GIVE THEM ENOUGH ROPE…

Trevor Jackson (Brandon) and Michael Tuefel (Rupert). Photo by Casey Campbell.

By Tina Arth

Bag & Baggage’s October offering is definitely in the spirit of Halloween – a macabre murder-mystery-comedy that keeps the audience laughing at absurdly stereotypical caricatures. However, playwright Patrick Hamilton’s 1929 work manages, in the end, to sneak in a dose of real character development and a message about human values transcending the nihilism of its time. Guest director Rusty Tennant has imported a sparkling cast of Bag & Baggage newcomers to Hillsboro for this quirkily inverted whodunit – the question is never “who?” or even “why?” but rather “will they get caught?”

Ignoring the obvious complication of a body in a chest, Rope plays out at first quite like a traditional drawing room comedy. Two exceptionally callow and bored Oxford students, the dominant Wyndham Brandon and weaker Charles Granillo, have expressed their pseudo-Nietzschean intellectual superiority by committing a motiveless crime (the murder of the innocent Ronald), then inviting a few friends over for dinner. The dining room table is covered with books, so the food is set out buffet-style on the chest in the drawing room. The guests include Kenneth Raglan, a particularly silly fellow student, and Leila Arden, his apparently equally silly female counterpart – voluptuous, flirtatious, and very eager to fit in with the sophisticated and well-educated group. Through some patently expository initial dialogue, we learn that another two guests are Sir Johnstone and Mrs. Debenham, the father and aunt of the luckless, chest-bound Ronald. The final guest, Rupert Cadell, is a very, very clever poet whose World War I experiences have left him utterly cynical and totally disaffected from contemporary mores. Leila jokingly raises the possibility that there could be a body in the chest, then pursues her whimsical notion with the persistence of a bulldog – but to no avail. Rupert, having spotted an unexpected music hall ticket in Granillo’s vest, deduces that Leila has inadvertently hit on the truth, and the play then revolves around the possibility that Rupert might expose the murder and, if so, how he might react to it.

In the first act, each role is played with such broad enthusiasm that we get little sense of actual character (except for a clear sense of the lack of character of Brandon and Granillo). Raglan (Joel Patrick Durham) is an absolute ninny, and Durham’s nearly hysterical tittering makes it abundantly clear that the murderers are intellectually superior to at least some of their guests. Signe Larsen (Leila), while considerably less educated, shows some signs of grey matter – but her incessant prancing, dancing, and over-the-top attraction to Kenneth shows that she is no candidate for Mensa. In Act II the real tension between the handsome, but chillingly sociopathic Brandon (Trevor Jackson) and the foppish Rupert (Michael Tuefel) emerges. Tuefel’s wonderfully effete delivery of a monologue equating warfare with murder and dismissing each of the Ten Commandments sets him up as sympathetic to the boys – but Tuefel gradually displays hints of a deeper character buried beneath the façade.

Rope is one of those plays that, like Rupert Cadell, seems at first to be merely clever and funny (and it is extremely funny!) but turns out, on introspection, to be hiding a serious and thought-provoking side that more than justifies the audience’s attendance and attention.

Bag and Baggage’s production of Rope runs through Sunday, November 1 at Hillsboro’s Venetian Theatre, with performances at 7:30 Thursday – Saturday and 2:00 pm Sunday matinees.

TITG Presents a Fine Fiddler

Darren Hurley (Tevye) leading the ensemble in "Tradition."Photo by Ward Ramsdell

By Tina Arth

Theatre in the Grove’s current production of Fiddler on the Roof is not perfect – it’s something much better. It’s real and alive, with music and dance integrated so smoothly into the narrative that you never have that moment of wondering why exhausted, careworn peasants suddenly look and sound like they are playing hooky from their real gigs at the Imperial Ballet or the Metropolitan Opera House. Director/Choreographer Melanie Shaw has melded her talented cast into a believable microcosm of life for early 20^th century Russian Jews and their Czarist oppressors. The show, written by Joseph Stein, with music by Jerry Bock and lyrics by Sheldon Harnick, is a classic because it so movingly combines the wry humor and the powerful currents of grief of a people trying to maintain their cultural identity as their world is once again torn apart.

