The Air You Breathe by Frances de Pontes Peebles

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.

This was this month’s selection for our “Literary Lush” book club. One of the things I enjoy about this club is that I end up reading interesting books that I never would have discovered on my own. The Air You Breathe is definitely one of those books I had no idea existed, and likely would never have decided to read. We had a great discussion about this book, I must say, and it was universally enjoyed by our club.

The Air You Breathe is historical(ish) fiction. I give it the qualifying “ish,” because it doesn’t particularly closely follow history, in the usual sense. Since Sir Walter Scott essentially created the genre (although you could argue that Shakespeare - or Herodotus - should get credit for that), there have been certain rules about how to do it. If an historical person is the subject (or comes into the book), that person must at least not contradict the know facts about him or her. The historical events should be reasonably accurate, at least as to the major events. It is okay to focus on fictional characters rather than the historical figures; Scott often did this. As I said, these are the usual rules, whether you agree with them or not, so when they are bent, it stands out. 

So, this book is very loosely based on two historical figures, Carmen Miranda and Chavela Vargas. And when I say “loosely,” I do mean “loosely.” The book is essentially “about” a Brazilian singer (Graca, aka “Sofia Salvador”) with more than a passing resemblance to Carmen Miranda. It is told from the perspective of her former servant and then best friend Dores, who is sort of based on Chavela Vargas. Obviously, there is a huge bit of license taken here. The two of them were, in real life, not connected at all, coming from different countries (Brazil and Mexico, respectively), and different styles of music. Oh, and they were 10 years apart in age too. There are plenty of other differences. The real Carmen Miranda didn’t die of suicide at age 26 - although she did die in her 40s of a heart attack with alcohol and drugs (the Hollywood studios were thoroughly complicit in this death as with others) as factors. And the real Miranda wasn’t an heiress, exactly, either. 

So, what I would instead say is that the part of the book that details Sofia Salvador’s professional trajectory hews pretty closely to the real story of Carmen Miranda. And the character of Dores is definitely patterned after that of Chavela Vargas, although the story has rather little in common with Vargas’ biography. 

Having explained all that, the point of the book isn’t really to tell history, but to tell an engrossing tale of friendship, music, love, desire, and grief. And at that, the book does a good job. I found it quite the enjoyable read - in the vein of a light summer book rather than literary fiction. For the most part, the writing is good, although not exactly profound, and the story keeps one turning the pages. There is also a cast of interesting characters, although I did kind of wish a few of them had been fleshed out a little better. But, this is the consequence of the narrator - Dores - being obsessed with Graca and focusing on her throughout. 

It isn’t quite accurate to describe what Graca and Dores have as a friendship, I think. Graca is not really capable of true reciprocity or love - for anyone. She has her obsession with being a star, and she turns out to be really good at it. This does in fact reflect the real story of Carmen Miranda. She too went from obscurity to being a well-respected singer in Brazil. Then, she went to Hollywood during World War II, when the US suddenly needed South American allies, and started casting Latinos as exotic and desirable characters, rather than villains with mustaches and accents. The typecasting, discrimination, and exhausting hours that the book describes are accurate as well. 

As a musician, though, the scenes involving music were the ones that I enjoyed the most. The “roda” - the circular samba jam sessions - was rather like some of the jazz, blues, bluegrass, or rock oriented jams I have had the pleasure of participating in (although not on the regular scale described in the book.) The guitarist, Vinicius, who holds the band together musically and artistically, is well written, and very much of a recognizable type to any working musician. He is the guy that everyone knows is the key to the whole thing - if he (or she in many cases) leaves, the center cannot hold. And he (or she) is so devoted to the music that money or commercial considerations always take a back seat to the groove. 

Likewise, any working musician can recognize Graca. She is a diva. A really talented and mesmerizing diva. But a diva nonetheless. She doesn’t want to make time to practice, but can just jump in at the last moment and nail it anyway. (Something only possible on a solo part - don’t try that if you are a rhythm section player.) Everyone in the band knows that she (or he - there are plenty of male divas too) sells the records, lands the good gigs, and draws the crowds. But they (we - I’m experienced here) also know that it is all that hard work behind the scenes that makes the diva’s act possible. Without the practice and the dedicated background artistry, a band sounds like crap, no matter how good the lead singer. As long as a band has only one diva, this works, and everyone succeeds. More than one diva, and, well, the history of music is littered with the wreckage which results. 

