Tag: Steven Fedoruk
Attention Must Be Paid—to the Monday Blues
If I stress the various facets of unhappiness, it is because I believe unhappiness should be studied very carefully . . . This certainly is no time for anyone to pretend to be happy, or to put his unhappiness away in the dark. You must watch your universe as it cracks above your head.
|Eclipse Theatre presents|
|A Memory of Two Mondays|
|Written by Arthur Miller
Directed by Steven Fedoruk
Greenhouse Theater Center, 2257 N. Lincoln (map)
through October 17 | tickets: $25 | more info
Reviewed by Paige Listerud
A Memory of Two Mondays is Arthur Miller’s one-act dirge to the boulevard of broken American dreams. Don’t go to Eclipse Theatre’s production at the Greenhouse Theater Center without reflecting on the rainy days and Monday morning workdays that always get you down. Set in the Great Depression of Miller’s youth, one observes this play’s dysfunctional workplace, set in an automobile parts warehouse, in the complete knowledge that these are the lucky ones. These people have jobs. As dead- end as those jobs may be, as crappy the conditions, and as ineffectual as the management is under a callous boss, a dead-end job is still better than the joblessness that leads one to Hooverville or to standing in bread lines.
Director Steven Fedoruk’s cast sails through the impressionist style of Miller’s script. What a good thing his slight-of-hand control is, since this particular workplace borders on the madhouse. Seen through the eyes of Bert (Brandon Ruiter), a hopeful young man saving up for his college education, all the habits, experiences, idiosyncrasies and neuroses of his co-workers at first seem funny, fascinating, interesting, bizarre or clownish. But soon it becomes clear that the daily grind of meaningless work, rotten conditions, poverty wages, and no real future is getting to everyone.
On top of that, let’s just say the management style for this workplace is extremely loose. Raymond (Kevin Scott) has absolutely no say in who gets hired or fired. Even a raging alcoholic like Tom (Malcolm Callan), who has to be propped up, catatonic, at his desk until he revives, gets a second chance. Meanwhile, the razor-sharp Larry (Josh Venditti), who knows the location of every part in the shop, languishes bitterly without promotion. Those critical decisions remain the province of Mr. Eagle (Joel Reitsma), the absentee business owner. Heaven only knows where he goes golfing while his workers run amok and his business’s infrastructure, slowly but surely, crumbles into dust.
Beyond the insanity of Bert’s work situation, we witness the terrible loss of time, of one’s dreams, one’s mind, and one’s life in this terrible place. For the workers, decades go by in which nothing changes. It’s as if drudgery and inertia have the hypnotic power to hold everyone under a spell. Kenneth (J.P. Pierson), newly arrived from Ireland, is full of poetry, song and culture when Bert first makes friends with him at the warehouse. But through mindless work, hopelessness and the pervasive materialism of American culture he loses it all, like sand draining away.
One could write off each and every one of these characters as losers but Miller won’t allow it. A Memory of Two Mondays is not a great Miller work. It’s a one-act trying to do too much in a small space of time with recurrent Miller themes. It carries potent echoes of Death of a Salesman. “I don’t get it,” mourns Bert, on the verge of leaving for college, “How is it me that gets out? There ought to be a statue in the park. To all the ones that stayed.” Attention must be paid.
Attention must be paid but not to the young hero who leaves for a brighter future. That’s the Billy Elliot story. No. Attention must be paid to those who slog on against horrible odds, whose future is unglamorous, and whose work will never win them a spot in the limelight or public honor. Attention must be paid to people whose work is more essential to building a nation than a politician’s career or a pop star’s brief fame.
Miller’s watchful eye is always on the fear, the desperation, and the blighted potential that are the dark side of the American Dream. But more often than not he watches, not with an eye of criticism, but with an eye of compassion.
Democracy Is a “Lite” and Casual Affair
Corporations have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow. –Abraham Lincoln, 1864
Eclipse Theatre presents:
reviewed by Paige Listerud
Lincoln saw it all coming, but could he have anticipated an America as rife with corruption as it was under his leading general? Henry Adams’ novel, Democracy, which forms one half of Romulus Linney’s adaptation, (the second being Adam’s novel, Esther, based on his wife) came from the disillusionment Adams experienced under Ulysses S. Grant’s administration. Idealistic and eager for reform, Adams pinned great hopes upon the rough, honest and honorable military man.
