"Writer's Skirmish" Tackles Strong Stances

By Kassia Lisinski; Photos by Bethany Horning.

Iowa City - Seating myself in the Unitarian Universalist Society of Iowa City for Dreamwell's "Writers' Skirmish," I found myself captivated by ambiance and watercolor paintings, abstract suggested explosions of plant pollination, red dandelion heads, the dispersed fire over a chalice. The woody old floors, the fold-out chairs, the wheelchair lift beside the slightly upraised stage, everything illuminated by big moon-like lights and a dim fluorescent indigo from behind the white backdrop of the stage. The place was very warm but so was the hospitality, welcoming the audience this summer Saturday night to celebrate strong character through a series of three one-act plays, winners of the Skirmish's theme "Here I Stand."

The first play presented was James Grob's Some Assembly Required, directed by Meg Dobbs.

(Pictured, L-R: Melinda Kay as Carolyn, Linda Merritt as Gina, Monty Hendricks as Josh, and Traci Schoenle as Linda in Some Assembly Required by James Grob)

The set was simple and adequate, conveying a distinctly American feel: a picnic chair you might set up for a summertime barbecue or fireworks show, a blue cooler, and in the center of it a grave soccer-mom looking woman standing tall and holding a sign declaring in bright blue paint "FREEDOM."

The sign is pivotal in the simple plot: The woman, named Gina and played by Linda Merritt, planted herself in front of a courthouse holding the aforementioned sign, and was investigated and examined by a series of allegorical characters who, in the process, did their best to define freedom before the cops break up the party at the request of local businessmen unhappy with the disruption.

The events and message are clearly opinionated, but raise interesting questions about how the overuse of a word or symbol can confound its meaning to the individual, and illuminating the ways in which people can be pitted against each other by real or prescribed roles, though they may actually be in agreement.

The dialogue overall was a strength in the show, witty but natural, delivered nicely by the talented cast. The banter between the characters Gina and Carolyn the reporter, played by Melinda Kay, was especially enjoyable and drew real laughter from the audience. The performances were further enhanced by costume that communicated perfectly who these people were before they even spoke: disgruntled housewife, young reporter, wet-eared cop, overgrown trust fund kid, patriotic soldier. They served well enough as embodiments of different types of American people and attitudes, yet lacked the diversity of representation required for their intended purpose. Nevertheless, they were a strong cast of characters and actors.

I was impressed with the final scene. It was well-executed, drawing the audience in through lighting, sound, and the centering of the action outside of the stage, in front of the characters as they looked out upon us. It was, in a way, unsatisfying, and very relevant to current events.

The set for Carrie and Richard New's Afterwerx, directed by Brian Tanner was also initially simple, gaining complexity through effects and direction; it consisted of a dark blue sofa, a stool, a four-legged teal table with a laptop atop it, and a grey folding chair. This made up the waiting room for the Afterwerx office, a company which sends individuals into the afterlife to track down and make amends with the dead (for a steep fee) in order to assist them in overcoming the regrets of their lives. Quite another dimension to the show was added when, as the characters descended to the afterlife, they also descended from the raised stage to the open space directly before the audience, heavy wooden doors closing behind them, light changing, and a large pillar introduced declaring whether they were at level one, two, or three of the underworld.

Particularly adding to the ambiance of this work was the lighting, which flashed at the appropriate times signalling the imperative to descend another level, brightened and lowered between scenes and at one point impressively highlighted the setting when dimmed in synchronization with the entrance of the slow, dark shambling of several extras posing as the dead. I would have been delighted with the skilled scene-setting, if not for the chills up my spine. The three-dimensional atmosphere was also enhanced by the actors coming and going from the stage through the seating area of the audience (a method which was also used in Some Assembly Required as Steven the police officer, played by Nate Sullivan, made his entrance and exit).

