The wonderful thing about Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” is that, as a play, it makes very little sense. Three separate plotlines interweave chaotically (or so it seems), and the finale is a ridiculously bad play-within-a-play. But chaos is the point here, and the result is a great deal of revelry, and this chaos and revelry was reinterpreted last weekend in the ’92 under the direction of Chris Krovatin ’07. Krovatin’s take—appropriate from someone who last year portrayed the Marquis de Sade—defines chaos in terms of sexual deviance, setting his magical kingdom in a dark and visceral forest where the fairies wear leather and carry riding crops. Not a bad choice for WesFest weekend; any prefrosh who saw this show can probably make an informed decision about Wesleyan.
The play started innocently enough: Egeus (Jeremy Marks ’07) brings his daughter Hermia (Lynn Favin ’08) before the duke Theseus (Oscar Stinchcombe ’08) and his reluctant fiancée Hippolyta (Rachel Salowitz ’07) for judgment. Hermia has spurned the suitor her father has chosen for her—the arrogant Demetrius (Seth Cohen ’07)—in favor of the charming and affable Lysander (Rob Boyd ’08). They all look pretty normal; the action took place on the floor in front of the stage, with no set, and the costumes were compatible with a modern upper class but were otherwise fairly neutral.
Then the lovers flee, and everything changes. To escape Hermia’s forced marriage, she and Lysander run off into the forest, followed by Demetrius and his spurned love Helena (Emma Gross ’08). The act curtains parted, revealing the set: glowering sharp-edged flats, a black bower lined with deep purple fur, and a tree resembling a pinwheel of knives, with bright red splashes on the branches’ ends.
In this forest the Id holds sway. Even Puck (Greg Malen ’07) has no choice but to obey the fairy king Oberon (Stinchcombe); Puck bears a lock on his black-and-buckle-clad chest, apparently a mystical link to Oberon, by which he can be summoned and, in the event of a misstep, painfully punished. As always, Oberon and his queen Titania (Salowitz) are solely concerned with what they want and how they can get it, whether their coveted prize be the service of a changeling boy or the affections of a magically mutated weaver-cum-actor named Bottom (Garrett Larribas ’07).
The fairy trio was fun to watch, garbed in fetish gear and oozing sexual energy. Malen’s was a particularly good performance; his half-feral prowling and pouncing brought out Puck’s inner Hobgoblin (a term applied to him early in the play but that in most productions submits to a sprightly quality). When Oberon is distracted with Titania, Puck continually creeps towards her scantily-clad nymph attendants—one of whom he manhandled brutally in his first scene before climbing on top of her and biting her lip. Stinchcombe towered over everyone as Oberon, managing an impressive presence while maintaining an air of petty self-indulgence. At one point, while Helena is debasing herself to her belovèd Demetrius, Oberon skulks behind the tree excitedly, as though hoping they’ll turn to full-on domination. When Demetrius runs off, he is visibly disappointed at the tease (perhaps explaining why he cares enough to meddle on Helena’s behalf).
Last but not least we have Bottom’s Mechanicals (Evan Barton ’08, Liz Jones ’05, Ted Kelly ’08, Ian Renner ’08, Amy Rosen ’07). They proved an astoundingly successful (read: hysterically funny) group of clowns, each in the uniform of some menial profession (postal worker, Denny’s employee). Larribas held nothing back as Bottom, capable of mystifying his fellow players while they remained in awe of his “talent.” Indeed, one cannot really fault them for their admiration; Bottom was not terribly skilled as an actor, but he was brilliant at imagining he was, and at painting a picture for his cohorts of the high art they were destined to create.
After all the times, in various productions, that one may have seen the Mechanicals’ “Pyramus and Thisbe,” one doesn’t expect to laugh that heartily; this version, however, nearly stole the show. The funniest moment, perhaps, in the play was when Jones, whose Starveling portrays the Moon, broke character to yell at the royals for heckling her.
As often happens, the lovers got a bit lost in the shuffle, though the performances were solid. Salowitz’s spot-on costume design helped here—you know Demetrius is an asshole straight off; he pops his collar. Malen, like Salowitz, did double-duty, serving as light designer. His design worked well with the set (Max Baehr ’07), building a spooky and sultry effect without overwhelming the action onstage. Add in a soundtrack (Adam Tinkle ’08) that mixed metal and Portishead and you have a good example of a thoughtful, well-coordinated design.
The S&M aesthetic played out fluidly, and did not feel forced onto the text. The production did not have an overly literal setting—it did not, for example, take place in a sex club. Surprisingly, the sexual themes ended up receding into the background, largely inhabiting the design elements more than the action onstage. The most noteworthy sexual moment was even a bit mainstream; Titania’s bedtime kisses with her writhing minions read clearly as hetero eye candy, rather than as provocative or deviant. Puck’s violent foreplay with Peaseblossom (Sarah Alpert ’07) was successfully both alarming and sexy, but it is strange that the only sexual contact was between characters who have no scripted sexual relationship. Bottom and Titania do no more than cuddle. Titania and Oberon share a fleeting flirtation. Though Puck was set up as both a sexual spirit and as Oberon’s servant, there is not a whiff of sexuality between them—despite ample opportunity. The lovers barely even touch. And I, personally, waited in vain for a sexual pun on the name “Bottom.”
Regardless, Krovatin got his message across loud and clear, never overdoing or bludgeoning the audience. The sweet parts remained appropriately sweet, “Pyramus and Thisbe” perfectly light and hilarious, and a scenic metaphor that could well have bludgeoned the audience over the head did nothing of the kind. Krovatin sewed things up nicely by doubling the Athenian court and the Fairy court: Oberon and Titania doubled as Theseus and Hippolyta, with Puck doubling as their servant the Philostrate. While this seems at first to be a simple economy of actors, in their last scene Salowitz and Stinchcombe appeared in mixed garb, speaking their Athenian parts while dressed in half of their Fairy costumes—a leather coat over a (now unbuttoned) dress shirt, a leather bustier over a formal gown. But better yet was Puck, who at the end emerged on an empty stage in his Philostrate costume and slowly removed his hat, carefully adjusting his mohawk. As he gave Puck’s speech he entirely and neatly tore away his mortal clothes and was once again sporting the straightjacket look, smearing black make-up back on his face. As a final touch Oberon throws him the key he had been wearing around his neck, and, with an unnerving smile, Puck frees himself from bondage. God help us all.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM by William Shakespeare; directed by Chris Krovatin ’07; stage manager Zac Bruner ’08; light design by Greg Malen ’07; set design by Max Baehr ’07; costumes by Rachel Salowitz ’07; props by Judith Klausner ’07, sound design by Adam Tinkle ’08.
ALSO WITH Tussy Alam ’07 (MUSTARDSEED), Jess Schoolman ’06 (COBWEB).
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