Maybe it's a sign of the apocalypse, a realization that as the world grows smaller in terms of connectivity, it appears to be fracturing in real space everywhere, or just simple coincidence, but damn if there aren't a shitload of theaters mounting William Shakespeare's The Tempest these days. It's currently playing at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, at Los Angeles' well-respected classical theater A Noise Within, and at San Diego's Old Globe Theatre. And it's not limited to professional heavyweight companies: It ran at the Mysterium Theater in Santa Ana in August.
But it's doubtful that any past or future production can match the intense spectacle of The Tempest that has crossed the country this year, beginning in Las Vegas, moving to Boston's American Repertory Theater (ART) and now captivating Orange County audiences at South Coast Repertory. Then again, when you meld the magical talents of Teller (of Penn and Teller), the music of Tom Waits and choreography from the acclaimed modern-dance company Pilobolus, you've broken from the pack just in terms of caché.
What's most remarkable about this show is that the astonishing illusions, Waits' gritty, Americana-steeped tunes and the traveling-tent-show feel of the production in no way gets in the way of Shakespeare's tale. Rarely is a Tempest this clear and faithful to the script, while also so fresh and contemporary. Which sounds weird, as the script is 400 years old and the production's costumes, set and ambiance resemble a traveling carnival show à la Springsteen's Wild Billy's Circus Song.
But the alchemy of the very old with the kind of old, created by modern artists at the top of their respective games, makes this production novel, absorbing and frequently jaw-dropping. This easily could have been a Vegas-style magic show, with the script as mere fodder to wheel out illusions and tricks. That this one, with all its fascinating bells and whistles, still tells the Bard's story well is simply stupendous.
Teller's illusions get the most press, and that's no surprise: They're mind-blowing. Teller, who adapted and directed the piece with Aaron Posner, incorporates both stage and parlor magic into the show, including sleight of hand, levitation and card tricks. Bodies float, shit disappears or is transformed, inanimate objects take on a life of their own, and one illusion that features the character of Ariel corkscrewed in a wooden crate has to be seen to be believed. And then you still won't believe what you just fucking saw.
Waits and his longtime collaborator, Kathleen Brennan, weren't personally involved with the show, but they granted their permission for some of their vast catalog to be used. The songs, expertly performed by musicians on roots instruments including standup bass, accordion and a crazy assortment of percussive devices, don't move the story along, per se, but they do comment on what's happening and lend a gritty, hobo-esque aura to the proceedings. Special mention must be made of the two female singers, Miche Braden and Liz Filios, who bring prodigious acting talents to their soaring voices. Cumulatively, the ensemble is less musical underscoring than some kind of primeval energy, an edgy, threatening force that is both separate and intimately entwined with the characters.
Much of the cast is directly imported from the ART show, which ran earlier this summer. As such, they have had months to refine their roles, and it shows. Nate Dendy is an exceptional Ariel; all-too-often, Prospero's magical henchman is cast as a spritely, fetching female, but Dendy's white-chalk make-up and grace make his Ariel every bit as imposing as his bellowing master. Eric Hissom's fourth-wall-breaking, drunken minstrel Stephano and the two-headed beast of Caliban, portrayed by Zachary Eisenstat and Manelich Minniefee, who caterwaul like some kind of human see-saw, are also spectacular.
Tom Nelis' Prospero looks the part in his dingy, ringmaster garb and is both terrifying and sympathetic. But the play loses its gusto in the scenes between he and his daughter, Miranda (a likeable Charlotte Graham). It's less the fault of the actors than the fact that this is where most of the play's exposition comes into play. In a show so awash in imagery, sound and movement—all of which illuminates or accents the dialogue—these mostly static scenes don't serve as a break from the sensory stimulation as much as they feel flat.
The Tempest has been analyzed to death over the years, and while some might spend some time looking for an intellectual point in this production that illustrates some of Shakespeare's themes, this show is really about magic: the magic of exploration and discovery, the magic of illusion and deception, the magic of love and loss. It's not hard to think that if Shakespeare's remains were exhumed from the earth and he had a front-row seat to this Tempest, he'd be the first to rise on his wobbly ash-legs and offer a standing ovation.
Joel Beers has written about theater and other stuff for this infernal rag since its very first issue in, when was that again???