I would also say that the relationship between Graca and Dores is fascinating. There is the initial dynamic, between servant and (young) master, that reflects the uneasy tension between children who want to be friends and the knowledge (which dates nearly from birth) of an uncrossable social gulf. Graca will always be loved by her parents and have a place to live as long as they do. But Dores, an orphan, could be abandoned to fend for herself or starve with impunity. True equality in a relationship is pretty doomed under those circumstances. Then when the two of them run away from the convent school to fend for themselves in Rio, things have to shift. After all, Dores is now the competent one in most ways, and tires of being expected to continually feed Graca’s ego. 

Complicating this is Dores’ sexuality. The real life Chavela Vargas was a lesbian, while Dores is written as a lesbian-leaning bisexual, so it isn’t a perfect match. But it is clear that Dores is madly in love with Graca - obsessed with her more than with anyone else. No other relationship she has with men or women really comes close to the level of passion that she has for Graca. 

Graca, on the other hand, is pretty strongly heterosexual, although her inability to form real bonds means that her sexual relationships with men are about her rather than deep bonding with another human. So this is the great unrequited love of Dores’ life, the one she obsesses over until she dies in her nineties, the one she nearly drinks herself to death over, and the one that haunts the story she tells. The author makes the relationship thoroughly believable, despite the outsized personality of Graca. 

The other characters are fascinating as well. There is Nena, the servant woman who adopts Dores after her mother dies. Nena can seem harsh to Dores, but at the core of this is the reality that Dores has to learn to survive in a world in which she is disposable. (If you read the slave narratives, this was rather common - and still persists today in the cultures of vulnerable minorities around the world. Survival often depends on a superhuman ability to submerge one’s dignity and natural human responses to abuse - and so parents and others feel they have to essentially abuse their children to train them to hide their hurt and anger.) Nena, though, ends up risking her own future to see Dores get a chance to thrive. 

Senhora Pimentel, Graca’s mother, is complicated. Married off at a young age to a dissipated and selfish man who wanted her money and an heir, she does her best to protect her daughter and show kindness to Dores. Her early death in childbirth is partly responsible for Graca’s self destructive behavior. 

I also enjoyed “Madame Lucifer,” the mobster who becomes Graca and Dores’ protector and promoter. He is the first to recognize two key things: Graca is a world-class vocalist and entertainer, and Dores has the ambition and ruthlessness to survive in a hostile world. He sees himself in Dores, so to speak. 

There are no truly simple characters in the book. Everyone is flawed in some way, and selfish in many. Even Senhor Pimentel, who is pretty dang loathsome - I mean, he rapes the servant girls as soon as they hit puberty, drinks constantly, and shows up late in the game to sponge off of Sofia Salvador - but he also acts very much in line with societal expectations. He marries for money, and tries to enable Graca to do the same. The fact that she would rather become a singer (a disreputable profession for an aristocrat!) isn’t his fault. And in his own mind, he is rescuing Graca from the clutches of the unscrupulous Dores by horning his way in as manager. He isn’t entirely wrong in his assessment of Dores, honestly. She doesn’t play by the rules - that’s a luxury for those for who wrote the rules to be in their favor. But she arguably does love Graca more than Senhor Pimentel does - loves her as a person, not as female chattel to be properly settled in life. Ultimately, Senhor Pimentel makes a fatal mistake in thinking that he can use his position as the man who legally controls Graca until she marries (and another man takes over ownership) and simply outlast Dores. But Dores refuses to be outlasted - and sees no reason to play fair either. 

But I am probably revealing too much of the book at this point. The story is engrossing, the characters are memorable and compelling, and the book makes a great vacation read. I wasn’t sure I would like it when our club chose it, but it grew on me pretty quickly. 

***

Our book club hosts played a loop of Carmen Miranda scenes (and played her music) during the time before our discussion. While I was familiar with Carmen Miranda, I hadn’t really seen much of anything she was in. (My wife is a different story - her knowledge of old movies and music is astonishing.) I was struck by just how electric she was. There is no doubt that she was the most interesting thing in every scene, and it was hard to look away from her face, despite the ludicrously over-the-top staging. She was one of those divas who was truly a superstar. 

Just for fun, here is what is probably her most famous - or infamous - scene, “The Lady in the Tutti Frutti Hat.” The book contains essentially a description of the filming, and the other diva in the film: director Busby Berkeley. I am inclined to agree with the New York Times review of the film, in which the reviewer said, “Mr. Berkeley has some sly notions under his busby. One or two of his dance spectacles seem to stem straight from Freud.” Yeah, there is some...ahem...disturbing imagery in this scene. And also a potential source of George Lucas’ idea of the Sarlaac. You won’t be able to unsee it once you see it. 