The tale is as old as anti-Semitism and as new as the crisis in Syria. While political turmoil and oppression swirl around them, the poor milkman Tevye and his wife Golde just want to raise their family and marry off their five daughters in peace, living their lives according to the traditions handed down from their forebears. The show opens with a powerful ensemble rendition of “Tradition” that immediately conveys the essence of how a patiently beleaguered people have coped with generations of upheaval. As Tevye and Golde’s daughters break with tradition by choosing their own increasingly “inappropriate” spouses, Tevye grudgingly rationalizes his compromises in monologues punctuated by the phrase “on the other hand” – until the third daughter, Chava, elopes with a Gentile and he angrily concludes “there is no other hand!”

The three oldest daughters introduce themes of change through their unorthodox courtships. Playing eldest daughter Tzeitel, Natasha Kujawa injects intelligence and irony into her role as an early feminist, determined to marry for love and able to badger timid fiancé Motel (Dan Bahr) into standing up to Tevye. As second daughter Hodel, Amy Martin evolves from obedient girl to strong and independent woman, willing to leave her world behind when fiancé Perchik (Andy Roberts) is shipped off to Siberia. Martin’s lovely voice brings pathos to the powerful and evocative “Far From the Home I Love.” As third daughter Chava, Rachel May Thomas’ solo dance during Tevye’s “Chava Sequence” beautifully accents his grief at the loss of his favorite daughter. The daughters contrast dramatically with their mother Golde (Wendy Bax), a conventionally downtrodden peasant trying to manage her household with an iron fist. Bax has a gorgeous voice, and is a good enough actress to use it only when the script demands that she show it off (as in the beautiful “Sabbath Prayer” and the always touching “Do You Love Me?”). As Yente the Matchmaker, Jeanine Stassens get many of the show’s funniest lines, and she makes the most of them.

Director Shaw’s staging of “The Dream” is the funniest version I have seen of this comic highlight. The decision to cast an eleven year old as Grandmother Tzeitel was inspired – the tiny, fierce Luella Harrelson keeps the audience in stitches with her frenetic energy, and her costume and makeup effectively disguise her youth. Jennifer Yamashiro’s take on Fruma Sarah is a perfect counterpoint; the character’s physical elevation and tottering gait amp up her already hysterical delivery.

Of course, Fiddler is really Tevye’s show, and Darren Hurley could not be better cast. He avoids the common pitfall of delivering his lines with a heavy accent, choosing instead to inject just a trace of Yiddish flavor into the role. This allows him to create a character, rather than a caricature, to anchor the show. His powerful voice ensures that the musical’s most well-known numbers will stay with the audience long after they leave the theater, but it is his total commitment to Tevye’s thoughtful combination of rigidity and flexibility that makes the performance truly memorable.

The ensemble is exceptionally strong – solid choreography delivered with utter precision, and vocal harmonies that sometimes bring chills, other times tears (as in the evocative “Sunrise, Sunset”). James Grimes’ spare, but cleverly designed set precludes all but the briefest scene-change delays, and Ward Ramsdell’s lighting design enhances the barren beauty of the tiny village.

Audiences still have two more weeks to see one of the finest Fiddlers likely to come their way; this one is definitely worth the drive to Forest Grove for lovers of classic musical theatre.

Fiddler on the Roof runs through Sunday, October  25^th at Theatre in the Grove, 2028 Pacific Avenue, Forest Grove with performances Friday and Saturday at 7:30 p.m. and Sunday at 2:30 p.m.

STAGES’ The Addams Family Musical A Stretch, But It Works!

Addams Family (Athena Van Dyke as Lurch, Dahlia/Lavender Wyatt as Grandma,
as Kai Nevers as Pugsley, Elijah Webbas Gomez, Caitriona Johnstone as
Morticia, Emily Neibergall as Wednesday, Max Nevers as Uncle Fester). 
Photo by Frank Hunt.

