'Undercurrents' borders on overly ambitious

Author: John Patrick Allen

From the very beginning, "Undercurrents" was unconventional. The stage was dominated by a low circular platform painted with a giant whirlpool of black, blue and gray, recalling a Japanese woodcut. There was no pre-show music - only silence. The play began abruptly with the sudden darkening of the stage lights. If audience members were slightly surprised by this, they were more surprised when a recording of powerful taiko drums began to play. They were even more surprised when two figures wearing ghoulish masks and ragged kimonos shuffled across the stage and began chanting in Japanese and English.

"Undercurrents" was the senior directing project of Teddy Crecelius '08, featuring the production of a tandem performance of two one-act plays - Kobo Abe's "The Man Who Turned Into a Stick" and Thornton Wilder's "The Rivers Under the Earth." Crecelius selected the two plays and combined them under the name "Undercurrents" because, according to the director's note, "both Abe's and Wilder's plays explore the ways in which our experience influences the kind of people we become."

"The Man Who Turned Into a Stick" continued much as it had begun. It was disorienting, dark, ironic and almost comic. The two masked figures, the Man and Woman from Hell (Kuni Suzuki '08 and Becca Wear '10), have come to Earth to take care of some business concerning a small stick sitting near the front of the stage. All their movements were stylized and declarative, referencing the traditional Noh style of Japanese theater. The choice to include Noh influences contributed to the play's juxtaposition of tradition and modernity - although "Stick" was full of mystical and traditional references, it was set in front of a modern department store.

Two dazed young hippies (Jimmy Wong '09.5 and Gillian Durkee '11) find the stick and begin playing with it. The anachronistically dressed Man from Hell has a series of quasi-philosophical conversations with the hippies and eventually pays them five dollars to hand over the stick. All the while, completely unnoticed by the other characters, the Man Who Turned Into a Stick himself (Seth Gilbert '10) stands watching the action helplessly, his arms intertwined with a long wooden staff that rests on his shoulders. He cannot move independently, but whenever the stick passes from hand to hand, he thrashes and twirls the staff into a new position. Being transformed into a stick after death is the standard fate of those who, in life, are no more than tools of society. "A living stick has been turned into a dead stick," explains the Man from Hell. The fear in Gilbert's face - strong yet not melodramatic - shows this is a terrifying punishment indeed.

The moment in "Stick" that most successfully accomplished the director's goal of investigating the roots of human behavior occurred during a small detour in the play's symbol-laden plot. The Man from Hell, using his ceremonial Japanese fan like a cell phone, calls the Voice from Hell (Martina Bonolis '10.5) to make a report on the stick's successful capture. The Voice, a secretary in Hell's bureaucracy, wears a sinister horned mask but speaks with a ludicrously cheery tone. The lights were somber, the costumes were severe, but the scene was laughable. The Man from Hell asks the Voice from Hell to take a mundane message to his wife. In that moment, the denizens of Hell are shown to be just as human, confused and error-prone as those they punish. In a way, the demons themselves are no more than sticks or tools.

Unfortunately, "The Man Who Turned Into a Stick" did not always come together so smoothly. Because the script was full of deep conversations about morality and truth, it tended to slip into pontification. At times, it was more lecture than play. However, "Stick" was an ambitious choice for a student director. It contained rapid scene changes in certain sections, dialogue whose meaning was often tough to decipher and a subtle mix of absurdism and traditional Japanese theater techniques. At times it seemed as though neither the director nor the audience could handle such a potent, confusing mix without feeling disoriented.

The second play was more immediately welcoming than the first. "Rivers" takes place on a small point of land near a collection of summer homes. The story revolves around the Carters, a family that has vacationed in the area for years. The members of the Carter family, Tom (Wong), Francesca (Wear), Mrs. Carter (Bonolis) and Mr. Carter (Gilbert) wander in and out of the scene from a nearby party, talking about themselves, each other and the scenery as they cross paths.

Both the text and the acting in "Rivers" were subtler than in "Stick," in part because the style was more naturalistic. It was interesting, for example, to see Gilbert play the serene Mr. Carter after the intense fear and despair of the Man Who Turned Into a Stick. Wear did a great job as Francesca, allowing tension to bubble up slowly in her character and making her angry outburst at the end of the play convincing and sincere.

There were two strange touches added to "Rivers," one interesting and the other slightly disappointing. First, all of the characters remained onstage the entire time, seated in chairs outside the better-lit area of the stage where the action took place. Even the Offstage Voices (Suzuki and Durkee) that piped up sometimes from the party sat onstage. The decision to include all the characters, even those not "onstage," was a significant one. In light of all of the small subconscious biases and influences that control Wilder's characters, it would be impossible for any character to be completely "gone" from the story. Keeping all characters hidden in shadow but still onstage helped remind the audience of that. The second odd choice seemed less logical. Throughout "Rivers," the lighting was bright and clear. Yet, the play took place in the late evening. In fact, at one point, Mrs. Carter had to be led around the rocks by Tom because it was too dark to see the path completely. Wong, Bonolis and the other actors succeeded in making the scene real, but the lights - clearly indicating day - put up a barrier to that effort.

As a whole, the two selections in "Undercurrents" worked well together. As different from one another as they were, they both dealt with the deep motives that underlie human behavior. Without "The Man Who Turned into a Stick," "The Rivers Under the Earth" might have seemed languid and subtle. Without "Rivers," "Stick" might not have seemed grounded enough in humanity.The two plays propped each other up. Although this might not have been the best configuration, Crecelius did create a satisfying structure that stood on its own.