simply lined up along a single plane. The worst, however, is that there are member of this cast (such as Lariena Brown in The Boyfriend) that have turned in performances of high quality in the past.

Aside from a mildly amusing surfing montage and poor-taste sex joke that literally anyone could sell, there is unfortunately little recommend this production. Indeed, it comes down as proof of the idea that Camp, as an ode to bad taste, can be a great deal of fun when done well... and is punishment for shoplifting throughout the Eastern Bloc when it is done poorly.

Moonlight & Magnolias - The Little Theatre of Savannah

Every generation seems to believe that they are the doomed ones. That after them, it is all going downhill. That after (or thanks to) their actions, something will be lost. The first thing they often bring up is the arts. How often have we heard that the theatre, an entity that has existed for millennia, is now dead? Though people are not usually so drastic on this take when it comes to film, the consensus of many has become that it is no longer an art form so much as entertainment. The Little Theatre of Savannah's production of Ron Hutchinson's Moonlight & Magnolias offers the comfort of knowing that people have always felt this way, and will perhaps continue to feel this way for eternity.

Set in the office of producer David O. Selznick, Moonlight & Magnolias is a fictional account of five days during which Selznick, writer Ben Hecht, and director Victor Fleming starved, fought, typed and possibly lost their minds. All to create the film adaptation of Gone With The Wind, arguably one of the greatest epics ever brought to the silver screen. Directed admirably by Grace Diaz Tootle, this production is one of the finest I have seen the Little Theatre undertake. Tootle has assembled a brilliant cast, each one suited for his or her character.

As Selznick, Sonny Schneider brings an energy to his performance as a famous producer who has reached the end of his rope, sure that a failure with this film will be the end of his career. Selznick is clearly a man of power, but Schneider also brings with him a sympathy that cannot be denied: Selznick may be a business man, but he has not lost his love for the art to which he has dedicated his life. The chemistry between Schneider and his partners in crime is outstanding. Louis Clausi brings the most humanity to the stage as the idealistic scriptwriter Ben Hecht, who tries desperately to keep Selznick true to his Jewish roots and warns against creating any message of intolerance, seeing dark clouds on the horizon (the year is 1939). As director Victor Fleming, Les Taylor is hilarious as he slips slowly into hysteria. Taylor and Schneider's antics reenacting the book for Hecht's benefit are among the most memorable in the production. Last, but certainly not least, Jennifer Doubleday is absolutely charming as Miss Poppenghul, Selznick's overworked secretary.

In our own lives, exhaustion becomes frustration and frustration becomes hysteria, and it's some comfort to know that this feeling is universal, even in the world of motion pictures, where everything seems to gleam with perfection. Even better is if you can laugh at the manic antics of those involved. The Little Theatre of Savannah is to be commended for an excellent production.

Love Letters: Little Theatre of Savannah

Put people at a desk and have them read to the audience. Could be a particularly bad university lecture, could be a revival of the work of Spalding Gray, or it could be The Little Theatre of Savannah's production of A.R. Gurney's Love Letters.

Though The Savannah Dramaturgy may be a touch behind on the coverage for this piece, there are still a number of things that bear stating about this particular evening of theatre. In essence, this production demonstrates the power of a stripped down piece. Two people, and they connect.

Though there were two casts who served on a rotating basis, this reviewer only managed to get in to see the combination of JinHi Soucy Rand and Mark Rand. These two actors have demonstrated, once again, the reason they have been reliably entertaining Savannah audiences under a variety of banners. Mr. Rand performs with the same warmth and charm that made it impossible to believe in his guilt in Cardinal Rep's recent production of Doubt. JinHi embodies the freewheeling spirit of the formerly WASPy artist Melissa to the point that she truly does dance, even while seated.

Though they move little, one thing that the audience cannot help but notice is their ability to react to one another as the turn the pages of the letters. As each letter is turned over (and they are ably read, but not obviously or glaringly so) we watch as Melissa and Andy steadily and gradually age from note-passing elementary schoolers to Senate and psychosis.

Though credited with having a director (Jeroy Hannah, who also played Andy on the alternate nights), this cast hardly needed one, carrying the day with innate grace and the ability to truly listen to one another that must only be born out of deep partnership. Despite a general lack of utility, Mr. Hannah's director's note from the program does manage to use a lot of big words.

Love Letters seems to be following in a rash of smaller, intimate shows from a variety of Savannah theatres. Much like Cardinal Rep's Laughing Wild, this gives us a chance to sit down with some of our talent. Though larger shows (Catch-22 or Wait Until Dark) rpovide opportunities for work, closet shows like this have a capability all their own.

Wait Until Dark: Little Theatre of Savannah

Wait Until Dark, The Little Theatre of Savannah's latest melodrama, manages to present a mixed bag for the spectator in its November 13-30, 2008 run at the Freight Station Theatre. The script, adapted for the screen in 1967 by Robert Carrington, is a veritable danse macabre of menace, though the cast has difficulty at times finding where the true menace lies.