By Tina Arth

Hillsboro’s STAGES Performing Arts Youth Academy has historically limited its productions to typical family fare – Cheaper By The Dozen, High School Musical, and various “Jr.” shows, productions abbreviated to make them more accessible to a young cast. However, the program is stretching its participants by venturing into deeper water this year. The Addams Family, based on Charles Addams’ New Yorker cartoons and the iconic TV series, is definitely not a children’s show. Authors Marshall Brockman and Rick Elice have included a number of adult themes and jokes that make the show more PG-13 (and a whole lot funnier) than expected, and the music and lyrics by Andrew Lippa (23 songs, including several big production numbers) require the cast to work much harder than is usual in youth theatre. It is impressive to see how well director Luis Ventura and the current crop of STAGES actors are rising to the challenge.

The story, as expected in expanded cartoons, is simplistic (if somewhat convoluted). Brooding Goth princess Wednesday Addams has fallen in love with a normal guy, Lucas Beineke, and the time has come for the two families to meet. She confides in her father, Gomez, that she and Lucas are engaged – but begs him not to tell Morticia (her mother) until the time is right. The entire Addams family (including a host of really interesting dead ancestors) is expected to behave for one night like a regular family. Lucas’ parents are pure middle America, and (despite the Addams’ attempts to behave) are more than a little confused about the bizarre family, although they tend to ascribe most of the weirdness to the fact that the Addams are New Yorkers – an alien species to the Ohio born and bred Beinekes. After accidentally consuming a magic potion meant for Wednesday, Alice Beineke realizes that her marriage has become a sham; tightly wound husband Mal, once a passionate and spontaneous lover, has become a distant workaholic.  Chaos ensues – but of course it all works out in the end. Wednesday and Lucas, Mal and Alice, Gomez and Morticia, even Uncle Fester and his true love, the moon – all work out their differences, and the ancestors go quietly back to their graves, reassured that their descendants have resolved their many issues and no longer need their guidance.

Most of the show’s principals have extensive show-biz bios and are well prepared to take on the more demanding roles of the show. The surprise standout is 15-year-old Elijah Webb (“Gomez”) – this is only his second play and his first musical. He delivers a mature performance, has great timing and gravitas, and delivers strong solos in many of the show’s musical numbers. STAGES veteran Marlena Starrs (“Alice”) nails her transition from repressed Ohio housewife to a kind of lusty second-adolescence, and she is equally convincing in both personas. Emily Niebergall’s “Wednesday” is a delightful mixture of darkness and light – her personality as quirky as the bright yellow dress over her dark stockings and darker mien – and she brings a solid voice to some of the show’s best numbers. “Morticia,” in the hands of a very experienced Caitriona Johnstone, is a classic control freak, and the moment when she realizes that she has “become her mother” (every bride’s nightmare!) is simply lovely.

William Crawford’s set is darkly beautiful, detailed, and efficient. Costume coordinator Sandy Wilson has outdone herself with the Ancestor’s attire, portraying a wide variety with character-appropriate yet ghostly all-white togs – and the Ancestors’ makeup is superb.

Congratulations to Director Ventura for his willingness to take the STAGES program to the next level – one can only imagine what we’ll see with their next production, Shakespeare’s The Tempest (and no, there is no Tempest, Jr.!)

The Addams Family is playing at the HART Theatre, 185 SE Washington Street, Hillsboro through Sunday, October 11^th with 7:30 p.m. performances on Friday and Saturday and 2:00 p.m. matinees on Saturday and Sunday.

The Verdict Is In On Beaverton Civic Theatre’s Twelve Angry Jurors

Steve Holgate (Juror #8) exploring a fine point in the evidence. The other jurors (going
around the table clockwise from bottom left) are Bud Reece, Virginia Howe
Kincaid, Allison Andersen, Tonja Schreiber, Diana LoVerso, Jessica Reed,
Stan Yeend, Greg Prosser, Les Ico, Priscilla Howell, and Erin Zelazny. Photo by Ammon Riley.