Disillusionment followed hard and fast upon Grant’s 1868 election—September 24, 1869 saw the dawn of Black Friday, a panic brought about by James Fisk and Jay Gould’s attempts to corner the gold market, as well as the severe misjudgments of Grant and his Secretary of Treasury George Boutwell to stop them. Investigation revealed the involvement of the President’s brother-in-law, Abel Rathbone Corbin, but Grant’s association with Gould alone would have brought the scandal right to the door of the White House. In a prominent English journal, Henry Adams anonymously published an article on the scandal, hoping it would be picked up and reprinted often in the American press. It was, but Fisk and Gould never faced prosecution. The crash of Black Friday crippled the American economy for years afterward.
The most corruption Linney’s play touches on is the Whiskey Ring, involving Grant’s appointee General John H. McDonald and Grant’s own private secretary Orville E. Babcock. Even here, Linney only satirizes Grant’s alcoholism and his expurgated testimony. The play doesn’t mention that Grant fired special prosecutor John B. Henderson when he denied Grant’s wishes to hold Babcock’s trial in military court. Grant’s replacement, James Broadhead, not only allowed Babcock to be acquitted but also closed out all the other cases involved.
Material that could provide for four or five satires goes missing from both Adams’ novel and Linney’s adaptation. It becomes quite clear that we are dealing with American History Lite. But what Adams would not bring up out of a sense of delicacy or fear of reprisal, Linney most likely avoids out of our culture’s collective ignorance. If lite is the only way we can take it, all the worse for us, since forgetfulness like that can only leave us wandering in a fantasy theme park of a country–as make-believe as the fictions surrounding George Washington of which old Mrs. Dudley (Barbara Roeder Harris) disabuses the other characters on their day trip to Mt. Vernon.
Who knows how much anyone is paying attention–since Senator Silas Raitcliffe (Jon Steinhagen) is wooing the recently arrived, beautiful young widow, Mrs. Lee (Rebecca Prescott), and young Episcopal minister Reverend Hazard (Stephen Dale) is in hot pursuit of Mrs. Dudley’s daringly bohemian niece, Esther Dudley (Nina O’Keefe). Director Steven Fedoruk keeps things light at Eclipse Theatre’s upstairs studio and focuses mainly on “who’s zoomin’ who.” He’s assembled an excellent cast in that case, able to handle the unevenness with which Linney has cobbled together Adams’ two novels.
The greater burden may be in portraying the younger couple–given their issues with mortality and proving improvable faith. Linney’s writing also doesn’t provide much in the way of romance for O’Keefe and Dale to connect with. But both actors do maintain the control needed to make their characters’ religious disputes personal and to temper the material’s overweening histrionics.
Linney’s adaptation allows the rest of the cast far more fun. Diplomat Baron Jacobi (Larry Baldacci), lobbyist Mrs. Baker (Cheri Chenoweth), and Mrs. Dudley are a hoot, as we say out here beyond the Beltway. Ron Butts and Sandy Spatz make an amusingly backwoods Mr. and Mrs. President, although why Butts doesn’t push Grant’s alcoholism further is anyone’s guess.
Sen. Raitcliffe and Mrs. Lee explore and expound their passions for politics as much as for each other. They form an arguably perfect pair, since each may be as ethically compromised as the other. Steinhagen, who recently played Judge Brack with sinister sophistication in Raven Theatre’s Hedda Gabler, throws out villainy for the blinkered guilelessness that Henry Adams wrote for the novel’s character—a man who regards “virtue and vice as a man who is color-blind talks about red and green.”
Why neither novel nor play delve much into Mrs. Lee’s ethical colorblindness remains a conundrum, since Raitcliffe throwing away millions of votes makes for less of a wake-up call than Raitcliffe receiving a bribe for his party. Could Mrs. Lee be the quintessential American—less likely to grasp political transgressions, but more able to understand the personal ones, like an errant blowjob or two? As Raitcliffe declaims during one of Mrs. Lee’s parties, politics in a democracy can only be as pure and honest as the people it comes from. A little more sophistication on the part of the American people couldn’t hurt either. A sucker may be born every minute, as another 19th century figure was fond of saying, but we should at least try to have the next generation of suckers be smarter than the last.