The Woman in the Purple Skirt by Natsuko Imamura

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

 

Last year my wife and I visited New York City together, and as part of that visit, we stopped by a Japanese book store. Our second kid has taken a number of semesters of Japanese in college, after learning a bit on her own - so probably 3rd grade level. We got a few books as presents, but I also checked out the shelf of books in translation and put a few titles on my list. This was one of them. 

 

Like many of the shorter Japanese books I have read or listened to over the last few years, this one has a rather surreal feel to it. On the one hand, not much of anything happens for the first three quarters of the book. It is very mundane. But it is also increasingly creepy and menacing, until all kinds of hell breaks loose in the last part of the book. 

 

Also, like other books, names are rarely used. The titular character does have a name, but for the most part, she is referred to as The Woman in the Purple Skirt. 

 

The narrator is The Woman in the Yellow Cardigan, and we really do not figure out her identity until near the end. She is a thoroughly unreliable narrator, and at least borderline malevolent. If there is a villain in the story, she is it. 

 

The book opens innocently enough:

 

There’s a person living not too far from me known as the Woman in the Purple Skirt. She only ever wears a purple-colored skirt – which is why she has this name.

At first I thought the Woman in the Purple Skirt must be a young girl. This is probably because she is small and delicate looking, and because she has long hair that hangs down loosely over her shoulders. From a distance, you’d be forgiven for thinking she was about thirteen. But look carefully, from up close, and you see she’s not young – far from it. She has age spots on her cheeks, and that shoulder-length black hair is not glossy – it’s quite dry and stiff. About once a week, the Woman in the Purple Skirt goes to a bakery in the local shopping district and buys herself a little custard-filled cream bun. I always pretend to be taking my time deciding which pastries to buy, but in reality I’m getting a good look at her. And as I watch, I think to myself: She reminds me of somebody. But who?

 

At first, it seems like the narrator is just a lonely and shy woman who wants to have the Woman in the Purple Skirt as a friend, but cannot work up the courage to talk to her. 

 

But as the story progresses, the narrator becomes more and more of a creepy stalker, following her target from the shadows, getting into her personal business, and more. 

 

One of the first incidents is the narrator working to get The Woman in the Purple Skirt to apply for a job at the same hotel she works at, which happens. But after she initially seems to be making friends and becoming popular, she makes the fatal mistake of starting a relationship with the director of housekeeping - a married man. 

 

From there, things spiral to a rather crazy ending. I won’t spoil it, but it isn’t expected. There are several endings that you think might happen that don’t, and rather than either a happy ending or a catastrophe, there is more ambiguity. 

 

It is also at the end that you realize that there are at least three competing stories about what really happened, and it is impossible to know who - if anyone - is telling the full truth. 

 

Along the way, there are some bits of rather pointed satire. For example, the way that hotel staff tend to be marginalized and underpaid; but also how they fight back in little ways. There is plenty of cattiness between the staff, the unfortunate tendency of women to fight and denigrate each other, rather than standing together. There is plenty of male entitlement. 

 

There are also some delightful passages, such as the friendship between The Woman in the Purple Skirt and the neighborhood children. 

 

The book is short - under four hours on audiobook - and would likely be a fast read in print. It starts slow, but draws you in as it goes on, even as one becomes more and more horrified by the narrator’s behavior. Check it out. 

 

The Prince of Darkness and the Orange Messiah

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” I Samuel 16:7

 

Growing up in the white Evangelical subculture, I was inculcated with a lot of fearmongering and moral cautionary tales. 

 

“If you reject Jesus and Christianity, you will become like _______”

 

Insert bogeyman in the space provided. In retrospect, these cautions were a mixed bag, with some proving to be valid, and others….not as much. 

 

During the 1980s, I remember two people being particularly popular as bogeymen, the ones that our parents and their peers most feared and loathed:

 

Ozzy Osbourne

 

And….

 

Donald Trump

 

That’s right, the Prince of Darkness, and the Orange Messiah. 

 

“You had better believe in Jesus and live as a Christian, or you will become like them” they told us. That’s how atheists turned out. They were the epitome of bad, evil, ungodly people. 

 

Ironically, both of them ended up on reality television, which revealed a lot about the American people, for better and worse. 

 

In retrospect, now that Ozzy has passed on, and Don the Con slips ever further into paranoia and dementia, we can perhaps reevaluate both men, and also take a look at the fruit which Evangelicalism has wrought. 

 

***

 

The Prince of Darkness

 

It is kind of hard to believe, being a Gen Xer, that Ozzy and Black Sabbath actually started in the late 1960s, when the Beatles and Beach Boys were still cranking out the hits, and Simon and Garfunkel were all over the radio. 

 

The raw sound of Metal must have come as a shock, as did the band’s aesthetic, so different from the hippy “peace love and weed” vibe. Black Sabbath was angry, loud, and, well, dark. Surely they were of the Devil, right?

 

That’s definitely what we were taught as kids. 

 

It didn’t help, of course, that Ozzy, like so many rock stars now and then, struggled with addiction to alcohol and drugs. Not that he was the only one, of course - many “cleaner” artists throughout history have had the same issues. In fact, “sex, drugs, and rock and roll” is nothing more or less than the latest version of “wine, women, and song,” which surely dates back to when humans (or more likely their ancestors) discovered mind-altering substances like ethanol, and invented music. 

 

Also, that bat incident, which, believe it or not, led to Bakersfield enacting an ordinance… 

 

My own relationship with music as a child was complicated. On the one hand, I loved and continue to love Classical. The fact that I get to play the greatest music ever written and get paid (not that much, but still…) to do so is one of the most pleasant surprises about how my life turned out. 

 

But also, my parents…well, mostly my mom…had issues with secular music, and eventually with all music that was influenced by genres created by black people. (Yes, that is every bit as racist as it sounds. I need to do a whole post on that someday.) 