The story, revolving around a recently blinded young woman, follows a trio of con men in their attempts to retrieve a heroin stuffed doll from the apartment this young woman shares with her photographer husband. The story twists a torturous path where Sam is slowly implicated in smuggling and marital infidelity, until the con is finally discovered and the thugs must resort to sheer force.

The cons Mike (Justin Kent) and Carlino (Phil Keeling) are, much in the way of confidence artists, quite likeable in their own way. Indeed, there is something of Laurel and Hardy or the Three Stooges in their relationship. Their main shortfalling is that they simply do not go far enough. Scenes that could truly relieve audience tension through a bit of laughten tend to fall short, as the schtick is neglected. While it could be raised to almost monumental heights, a la Noises Off, it fails to fully please. Instead, one has two likeable men caught, essentially, in a bad situation.

If Mr. Kent and Mr. Keeling do not paint their characters with broad strokes, the role of Harry Roat Jr. (Giles Gonnsen) stepped straight out of Hannah-Barbara's animation studios. Mr. Gonnsen has, unfortunately, reduced Mr. Roat from a frightening killer to a simple pop-culture meme. If Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight had stolen Peter Seller's sunglasses from Dr. Strangelove, one would then have an accurate picture of Mr. Gonnsen's performance. While possibly a great deal of fun, wearing monstrosity so clearly on one's sleeve ultimately robs the piece of menace. Had this role been played straighter (think Hannibal Lecter) then greater vistas of frightening depravity could have been opened in the playing of Roat. Instead, as one already knows where the beast lies, Roat is surpassed in creepiness by the lurking, nine-year-old Gloria (Kasey Siebert).

Acting honours for the evening go to Ms. Rachel Herrick in her performance of Susy Hendrix. Ms. Herrick manages a nearly convincing performance as the blind Mrs. Hendrix. Given the difficulty of playing disability, particularly one so keyed as sight, Ms. Herrick's performance manages to succeed in simply not distracting, though it manages much more. Darwin Hull, as Sam Hendrix, puts in a brief but amiable appearance that recalls a sentimentalized Lee Cobb from Death of a Salesman.

The cast, under the direction of Savannah theatrical veteran Christopher Soucy, primarily undershoot the mark, barring some exception. Given certain personnel issues throughout the rehearsal process, the cast has managed to put together an engaging show.

The set (designed by Jeroy Hannah) is an effective and spacious use of the Freight Station's sometimes limited square footage. However, the tone is truly set by the lighting (designed by director Christopher Soucy), oddly enough for a play about darkness. Mr. Soucy's choice of a brilliant, hard edged lamp for his house light helped to set the tone by bathing the waiting audience in harsh, white light.

Though Wait Until Dark is not without its shortcomings, Mr. Knott asks us to simply swallow a Byzantine con game extending to Montreal and tosses in Roat with almost no explanation as to his origins into the story, while the cast at times misses the opportunity to truly terrify, The Little Theatre of Savannah manages to put together an engaging evening of theatre.

Though the drawbacks and limitations of community theatre are a common, recurring theme here in The Savannah Dramaturgy, there is still an expectation of goodwill and excellence. Perhaps the most disturbing moment of the evening comes when this author is apologized to by multiple departing cast members. Such behavior is not only ungracious, but it also indicates to an audience member that their appreciation is unplaced and that absolution is desired. Given Savannah theatre's already limited resources, we cannot afford to lose goodwill, quite simply.

The Boy Friend: Little Theatre of Savannah

There is a saying, that one cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. While scientists at MIT have proven this to be false, they also found that it takes more than one ear. Which, once again, brings the Savannah Dramaturgy around to the perennial problem of Theatre in Savannah... more resources are needed.

Upon seeing the latest offering of the Little Theatre of Savannah, this author found this to be all the truer. The Boy Friend, performed in the Seaboard Freight Station Theatre, falls all too short. This is through no real lack of effort on the part of the people involved, who should be applauded, but instead through various inherent shortcomings.

The story itself is almost as old as the theatre. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, and boy gets girl in the end. This time honoured story can be found in musicals from Guys and Dolls, Anything Goes, and West Side Story. The Boy Friend is perhaps the most overt of all of these, but that is no real weakness, as such a primal story must have been addressed eventually, much to the pleasure of this author and anyone else with a romantic interest.

Yet, one cannot help feeling that the Little Theatre's production might have missed the point here. In the program notes, director DJ Queenan writes of a 1950's show spoofing earlier the musicals of the 1920's. And yet, if this piece is to be thought of as a send up, it most certainly lacks teeth, both scripturally and in the production. Though opportunity is ample to engage in self-referential fun, this is rarely done. Indeed, the opening song of "Perfect Young Ladies," seems a perfect opportunity. And yet, the tongues stay very firmly out of the cheeks and falls flat in a meta-theatrical sense. Indeed, only once, when Madame Dubonnet (played with gusto by Carol Melton) calls the spotlight to herself in true diva fashion before breaking into song. As such, there is a lost expectation here.

