We Never Change -- about Season's Greetings at the Wellesley Summer Theater

"Season's Greetings", a play by Alan Ayckbourn at the Wellesley Summer Theater.

This production really deserves to be seen. Ayckbourn is a British playwright, and although the play is set in England (it was written in 1980, but Wellesley has updated the play), most people here will immediately feel connected and familiar with the family members who make up the cast.

The story takes place over four days: Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, and December 27. The adults and children of the extended family are all squashed together in Neville's house. The resentments, frustrations, and animosities reach a comic boiling point when one sister, Belinda, attempts to have a tryst under the Christmas tree with the young man invited for the holiday by Rachel, Belinda's sister. There are plenty of farcical jabs and funny bits in the Fawlty Towers tradition. The play tends to sag towards the end, as it runs out of ideas, but that's ok. In the end, it seems that each character remains in character, is no better than we thought they were in the beginning, despite having the chance to change, or to exceed expectations. It reminded me of Chekhov. As if the characters say, "We never change, we can't change, we did our best. That's life."

The cast is wonderful, with a veteran ensemble feel to their performances. Ashley Grimolini struck me as just right as Belinda, the somewhat officious wife who's willing to throw herself at Clive under the Christmas tree in the middle of the night (with the usual laughable consequences). She's all business, yet gives off enough sensual spark to make it possible. I could say good things about everybody else in the cast too, Christine Hamel as the plain Rachel, Derek Nelson as the always-defeated Bernard, and Ed Peed as the big-voiced lunatic uncle Harvey.

The set is great. I really liked the way the family occupied the open space of the house, so we could see all the action, while the actors looked around corners, giving us the sense that these were separate rooms.

This was the first time we'd gone to Wellesely Summer Theater, and we didn't expect a production this polished and professional (perhaps the name made us expect a more amateur, student production). This was really good, really funny theater as good as any regional theater we've seen. I really appreciate what the directors, Shelley Bolman and Nora Hussey have done.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy -- the passable movie from the terrific book

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, a film directed by Tomas Alfredson, based on the 1974 novel by John le Carrie.

The new Tinker Tailor movie, based on the John Le Carrie novel, is absorbing and passably entertaining, especially if you've recently read the novel (as I did), or saw the brilliant seven-part PBS series twenty-five years ago (as we did). It's dense with murky circus interiors and damp gray street scenes. Gary Oldman as George Smiley is a little too prim and reserved for me. The guy barely registers a raised eyebrow through the whole film.

The plot is about Smiley's mission to uncover the mole in British Intelligence, the mole responsible for sending information to the Russians (this is the cold war, late 60s), and for drumming out Smiley himself and his boss, Control. It should be exciting. It almost is. With so little time -- just over two hours -- and a long list of characters, it's difficult for the movie to hook us into the emotional lives of the characters. The screenwriters do a good job of compression, but you can only do so much. Cinematically, I found the scenes of Smiley in his cheap hotel room too similar to the other interior scenes in their grayness -- we don't very much distinguish the emotional and physical environment of Smiley and his team from the other interiors.

If you haven't read the novel or seen the old series, you might be baffled by the whole thing. I'd like to hear from someone without those background experiences.

I'd also like to hear what current veterans of the British Intelligence services think of the movie. Were the internal competitive politics so ridiculous?

The book is terrific. So was the old PBS series with Alec Guiness. If you experience either of those after seeing the movie, you'll see what you're missing.

And Quiet Flows the Don -- the great book hardly anybody has read

And Quiet Flows the Don, by Mikhael Sholokhov (originally published 1934, Vintage edition 1989)

Some forgotten college professor must have mentioned this novel to me once, and I've remembered the enigmatic title ever since. And I've read mentions about the book in other Russian books or books about Russia. Years have gone by. Finally, we saw a used Vintage softcover edition in the Bryn Mawr book store, in Cambridge, and I bought it. After thirty pages, I could hardly put it down. It's a great book.

A brief summary. The story follows a group of Don river Cossack villagers in the years 1910 to 1920. The books is divided into chapters titled, Peace, War, Revolution, and Civil War. Gregor, a young Cossack, is the central character, but the list of characters is long. In peace we see the Cossacks working their farms, engaging in village trysts and petty village conspiracies. In war, the army life and battle scenes are almost Tolstoyan in their expanse. In civil war, the political confusion is overwhelming -- which side to be on, the Reds or the Whites? At any moment, one's life depends on the answer. And does your answer change from moment to moment?