By Tina Arth

As someone familiar with Henry Fonda’s 1957 film version of Twelve Angry Men, I initially found the title of Beaverton Civic Theatre’s Twelve Angry Jurors a bit jarring - would updating the show diminish its impact? However, this powerful drama is only improved by revising it to reflect current realities (e.g., we allow women on our juries now) – the removal of now-obsolete features serves to illustrate more fully that the central themes are completely relevant in 2015. Rush to judgment? Check. Inequities based on class and economic status? Check. Abusive parents? Check. Racism? Check. Overworked, uninspired public defenders? Check. Ambiguity about the meaning of “reasonable doubt?” Check. Ultimately, good people with good sense prevailing? Well, sometimes check.

Director Kraig Williams has assembled a truly amazing cast, and the result is a riveting show. For two hours we watch the jurors, twelve ordinary Americans drawn from all walks of life, who are closed into a stifling jury room for hours to deliberate the fate of a young man facing the death penalty for allegedly killing his father. Introducing women into the mix (this production peoples its jury with five men and seven women) superficially changes things, but none of the wit, intelligence, callousness, anger, bigotry, pain, and sensitivity of the original show is lost. The universality of these qualities is emphasized by the anonymity of the cast – the jurors have only their juror numbers, and the young man on trial is never given a name or ethnicity - he is just one of “them,” and we all know how “they” are. An inspired twist is portraying juror # 11, typically a German immigrant, as a Muslim woman – in 2015 a much better illustration of the evils of stereotyping (and a clear reminder that some problems of the 1950’s are still with us, despite several decades of “progress”). The jurors begin with a general assumption that it will be a quick guilty verdict, based on the evidence they have heard and their own biases. The first informal poll reveals that they are split 11 – 1 in favor of a guilty verdict – the lone holdout Juror #8, a Physics teacher who believes that the accused deserves a bit more deliberation before being sent to death row. Gradually, in fits and starts, the guilty verdict begins to collapse under the weight of “reasonable doubt” and a growing willingness on the part of the jurors to critically examine the evidence. Ultimately, after a liberal dose of reason and common sense, the group reaches a unanimous “not guilty” verdict.

Jurors #8 (Steve Holgate), #10 (Virginia Howe Kincaid), and #3 (Stan Yeend) provide the show’s principal conflict; other jurors offer more nuanced reactions to the three central characters. Holgate is quietly compelling as a man of conscience and science who cannot allow his fellow jurors to rush to judgment. Kincaid is disturbingly strident as the racist who blithely assumes that everyone secretly shares her vicious perspective. Yeend plays the angriest and most troubled of the group, and reaches frighteningly authentic heights of apoplexy as his character unravels in the face of the other jurors’ obvious aversion to his hate-filled choler.

While there are no weak performances, two other actors merit special mention. As Juror #11, Jessica Reed evolves believably from a retiring hijab-wearing Muslim to a passionate advocate of the best of American democracy; her growing reactions to Kincaid’s worst excesses subtly underscore the play’s themes. Les Ico (# 5) uses his remarkably expressive face to illustrate his character’s growing empathy for the accused, who shares his violent slum upbringing.

While there are several moments of dark humor to relieve the tension, Twelve Angry Jurors is intense and sometimes uncomfortable. However, it is one of the most powerful and provocative dramas I have seen on a BCT stage, and the quality of the production makes it a must-see for local audiences.

Beaverton Civic Theatre presents Twelve Angry Jurors through Saturday, October 17th at the Beaverton City Library Auditorium, 12375 SW Fifth Street, Beaverton, with performances at 7:30 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays and 2:00 p.m. on Sundays.

ADRIFT IN MACAO

Gene Chin (Tempura), Danielle Weathers (Corinna), Michael Morrow Hammick
(Mitch), Olivia Shimkus (Daisy and others), Pam Mahon (Lureena), Gary
Wayne Cash (Rick Shaw), and Joey Côté (Joe and others).

