By Darren Panicali
Theater has been such a huge part of my life for the past few years. Starting as a member of the stage crew for my high school’s SING and Spring Musical productions in junior year and going on to becoming the stage crew manager for Spring Musical in Senior year, I’ve experienced and come to love so much about theater and its inner workings. I have really enjoyed pretending to be a huge assortment of characters ever since I was little, and in senior year, I took a performing arts class in which we explored theater and acted out/improvised in different scenes and scenarios. And just this past year, I went to see The Phantom of the Opera, and the culmination of its beautiful acting, melodious music, and emotional meaning simply blew me away. In short, I really like theater.
When we got into a circle around Rodney, actor-extraordinaire, to talk Shakespeare, I was just having a bad day and was reluctant to participate, but thanks to being picked by none other than our class actress, Colby, I played the Duke of Burgundy, a typically drunk suitor from Shakespeare’s King Lear. My heart raced as I thought to myself, “This is my time to shine!” And so I acted as if I was bloody intoxicated. (That was for you, Rodney.) I think everyone really enjoyed it, and Rodney said I was “terrific.” Now, I’m not the biggest fan of Shakespeare’s plays, but this man really opened them up for me. Most memorably, he noted the discrepancies among scripts, the effects of subtle changes in vocal tones, how the stage was set up to maximize viewing and the panoramic feel of the play, and how the roles influenced the ways characters were to present themselves – and he delivered it all with a sort of invigorating flamboyance and charisma that kept us all interested. I suppose that one thing I wasn’t particularly fond of was how he did make it feel as though the execution of a role was difficult, since the pressure was on and many in the room didn’t seem to know much about acting or Shakespeare, but other than that, it was a very enjoyable experience and it helped to give me a different set of eyes for not only Shakespearean plays but also other plays, and now I can appreciate acting more, even if only slightly so. The point is that I took something, not nothing, away with me, and I really appreciate that.
The first thing that struck me about Penelope was the setting. It was so strange as I looked on at what looked like an empty, decaying, nasty, and utterly dead pool, with some kind of glass-laden contraption above it. To be blunt, the first thoughts in my head asked, “What the hell is this?” and I was already starting to already form negative pre-conceived judgments about the play. But I still committed myself to keeping an open mind and watched, and boy, was I ever in for a shock: First of all, the costumes were phenomenal. What else better draws your attention than a scantily clad individual in the first scene – the first damn scene – ? That was outrageous, and you could already tell it was going to be interesting. I loved the irony of the bathrobes being worn in an empty pool; there wasn’t a drop of water to be found, yet they seemed like they went for a dip somewhere. The humor of the play was always so quirky, heated, or about semantics – the kind of stuff that appeals to this cynical generation the most, it seems. And the humor, along with the tragedy of the impending doom and the unsuccessful chase after Penelope, could only be so well appreciated because of the beautiful deliverance by the phenomenal actors. Each was perfectly in character for his/her role: Penelope, quiet as can be the whole play, conveyed a sort of grace and delicateness, along with an overarching sense of intangibility. Quinn, overbearing yet full of life, shone throughout the play as the leader and the instigator. Dunne appeared flamboyant and therefore was able to deliver a spectacular over-the-top speech to Penelope. Fitz was perfect for his eccentric, old-man role, for within that aged shell emerged a small, surreal voice that seemed to pour forth wisdom and charm. And who could forget awkward but volatile Burns, whose sheepish ways made great contrast for his debut at the end as an explosive orator commenting on the progress (or lack thereof) that these men had made and on the essential meaning of love. Top it off with the setting: The empty pool seemed to symbolize rock bottom because of its shoddy quality and vacuity, yet the men had access to ladders. Did they want to escape? Was it actually a haven for them somehow? Did they enjoy waiting for death as they competed hopelessly for love? And what really was the symbolism of the grill? Was it a harbinger of doom, or a comfort and perhaps a sort of guide? The questions could provoke interesting thought for hours, as could the obtrusive costumes, the spot-on acting, and the dreary stage itself – all signs of good theater. It was just so refreshing, and I truly left St. Ann’s Warehouse feeling particularly pensive after all the considerable notions of the play were wonderfully presented. What a good play.