I was struck by the sense of reality Sholokhov conveys. Village life is mean, dirty, vulgar. Love and light are hard to find. The Cossacks are no less cruel to each other than they are to the Germans and Austrians they fight in the war. It's hard to find characters to like. Many times, when I'd close the book for the night, I thought, "This must be the way it was. And this must be the way it is".

Only in the characters Bunchuk and Anna do we meet characters we might like as people, sympathetic lovers with some sense of gentleness (though they're each ready to machinegun the enemies of the revolution). Yet, these two are also the most wooden characters in the book; they seem to stand for something other than themselves. When Anna expresses her hopes for Socialism, it's hard to know what to think:

"And won't life be beautiful under Socialism! No more war, no more poverty or oppression or national barriers--nothing! How human beings have sullied, have poisoned the world!...Tell me, wouldn't it be sweet to die for that?" p. 480

She is meant to sound sincere. Yet this is not quite a full human being talking any more.

Solzhenitsyn mentions Sholokhov, and the novel. Apparently, he and others have challenged the book's authorship. Several critics have said that before Quiet, Sholokhov had written nothing approaching this literary scope and value, and that he could not be the author. I don't know much about that argument. As a side note, I think Solzhenitsyn must have been inspired by Sholokhov (or whoever is the author) -- Solzhentisyn's war and battle scenes have an immediacy, style, and rhythm similar to Sholokhov.

How did Sholokhov survive as a writer, even to be honored by Stalin, given some of the novel's depictions of the Red Army? He shows the Red officers to be just as venal and cruel as their White enemies. We witness Red army atrocities. While other writers were imprisoned or murdered by Stalin for the smallest rebellions and infractions, how did Sholakhov succeed to become a Soviet literary hero?

The finest moment in Beethoven's Missa Solemnis

(Thoughts from the Masterworks Chorale November 4th performance of Missa Solemnis, where I sing as a bass.)

For me, it came about two-thirds of the way through the Gloria, soon after the Miserere section. Along with the four soloists, we'd already sung a lot of music by that point, some of it at a very fast tempo. And a lot of it at high volume. Then it arrived. The tempo slowed down. The atmosphere suddenly changed. Most of the instruments in the large orchestra were quiet. But I heard the kettle drum pound. The chorus alone sang.

Cum Sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris, amen.

Together with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father, Amen.

There, in the middle of this driving symphony with a chorus and soloists, we suddenly had a stately march, a procession. As if we were at a coronation, being led by a patriarch or pope. It was beautiful.

---

It was a great experience. Our conductor was Steven Karidoyanes. The four soloists: Barbara Kilduff, soprano, Pamela Delall, mezzo-soprano, Charles Blandy, tenor, and Dana Whiteside, baritone. We had two reviews, one review in the Boston Globe, and one in The Boston Musical Intelligencer.

Some useful notes in "Moonwalking with Einstein"

"Moonwalking with Einstein", by Joshua Foer, (Penguin, 2011)

Foer's account of how he got interested in the world of competitive memory contests, the personalities in that little world, and his journey to becoming the United States memory champion, is readable and has a few interesting insights.

Foer reviews the history of memory techniques (think Homer) and describes the essential importance of these techniques to being an educated person in the past, particularly in the time before mass printing technology. He also includes some topics in current medical research on the workings of our brains, particularly in how we learn. That actions or behaviors that we learned long ago and now take for granted -- such as typing -- can be improved only by intense effort and detailed measurement of progress is not a new insight, but Foer makes some interesting connections to memory. The memory techniques he describes, including the Major system, can be practiced by anyone. In fact, I managed to remember and use a credit card number two weeks after I learned it with the system.

The chilly "Degas and the Nude" exhibit at the MFA

We visited the "Degas and the Nude" exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. It's worth reading Sebastian Smee's review in the Boston Globe for the history and background of Degas' work. I never warmed up to Degas, but this sounded like such a big deal, we decided to go.

His young girl ballerinas that are popularly known always struck me as cold, as if the girl subjects were lab specimens. I found the same to be true of all those nudes at the exhibit -- I simply couldn't connect with them. The most interesting paintings were his bordello scenes, probably because of their documentary aspect. What a cruel life.