 

So, I really didn’t grow up with the music of my generation. My dad and I cheated when my mom wasn’t looking, and listened to oldies, which back then was the 1950s and 60s. (KRTH back in the day was great…) 

 

It really wasn’t until I moved out, and finally didn’t have to kow tow to my mother anymore, that I was free to start exploring modern popular music. It has been an incredible journey, to say the least. 

 

I came to Ozzy a bit later, and found that pretty much everything I had been taught about him wasn’t exactly true. 

 

Yes, he was an addict. And yes, that led to predictably erratic behavior and his eventual firing from Black Sabbath. 

 

But, as I have come to realize through experience both personal and professional, addiction really isn’t primarily a moral failing, but a sadly predictable response to trauma and pain. It is a disease of humanity, and strongly correlated to other social issues. 

 

Ozzy grew up poor in a post-industrial town in Britain. He was sexually abused by bullies as a child, attempted suicide multiple times, and did a stint in prison for a robbery. That he ended up self-medicating for his trauma is unsurprising. 

 

Most likely, Ozzy never completely overcame his demons. Few if any of us do. Trauma leaves scars that we work around and adapt to, but they never fully heal. But eventually, he seems to have found some degree of peace. 

 

For younger people, Ozzy may be more familiar from his reality TV show, which centered on him and his quirky, somewhat dysfunctional, yet loveable family. As my brother put it, the Osbournes are British white trash. That’s not an insult, but a description. For those of us who grew up in working class neighborhoods, we can still smell the stale secondhand smoke. Just saying. 

 

Unlike so many rock stars, Ozzy didn’t rip through an endless procession of women. He married Sharon fairly young, and she stuck with him through his darkest days all the way through to his death. 

 

While his family had its share of difficulties - again, generational trauma sucks - they seem to have been loving and close until the end. 

 

I also have a friend and colleague who spent some time with him back in the day, and confirmed what many others have said about him: he was a genuinely nice guy who treated everyone well. This appears to have been his pattern, never forgetting his working-class roots.

 

So, strike one against those who thought he was in league with the devil. He had a long marriage, loved his wife and kids, was nice to people, and struggled with addiction. We all know people like that, right? We are probably related to them. 

 

Really, though, the biggest revelation was his music. Where were the evil anti-Christian lyrics? Was it lyrics like this, from “War Pigs”?

 

Generals gathered in their masses

Just like witches at black masses

Evil minds that plot destruction

Sorcerer of death's construction

 

In the fields, the bodies burning

As the war machine keeps turning

Death and hatred to mankind

Poisoning their brainwashed minds

 

Politicians hide themselves away

They only started the war

Why should they go out to fight?

They leave that role to the poor, yeah

 

Time will tell on their power minds

Making war just for fun

Treating people just like pawns in chess

Wait 'til their judgement day comes, yeah

 

Now in darkness, world stops turning

Ashes where their bodies burning

No more war pigs have the power

Hand of God has struck the hour

Day of judgement, God is calling

 

On their knees, the war pigs crawling

Begging mercy for their sins

Satan laughing, spreads his wings

Oh, Lord, yeah

 

If THAT is an example of Satanic lyrics, well….I hate to think what Evangelicals thought about Jesus Christ. (Don’t think too hard about that…it will depress you.)

 

Or maybe they were thinking of “After Forever”? 

 

Have you ever thought about your soul can it be saved?

Or perhaps you think that when you're dead you just stay in your grave

Is God just a thought within your head or is he a part of you?

Is Christ just a name that you read in a book when you were in school?

 

When you think about death do you lose your breath or do you keep your cool?

Would you like to see the Pope on the end of a rope do you think he's a fool?

Well I have seen the truth, yes I've seen the light and I've changed my ways

And I'll be prepared when you're lonely and scared at the end of our days

 

Could it be you're afraid of what your friends might say

If they knew you believe in God above?

They should realize before they criticize

That God is the only way to love

 

Is your mind so small that you have to fall

In with the pack wherever they run

Will you still sneer when death is near

And say they may as well worship the sun?

 

I think it was true it was people like you that crucified Christ

I think it is sad the opinion you had was the only one voiced

Will you be so sure when your day is near, say you don't believe?

You had the chance but you turned it down, now you can't retrieve

 

Perhaps you'll think before you say that God is dead and gone

Open your eyes, just realize that he's the one

The only one who can save you now from all this sin and hate

Or will you still jeer at all you hear, yes I think it's too late

 

Is that something from the Evangelical Apologetics Industrial Complex? You say that is actually a Black Sabbath song? Next thing you will be claiming that the band’s name came from a Cheesy Boris Karloff movie….

 

Okay, so maybe the Black Sabbath stuff wasn’t too bad. Maybe it was Ozzy’s solo career? What was that big hit, “Crazy Train,” right? How does that one go?

 

Crazy, but that's how it goes

Millions of people living as foes

Maybe it's not too late

To learn how to love and forget how to hate

 

Mental wounds not healing

Life's a bitter shame

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

 

I've listened to preachers, I've listened to fools

I've watched all the dropouts, who make their own rules

One person conditioned to rule and control

The media sells it and you live the role

 

Mental wounds still screaming

Driving me insane

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

 

I know that things are going wrong for me

You gotta listen to my words, yeah, yeah

Heirs of a cold war, that's what we've become

Inheriting troubles, I'm mentally numb

 

Crazy, I just cannot bear

I'm living with something that just isn't fair

 

Mental wounds not healing

Who and what's to blame?

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train

 

Surely all that talk of love and not hate is of the devil, as well as all that talk about the pain of living in a world filled with lies and death. That’s real emotion and and an indictment of our fucked-up world. More like the old prophets than anything. 

 

Maybe we could go with “Mama I’m Coming Home,” his love song to his wife. Dang all these devilish lyrics!

