THEATRE REVIEW:
KPBS
AIRDATE: February 9, 2003
It's a good time for small-town
stories. One Southern, one mid-Western, two plays tell harrowing tales of the
personal cost of war -- whether it be the so-called Civil conflict or the
Vietnam conflagration. The battles were separated by a century, but these women
are alive now, strong survivors of domestic violence who struck back and
reclaimed their lives. Both plays are adaptations: "Oldest Living
Confederate Widow Tells All" comes from the best-selling Alan Gurganus
novel of the same name; and "The Spitfire Grill" is a musicalized
version of the 1996 indie film which featured, ironically, Ellen Burstyn.
The Oscar and Tony-winning Burstyn is
'The Oldest Living Confederate Widow" in Martin Tahse's reworking of the
sprawling 1989 novel. In the book, Lucy Marsden, age 99, confined to a
wheelchair and a senior residence, tells her story to an eager young reporter.
In the world premiere stage version at the Globe, she's giving a presentation
to raise money for the residence home. Hunkered down with the novel, I was
enveloped by Lucy's life and times, snuggled into a deep, colorful tapestry.
From this, Tahse has stitched a sampler: clearly a labor of love, nicely
framed, but more flat and distancing. Burstyn's performance is wonderfully
textured, as she unravels threads from her long, hard life. Lucy, a mother of
nine, was married at 15 to a 50 year-old, war-ravaged Civil War vet. "I've
mostly got his war stories and my peace ones," she says in the book. In
the play, the balance is tipped; we get a much clearer picture of the damaged
and damaging Cap than we do of Lucy herself. Burstyn looks radiant, but with
her wrinkle-free skin and spry agility, she isn't a convincing centenarian. Despite
the evocative sets, lighting, slide projections and sound, we get more length
than depth in the piece. Next stop for Burstyn and Lucy is Broadway. I hope
it's a rewarding journey.
Hope is served up in large portions at
"The Spitfire Grill," where a girl with a past steps into a town with
no future. Gilead, set in Maine in the movie, moves onstage to Wisconsin, where
composer James Valcq was born and where lyricist Fred Alley suddenly died. The
show opened the day after 9/11, so sorrow and healing were part of the
musical's creation as well as its story. The piece, a heart-warming, uplifting
tribute to the human spirit, is neither hurt nor significantly enhanced by
musicalization. The country-pop score is pleasant, the band is great, the
singing of the engaging 7-member cast is fine, if sometimes strained.
Moonlight's Vista production, directed by Kathy Brombacher, is warmly
irresistible nonetheless. Both these plays concern the strength and resilience
of women; having told their stories, one is ready to die, the other is ready
for love.
©2003
Patté Productions Inc.