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Kids’ play: theater for the ages

April 6, 2014
Culture, Theater

By LAURA GRIMES

Spending spring break in Ashland, Oregon, this year meant spending it with undulating mobs of middle-schoolers. They squealed and laughed, primped and postured. Their faces were bright and open with the  joy of being unfettered and on the town, prowling for a social in and a cultural hit. At the hotel, the ice-cream shop, the gift shop, and every play at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, there was no escaping them.

Who would want to, anyway? Don’t we all want that? To go back to those early sparks of discovering a new way of thinking and being, when a play speaks so thrillingly that we nearly forget to breathe?

Harpo (Brent Hinkley), Chico (John Tufts) and Groucho (Mark Bedard) in "The Cocoanuts." Photo: Jenny Graham.

Harpo (Brent Hinkley), Chico (John Tufts) and Groucho (Mark Bedard) in “The Cocoanuts.” Photo: Jenny Graham/2014

While we watched The Cocoanuts, with nearly half the audience full of guffawing young folks, I thought, this is the stuff to snag ’em early and often: a zany Marx Brothers sendup with sight gags, slamming doors, and verbal gymnastics, speeding faster than a teen can text.

As one blue-haired boy said coming out: “THAT WAS FANTASTIC!”

A pink-haired girl answered him: “I KNEW you were going to say that!”

If I could bring myself to include a few more uppercases and underlines and exclamation points, I would. They were that emphatic.

Sure, in our more cerebral later years, when we’re old enough to easily slip into third person, we can still get worked up over a good show. But to be that fresh and enthusiastic again – an adventure! – more firepower to them. May the veil of caution creep only slowly into their craniums.

Watching the parade of dresses and shirts-and-ties (for reals!) in the tightly packed groups, I reflected on how my husband and I have taken our own two Large Smelly Boys (as they’re known unofficially, but that’s another story) to the festival’s performances over the years. How has that worked, exactly? Ashland and the festival are pretty much the boys’ first choice for a vacation, the one place everyone in the family can agree on.

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This spring’s The Cocoanuts, with its zingy jokes and raucous pace, is easily likable. But how do you get young folks to move on and successfully cut their teeth on meatier material, say, on The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window or The Tempest, both also playing now at the festival?

Through plenty of trial and error, somehow my family has managed that. Just recently I spied two well-worn books of Shakepeare’s plays on top of the active pile on one son’s desk. I know at least one is for English class. But as he complains, “Why can’t they pick plays I haven’t read before?”

Nine years ago, when the Large Smelly Boys were 7 and 10, we weren’t sure whether we should chance a trip to Ashland. Would they like it? Would they stay awake? Would they behave? Would they embarrass us? Going to the festival was work for my husband, so he had more than his fatherly reputation on the line. He had his professional one, too. This was a dicey proposition.

We primed the pump by telling the LSBs that going to Ashland and the plays had been a longstanding tradition in the family before they were born, and we thought that they were old enough now to go. Yep! We played the big-kid card! The allure of forbidden fruit, the exclusive entrance into a special society, the awe of going where they had not been allowed before. All of it was true, but the power of that charm was stronger than I expected. They were a bit bedazzled and eager to join the club.

Parent FAIL: In some misguided state, we actually bought these letter openers for the boys at the festival’s Tudor Guild Gift Shop in one of our early visits. Can you believe it? I prefer to blame my husband, because I can’t bear to take responsibility. They lasted only a brief time before being hidden in a drawer. Don’t try this at home!

Parent FAIL: In some misguided state, we actually bought these letter openers for the boys at the festival’s Tudor Guild Gift Shop in one of our early visits. Can you believe it? I prefer to blame my husband, because I can’t bear to take responsibility. They lasted only a brief time before being hidden in a drawer. Don’t try this at home!

We lucked into a few other bribes, I mean, charms. When we arrived in Ashland on that first trip, my husband went straight to the box office, so I entertained the boys in the Tudor Guild Gift Shop. I had no preconceived intentions, but the Small Large Smelly Boy adored the stuffed animals, and it occurred to me this wasn’t such a bad idea. Let them buy their souvenirs right up front. Positive reinforcements. Isn’t this place great?! And it was! All it took was a goofy mask and a little donkey/Bottom critter (dubbed Flopperbop, and much loved for many years). Welcome to Ashland!