 

Times have changed and times are strange

Here I come, but I ain't the same

Mama, I'm coming home

Time's gone by, it seems to be

You could have been a better friend to me

Mama, I'm coming home

 

You took me in and you drove me out

Yeah, you had me hypnotized, yeah

Lost and found and turned around

By the fire in your eyes

 

You made me cry, you told me lies

But I can't stand to say goodbye

Mama, I'm coming home

I could be right, I could be wrong

It hurts so bad, it's been so long

Mama, I'm coming home

 

Selfish love, yeah, we're both alone

The ride before the fall, yeah

But I'm gonna take this heart of stone

I've just got to have it all

 

I've seen your face a hundred times

Every day we've been apart

I don't care about the sunshine, yeah

'Cause Mama, Mama, I'm coming home

I'm coming home

 

You took me in and you drove me out

Yeah, you had me hypnotized, yeah

Lost and found and turned around

By the fire in your eyes

 

I've seen your face a thousand times

Every day we've been apart

I don't care about the sunshine, yeah

'Cause Mama, Mama, I'm coming home

 

Or maybe my favorite Ozzy song, “Road to Nowhere.” 

 

I was looking back on my life

And all the things I've done to me

I'm still looking for the answers

I'm still searching for the key

 

The wreckage of my past keeps haunting me

It just won't leave me alone

 

I still find it all a mystery

Could it be a dream?

The road to nowhere leads to me

 

Through all the happiness and sorrow

I guess I'd do it all again

Live for today and not tomorrow

It's still the road that never ends

 

The wreckage of my past keeps haunting me

It just won't leave me alone

 

I still find it all a mystery

Could it be a dream?

The road to nowhere leads to me

 

Ah-ah, ah-ah

The road to nowhere's gonna pass me by

Ah-ah, ah-ah

I hope we never have to say goodbye

I never wanna live without you, yeah

 

The wreckage of my past keeps haunting me

It just won't leave me alone

 

I still find it all a mystery

Could it be a dream?

The road to nowhere leads to me

 

The road to nowhere leads to me

The road to nowhere leads to me

You got, you got, you got to lead to me

The road to nowhere leads to me

You got, you got, you got to lead to me

You got, you got, you got to lead to me

Oh, the road to nowhere

 

That’s not evil, it’s some honest introspection, self awareness, and bittersweet yet hopeful. 

 

Even the songs that gave Ozzy his “evil” reputation - think “Black Sabbath,” or “N.I.B.” - read not as satanic but as haunted confessions of a man drawn to his own inner demons. They are also macabre art - something that has always existed, and was fairly popular in the Christian Europe of the Middle Ages.

 

In fact, all of these songs are far more mild than the stuff written by priests in the Middle Ages. 

 

Seriously, nobody is worse at understanding poetry, metaphor, myth, and parable than white Evangelicals. No wonder most “Christian” music and art are so unsubtle and derivative. 

 

Discovering Ozzy as an adult was a great experience. Between the musical creativity, and the raw, introspective lyrics, there was a lot going on here that Evangelicals completely missed. 

 

What they didn’t miss, however, was that Ozzy was indeed undermining their values - not the ones they said they held to, but the ones they actually had. He undermined their commitment to the military industrial complex. He exposed their hypocrisy. He outright said that their politics were of the devil. He exposed their hate and fearmongering and obsession with “purity.”

 

And he was so fucking right. 

 

I also feel that, as Evangelicals so often do, they mistake aesthetics for substance. Ozzy had weird makeup, a dark look, a persona, a stage character. Or, as we say these days, he was cosplaying. Beneath the dark exterior, though, was a sensitive heart who sang thoughtful lyrics. 

 

Remember the style versus substance thing, though, because I will mention it again. 

 

Ozzy passed on recently. As his wife said in a press statement: 

 

"He was with his family and surrounded by love.”

 

That’s a good way to go. I really hope that is how it goes for me. Although it is entirely probable that I will keel over of a heart attack suddenly - it is the family way. But even so, if I died tomorrow, I would know that I was surrounded by love. 

 

***

 

The Orange Messiah

 

It is strange to try to explain to my own kids these days how different their grandparents are from who they were when I was a kid. 

 

And to explain that in the 1980s, Donald Trump wasn’t the Orange Messiah that millions of white Evangelicals worship today. They didn’t love him back then - they hated him.

 

He was a cautionary tale, a warning to children as to what atheism made you. A monster. 

 

A man who cheated on and divorced his wives. 

 

A man who sexually assaulted women and young girls and got away with it because he was rich and powerful. 

 

A man who consorted with a disgraced lawyer who was disbarred for unethical behavior. And then died of AIDS because he was an evil homosexual. And who previously worked for Joseph McCarthy. (Who, believe it or not, wasn’t a hero to Evangelicals back then. Now? A different story.) 

 

A man who bragged about the fact that he didn’t spend time with his own children. 

 

A man who used bankruptcy to cheat his creditors and those who did work for him. 

 

A man everyone knew had raped, and had paid for abortions for his mistresses. 

 

A man who was a notorious racist. 

 

In contrast to Ozzy’s humble roots, Trump was born rich, and used his utter lack of morality and conscience to bully and abuse his way into even more money. 

 

Yes, THIS is who you became if you left the religion and became an atheist.

 

And yet….

 

Fast forward to 2016, and a higher percentage of Evangelicals voted for him than any presidential candidate in history. 

 

What the hell happened? 

 

I could write a post or even a series on how Evangelicals outsourced their morality to Fox News and other right wing media. I could write about how the Religious Right co-opted the faith and stoked racial anxieties to build a political movement. I could write (and probably will) about how Evangelicalism isn’t really a religion, but a social and political identity, and that identification with the tribe is far more important than any doctrine could ever be. And thus how Evangelicals followed the Republican Party like the rats followed the Pied Piper, right out of Christianity and into the cesspit of the Klan. 

 

Those can wait for another post. 

 

But the fact of the matter is that, by 2016, all Donald Trump had to do to become the Orange Messiah, the new god of white Evangelicals, was to put an (R) after his name and say a bunch of racist shit. That’s all it took. 

 

And us children of the 80s are left here wondering what the hell happened.

 

The Orange Messiah’s message turned out to be exactly the opposite of Ozzy’s too. Where Ozzy was singing about rejecting hate and embracing love, Trump preaches hate. Where Ozzy was warning about the futility of war, Trump preaches belligerence and bullying on the international stage. Where Ozzy engaged in self-examination, introspection, and acknowledged his demons, Trump refuses to admit errors or flaws. And expects the United States to become like him. 