 

And, in contrast, here is some more authentic Samba:



***

Just for fun, here is the list of books that our book club has read. At least the ones I have read too. Most of these were read for the club, but a few were ones I read previously - those posts pre-date the club discussion - and some I read afterward, because I missed the discussion. 

The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

There There by Tommy Orange

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Be Frank With Me by Julia Claiborne Johnson

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Educated by Tara Westover

Stiff by Mary Roach

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles

Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

The Marsh King’s Daughter by Karen Dionne

Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin

Never Mind by Edward St. Aubyn

All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders

Artemis by Andy Weir

Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov 

The Radium Girls by Kate Moore

An Enemy of the People by Henrik Ibsen

Source of book: I own this.

I had intended to go see a modern adaptation of this play down in Los Angeles this summer, but was unable to find an open date. Truth be told, it was either this one, or The Mikado, and Gilbert and Sullivan tends to win that contest. I can’t say I regret the choice either, as we had a lot of fun.

For some reason, Ibsen seems to have gone out of style, and hasn’t been performed much around here. I think there was a production of A Doll’s House at The Empty Space over a decade ago (when small kids made it harder to go see stuff), but that’s literally all I remember seeing. I read Ghosts a few years back, and found that one fascinating. 

Anyway, it was high time I read some more Ibsen, and I went with this one. 

An Enemy of the People is a someone unusual play, and one that I felt pivoted from perceptive and timely to...I’m not sure what Ibsen was intending. In some ways, it is like the ending of Le Misanthrope, where Alceste stalks off and renounces humanity altogether, leaving everyone else wondering what just happened. But at least Moliere’s characters act in accordance with their personalities, while Dr. Stockman seems to just go off the deep end in ways that make no sense to me. Let me see if I can explain. 

Dr. Stockman is the brother of the mayor of the town, which has recently opened baths, expected to be a huge tourist attraction. Dr. Stockman serves as the medical officer for the baths, in addition to his private practice. As part of his duties, Dr. Stockman sends the waters of the baths out to a lab for analysis. However, when the results come back, they are quite unpleasant. Because of where the town decided to source the water, the baths are badly contaminated with dangerous bacteria. The choices are all likely to be unpopular. Either they shut down the baths, re-route the source pipes to a different supply at significant cost, or shut down the tanneries which are the source of the bacteria. Oh, and the biggest polluter happens to be Dr. Stockman’s father in law. Ouch. 

For Dr. Stockman, his duty is obvious: he must tell the truth about the baths, consequences be damned. He enlists the editor of the local liberal paper, and has his article about to go to press when everything falls apart. The wealthy owners of the baths basically have the Mayor in their pocket, and enough influence with various people and groups to control the narrative. The paper is coerced into dropping Dr. Stockman’s expose and instead printing a propaganda piece from the Mayor claiming the baths are perfectly safe. 

That’s pretty much the summary of the first three acts. Noble truth-teller is stymied by entrenched economic powers when he tries to warn of impending environmental disaster. That actually sounds a lot like our own time - 140 years later. Also prescient is the title itself, which has now been used by our own little fascist wannabe to describe any portions of the free press which criticize him. This part of the play makes sense. It is in the fourth act that things start to go really weird. 

Dr. Stockman, refusing to give up, finds a venue, and announces that he will be giving a talk, inviting the town to shop up. They do, but so does the Mayor, and manages to take control of the proceedings to an extent. But then, when Dr. Stockman does manage to get the floor, he doesn’t give his prepared remarks about the contamination of the baths. Instead, he launches into a diatribe against ordinary people in general and working class people specifically, spouting stuff about eugenics and how democracy is terrible because people are stupid, and goes quite off the rails. 

Predictably, this turns everyone against him, and he finds himself pretty much run out of town on a rail. The play ends with him defiantly proclaiming himself the only true man among them. 

It is this twist which makes for some serious whiplash. Who is the Doctor? Is he a noble whistleblower, concerned about shining a light on corruption and trying in good faith to prevent a bigger disaster? Or is he a misanthropic crank who just wants to shake his cane at the world? Or maybe an arrogant elitist who thinks only the “worthy” should have political power? Did his misfortune cause him to go insane? I have no idea, because Ibsen seems to get confused as to the point of the play. 

I read up on it a bit, and discovered that Ibsen wrote An Enemy of the People in response to public outcry against his previous play, Ghosts. To what extent he considered himself to be Dr. Stockman is not clear, and his comments on the play later in his life imply that he himself wasn’t sure whether his characters are intended to be farcical or serious. Take it as you like it, I guess. 