By Tina Arth

After a summer of big, beautiful, classic musical theatre, Broadway Rose kicks off its return to the smaller New Stage by offering a quirky, utterly silly show with absolutely no redeeming social value – and I love it! The sets, costumes, lighting, choreography, and music set the stage for an unashamedly campy homage to film noir. Director Isaac Lamb and his cast embrace the genre’s stereotypes with typical Broadway Rose panache and an enthusiastic embrace of the absurd reminiscent of Young Frankenstein, Airplane, or the occasional episode of American Dad!

Christopher Durang (book and lyrics) and Peter Melnick (music) set their little parody in Macao, China circa 1952. The plot is utterly predictable and fundamentally irrelevant – a small group of troubled Caucasians (casino owner Rick Shaw, rival cabaret singers Lureena and Corinna, and the handsome but hard-boiled Mitch) are trying to escape their troubled pasts in a den of iniquity; Mitch seeks to clear himself of an unjust murder charge by locating the mysterious McGuffin. As apparently the lone Asian in the world’s most densely populated city, the pianist Tempura portrays every possible Oriental stereotype with a veneer of subservience thinly covering his simmering hostility.  All’s well that ends well, with everyone back in NYC and the principles paired appropriately.

The first real joke in the show lets the audience in on the fun – after a brief (and, of course, hard-boiled) dockside flirtation, Mitch says “See you around, I hope” and Lureena replies “Well, it’s a small cast.” From there on, we know that they know that we are watching. Even though the fourth wall is only broken a few times, it’s enough to ensure that the stylized and melodramatic performances are perceived from the beginning as intentional parody.

Pam Mahon is absolute dynamite as “Lureena.” Her voice and stage presence are huge – even though the big ballads and bigger production numbers are (as generally expected in parody) quite forgettable, her performance is anything but. As the opium sniffing “Corinna,” Danielle Weathers shifts from drug-addled has-been to fighting tigress with aplomb, and she is perhaps the best physical comedian in the cast.  Casino-owner “Rick” (Gary Wayne Cash) seems to have been overlooked when the authors were handing out the fun roles, but the pseudo-poignant “Rick’s Song” makes it clear that he had been intentionally, rather than inadvertently, overlooked. Michael Morrow Hammack (“Mitch”) is the quintessential antihero – brooding, almost too handsome, with a perfectly trimmed two-day growth of beard to accentuate his chiseled chin. He seems to channel Humphrey Bogart, but with a much, much better singing voice.

Gene Chin (named “Tempura” because he’s been battered by life) gets many of the best lines, and he makes the most of them. Suggest that he is inscrutable, and he stomps his feet and insists that he is utterly scrutable. Chin’s operatic background makes “Tempura’s Song” even funnier – that powerful and lovely voice singing the praises of a “rovely rotus reef” – and his magic disappearing act after the final dockside battle is stunningly devoid of magic. The remaining two characters (Joey Côté and Olivia Shimkus) play a multitude of roles (it is, after all, “a small cast”) – and while Shimkus doesn’t get much chance to really shine, Côté is haplessly wonderful leading the audience in a round of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” In fishnet tights he also proves that he, not Chin’s “Tempura,” has the best legs in the cast.

As always, music director Mont Chris Hubbard and his tiny band are flawless, and their placement at the back of the stage ensures that they do not overpower the vocalists. The sets are appropriately cartoonish, and the first scene change (from the docks to the club interior) is breathtakingly efficient. The costumes (especially the women’s) are tastefully over the top, and the Carmen Miranda-like headdresses in the final performances are simply wonderful.

Adrift In Macao is perfect for audiences looking for a little R-rated entertainment – the plot may be predictable, but the strong vocals combined with laughs that often come in unexpected places makes it an evening well-spent.

Adrift in Macao runs at Broadway Rose’s New Stage, 12850 SW Grant Avenue, Tigard through October 25th.

Bag & Baggage’s Best Asks: Have We Really Come a Long Way, Baby?