The acting in Afterwerx left something to be desired, with a few flubs and performances tending more towards wooden than engaging. It is unfortunate that a mistake in line delivery seemed to throw off the mood of the scene, which could have been recovered more gracefully through a little impromptu ad lib to maintain the realism of the dialogue. However, Brad Quinn's portrayal of Grey, nervous and slightly ticcy but well-meaning, was endearing and stood out in this play in terms of acting.

(Pictured, L-R: Melinda Kay as Melanie and Brad Quinn as Grey in AfterWerx by Carrie and Richard New)

The script was phenomenal, the mystery of the motivation for descent and the secrets within keeping me enthralled, as evidenced in my notes which were repeatedly interspersed with "What's going on?"


The ending was a mild twist-- not shocking but unexpected enough and foreshadowed very well. Bravo to the suspense of the script which, along with the immersive nature of the production, made this an engaging experience.

The final play in the sequence -- and the winner of the Skirmish -- was Amy White's World's Teeniest, directed by Matthew Falduto, taking place in a cluttered apartment setting where a woman played by Noel Van Den Bosch attempted to unpack in while trying to remain undistracted by an intruding little girl. The girl, played by the wonderfully talented Mary Vander Weg, seemed an unwelcome visitor, digging through boxes, asking questions, forcing answers. The woman was unreasonably short and harsh with her, for reasons becoming clear as the script and allegory elegantly unfolded.

(Pictured, L-R: Mary Vander Weg as Girl and Noel Van Den Bosch as Woman inWorld's Teeniest by Amy White.)

The pacing of the piece is exceptional, and I enjoyed that the exact allegory was never completely revealed but had to be deduced by the audience. The elements of the metaphor are very specific and it is clear, as Falduto stated in his notes, that every line and action is imbued with the message of the play. However, this was also a drawback.

Once the puzzle began to unravel, a strong political message revealed itself. Although it was a skillful and creatively designed argument, the message it carried was more pushy than persuasive, giving too many firm answers and asking too few questions, heavy-handed enough not to ruin but certainly to distract from the superb acting, dialogue, and direction. Despite this and the weightiness of the issue, the play remained for the most part light-hearted, centered and drawing on the energy of Vander Weg's character.

As in the first play, the ending is aesthetically pleasing but not what you would call a resolution. It is interesting to note that these demonstrations of powerful stands against opposing forces were not necessarily happy or "all loose ends tied" types of finales. That, along with the effects and immersive direction of the plays, delivered a solid experience that I would recommend. It was refreshing to see these fictions reveal such a relevant truth: that although taking a stand for what one knows is right is, well, right, the end results can be bittersweet. An important lesson to remember, delivered by a talented ensemble of original minds.

"Writer's Skirmish" plays again July 20 and 21 at 7:30 at 10 S Gilbert St. in Iowa City. Tickets are $13 ($10 students & seniors).

Bent Pits Love Against Cruelty

By James E. Trainor III; photos by Rob Merritt

Dreamwell - Dreamwell's "Here I Stand" season tells the stories of those who stand up against oppression, unjust circumstances, or impossible odds. These plays are testaments to the human spirit, the courage to look evil in the eye and refuse to live on its terms. The stories are often quite tragic, as this type of stance requires great sacrifice. In all of these ways, Bent is an excellent selection for exploring this theme.

The time is 1934; the place is Berlin. The protagonist is Max (K. Michael Moore), a homosexual man with a nose for cocaine, a penchant for dancing on tables, and a talent for picking up strangers. The Night of the the Long Knives is about to explode, and Max and his lover Rudy (Bryant Duffy) are about to fall prey to an era of systematic cruelty the likes of which the world has never before seen.

Despite this dark material, it's fun to watch Max. He's clever, he's charming, and he's able to con his way out of almost any situation. Whether it's scrounging the rent or soothing his jealous lover, Max always has a plan or is about to think of one. He's something of a scoundrel, and he certainly has his demons, but it's a roguish sort of charm that reminds us that the human spirit will persist in the face of adversity - indeed, it will only become more creative when pushed into a corner.