I do wonder if a stronger second half of the play would have made it both more powerful and more popular. As it is, in its unmodified form, it would be difficult to work with. This was already the case by 1950, when Arthur Miller reworked it, he took out the eugenics and made Dr. Stockman into a champion of the lower classes. There was only so much that could be done, however, and a comparison of the speeches show that, of necessity, a certain disdain for “primitive” people remains. 

That said, the framework of the play, along with the first three acts, tackle some important issues which have not gone away - they have increased in fact. The first is the key question of environmental protection versus economic interests. Ibsen will be instantly understood by the smaller towns dependent on, say, coal mining. The economic consequences of environmental protection tend to fall hardest on those least able to bear them, while the wealthy ride off with their fortunes into the sunset. In this case, the bath owners could certainly afford to spend the necessary funds to fix the contamination. But that would impair profits. So they tell the Mayor that if the town wants the fix, the town pays for it. And that would fall on ordinary taxpayers. It really does seem amazingly relevant. 

Another major theme is the question of ethics for professionals and experts. The Mayor insists that Dr. Stockman’s duty is to his employer: the baths. He is not a free man to tell the truth as he sees it, but must instead look out for the best interests of the people who pay him. This is the rub for experts in general. Is the higher duty to tell the truth and act in the public interest? Or to advocate for your boss? The lines are not always clear. (We lawyers have our own set of dilemmas along that line, as we are by definition advocates for our clients, but cannot knowingly mislead.) 

Finally, there is the set of challenges facing whistleblowers. Dr. Stockman faces losing everything. His home, his livelihood, his daughter’s livelihood, his reputation, his friends, and even his family. The reason we have whistleblower protection laws is for this very reason. Warning of malfeasance when that malfeasance is highly profitable is a dangerous act, and usually carry devastating consequences. Which is exactly why we protect whistleblowers. 

It is interesting the way Ibsen handles the family dynamics. Mrs. Stockman is mostly supportive, but urges him to be prudent. (Come to think of it, she is clearly the most sensible person in the play.) The eldest daughter is practically a radical in her support for her dad - she may go even further than he does. The boys are a bit young to really figure in things, except as a reason given why Dr. Stockman should be quiet and hush up the contamination. 

I have an old Modern Library hardback containing eleven Ibsen plays in English translation. For some reason, the book does not have (or no longer has?) the publishing date or the name of the translator(s). It seems to be a decent translation, although I don’t have the knowledge necessary to compare it to the original. There are some memorable lines, which I will assume Ibsen intended. 

First is this humorous exchange early on. The mayor, Peter Stockman, comments on how heartily Dr. Stockman’s children eat. (I hear that about my kids too.) 

“Lots of food - to build up their strength! They are the people who are going to stir up the fermenting forces of the future, Peter.”

“May I ask what they will find her to “stir up,” as you put it?

“Ah, you must as the young people that - when the time comes. We shan’t be able to see it, of course. That stands to reason - two old fogies, like us.”

More seriously, though, Peter has come to warn Dr. Stockman about going against those in power.

“You have an ingrained tendency to take your own way, at all events; and that is almost equally inadmissible in a well-ordered community. The individual ought undoubtedly to acquiesce in subordinating himself to the community - or, to speak more accurately, to the authorities who have the care of the community’s welfare.”

Ah, there’s the rub. One must submit to the authorities, and keep one’s mouth shut. I very much thought of the ill-advised designation of Extinction Rebellion as a dangerous extremist group in Britain. Most telling is this line: the group is a risk to public safety because of “Anti-establishment philosophy that seeks system change underlies its activism…” Hmm, speaking up against the establishment and seeking system change...we definitely can’t have THAT! Nor can we have people telling rather obvious truths. 

“As usual, you employ violent expressions in your report. You say, amongst other things, that what we offer visitors in our Baths is a permanent supply of poison.”

“Well, can you describe it any other way, Peter? Just think - water that is poisonous, whether you drink it or bathe in it! And this we offer to the poor sick folk who come to us trustfully and pay us at an exorbitant rate to be made well again!”

Of course, here in the 21st century, we seem to prefer to inflict our poisoned water, not on rich suckers looking for a miracle cure, but on low income African American communities.

Peter suggests a more “reasonable” approach to the problem: put it aside for bit, then look at “remedies” which do not disturb the existing water supply. The Committee might consider “certain improvements” that are consistent with a “reasonable expenditure.” Sound familiar? 

And certainly, he shouldn’t go around spreading ideas about change. 

“Well, but is it not the duty of a citizen to let the public share in any new ideas he may have?”

“Oh, the public doesn’t require any new ideas. The public is best served by the good, old established ideas it already has.” 