 

And, of course, where Ozzy left behind a legacy of being kind to people, Trump will be remembered as a jerk, a bully, an asshole, who treated everyone like shit. 

 

And, make no mistake, as his life continues to wind down, he will not be surrounded by love. His wife clearly hates his guts. His kids will be circling like vultures, eager to grab what they can of his money and his brand. 

 

There will also be millions of us raising a glass to celebrate his demise. The world will be a far better place with him dead. He brought nothing whatsoever of value to the world, preferring to abuse and harm everyone he could. 

 

I can think of no worse fate than dying like that. Imagine exiting life having spent one’s entire life doing evil and harming others. 

 

The saddest thing to me is that Evangelicals like my parents, who freaked out about various “secular” figures, got this one so badly wrong. 

 

It wasn’t Ozzy, the “Prince of Darkness,” who was the threat. It was the Orange Messiah. 

 

It wasn’t a guy with silly makeup singing about the military-industrial complex and his struggle with the dark side who was the embodiment of evil. 

 

It was the guy who worshiped money and power, who acted without morality, who abused those lower than him in society, who treated women as disposable trash, who bragged about his own greed and prejudice and criminal behavior. 

 

Who knew?

 

Okay, anyone who actually took the teachings of Christ and the rest of scripture seriously. 

 

I mean, really. It isn’t as if the sort of person who was evil was a mystery - it was the greedy, unethical, misogynistic braggarts that Proverbs warned about constantly. 

 

This is the root of my puzzlement, honestly. I guess when I was taught to follow Christ and read my Bible, and take its teachings seriously, I missed the unspoken core of the religion? I should have realized that “vote Republican” was the 11th Commandment? 

 

No wonder I feel lied to. 

 

And no wonder I do not trust Evangelicals (or my parents) to be able to accurately assess character. They get it wrong most of the time. 

 

I mentioned earlier that Evangelicals generally mistake aesthetics for substance. In the case of Trump, this is incredibly apparent. He has no substance. What he has is hate, bigotry, and narcissism. He is not actually competent at anything other than manipulating stupid, bigoted people into voting for him and sending him money. The only job he was ever competent at was reality television, and we all know how fake that is. Other people made him look competent. But he could do the aesthetics of competence. Cosplay. 

 

And again, a minimal knowledge of the Bible would serve well here. “Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks to the heart.” “Whitewashed tombs who look pretty on the outside but inside are filled with dead men’s bones.” 

 

An application of these words of wisdom would have revealed that the Prince of Darkness looked “scary” but was really all about shining an honest light on the darkness in society and the human psyche. And it would have revealed that beneath the veneer of wealth and privilege, the Orange Messiah is full of nothing but evil. Elementary Christianity 101. 

 

I’ll end with a thought about the end of life, and the fruit of our actions. When Ozzy passed on, I was surprised at the outpouring of positive stories about him, and the number of people in my life who were positively affected by Ozzy and his music. It was a wider range of ages, beliefs, skin colors, and genders than I would have assumed. No, he wasn’t perfect, but his legacy - the fruit of his life - was a blessing to many. And he died surrounded by love. 

 

The Orange Messiah will instead leave a legacy of hate, of division, of setting Americans against other Americans that he dislikes - people of color, women, LGBTQ people, disabled people, ill people. He will have presided over a massive transfer of wealth to the obscenely rich at the expense of the rest of us. Millions will hate him forever, and his historical legacy will be a byword. Even those who have worshiped him will find themselves worse off in the end. A god who fed the worst in human nature will leave behind hearts hardened toward others, filled with fear and hate. And many of them will, like my parents, have severed relationships that could have benefitted them. The fruit is toxic. 

 

I cannot guarantee or control my future, but I do hope that the legacy I leave behind will be one of love, that I will be missed, and that I will die surrounded by love. 

 

I’ll end with Ozzy’s own sendoff song: 

 

Voices, a thousand, thousand voices

Whispering, the time has passed for choices

Golden days are passing over, yeah

I can't seem to see you baby

 

Although my eyes are open wide

But I know I'll see you once more

When I see you, I'll see you on the other side

Yes, I'll see you, I'll see you on the other side

 

Leaving, I hate to see you cry

Grieving, I hate to say good-bye

Dust and ash forever, yeah

Though I know we must be parted

 

As sure as stars are in the sky

I'm gonna see when it comes to glory

And I'll see you, I'll see you on the other side

Yes, I'll see you, I'll see you on the other side

 

Never thought I'd feel like this

Strange to be alone, yeah

But we'll be together

Carved in stone, carved in stone, carved in stone

 

Hold me, hold me tight I'm falling

Far away, distant voices calling

I'm so cold, I need you darling, yeah

I was down, but now I'm flying

Straight across the great divide

 

I know you're crying, but I'll stop you crying

When I see you, I see you on the other side

Yes, I'll see you, see you on the other side.

I'm gonna see you, see you on the other side

 

God knows I'll see you, see you on the other side, yeah

I'll see you, see you on the other side

I'm gonna see you, see you on the other side

 

God knows I'll see you, see you on the other side

I want to see you, yeah, yeah, yeah, see you on the other side

 

God knows I'll see you, see you on the other side

I'm gonna see you, see you on the other side

Four One Act Plays by Thornton Wilder

Source of book: I own this

 

It is hard to believe it has been nearly four years since Stars Playhouse (RIP) did a set of three one-act plays by Thornton Wilder, headlined by The Long Christmas Dinner. (My wife did a read-through of that one recently with her zoom book club.) 

 

Since then, I have wanted to see more short classic plays, but have had to content myself with reading them instead. I have the complete Wilder, so I figured I would pick a few that interested me, and read through them, each in one sitting.

 

I also recently did this with the modernist classics by African American playwright Adrienne Kennedy. 