The type of adversity Max faces down later, however, is one of unimaginable cruelty. Dachau is not only a place that makes the stomach turn, but it's a place of horrifying creativity. The schemes and systems used to prove the superiority of the "master race," the unspeakable choices the prisoners are given between death and humiliation, and the cold, wry humor of the SS guards all speak of a brilliant and inventive mind twisted and turned against itself. It feels like the stuff of comic-book super-villains, and it's all the more terrifying when you remember that Dachau really existed.

The later scenes are as terrifying as the early ones, but in an entirely different way. The first act is quick and brutal (though Duffy and Moore seem to stumble a bit in the beginning); the second act is slow, contemplative, and maddeningly repetitive. The structure of Bent mirrors the duality of human cruelty.

The second act is cold, measured, sadistic. The structure of Dachau is intended to break them, and the characters start to crack as the action plods along. But in this same terrifying circumstance, there's also room for rest, for reflection -- and for love. Max and Horst come to terms with each other, even more so because Max has to come to terms with himself, and Horst will not stop challenging him. They prop each other up, even though they can't touch each other.

The script is a showcase of Martin Sherman's incredible craft, and an effective production would not be possible without careful direction by Angie Toomsen and dedicated acting from many of the performers. K. Michael Moore's Max is intriguing to watch. It's a complex arc, as Max is so uncomfortable with himself, and he learns that his greatest crime is his refusal to admit who he truly is. He redeems himself, in the end (else we couldn't have a "Here I Stand" play), but the journey is long and arduous. It requires both physical stamina and emotional range from the actor. Moore is excellent at both, and his early conniving moments are as vicariously fun as his heart-felt moments of love are moving. His face becomes very open when he interacts with James; in his beaming smiles we see a brand new Max, and this simplicity, openness, and love is exactly what's needed to defeat humiliation and degradation.

Matthew James is a very attentive scene partner, and his creativity and subtlety are very effective here. Horst loves Max, but he doesn't accept his faults. His slightly warm, ironic sense of humor is a relief in this black-and-white world, where the only color comes from their badges of shame. He understands that the world is too complex to be reduced to black and white, gay and straight, good and evil. "There are queer Nazis," he says. "And queer saints. And queer mediocrities. Just people. I really believe that... that's why I'm wearing this triangle. That's why you should be wearing a triangle." Horst is able to help Max grow because he's the first person to truly challenge him, not with cruelty but with simple love.

James' physical choices are very effective, both in the erotically charged scene were Max and Horst make love without touching, and in the later scenes where Horst's health begins to deteriorate. In the end, he stays true to his love for Max, and his very death is an act of defiance.

The ensemble did an incredible job of supporting the two leads. Per Wiger, Kevin Burford, Bryant Duffy, and Kehry Anson Lane each played multiple roles in Berlin and Dachau, filling out the setting. Lane was particularly effective both as drag queen Greta and as a quiet but powerful SS officer with a secret.

The set, a collaboration between Angie Toomsen, Avonique Tipsword and K. Michael Moore, is imaginative and versatile while still being quite efficient.

Modular backdrops serve as a visual reminder of oppression, whether they bear the text of Paragraph 175 of the German Criminal Code (the outlawing of homosexuality), planks to represent a train car, or barbed wire to represent the borders of Dachau. The rock-moving scene is simple but highly effective, making excellent use of the natural levels at the Universalist Unitarian Society. The costumes (by Stephen Polchert) are chilling and realistic, and the fight choreography (by Avonique Tipsword) is brutal, graphic, and intensely dramatic. Dreamwell's Bent is an excellent rendition of a magnificent script, and I encourage you to go see it.

Just make sure you bring a packet of tissues.

Bent runs through June 9 at the Universalist Unitarian Society, 10 S Gilbert St. in Iowa City. Tickets are $13 ($10 seniors and students). Be advised that the performance features violence, nudity and adult themes.

Bent Opens June 1

Dreamwell - Martin Sherman's Bent, a Pulitzer Prize-winning drama that addresses the persecution of homosexuals during the Holocaust, is being produced by Dreamwell Theatre beginning this weekend. Angie Toomsen directs.