The young Occupy Boston crowd on the Boston Common

We visited the Boston Common on Monday afternoon, to see the Occupy Boston gathering there. It looked to me as if most of the people there were college-aged, though there certainly were older people, as well some parents with children.

It did not look like many blue collar workers or suburban types were attending. Unless they were like us, and just there to watch. A drummer with a full drum set pounded out a pretty good rhythm for a few people with bullhorns to lead chants. Some of the old chants from the 60s and 70s were revived: "The people, united, will never be divided". Somebody carried a sign that read "Jewish Labor Committee". "End the Fed" was another one. Lots of anti-corporate slogans and chants. Lots of left-wing rhetoric.

No doubt, there are different groups trying to push this movement, and use it for their messages. I can't make out what Occupy Boston and the other branches of the movement are about. Mad at the banks? Mad at corporate executives making millions while laying off 40K a year employees? Mad at high tuition costs? It's all there. And almost everybody can get mad at these things. Maybe that's all there is here -- a place to vent.

Some people regard this as the left version of the Tea Party movement. I don't see that yet. The Tea Party could summarize their messages -- less federal government, less taxes. They targeted politicians to promote and to defeat. That's not true here with the Occupy movement -- at least not yet. How will they affect any change? Won't the whole thing just peter out, once the weather gets colder?

Candide, at the Huntington Thater

We saw the Saturday night, September 24 performance. Some great songs. Has to be, with Bernstein doing the music. The actress who plays Cunegonde, Lauren Molina, has a great voice. There's something purposely uneasy and uncomfortable about the play. After young Candide is expelled from the Baron's castle for loving the Baron's daughter Cunegonde, near the start of the play, he is thrown into a kind of chaotic hell. Unprotected and idealistic, he is press-ganged into the Bulgarian army, is often beaten and threatened with death, and ends up killing a villainous prelate. His youthful idealism and optimism is slowly beaten out of him, though he is stubborn. Something that bothered me about this production (directed by Mary Zimmerman) is that so much of it is farce. Most of the violence is played for comic effect. Was that in the original playbook, or is this the director's interpretation? If the violence, greed, and human malevolence Candide confronts are bits of comedy shtick, then I find it hard to take serously his disillusionment and pain. The actor Geoff Packard has very pleasant tenor voice, but when he despairingly sings, "My world is dust now, and all I loved is dead....", his voice contrasts jarringly with the jokey scenes we've just watched. The play is sort of an academic's delight. Music, romance, death, philosophizing: this is a serious play, not a trivial entertainment. A test will follow.

An actor's apology for Stalin

My Russia, by Peter Ustinov (Little, Brown, 1983). Beautifully designed in a larger format, with many prints, illustrations, and photographs. 

Not sure I should spend the time on this. Ordinarily, I would not buy such an odd book, or post about it. Ustinov was an actor, not a historian, and he did not grow up in Russia. He has no professional expertise as a historian or historical analyst. But we had seen him in a few movies that we enjoyed, so I bought it at Bryn Mawr Vasser used book store. The book is a breezy history of Russia, with a concentration on the cold war period. It's Ustinov's idiosyncratic take on Russian history.

What is perhaps worthwhile is that he represents Russians as I think many of them would like to be represented. He emphasizes that this is a country and a people that has forever had to defend itself against foreign threats -- the Mongols, the Swedes, the Germans, the Poles, Napolean, the Turks, the Chinese, the Japanese, the Germans again, and finally the United States and NATO. A country with a border that big naturally has a lot of neighbors, many of them with aggressive designs. That long, difficult and distant border shaped the behavior of the czars and of the Politburo.

He interprets many of the Soviet Union's actions in WW II and the cold war as reasonable behavior in light of Russian history. He doesn't get very specific. But this leads him to make some odd rationalizations, even suggesting that Stalin's pact with Hitler at the start of World War II was simply a way to buy time and prepare for when the German armies would invade the Soviet Union itself. There is nothing in the book about the Gulag Archipelago, although he wrote the book long after Solzhenitsyn's A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Ustinov writes about Stalin's crimes involving "thousands" as opposed to the millions of dead. There's almost nothing about the domination of Eastern Europe following the war, or the oppressive clampdown on its own population for most of the twentieth century until the Soviet Union's demise. Ustinov comes across as a remote, sympathetic apologist for the old regime.