Further, there is a sharpness that one find highly desirable, and lacking, in this particular piece. Unfortunately, the Freight Station Theatre is an unforgiving venue, and errors can be glaring. Even small issues such as which particular leg is extended in the choreography do truly stick out around here. The combination of venue and the demands of the piece itself does the Little Theatre no favours. Combine this with the inherent limitations of the community theatre (which was addressed in the curtain speech preceding the show) and one most certainly has vagueness worthy of Monet himself. Unfortunately, beautiful as Monet's work is, the content of the piece does not lend itself to impressionism or watercolour.

Further, this author must wonder that an art city like Savannah lacks willing musicians. While musicians in the theatre are traditionally paid, even in community theatre, one must wonder if there is nobody out there. The use of electronic instuments (primarily keyboard and synth) kept the full impact of this piece from reaching the audience. Musicals are effective primarily because of the music, pure and simple. Indeed, one can often stand in the parking lot of a theatre after a musical and be treated to an impromptu performance of most of the showstoppers, being variously hummed, whistled, and sung by the departing audience. And yet, such was not the case. Proper orchestration helps to give the music a truly visceral effect, as one's skin thrills to the cadenza of a trumpet and the rhythm thumps in one's chest. And yet, the reliance upon electronic instruments instead of tradition orchestration robbed the audience of such an effect and failed to produce the impromptu parking lot performances. Indeed, by the end of this show, one finds oneself willing to sell one's soul for a trumpet (one should note that is production made limited use of trumpet, played from backstage by a member of the cast, but the effect was limited) or one's firstborn for an entire brass section.

And yet, despite all of this, one truly wants to feel the transportation inherent in the genre. The cast performs with such effort that one truly wishes that their boundless goodwill can be translated into the audience identification their pains deserve. Jeroy Hannah, who was also featured in the Little Theatre's The Moustrap, presents the clear-cut and slightly uptight of Percival Browne to great effect. Hortense (Lariena Brown) struts her stuff to delightful effect in "Nicer in Nice." Nick Bushkar as Tony, who could not have been better rendered by Norman Rockwell, is the quintessential perfect young man, and Polly Browne's (Jonette Page) shock and dismay at the possible derailment of her fledgling love affair grips the heartstrings of anyone who has ever feared the same.

In the end, this production was to be seen once, repeat performances neither needed nor desired. The fault is not that of the cast, but instead should be placed directly at the feet of the community's limitations. However, it should also be noted that this author also barely managed to get a ticket to the performance. Evidently, it clicked for some. Given that the average age of the audience was "post-mortem," perhaps there is something that this author needs time to see.

The Mousetrap: Little Theatre of Savannah

The Little Theatre of Savannah, Savannah's oldest theatre group, presents Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap at the Seaboard Freight Station Theatre March 15-30. The piece, quintessential community theatre melodrama, has been performed with gusto and is an excellent example of ensemble playing at its best.

Allow me to say that, in his directorial debut, Mark Rand has managed to create an excellent sense of community among his players. Indeed, the ability to create a coherent ensemble is one of the prime skills required of a director, and it is one that Mr. Rand has performed ably. Further, The Savannah Dramaturgy applauds this activity, as it will be one of the first steps towards an indigenous and sustainable theatre community in Savannah.

As stated above, the script is classic community theatre melodrama. Ms. Christie manages to create a fairly suspenseful story, and yet there is little emotional depth, or even unity to the plot at the end of the day. The tale careens from beginning to end and attempts to take in concepts as wide as marital infidelity, murder, trickery, estranged families, and simple bad manners without treating any of them deeply at all. Further, the piece is not resolved by any real aspect of the plot, but by a suddenly revealed deus ex machina at the very end. While such pieces may be fun from time to time, I feel that Savannah would be better served by other fare. This is not to say that I am particularly opposed to melodrama, but there are better, and simply more unified melodramas. The works of Lillian Hellman, or many of the 19th Century American melodramas, such as Metamora might be helpful here.

A weak script, especially in the community theatre, places the burden of carrying the performance all the more on the actors. And, as is often the nature of community productions, they are often not up to carrying the extra weight. This production was marked especially by unfilled pauses. The ones coming from Giles Ralston (Brent Feasel) often seemed interminable in length and copious in number, and such pauses were quickly emulated by most of the cast to one degree or another.

However, this again goes to the nature of community theatre, and the state of theatre in Savannah generally. Given its amateur basis, all of these people have day jobs, please remember, actors cannot focus the same attention on their roles as professional, or even semi-professional actors can. As such, The Savannah Dramaturgy, issues a call to theatres, theatre supporters, and the cultural institutions of our city to help financially support our theatres.

Further, one can see in the set a certain lack of attention to detail that further bespeaks a lack of time on the part of our practitioners. Though the main room of the Monkswell Manor Guest House is ostensibly wood panelled, the set lacks faux finishing or painting detail to truly create the illusion, particularly in the intimate space of the Seaboard Freight Station. Again, such detail is a side effect of a group of artists who are able to spend their time focusing on their shows, as opposed to the myriad other concerns of the nine to five.

Though I point out limitations, this should not be seen, in any way, as a condemnation of the performance. Indeed, I find the ensemble effect, where even the flamboyant Chris Wren (Jeff Fuell) and oily, continental Mr. Paravicini (Jeroy Hannah) manage to remain on an equal footing with their more mundane counterparts, truly worthy of applause.