Arianne Jacques (Gregg), Stephanie Lippert (Brenda), Cassie Greer
(Caroline), Jessi Walters (Mary Agnes), and Joey Copsey (as Mr. Shalimar)

By Tina Arth

We’ve all seen 9 to 5, Mad Men, and countless other dramedies dealing with sexism and gender inequity in the culture of American business. In 2015, can a play (even if written in 2012) based on the absurd sexual politics of the 1950s have anything meaningful to offer, other than cheap laughs and a little head scratching at how stupid everybody used to be? Surely the feminist revolution of the ‘70s fixed all that! This question is answered with a resounding “yes” in the Bag & Baggage production of Rona Jaffe’s The Best of Everything, adapted for the stage by Julie Kramer. Bag & Baggage, already known for its consistent elevation of the status of women, has outdone itself in this profound (and hilarious) production.

The story is based on Jaffe’s bestselling 1958 book, and explores the lives of a group of young secretaries in New York City. It opens as recent Radcliffe grad Caroline is left waiting on the pier by her fiancé, Eddie, who has hitched his wagon to the daughter of a wealthy Texas oilman. Unwilling to go back home in defeat, Caroline takes a secretarial job at Fabian Publishing, where she finds herself surrounded by women whose lack of ambition and stereotypical obsession with snagging a husband at first seems to define them. As the play progresses, the women become more complex, and issues like wage gaps, sexual harassment, marital infidelity, the glass ceiling, abortion, and stalking flesh out these characters’ lives. Ultimately Caroline becomes an editor, while most of the others get the husband/family they sought – but at what price? And then there’s the death of Gregg, the aspiring actress who cannot accept rejection by David, a producer and super-cad who rivals Eddie for the title worst boyfriend/husband material on Earth.

Clearly, the comedy is not inherent in the sometimes-grim plot – but this smartly written play is loaded with ironic one-liners and absurd perspectives that are amplified by Michelle Milne’s direction and her cast’s spectacular use of timing (especially the pregnant pause). Cassie Greer’s “Caroline” is played with an admirably straight face, even when confronted with the ridiculous things she hears from her bosses, former fiancé, and co-workers. Her unflappable acceptance of the most outrageous conduct is terribly funny, but also illustrative of how commonplace this blatant behavior was in the 1950s. Andrew Beck’s alarmingly self-centered “Eddie” is evocative of Cinderella’s Prince – suave, pretentious, condescending, and utterly clueless. Joey Copsey plays the remaining four male roles, and displays a remarkable ability to shift characters at the drop of a hat (or the addition of a cravat), but he relies more on posture and delivery than costuming cues to create the weirdly sympathetic Mike, the elderly lech/boss Mr. Shalimar, the utterly despicable David, and the awkward, stuttering, naïve but sweet Ronnie. Morgan Cox manages her character’s transition from arrogant and amoral ice princess to reluctantly supportive mentor with believable subtlety, and Arianne Jacques’ portrayal of the pathetic stalker “Gregg” is both chilling and heartbreaking.

The staging, sets, and costumes combine to support both the humor and deeper themes of the story. The interchangeable desks create invisible walls, illustrating workplace class distinction and emphasizing the employer’s view that the secretaries are completely interchangeable. Hats become symbols of maleness, and ambitious women don hats as part of the uniform of success – but the hats also are used to show that it is really the men who are soulless cogs in the machine.

So why is The Best of Everything engaging and profound over a half-century after the book’s debut, and several decades after the “sexual revolution” should have made its issues passé? Take a look at the current crop of presidential candidates for a clue. And don’t miss the opportunity to see this wonderful production!

Bag & Baggage’s The Best of Everything runs through September 27^th with performances Thursdays – Saturdays at 7:30 p.m. and Sundays at 2:00 p.m.

