Woeful "Man of La Mancha" at Spotlighters

Imagine, if you will, Grizabella not knowing the words to "Memory", Tevya not knowing the words to "If I Were a Rich Man", or Eliza not knowing the words to "I Could Have Danced All Night".  Hard to imagine, right?  Well imagine my surprise (and a variety of other feelings) when Don Quixote didn't know the words to "The Impossible Dream" (or two of the three reprises of the classic tune aka "The Quest") on opening night of Man of La Mancha at Spotlighters! And it would be terrific if that were the only problem with this poorly directed, poorly sung, poorly produced musical at this usually reliable venue. 

Spotlighters, with its tiny stage, very close seating, and black interior with a low ceiling would be the perfect place to stage this show-within-a-show, whose chief locale is the dungeon of a prison of the Spanish Inquisition.  Oddly enough, this was an opportunity missed.  As presented, this may be the cleanest, tidiest prison of all time.  And the prisoners, in costumes (designed by Rionn Kelly) that resembled homemade pirate costumes were, except for a few well-placed rips, remarkably clean as well.  Were these actors instructed not to get the costumes dirty?  I mean, most of them spend the evening crawling on the floor, but come up nearly spotless.  And prisoners were allowed shoes?  Granted, here they are scruffy slippers, a few sandals and a couple of spray painted tennis shoes (no joke), but shoes nonetheless.  I'm not surprised that no dramaturge is listed in the program.  I am surprised that a lighting designer (Jessica Winfield) is listed, as apparently little, if any, thought was given to the lighting, which should have helped distinguish between the "story" scenes (the tale of Don Quixote) and the "reality" scenes (Cervantes pleading for his belongings in a mock trial by his peers, while awaiting trial before the Inquisition).  A well-conceived lighting plan might also have been useful in setting the mood; instead, during a key scene with our heroine, as she blisteringly details her contempt for the world, the lights vacillated between warm oranges, yellows and reds – and think disco, not sunset.

Considering that director Robert S. Teachout had two assistants (Libby Dasbach and Sarah Levin), it is simply astonishing to think that between the three of them 95% of the play looks undirected.  There is, to be sure, an attempt at a concept – make the piece environmental.  But at best it is poorly executed, or at worst another missed opportunity.  Given the space, it is a really great idea to have the prisoners sitting all over the floors, and crawling around in front of the audience members, even addressing them, during the long, unnecessary overture.  Of course, that idea is blown when the leader of the prisoners is growling something, and then says, "Please take a seat" to an unsuspecting late patron, then goes back to growling.  Then, too, aside from an occasional laugh at decidedly unfunny moments, you never hear from the prisoners until called upon to "act" in the story.  One might think that when the Inquisition comes a-calling, they might register a little fear or resistance or even outward boredom.  No, as clearly directed here, they, to a person, become blank. 

There are also many blocking issues involving the lack of movement (which would insure that within a song, ALL of the audience can see at least some of the number).  For example, as staged, during the confessional song, "I'm Only Thinking of Him" fully one half of the audience cannot see any of actors' faces during the entire number.  Even worse, during three absolutely key scenes even more of the audience is left clueless – during Quixote's confrontation with the Knight of the Mirrors, Quixote is completely obscured from view, and later, when he is lying on his death bed, center stage and flat on a board, surrounded by people, he is again obscured from view,  and most importantly the key battle between Quixote, Sancho and his lady and the 3 (yes, only 3) muleteers, which includes a shin kick, and a bop on the head with a stick and little more, leaving room for doubt as to whether a fight had even occurred.  The staging issues also reach into the uninspired windmill chase scene, and the confrontation between Quixote and the barber over a shaving basin (of course, having an actual shaving basin instead of a kid's bike helmet might have made it clearer to the visibly clueless audience across from me). This careless staging takes nearly all of the emotional impact of the show away. 

Well, that's not exactly true, either.  What really zaps this show of its strength - its emotional core - is the across the board failure of the cast to read the lines with any sense of irony, pathos, ethos or even sarcasm, which obliterates the meaning of most of the story, takes away all of the funny moments, and leaves every eye dry.  And since this is a problem with literally the entire cast, at least some of the blame must be laid at the feet of the director.  If it weren't for a very impassioned director's note, I'd suspect he had spent little time with the script, and perhaps watched too much of the abysmal movie version.  Clearly, from his own notes, Teachout feels deeply about this piece, and yet also does not understand it.  He asserts that the only impact Quixote has is on a whore, which couldn't be farther from the truth.  Nowhere was this lack of understanding more obvious than in the final moments of the show, when Teachout has Cervantes practically run out of the theatre into the waiting arms of the Inquisition.  As the lady in front of me wondered aloud, "Why are they singing that song ("The Impossible Dream") again?" it became crystal clear to me why this staging doesn't work.  The director doesn't get it.  All of the prisoners, and us by proxy, are (or should be) changed by the story of Don Quixote.  And that lack of understanding informs the entire evening.