Bent runs June 1-2 and 7-9 at 7:30, with an matinee June 9 at 2:00, at the Unitarian Universalist Society in Iowa City. Parents should be advised that the play contains nudity, violence and adult themes. Tickets are $13 ($10 seniors & students) and are available at Dreamwell's website or by calling 319-423-9820.

Auditions for Bent March 7 & 8

Dreamwell - Auditions for Martin Sherman's Bent will be held at the Iowa City Public Library on March 7th (6-9, Meeting Room C) and March 8th (6-8:30, Meeting Room E).

Scripts may be checked out from Iowa City Public Library. Auditions will consist of reading from the script. The show runs June 1-9 with rehearsals beginning April 22nd. Angie Toomsen directs.

Bent tells the story of homosexual men persecuted by the Third Reich of Germany. Roles are as follows:

Max, Age 34. An attractive gay man, brimming with confidence and sex appeal and appears to be intimidated by no-one. However beneath the brash surface lurks a quiet and loving person.

Rudy, Aged 22-28. The caring and loving partner to Max, who loves his home and yearns for a quiet life with Max. He is a dancer in a nightclub.

Horst, Age 22-28. A gay man already imprisoned in the concentration camp. A level headed and educated person who is strong willed and has a determination to survive.

Wolf / Kapo. A stereotypical ‘Aryan’ male. He is an officer in the SA. Rather gullible and easily swayed.

Uncle Freddie. A very well spoken and well dressed middle aged gay man who shows every sign of wealth and extravagance.

Greta (MALE). The middle aged transvestite owner of a cabaret club in Berlin. (sings)

Captain, Aged 28-35. The German ‘Aryan’ head of the concentration camp. Not a nice guy.

Lieutenant, Aged 28-35. A German ‘Aryan’ Lieutenant who is particularly keen on obeying every order with precision. Also, not a good guy.

"Here I Stand" Season Opens With Terrifying Production of The Crucible

By James E. Trainor III

Iowa City - Dreamwell's theme for this season's shows is "Here I Stand," stories of people standing up against injustice or impossible odds. There could be few better shows, then, to begin this season than Arthur Miller's 20th-century masterpiece The Crucible.

Though Miller's text, like so many of his plays, is highly critical of American culture, John Proctor has earned a place in our nation's canon as an archetypal American hero. The protagonist's stark, sometimes foolish individualism speaks to ideals we hold dear, ideals that require incredible courage to fulfill.

The Crucible, under Scott Strode's direction, focuses on the struggle to be brave and speak the truth while the whole world is twisting and writhing with deceit, paranoia and hysteria.

The world of the play is absurd. The opening scenes are almost comic, with characters making ridiculous accusations of spectral murders. The Reverend Parris (Jim Evans), a petty, greedy creature, is portrayed with an excess of shallow showmanship. Ann & Thomas Putnam (Lois Crowley & Paul Freese) have been beset with misfortune and are looking for someone to blame. Parris' niece Abigail (K. Lindsay Eaves) and her friends are silly girls who want to cover up their minor misdeeds with wild stories. The new arrival Reverend Hale (Brett Myers) is a bright and eager young man schooled in the best Puritan learning and is only too ready to help these poor benighted folks find their demons.

All of this would be a perfect recipe for a farce were Miller not putting actual historical events on the stage. We know what happened at Salem, and we know how quickly a bit of silly superstition can spiral into mob violence. When Parris' slave Tituba (June Kungu) is interrogated about her "compact with the devil," she begins frantically to come up with a story that will save her from the rope. As she struggles to repeat the lines they are feeding her, it is so theatrical, so desperate and so obviously false that it is quite funny. It is possible to forgive Tituba, powerless and struggling for her life, for selling out her masters' enemies. When the children take Tituba's cue and join in, gleefully repeating the slander, the tragedy and absurdity rise to a fever pitch. The scene ends with Betty (Mira Bohannan Kumar) shouting names with the high-pitched energy of a young girl's game, spreading lies that will murder her neighbors as readily as children on the playground spread "cooties."