 

In this case, my Library of America book organized the plays into sections. The first is “The Angel That Troubled the Waters and Other Plays,” and these are the shortest ones - 16 in all. Most of these plays are between three and five pages long - admittedly in small print. The next is “The Long Christmas Dinner & Other Plays in One Act,” and consists of longer one-act plays. The title play and Queens of France (both of which I saw live) are in this section. Then, there are five plays that are listed individually, including Our Town, and The Drunken Sisters, the latter of which is also a one-act play. I am guessing that the organization is related to how the plays were published previously, because the length doesn’t seem to be the determining factor.

 

In any case, I selected two of the longer one-acts, and two of the shorter ones. I will discuss them in the order I read them.

 

Pullman Car Hiawatha

 

This play is an interesting setup, with a lot of metaphor and allegory, despite its initial surface realism. It is set in a single Pullman car on an overnight train from New York to Chicago. In fact, we are given this information and introduced to the characters by “The Stage Manager” who becomes a character in the play. 

 

As in the original setting of Our Town, the set consists of chairs. In this case, set up so that actors can lie down on them like a bed berth. 

 

We are introduced to the characters: the married couple Phillip and Harriet; the insane Mrs. Churchill; Bill and Fred, fellow engineers; an unnamed maiden lady; an unnamed doctor; and an unnamed stout woman in her 50s. There is also the porter.

 

We are allowed to see into the thoughts of the characters, their petty obsessions and worries, all about things that will be made moot by death. And here we get the first indication that the journey is as much metaphoric as real.

 

Harriet, who has been feeling ill, dies suddenly, while the insane woman wishes she had. This leads first to the realistic account of what happens in the aftermath.

 

But then, the actors clear away, the State Manager gives a monologue on meaning, and a series of metaphorical characters take their place in turn: stock characters for “the workman” and others, the hours, the planets, and the archangels. With these last, we return to hearing the thoughts of the passengers. Only the dead Harriet and the insane Mrs. Churchill can see the angels. 

 

To try to describe it further than that would be fruitless. There are obvious philosophical ideas, and more hidden ones to be found by the observant. In the short span of this play, Wilder tries to enfold the entire world, or at least the entire America of his time. 

 

In an interesting touch, rather than end the play when the train comes to its destination, Wilder includes a final scene of the cleaning staff entering the car to clean it before the next journey. 

 

Of all the plays I read this time, this might be the most daring, original, and fun to stage. I’d certainly go see it. 

 

Love and How to Cure It

 

This one is pretty dark and disturbing, although the ending is a bit of a relief. There are only four characters, and the action takes place in one place and in a short period of time. 

 

Rowena, a young dancer, consults her aunt Linda, an actress, and their friend Joey, a comedian, about Arthur, who has a crush on Rowena and is stalking her. 

 

Rowena is terrified that Arthur, with his love unrequited, will kill her when she turns him down. When Arthur finally appears, the three of them try to talk him down off of his dark intentions. Over the course of the intervention, a lot is said about the nature of love and life. 

 

As an attorney who does domestic violence cases from time to time, this was a bit of a harrowing play, despite Wilder’s decision to avoid a tragic ending. This is all too common, the man who considers a woman his property, and considers killing her, himself, or both. I mean, you see this in the news nearly every day. 

 

Wilder’s take is more of an examination of unrequited love than that of gendered violence. I wasn’t as thrilled with that decision, and would consider this the weakest of the plays I read for that reason. 

 

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came

 

Obviously I had to read this one. The reference is directly to a poem by Robert Browning, itself inspired by a line from King Lear. The poem has inspired everything from graphic novels to a Stephen King series to a Doctor Who episode, with plenty of literature and science fiction in between. 

 

The play imagines what happened after the ambiguous ending of the poem. The gravely wounded and dying Childe Roland finally reaches the tower, which he sees as a portal to death. But inconveniently, two young girls bar the way and do not wish to let him enter. 

 

Rather than tend to him, they imagine his as first one romantic character, then the other. But ultimately, they are disappointed in him. The last line is a doozy. 

 

THE DARK GIRL: Take courage, high heart. How slow you have been to believe well of us. You gave us such little thought while living that we have made this little delay at your death. 

 

This would be an interesting play to stage. At least to me. I wonder if anyone else I know has read the Browning poem, or if I would be literally the only person to get the point. Oh well. 

 

Mozart and the Gray Steward

 

This is probably the most conventional play of the four, and one that most people will understand. Near the end of his life, Mozart and his wife Constanze are desperate for a commission. They need money to live on, and Mozart’s greatest works enrich the world while bringing little to buy food. 

 

A gray-clad steward shows up, offering a lucrative commission: Mozart is to write a requiem, but not put his name on it. 

 

Mozart knows what this is about, of course. He has composed in the past for these sorts of aristocrats who wish to pass off a composition as their own. In this case, though, the steward agrees to Mozart’s condition that no other name be used as author. It is a wink and a nod. 

 

The twist, which isn’t that much of a twist, is that the steward comes on behalf of Death. The requiem Mozart is to write is his own, and he will never finish it. 

 

As I said, this one was pretty conventional, and the topic one which has gotten more detailed treatment in more recent years. 

 

That said, it is well written, and could be staged well. Mozart has a line that is pretty good:

 

MOZART: And his Excellency is not aware that the pages I may compose at the height of my invention may be their own sufficient signature? 

 

Exactly. Mozart’s finest works are instantly recognizable as his own, and no one else’s. 

 

I love the Requiem, as I have written about before. If you want to enjoy the beauty of Mozart’s masterpiece, this is a good version.

 

Wilder wrote a lot of these short plays, so I may come back to them again in the future. Like Mozart, his works are in a way their own signature, recognizable as his even without the signature. 

 

Utah Shakespeare Festival 2025

Since 2014, my wife has attended the Utah Shakespeare Festival, usually with a friend, on a week that the kids and I were camping somewhere. We have dropped by occasionally if we are camping in the area. Back in 2016, however, we joined her for a second trip to see the fall plays. (They used to have some in summer, some in fall, with a brief overlap if you did it right. At this time, they appear to be doing just one set of plays throughout the whole period.) 