As remarkable as the computerized score (a full orchestration done by Gary Piacentini of Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion's masterwork) is, it does not replace a live accompaniment.  In fact, it causes more problems than it might have been worth – though none Piacentini's fault.  A problem with recorded music is that it can't change or vamp if necessary.  And it was necessary on several occasions as the cast either went through dialogue too fast or too slowly, and it can't accommodate a faulty prop malfunction (DQ – if the beard doesn't stick, big deal.).  But one advantage to prerecorded music is that it is the SAME EVERY TIME, thereby lessening the chance for an actor getting fouled up by a missed cue.  Of course that advantage is only completely useful when the actors know the words to the songs, and can remember the tempos.  Several cast members had tempo issues, which was really inexcusable considering how loud the music was throughout.  One suspects that the cast had little rehearsal time with the complete score, as evidenced by the sometimes visible fear in their eyes when they knew they were off but couldn't bring themselves to pause at the end of a verse. (Listen to the music, don't just sing!)  It is very evident why no musical director is listed in the program, as well.

I must say that in an odd way, I admire the cast for valiently going on, considering how ill-prepared they were for an audience.  And they generally sounded good singing as a group – the closing reprise of "The Impossible Dream" sounded lovely despite meaningless staging.  In fact, there were even a few standouts, though none delivered the top-notch performances I suspect that they have in them.  Paul Ballard, as Padre Perez, has a strong voice that is always pleasant to listen to, and particularly in "To Each His Dulcinea."  In the small, but important role of Antonia, the niece, Rebecca LaChance has both a lovely singing voice and a great demeanor.  And in the nearly non-existent role of the Housekeeper, Libby Dasbach shows interesting presence and a nice voice that blends well.  Sadly, as this trio of supporting players works hard during their big number, "I'm Only Thinking of Him", the blocking was such that half the audience (myself included) could not see what they were doing.  Fortunately, one of the three leads was also up to the task (for the most part), often rising above what was going on around her.  As Aldonza/Dulcinea, Christine Annaliese Demuth is a consistent presence, who comes close to melancholy of the worn kitchen wench she portrays, and is very good at the rough, beat-them-before-they-beat-you veneer the character adopts to simply survive.  The downfall of her performance is most entirely not her fault, and that is when Aldonza is changed by Quixote, and finally transforms into Dulcinea.  As stated above, the blocking combined with the bland line delivery of those around her combine to take all of the emotional wallop out of the finale.  I look forward to seeing Ms. Demuth in a production that makes full use of her obvious talents.

Three of the supporting actors give new meaning to the term "wooden."  As the play progresses one wonders if perhaps they are secretly trying to out do each other in blandness.  Jamieson Brown, as the Barber, sings alright, but his whiny delivery of lines and bizarre bend at the knees to emphasize words acting make the character at once annoying and forgettable.  Similarly, Kevin Kostic, in the dual roles of the Governor (of the prisoners) and the Innkeeper, barely registers.  Is he bored?  Doesn't he understand the words he is saying?  He offers no menace as he puts Cervantes on trial, and lopes around the stage as the Innkeeper looking mostly annoyed.  However, the woodenness of Doug Kotula in the pivotal roles of the Duke (the impatient "lawyer" of the trial) and the imperious Dr. Carasco, man of science, is the most detrimental.  He delivers each line with the volume, precision and emotion of Mr. Spock.  Nowhere is this more noticeable than in the scene where Carasco, disguised as the Knight of the Mirrors, brings Quixote back to earth by forcing him to "see life as it really is."  Kotula is not even remotely scary, or even forceful, and not a few people around me giggled at the scene instead of being horrified or even slightly moved by its outcome.

Any production of Man of La Mancha must have two very strong men in the central roles of Sancho Panza (Robert Ahrens) and Don Quixote (Sterling Scroggins).  This production has none.  It is pretty clear why each was cast – the appropriately portly (if inappropriately tall) Aherns looks the part of Sancho, and can vaguely produce a befuddled look once in awhile; Scroggins is the right age, and, when he knows the words, sings well.  But neither is a particularly good actor, and Ahrens' singing voice, while loud, is never on key, amazing considering he is talk-singing as it is.  Scroggins, in particular, looks completely lost at sea, and visibly panics each time he makes a mistake, be it spending way too much time trying to make a stubborn stage beard stick, handing out character-defining props and costumes at the wrong time, or starting the wrong verse of a song and mumbling until he finds his place.  The result is almost no characterization.  I'm not sure I'd trust such a huge role to someone so easily thrown.  His performance may be improved once he gains the confidence that comes from actually knowing the part.

Maybe it was opening the night after Thanksgiving, and everyone's mind was elsewhere.  Maybe the cast hadn't rehearsed in a few days.  Whatever the reason, this La Mancha is a mess.

 

PHOTOS: Main Page: Sterling Scroggins as Don Quixote and Robert Ahrens as Sancho Panza; TOP: (L to R) Libby Dasbach, Doug Kotula, Rebecca LaChance and Paul Ballard; BOTTOM: Christine Annaliese Demuth as Aldonza and Sterling Scroggins as Don Quixote.  All photos by Amy Jones.

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