Wish we had not paid for Rent

Rent, at the New Repertory Theater in Watertown This was painful to sit through. It was hard to understand the screamed lyrics, and most of what I could hear was pretty thin. I don't know La Boheme to understand the reference to it, but it struck me as odd to call the characters poor. They were slumming, which is much different from being poor. I can't summarize the story because I'm not sure what it was. The program book indicates that much of the romance around this show involves the untimely death of Jonathan Larson, the show's creator, from an aneurysm just before it opened in 1996. There were a few decent songs, powerfully sung, Roger's One Song Glory, Seasons of Love, I'll Cover You. But I found a lot of this musical obnoxious. And I hate seeing naked people on stage.

Travels with Ian Frazier in Siberia

Travels in Siberia, by Ian Frazier (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2010)

Frazier's account of several trips he made through Russian Siberia, from the 90s to 2005. He confesses that he is "infected with a love of Russia". The main narrative of the book is about an interesting six week road trip in a Renault van with two Russian guides, Sergei, the chief guide, and Volodya. There's a fair amount of humor as Frazier deals with Siberian roads, restrooms, mosquitos, beautiful Russian women in stiletto heels, and trash. Frazier himself is a somewhat nervous type who at first seems an unlikely candidate to rough it for three thousand miles in a small van, and his hopeless confrontations with the increasingly irritated and bossy Sergei give us some moments of real hilarity. Driving through the endless taiga forest day after day can drive even the most amiable companions a little crazy. 

Along the way, Frazier meets businessmen, academics, local historians. They're impressive, energetic people. The academicians seem well informed and current. But aside from them, I was struck by the ramshackle nature of most peoples' lives and the haphazard way things worked. Decaying cities and towns, horrible roads that sometimes ended and then resumed, a bureaucracy that depended on bribes. He noted some isolated improvement on his return trips after Russian oil money had been spread around.

A big part of the pleasure of reading this book is the Russian and Siberian history he introduces. From Ghengis Khan to the Decembrist revolutionaries to Stalin's Gulag, Frazier demonstrates that Russian history is for him a consuming passion. Surprising for what is basically a book of amiable travel writing: there are twenty five pages of notes and a seven page bibliography!

The book has a serious vein running through it. Frazier is interested in the past of a place, particularly an unhappy, tragic past, and how that past is treated in the present. Siberia has been a place of exile, suffering, and mass death. Not surprisingly, Frazier finds Russians more comfortable talking about the two hundred year old Decembrist revolution as opposed to the sixty year old Gulag work camps (which are now hard to find empty hulks).


Although I haven't been to Russia, I hope to go someday. Having read and loved Solzhenitsyin, Tolstoy, Chekhov, and Dostoyevsky, I can understand his Russia love.

Richard III at the Huntington -- a pleasingly unrepentent psychopath all the way to the end

There was a lot I didn't like in the Propeller Company's performance of Richard III yesterday at the Huntington Theater. But there was so much I liked that I think the play was the best theater we saw at the Huntington all season. Richard Clothier is so unpredictable as Richard, snapping from straight soliloquies to slapstick humor, that he upsets our ability to understand him. He's scary.

The play seems to be set in a Victorian-era asylum, with white-masked characters resembling orderlies moving people and props quickly around the stage (those orderlies also sang Elizabethan tunes beautifully).

The direction chose to depend on speed, sacrificing the audience's ability to follow some nuances, and I liked that. One noisy murder after another pretty much tells us what's going on, and the workings of evil mind that's behind all the blood and pain is there to see.

It's an all male cast. This didn't work for me, or Marilyn, or our friends. The men who played the female characters were not made up as women, other than the dresses they wore. The effect was bizarre, and made me notice the incongruity.

The odd touches of slapstick obscured some scenes. I know that Shakespeare sprinkles comedy throughout, but this was over the top at times. The two murderers who kill poor Clarence in his cell are buffoons, okay, but as I remember them, at least one has genuine pangs of conscience. But that's lost in their Abbot and Costello routine.

What's a chainsaw doing in Victorian England? There's no good explanation for that. Never mind that Shakespeare inserted malapropisms in his plays.

Why did Tyrrell's soliloquy get axed? I was disappointed. Unlike the two clowns who kill Clarence, Tyrell is a fully thinking adult criminal. We lost out on his remorse and horror.

Yet, the energy of this production overcomes its flaws. It's worth seeing.