Lots To Love In HART’s I Hate Hamlet

Paul Roder ("John Barrymore") and Benjamin Philip (Andrew Rally)

By Tina Arth

Bard lovers, Bard haters, even the Bard-indifferent should all find something to love in HART Theatre’s current production of Paul Rudnick’s I Hate Hamlet. Propelled by a menu of truly memorable one-liners, the show keeps its audience laughing, and at intermission folks seemed eager to get back into the theater (once they had devoured a few fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies) to see what gems the second act held in store.

The show marks Penny Lonergan’s debut as a HART director, and it’s a great start. Solid casting helps – in a six-person show, any weak link really hurts, but Hamlet is devoid of those cringe-worthy moments. With a script as witty as Rudnick’s, poor timing, rushed lines, pregnant pauses followed by mugging or muffled delivery – all would be downright criminal.

The story was new to me, and probably most of the audience. TV actor Andrew Rally arrives in New York City, after a run as lead in a recently cancelled LA-based TV series. Realtor Felicia Dantine has found him an apartment that is everything Andrew hates – a musty, vaguely Gothic brownstone once inhabited by the great John Barrymore. It’s so wrong for a displaced Angeleno in love with the new (an obvious commentary on the contrast between the modern transience of television vs. the lasting traditions of theatah…). Worse yet, agent Lillian Troy (who had a tryst with Barrymore years earlier) has booked him as Hamlet for Shakespeare in the Park – antiquated role, lots of work, no payback in terms of fame or fortune, and burdened with the history of Barrymore’s definitive 1922 Hamlet.  The cast also includes Deirdre McDavey, Andrew’s 25-year-old virgin girlfriend, and an astonishingly shallow LA buddy (producer-director Gary Peter Lefkowitz). A séance (to contact the ghost of Barrymore) that summons the spirit (and corpus) of the Great Man puts the foundation in place. Under Barrymore’s tutelage, Andrew learns to love the role and the apartment; Deirdre learns a thing or two about love, too. Felicia hitches her star to Gary to achieve her dream of being a Beverly Hills realtor, Lillian has one last tender moment with Barrymore before he disappears, and Andrew decides that despite his abysmal acting chops he’ll stay in New York and pursue real theater. Trust me, it’s a lot funnier than it sounds in synopsis!

Kathleen Silloway’s “Lillian” is a curious combination of Teutonic stiffness and romantic fantasy, and she captures this duality nicely in her performance, with bits of melodrama, languor, and carefully timed dry wit. Tamara Sorelli (“Felicia”) uses a mild New York accent to express her character’s shamelessly mercenary bent; I appreciate her restraint in allowing the script to drive the comedy, rather than chasing laughs with overacting. Les Ico (“Gary”) nobly represents all that is most despicable about Hollywood; he unselfconsciously dismisses all live theatre, especially Shakespeare, as “Algebra on stage”. Emma Heesacker (as the virginal “Deirdre”) has the least to work with – ingénues rarely get the best material – but when she is allowed to loosen up in Act II (post-Barrymore) she and the audience have a lot of fun with the role.

Benjamin Philip’s “Andrew” is funniest when playing off the Ghost of Barrymore (Paul Roder). His attempt to update Prince Hamlet with a sort of Valley Girl method acting is simply hilarious – he is at his best when acting like he’s overacting, and his final bow is a thing of beauty. Roder bears little physical resemblance to Barrymore, and his tights and tunic do little to add to his stature, but he very quickly melds himself with the larger than life character he portrays. His voice, timing, movement and projection make the most of a powerful (and powerfully funny) role, and the swordfight with Philip is played to the hilt.

Eric and Penny Lonergan’s set is lovely – appropriately elegant, Gothic, and thoroughly functional. Karen Roder and seamstress Pat Hill provide imaginative and evocative costumes, and Heather Sutherland’s lighting design is key in setting and changing the show’s moods.

It’s always risky to tackle a show that is a bit obscure, but the combination of a tightly crafted comic script and skillful production should make this gamble a winner for HART and local audiences.

I Hate Hamlet plays at Hillsboro Artists’ Regional Theatre (HART) through Sunday, September 20th, with performances Friday and Saturday at 7:30 p.m. and Sunday matinees at 2:00 p.m.