Fortunately for us and the festival, the boys’ first show was a romping, hilarious, delightful production of Twelfth Night on the outdoor stage. My boys could be brutish in general, but I was already proud of the fact that they knew how to attend a performance. They knew proper etiquette – how to sit quietly and be respectful. So I wasn’t worried about that. I was worried about how they would receive the production, and the lasting impression it would make. But this show really was the perfect introduction to big-kid fare for them.

The Large Large Smelly Boy was completely absorbed, and blissfully unaware how loudly he was laughing out one end and making ripping noises out the other – noises that resonated and vibrated on the metal chairs all the way down the row. I know, and I was three seats away. OK, so perhaps my etiquette lessons didn’t take in every way.

Concerned, I watched the people around us. They were laughing as much at him as they were at the show. During intermission (we call it halftime), a young man behind (upwind from?) the seat-ripping son watched him, texted, watched him, texted, all the while grinning. Either we cleared the hurdle, or people were too polite to say anything. And, really, how can anyone not love a 10-year-old laughing wildly at a show, a Shakespeare at that? So perhaps they were willing to forgive the extra bells and whistles. All in the name of a good time, right?

During the second half, the 7-year-old eventually drooped his head on my shoulder and snored softly. So much for that ticket (which likely cost less than a baby-sitter), but who cares? Like doing homework or brushing teeth, it’s the habit that matters.

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John Tufts and Christine Albright as Romeo and Juliet, 2007/ Photo: T. Charles Erickson

Kids can join the audience and become part of the special society at the festival at age 6. Ours waited until they were 7 and 10. Two years letter, actor John Tufts tutored them about blood and gore. Tufts starred that year as Romeo to Christine Albright’s Juliet. Photo: T. Charles Erickson/2007

A couple of years later, when the LSBs were 9 and 12, they were finally ready and willing for a backstage tour of the festival. When the groups were divvied up, we had the unusual luck of being lumped with a large tour group of retirees, and the good fortune of scoring as a guide John Tufts, whom the boys easily recognized because we had just seen him as Romeo in Romeo and Juliet a few nights earlier. This was someone the boys could get behind and follow like puppies.

Tufts agreeably addressed the sea of gray heads. “So you’re all from the University of Washington alumni association?” Everyone murmured and nodded. I put up my hand, as if I needed to point out the obvious misfits. “Um … except us.” It went on like that.

“So you’re all from the Seattle area? Washington?” (Nodding heads.)

“Um … except us.”

“You just arrived yesterday?” (More agreeableness.)

“We’ve been here all week.”

The older folks made sure the boys had a front-row view, and I made sure the boys held the doors open. Tufts was perfectly professional and polite as he reeled off the standard spiel, pointing out the green rooms, the props, the carefully labeled costumes, including backups for understudies. He graciously answered questions. The trick to learning lines? Recording them and then repeatedly replaying them on an iPod while reciting them, wherever you happen to be.

At the last possible moment, when the tour was about over and the time for a final question was stretching to nothing, the Large LSB’s hand shot up. A flutter of panic pierced my heart.

“What’s the fake blood like?”

Tufts looked at my son for a second, and I could tell he was thinking about how to reply. A light clicked on in his eyes. Addressing my boys, his posture suddenly relaxed, and his delivery grew animated and a bit gritty. “You see, there’s this big jug (he held up his hands, creating an imaginary container) of thick, jelly-like stuff in the back, and we stick our hands in there (big delicious scooping motion), and we thin it to get it the consistency we need.” He talked about blood smearing and blood squirting, and then launched into an explanation of theater guns and swords and knives, spinning another charm into the hearts of ruffian boys. I could have kissed him.

The LSBs were full-fledged puppies by this point. Tufts led the way out of the theater, and the boys scrambled to keep up with him. “What’s playing next season?” they wanted to know.

Tufts rattled off plays, and the Small LSB ran back to me crying out, “Can we come back next year to see King John?!”

King John? I thought. Seriously? Of all the little-known and rarely performed plays of Shakespeare’s? You have no idea what’s coming out of your mouth, child.

“Of course we will!”

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The boys have never wanted to go on a backstage tour again, but the seed was sprouted.

We don’t go to extraordinary lengths to prepare before each trip. We might watch a movie, either a version of one of the plays or something similar so they can get a sense of themes. We don’t like to make it feel like school. It’s fun and vacation, after all. We might go over a synopsis, or recount some interesting facts, but we don’t do a lot of reading beforehand. The unforced, organic approach has seemed to work. The boys have discovered what they want on their own, at their own paces.