 

That 2016 trip was a lot of fun, so we returned in 2021, and again in 2023 and 2024. These days, we are down to our two youngest kids, as the older ones are in college, with their own lives. Time moves on. I have mentioned that my wife and I went to see a play (Comedy of Errors) for our first date over a quarter century ago, so we anticipate being that couple after the kids all move out. 

 

This year, due to schedule and interest, we ended up seeing six out of the seven plays. 

 

In my last year’s post, I mentioned that I was a bit disappointed this season with the play selections. My wife has been friends with the Managing Director of the festival for some years - a good friend of hers took theater from him back in the day, and he does one of the seminars, so we got a chance to talk. 

 

Apparently, financial issues since the pandemic meant making rather conservative choices, including, unfortunately, only plays by white males this year. Tthe casting was, fortunately, as wonderfully diverse as ever, with some incredible performances by actors which I very much hope to see return. 

 

I will also note that, after the initial announcement of the season, there were some additions. First, they were able to put a play in the Anes Theater, the small venue which us theater die hards love for the intimacy of productions. In this case, they put on Dear Jack, Dear Louise by Ken Ludwig, which was excellent. (See below for individual play discussions.)

 

Second, they were able to get Lauren Gunderson to come out for a read-through of her new play. Unfortunately, this happened the weekend after we were there. Since our kids are back to school this week, that would not have worked for us, but definitely great that they were able to do that.

 

The 2026 season at least has one female playwright (and a play adapting a book by a female author), but still no minority playwrights, which is a bit disappointing. Particularly since an established festival like this should have the pull and budget to take some chances. Past plays by black playwrights, for example, sold tickets, and sparked excellent audience discussions. (And, I will note, my teens particularly considered them the best ones they saw.) 

 

As I said, otherwise the festival remains committed to diversity even in the face of a hostile political environment. 

 

Regarding this year’s season, I will also mention that the one play we did not see, Steel Magnolias, apparently resonated with a lot of people. My wife mentioned that she had not expected to hear from so many older men deeply affected by the story. This is certainly a positive. In our era of a shrinking masculine emotional palette due to toxic masculinity, it is good to see men finding constructive ways of talking about their emotions. 

 

Finally, before I dive into the individual plays, let me mention that for my wife and I, the festival is an entire experience, not just a series of stage performances. We attend the Cabaret, which is a fundraiser for young artists, held way too late at night, but still a lot of fun. This is how you get to see things like seeing Chauncy Thomas solving complex math problems in his head…while juggling. (He also was badass in roles in all three Shakespeare plays this year. I don’t know how actors keep all that in their heads, but it is amazing to me.) 

 

With that, I’ll jump into the individual plays, in the order we saw them. 

 

The Importance of Being Earnest

 

This play has been one of my favorites ever since I read it as part of my high school education. Oscar Wilde was, to say the least, one of the most witty and hilarious writers of all time, and Earnest is the kind of play that never gets old. 

 

I have seen it live twice before, once as a gender-swapped version at our local university, and once with Ronnie Warren in drag as the platonic form of Lady Bracknell. 

 

My 14-year-old said this was her favorite play of all we saw at USF this year. My past posts indicate that she has seen it three times now, so it clearly isn’t getting old for her.  

 

Every time I see the play, I notice different lines. This year, Lady Bracknell’s line sounded a whole lot like the RFK Jr. approach to public health:

 

Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. 

 

Yep, just lecture the ill a bit more - it is their duty to either be healthier, or hurry up and die. As one who was a sickly child myself, I am all too aware of how much of health is simply luck of the genetic dice. 

 

On the surface, Earnest can seem silly, but underneath is a pointed social satire. 

 

As far as the performances, they were as excellent as one could expect from a professional production. I will particularly call out Rob Riordan as Algernon (and also Monty in A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder) as being particularly hilarious. His physical acting was amazing, every bit as important to the story telling as the words. 

Algernon and Jack

 

Katie Drinkard and Christopher Joel Onken, as Gwendolyn and Jack respectively, were properly stiff in comparison, with their embrace of conventionality even as the play subverts it. Valerie Martire was frivolous and petulant as Cecily, a bit less naive than other portrayals I have seen. I also thought that Melinda Parrett was particularly fun as Miss Prism - played as more flirty and less uptight than other versions. 

 

The costumes were fun in this one (as was the costume discussion the next morning), and the set fascinating in its simplicity. 

 

Macbeth

 

Ah yes, the Scottish play. It has been eleven years since I have seen Macbeth, which is hard to believe. It was one of the first plays we took our youngest to (at age 3…), at our local community college. 

 

I realized as well that this is the first professional or even commercial production of this play I have seen. All previous ones were college plays. 

 

This particular play is also meaningful to me because I studied it in 12th Grade, with a truly wonderful teacher (via video) who brought out so many of the underlying themes, allusions, and history. One of the weaknesses of student productions is the difficulty in fully plumbing the depths of the emotions and the themes. 

 

For me, this was my favorite of the plays we saw this time. From top to bottom, incredible acting, creative staging, and deep vision for the nuances. 

 

Walter Kmiec played Macbeth with a human and vulnerable touch. You could see him wince as his wife attacks his manhood. His torment over his conscience was palpable, as was his gradual crumbling at the end. Likewise, Cassandra Bissell was haunting as Lady Macbeth, particularly in the iconic sleepwalking scene. Both felt like full portraits, not cardboard villains. 

 

Notable in this production was that not only was the character of Hecate retained, but she was given an even larger role, appearing (but not necessarily speaking) at various points in the drama, as the boss over the fates/wyrd sisters. She was given wings that were based in part on the arms of the bear in The Winter’s Tale last year, and required four actors to operate. It was pretty cool, and fit with the dark modern-rock-style soundtrack. Caitlin Wise played Hecate (in addition to other significant roles in other plays.) 

 Because you have to do this scene, right?