It is highly effective. Kungu, Myers and Evans are excellent performers, and the frenzy that builds in this first scene is both preposterous and yet completely believable. The mob mentality is already out of control by the end of the scene, and the objections of the more sensible townsfolk are doomed from the beginning. John Proctor (Brad Quinn), Giles Corey (Scott Strode) and Rebecca Nurse (Bryson Dean) stand off to one side as this is going on, skeptical of the bright young scholar Hale, forming an tiny faction of dissent. They are quick to point out that people will say anything to keep from being executed, and that Putnam is looking to lay his hands on the lands of the accused.

Common sense and careful logic, however, have no place in the world of witch trials. The accusers are looking for invisible evidence, and the fact that they are looking for it is enough to let them see it everywhere. In such a world, a poorly kept pig becomes a cursed animal, a child's toy becomes a voodoo doll, and an off-hand comment about strange books becomes a death sentence. There is no way to disprove such allegations short of calling them nonsense, and to call them nonsense would be un-Christian.

The judge they bring in, Lt. Governor Danforth (Jason Tipsword), exemplifies this idea quite well. He will not hear the court's legitimacy questioned, and every attempt to bring the conversation back to the commonplace causes of the play's events becomes a dismissal of the importance of the spirit world. The debate becomes an exercise in circular reasoning: if so many people are in jail, there must be a fitting supernatural explanation. If the court has hanged twelve people already, how can it be considered valid if it pardons people now? Everyone should be happy to be brought in for questioning; why would they fear the court if they were not already in league with the Devil?

Tipsword resists the urge to exaggerate this part, and his performance is extremely effective. His Danforth is calm, cold, and infuriatingly rational. He is an expert lawyer, even if his logic is twisted and self-referential. He is a villain, but his humanity is what makes him effective. We see him sweat in the final scene, when dealing with the unpredictable and stubbornly moral John Proctor. He is a cold-blooded tyrant, but he is also a man with an agenda, and Tipsword's careful attention to the objective play and the twists and turns of the piece make a more believable, and therefore scarier, Danforth.

Tipsword scarcely swaggers or rails; indeed, Evans' hot-headed Parris seems cartoonish compared to this careful, professional, but altogether ruthless representative of the State. At the same time, he seems completely aware of what is going on. He is careful around Abigail not because he is fooled by her but because he needs her. If the Salem Witch Trials are a piece of deadly theatre, Danforth is the director and Abigail the star performer.

K. Lindsay Eaves' Abigail Williams is the polar opposite of Tipsword's Danforth. She is loud, she is lusty, she is ridiculous, and she is very, very dangerous. It is clear from the very beginning that Abigail is in charge of the clique of Salem girls. Her silent scene work and the work of her partners (especially Kelly Garrett as Mary), shows the relationships very quickly and effectively. Eaves does not have much dialogue in the first scene, but she is a very powerful presence on stage, listening and watching, planning and conniving.

By the end of the play, with the help of her chorus of hysterical playmates, she has the entire town in the palm of her hand. Every time someone tries to get to the heart of the matter, Abigail is suddenly beset by invisible demons, and it is impossible to talk about anything so boring as disputes over lumber, cows, or golden candlesticks. Proctor thinks he can end the madness and save his wife by admitting he slept with Abigail, revealing the entire plot as a mad child's jealous vengeance. In doing so, however, he underestimates Abigail's skill at theatrical distraction. It is in this context that The Crucible is so effective for a modern audience; the play was written nearly sixty years ago, but the "look at me!" tactic Abigail employs in every scene is all too familiar from our contemporary political culture.