One must-have, though: the Illuminations program that the festival publishes yearly has rich material about each play. It’s available for $10 at the gift shop, $9 for members. My husband has been known to leave it casually on the coffee table, and the boys have been known to read it and argue over things like, “What’s an operetta?”

Now that the festival has committed to doing Shakespeare’s entire canon over the next 10 years, perhaps it’s time to inject a little competition into the mix. How many boxes can be checked?

Which reminds me. The festival gift shop used to carry wonderful leather bookmarks listing all of Shakespeare’s plays. The younger son has fingered his for years. Another bribe/charm, yes, but a good one. He rattles off the plays he’s seen. We’ve looked for more, but haven’t found them in a long time. With the entire canon set to unfold, maybe it’s time to restock  (hint hint).

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Armando McClain and Sofia Jean Gomez in "Sidney Brustein," 2012. Photo: Jenny Graham

Armando McClain and Sofia Jean Gomez in “Sidney Brustein.” Photo: Jenny Graham/2014

Many years of brass rubbings later, and the LSBs, now 16 and 19, have graduated from playing on the playground in Lithia Park to throwing a Frisbee. We ran into long-time friends this trip, and during the intermission/halftime of Brustein, one asked what the boys thought of it. I said vaguely that we’d talk about it, which really meant I hadn’t heard yet, I didn’t know how they felt about it, I didn’t know how I felt about it, the jury was still out, I was a confused mess, and not sure what else to say.

Afterward, as we walked to our accommodations, I was surprised that all of us in the family felt the same way. We thought it was a good performance of a half-baked play. Lorraine Hansberry’s script, set in the social and political turmoil of Greenwich Village in the early 1960s, skipped around a lot of territory, but nothing very deeply. To pick just one kitchen-sink item, interracial marriage fortunately seems ho-hum and commonplace 50 years later, so touching lightly on it isn’t enough to shock anymore. The play might have aged better if it had zeroed in on fewer topics and explored the psychological and cultural currents of them more deeply. The conflicting feelings of selling out – artistically, politically and sexually – still resonate today, but the play resolves abruptly when Brustein suddenly gets a big sobering jolt from his sister-in-law Gloria.

What about Gloria suddenly showing up out of nowhere at the end of the play? We all agreed that was a weird construct.

“Deus ex machina,” one son said.

Dos Equis what? I wondered.

“You know, that artist in the beginning wasn’t there at the end to take a bow,” the other son said.

“What artist in the beginning?” I asked.

“He was there at the beginning of the play and then he never showed up again.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“And what about that sign in the window? It never comes up again.”

“I wondered that, too. And you can’t even see it (from our seats anyway) to remember what it says.” (At least by this point I was keeping up.)

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Prospero (Denis Arndt) and Ariel (Kate Hurster) in "The Tempest," 2012 Photo: Jenny Graham

Prospero (Denis Arndt) and Ariel (Kate Hurster) in “The Tempest.” Photo: Jenny Graham/2014

On our last night at the festival, as we took our seats in the crowded theater to see The Tempest, we recognized many of the same young people we had seen at The Cocoanuts. Again, they took up nearly half the audience, and applauded wildly at the end.

On the long drive home, the conversation naturally slipped into that production. The older son slightly preferred how Prospero was played a few years ago, the last time we saw The Tempest. We talked about how this one (played by Denis Arndt) focused on forgiveness and mercy, overcoming vengeance to a nobler end, which added insights I hadn’t thought about before. We debated whether it would have added for Prospero to show some strength and menace earlier in the play to accentuate a more remarkable range and make his transformation more profound.

We talked about the complicated relationship between Ariel and Prospero, like the role of student and teacher, and what it means to show love by allowing freedom, even when it means heartache. We talked about the ending for Caliban, his empowerment rather than chastisement, and how it’s a change from the ambiguity of his future as the script is often played.

The Manboys chipped in as much as they listened, and I realized that they’ve become able critics, discerning nuance and texture, having opinions about whether style enhances the text or masks its subtleties. I was hardly surprised, but as I drove through the pounding rain pointed due north, I got a little swelling feeling nonetheless. Even at my age, it was enough to take my breath away.

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Read Marty Hughley’s Oregon ArtsWatch reviews of the 2014 shows that have opened so far at the festival.

 

 

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