I want to also mention a couple of other actors who held multiple roles in different plays who shone in this one. Chauncey Thomas, previously mentioned, was Banquo here, and owned the stage whenever he was on it. He also was Pompey in Antony and Cleopatra, and Duke Senior in As You Like It. I really hope he comes back to the festival in future years. 

 

Likewise, Kathryn Tkel gave an emotional performance as Lady Macduff in this play, while portraying Cleopatra and Audrey in the others. Her voice projection was notable - she carried to the roof even in the quietest of moments. 

 

I’ll also mention the Porter scene, featuring Blake Henri, who worked the audience with the whole “Knock Knock” thing. (Arguably, Shakespeare wrote one of the original knock knock jokes…) 

 

This version of Macbeth was just incredible, and worth the price of driving to Utah and then some. My favorite this year. 

 

One of the things I did not know about this play is that the only version we have is a cut version. The original would have been significantly longer, and almost certainly would have included an extra scene or two involving Lady Macbeth. This is why Macbeth is often performed without further cuts. Just an interesting fact there. 

 

Dear Jack, Dear Louise

 

This play was a last-minute addition. Apparently, Artistic Director John DiAntonio wanted to find a way to get something into the Anes theater this year, and eventually decided that this two-actor play fit the bill. 

 

In addition, he could take one part, while his real-life wife Kaitlin Wise could take the other, just like they did last year as Kate and Petruccio in The Taming of the Shrew. (Seriously, both of the really excellent versions of Taming I have seen had married couples in the lead roles - the chemistry is just different when you have people who already love each other and can play it all off as an in-joke.) 

 

Ken Ludwig, better known for formulaic comedies, such as the Gershwin song vehicle Crazy For You, which I got to play many years ago, departed from his usual fare to write this very personal play, based on the real-life courtship of his own parents. They were “introduced” through their extended families, and proceeded to have a correspondence-based relationship for several years while Jack was deployed as an army doctor. They finally met in person after the war, and the rest was, as they say, history. 

 

Ludwig’s mother destroyed the original letters, considering them too personal. It is unclear if Ludwig ever read the originals - I was unable to find any confirmation either way - but he apparently took the various family stories and wrote them into this play. 

 

The play is in the form of the letters between the two of them, which start out awkward and laconic, before each of them opens up, and they fall fully in love. 

 

As in real life, Jack is an army doctor who is shy and unsure what to make of the woman who writes to him. Louise is an actor, extroverted and sometimes over the top, who succeeds in drawing Jack out of his shell. The way the two of them gradually become more intimate over the years, revealing more of themselves, is what makes the play charming. 

 

It is also often hilarious, particularly in the parts by Louise, who has (as played by Wise) a bit of the Lucille Ball manic energy. There are also touching moments, and the heartbreak as circumstances keep them from meeting on several occasions. 

 

I’m glad they added this play in, as it was a welcome contrast from both the boisterous energy of the three comedies and the darkness of the two tragedies. 

 

Antony and Cleopatra

 

I am getting close to completing the Shakespeare canon, and this was one more to add to the list. Next year should be Troilus and Cressida, with The Two Noble Kinsmen to finish out the USF project. That would leave me with only two remaining: Titus Andronicus, and King John.

 

Several of the more rare plays are ones I have only seen here at USF, with Cymbeline and Timon of Athens standing out as particularly wonderful and creative stagings. (Not coincidentally, these were performed in the Anes - the small space led to some creative sets and ideas.)

 

Antony and Cleopatra has fallen out of style a bit during my lifetime, after its previous popularity. I suspect that some of this change in fortune came about due to the idea of portraying women as evil seductresses becoming problematic in a more feminist culture. 

 

But Shakespeare’s Cleopatra is more complicated than that. Even as he portrays her at times as a malign influence on Antony, an oversexed and emotionally manipulative siren; he also gives her an ironic line about how future generations will have her played as a caricature, and even by men. (Shakespeare’s actors would all have been male - it wasn’t until the later Restoration era that women were permitted on stage.) 

 

Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors

Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers

Ballad us out o’ tune. The quick comedians

Extemporally will stage us and present

Our Alexandrian revels. Antony

Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see

Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness

I’ th’ posture of a whore.

 

Cleopatra is also arguably the most fully written female characters in Shakespeare, getting the sort of introspective monologues that the male heroes usually get, and being allowed to be flawed, complicated, and noble in her own way. 

 

Having read (years ago) Virgil’s Aeneid, it is impossible to miss the influence that book’s tale of Aeneas and Dido, which is a rather close parallel to Antony and Cleopatra. 

 

If anything, Shakespeare’s Antony is a departure from the classic hero, seeming greatly diminished in both judgment and fortitude since his appearance in Julius Caesar. 

 

I won’t try to recount the plot here, in part because it is historically inaccurate - definitely do not go to Shakespeare for your history - and partly because it is convoluted and difficult to follow if you do not already know the (historically inaccurate) account in Plutarch. Fortunately, the USF version did a good job of simplifying the various battles (many of which are naval, and thus off-stage) and using flags as symbols of the different sides and also for sails. It was well done, and a lot easier to follow than the original text. 

 

In this version, Geoffrey Kent (a USF regular, I believe) played Antony with bluster and horniness, and the kind of weakness of judgment which leads to his downfall. Kathryn Tkel, though, dang. A truly command performance, riveting in every scene. She apparently teaches at Southern Utah University (home of the USF), which I hope means she will be on stage for years to come, because I could watch her in any role. 

Antony and Cleopatra in happier days

 

Again, plenty of good performances. Gabriel Elmore brought out the nuances of the young Octavian, who is at turns naive, generous, and cunning. Alia Shakira as Charmian, one of Cleopatra’s attendants. (She and Kayland Jordan gave actor interviews one morning, which must be stressful, given the range of questions they had to field…) 

 

I’ll also mention USF regular Chris Mixon in a rather larger role than usual, that of Enobarbus, who is torn between duty to country and duty to Antony, and finally dies of a broken heart. Chris also runs the Cabaret stuff, and probably a bunch of other behind the scenes work. He looks like a good old boy (in a good way), the sort that is a community pillar and good sport. Every acting community has one or more of these, the sorts that whenever you need someone on a bit part, well, “Chris will do it…” I mean, he literally makes baskets of pickles and peanuts to raffle off. Every year, he has some role in each Shakespeare play, and plays it well. 