Because of this, the play is difficult to watch. It is infuriating at times, because it is an extremely effective indictment of the irrational behavior of crowds, of greedy, petty hysteria, and of cold-blooded hypocrisy. It seems that, in Strode's Crucible, absolutely everyone is in on the joke. Every single character knows the witch trials are a sham, but very few are able to admit it. Abigail needs the pretense to protect her reputation. Putnam needs the pretense to expand his territory. Parris needs the pretense to control his congregation, just as Danforth needs it to maintain his authority over the state. What is clear from the direction and the acting is that everyone knows it is a lie. The dramatic question, then, is whether anyone has the courage to tell the truth.

Mary is the first one tested, and in a tear-jerking scene, she comes before the intimidating Danforth, charged by John Proctor to reveal her part in the plot and save his wife Elizabeth (Traci Gardner). Garrett is incredible in this scene as Mary struggles desperately to resist the badgering of Danforth and the murderous glare of Abigail. The scene is an incredibly energetic roller-coaster, and Garrett never checks out; she is completely engaged as everyone on stage tries to play out their agendas through her. A particularly beautiful and pitiful moment is when she silently begs the ruthless Abigail for mercy. When she finally caves and loses her courage it is devastating, and though we despise Mary for her cowardice, it is impossible not to have sympathy with her as we witness the intensity with which the other girls bully her into submission.

Mary Warren did not hang at Salem; she chose to redact her statement when her friends turned on her, and save herself by accusing her master. Spurred on only by Proctor's encouragement, from Gospel, "Do that which is good, and no harm shall come to thee," she cannot follow through. For Proctor is wrong; doing that which is good will cost Giles Corey and Rebecca Nurse their lives. It will cost him his. Mary is too weak to tell the truth if it means her death, so she gives in and runs back into the arms of the Salem coven, shifting the attention to our play's protagonist.

It is this that causes Hale to dramatically denounce the court. Historically, Hale probably did not turn until later, when his own family was touched by the hysteria. Miller, however, uses Hale as an effective moral tool, arguing for Christian charity and reason directly to the face of the symbol of tyranny, Lt. Governor Danforth. When he is not swayed even though his "justice" is depopulating the town, Hale attempts to convince Elizabeth to save her husband. "Beware, Goody Proctor," he counsels, "cleave to no faith when faith brings blood." Aloof from the dreary Puritan faith of Danfort and Parris and the reckless heroism of Proctor, he pleads for reason, compassion, and life above all else. He is the bright light of hope in this play, and Myers is excellent in his portrayal. He is charming and infectious, though a bit foolish, in the first act and admirable when he chooses to do the right thing in the second. Myers is a very generous scene partner, and he is a joy to watch with Quinn, with Tipsword and with Gardner.

Proctor, however, cannot finally stomach Hale's counsel. His fiery speeches, delivered here with tireless energy by Quinn, are why we come to see The Crucible. Even after he attempts to reach a reasonable agreement with an unreasonable court, and tell a ridiculous lie to gain his life, they are not done with him. They want him to act as a witness to help murder his friends' wives. In the end he stands up for himself, shouts down Danforth, and accepts his fate.

Miller could not stomach the Mary Warrens of the world, but said during the Red Scare of the 1950s that he "had as much pity as anger toward them." He refused, however, to name names in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee himself, and he will not let Proctor do so either. Proctor would rather die than be used as a tool, and even if it is hopeless he will not live on the blood of his friends. Quinn's tireless commitment to these later scenes makes this play a startling reminder of the courage of the human spirit, and serves as an inspiration to face down all the smaller injustices we see in our daily lives.

Strode's direction highlights the most valuable theme of The Crucible - the difficulty and necessity of resisting social pressures and speaking from the heart. There is a clear understanding of the dramatic throughline, and the entire production is engaging and effective. The stage is used quite well, employing a thrust to bring the intense court scenes right up to the audience. The actors have done their homework and work through the story with confidence and commitment. The lighting and costumes (Brandon Tanner, Rachael Lindhart) flesh out the story quite well, creating just the right tense atmosphere for the dangerous and irrational world in which the actors play.

I highly recommend you see The Crucible; it's a very powerful story executed with care and skill. It runs until October 8th at the Universality Unitarian Society. Bring some tissues.