 

Antony and Cleopatra may not have quite as many famous passages as some of the other plays, but it does have this line, which everyone knows but don’t always realize it is a line spoken by Cleopatra herself. 

 

My salad days,

When I was green in judgment: cold in blood,

To say as I said then! 

 

This is a fascinating play, and one that I suspect I will probably enjoy even more on subsequent performances, when I can revel in each line rather than try to keep the plot straight. 

 

A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder

 

This is a musical that my wife had suggested USF should do for years. We actually ended up seeing it first locally. It was interesting to contrast the staging and acting in each version. 

 

I mentioned in my previous review that the musical was based on an old book, Israel Rank: The Autobiography of a Criminal. That book was also adapted for a movie which I believe my wife has seen (I have not), Kind Hearts and Coronets. 

 

One of the things I learned through the discussion with the USF Dramaturg this year, was that there was actually litigation over the play when it came out. The holders of the rights to the movie claimed that the play borrowed from the movie, and should thus have had to pay royalties. In response, the writers of the play insisted that the play was based solely on the book, which was in public domain. 

 

The lawsuit was dropped, which would indicate that the playwright had some solid evidence in his favor. See, law intersects with everything! 

 

I already discussed the plot in some detail in my previous post, so I won’t repeat it. Monty Navarro, the son of the black sheep of the D’Ysquith family, realizes he has only eight relatives ahead of him in the line of succession to the title and the money. So, he, um, arranges for the deaths of the others. 

 

Well, sort of. The first death is a homicide by omission only. Which means it isn’t legally a homicide at all. And most of the others consist of setting people up to die, not of killing them directly. And the last one, which finally leads to Monty being charged with murder, is actually a murder committed by someone else. 

 

The whole play is hilarious, with various set pieces, puns, innuendo, and of course lots of singing. 

 

Rob Riordan, who also plays Algernon in The Importance of Being Earnest, plays the lead part of Monty, and creates an entirely different character from Algernon while being equally hilarious. 

 

Graham Ward plays the part of the entire D’Ysquith family (except for Phoebe, who is after Monty in the succession, so she doesn’t need to be murdered.) This part is challenging because of the rapid changes not merely in character but in costume and makeup. In this version, one of the costume changes occurs on stage, to remind the audience that it is only one actor playing all of them. Ward also has some bit parts in Antony and Cleopatra. 

 Monty with one of the many D'Ysquiths

The most notable part of this particular production to me, however, was the music. The program isn’t entirely clear, but I believe Brad Carroll is the pianist and performer for the music. He pre-recorded sound effects, orchestral parts, and other sounds, but plays the piano parts and coordinates the rest live on stage. The props people built what looks like an upright piano for the set, but it actually contains a keyboard and a couple computers and monitors so that he can play it all from the stage. As such, he becomes a character as well as a musician. 

 

I heartily approve of this approach, if you cannot fit or afford a live orchestra. My understanding is that USF had to get permission from the publisher to re-write all of the parts for this production, which is one of the things I hadn’t thought about. All these modern, copyrighted plays include the duty to perform it as written, unlike the public domain ones which can be edited and modified as desired. 

 

As You Like It

 

As one of Shakespeare’s most popular comedies, this is one I have seen multiple times, in both professional and amateur productions. It was one of the first Shakespeare plays I saw live, more than 25 years ago. 

 

Perhaps because of this familiarity, I have opinions about the inevitable cuts. (All Shakespeare performed these days is cut, because there is a tremendous amount of repetition, recapping, and dated references. And also, nobody has 5 hours to devote to a play anymore. The art of cutting is indeed an art.) 

 

For me, the main loss in this production was the repartee between Touchstone and Jacques about the degrees of the lie. I know not everyone gets the humor or even understands the reference, but I think it is some of Shakespeare’s finest humor. You can read the passage in one of my previous reviews of this play. 

 

Other than this omission, I greatly enjoyed this production. Kayland Jordan played the central part of Rosalind, and was wonderful. (She also was one of the actors who fielded questions at the actor seminar - which is a tough job. I found her answer to what her dream role would be to be interesting. She noted that she will likely never get to play Juliet, because she is too tall - and indeed she is significantly taller than me. That was perfect for Rosalind, of course.) I very much hope she continues to be a part of the festival. 

Rosalind as "Ganymede"

 

One staging decision that was fun was that the wrestling match between Orlando and Charles was done as a true WWE match, with a real wrestling mat and crazy moves. Apparently, it took quite a bit of thought for how to do it without hurting anyone. And by anyone, I suspect the meaning was Gabriel Elmore as Orlando, because Lavour Addison as Charles was built as hell, showing off with flying pushups before the match. It definitely took some suspension of disbelief to believe that he could have lost a match against anyone in the cast. 

 

For both of them, this was a case of doing their own stunts, and major props for that. 

I’ll also note that the songs in this production were all original music, composed by Lindsay Jones. That’s always nice. 

 

Overall, I would say that the acting in this play was more understated than over-the-top. As You Like It can be done so many ways, all of them valid. Even without that one scene, I liked the interplay between Touchstone (Walter Kmiec) and Jacques (Cassandra Bissell) - there was great chemistry there. 

 

This was a great way to finish off our three days of drama. 

 

For those who live within a reasonable distance of southern Utah, I recommend the Shakespeare Festival for high quality artistry. And also for its commitment to diversity and all that is good about humanity. Historically, it pushed the boundaries with interracial romance, casting of minority actors in lead roles, and socially aware programming. 

 

The arts have always been targeted by fascists and other authoritarians, because the arts have always spoken truth to power, dating back to antiquity. One of the things we can do to fight back against this evil regime is to support the arts, both on the larger national scale, and in our own hometowns. The prophets of our time need to know they are not alone.