Yeesh. There are some definite parallels to Fundamentalism there. “No new ideas! We already know everything and don’t intend to change!” This idea is stated in a more scandalous form during Dr. Stockman’s later screed, where he goes from the noble “new information leads to rethinking ideas” sort of thing to “truth only lasts for a little while then dies.” As I said, a bit off the rails. 

It later becomes all too obvious, though, who is pulling the strings. At the newspaper office, Aslaksen, the printer, and Hovstad, the editor, are informed by Peter that they cannot print Dr. Stockman’s article. Peter insists that it would bankrupt the town. Here is the exchange that follows:

Peter: “Of course it will be necessary to raise a municipal loan.”

Hovstad: “Surely you never mean that the town must pay---?”

Aslaksen: “Do you mean that it must come out of the municipal funds? --out of the ill-filled pockets of the small tradesmen?”

Peter: “Well, my dear Mr. Aslaksen, where else is the money to come from?”

Aslaksen: “The gentlemen who own the Baths ought to provide that.”

Peter: “The proprietors of the Baths are not in a position to incur any further expense.” 

And this is where I decidedly part ways with Libertarians. This is precisely what happens with pollution absent government action. Sure, sooner or later the truth might come out. But the investors will have looted the corporation and left a shell and a trail of damage. Seriously, look at any mining community. This is how unregulated (or underregulated) capitalism works. The rich plunder, privatizing the profit, while socializing the risk. Everyone else pays, they win. 

One could certainly see how Dr. Stockman would go crazy after this scene. A right and just result seems impossible. In that sense, Stockman’s speech in Act Four starts off so well:

“[W]hat I want to speak about is the great discovery I have made lately -- the discovery that all the sources of our moral life are poisoned and that the whole fabric of our civic community is founded on the pestiferous soil of falsehood.”

I kind of concur. A lethal brew of xenophobia, social darwinism, and religious bigotry has poisoned our civic community, and particularly our churches. But then Stockman gets more and more vicious toward ordinary people, culminating in this nonsense which gets him booed off the stage:

“That is, the doctrine you have inherited from your forefathers and proclaim thoughtlessly far and wide -- the doctrine that the public, the crowd, the masses are the essential part of the population -- that they constitute the People -- that the common folk, the ignorant and incomplete element in the community, have the same right to pronounce judgment and to approve, to direct and to govern, as the isolated, intellectually superior personalities in it.” 

It is rather easy to recognize this sort of thing. I heard it a lot before I left the GOP, and continue to hear it in every justification for voter suppression. “If we could just keep those people from voting.” Usually meaning the poor, minorities, the disabled, those with criminal records. They don’t understand things as well as middle class white people, right? It gets worse, as the Doctor compares commoners to mongrels rather than purebreds, and so on. 

Near the end, Dr. Stockman considers emigrating to America, although he eventually concludes that things are probably bad there too, because “from one end of this country to the other, every man is the slave of his Party.” That one is pretty dang true, alas. One of the hardest things to stomach about the Trump Era is watching family members literally defend what they used to condemn, because the official stance of their party changed. 

The play never really resolves things, because Stockman apparently decides to stay, despite having no home or job or prospects. What he will do? Who knows. But he has made his moral point and that is that. Well, except for more complaining about how nobody likes him anymore. It is Mrs. Stockman who gets in the best line here:

“But, Thomas dear, the imprudent things you said had something to do with it, you know?”

Perhaps Stockman might have listened to his wife a bit earlier, stuck to his key point about the poisonous waters, and then let the furor die down one way or another. But that might not have made either as tragic or humorous (take your pick) ending. 

Having read this one, I think that my conclusion is that, on the one hand, the subject matter of the play is highly relevant, and the questions it raises are important. However, it isn’t as well conceived as Ghosts or his other better known plays. I have to wonder if Ibsen’s own ire at the reception of Ghosts caused him to lose his objectivity for a while, and the flaws in the play stemmed from that. 

My edition of the plays contains a delightful introduction by H. L. Menken (who, like Ibsen and many others of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, held eugenicist and racist ideas, sadly), who points out that Ibsen wasn’t nearly as radical as he was accused of being. His ideas are often obvious, if rather inconvenient, truths. But, as Menken puts it, Ibsen “put obvious thoughts into sound plays.” I considered quoting a bit of the intro, but I couldn’t decide where to start or stop. It is a really good bit of work, and worth reading, if you find it. 

  

Merci Suarez Changes Gears by Meg Medina

Source of book: Audiobook from the library.

This book is part of out not-particularly-systematic exploration of the Newbery Award winners and honor books. This book won the award in 2019. In addition, this book is part of my personal project as homeschool dad and aspiring decent human being to introduce my kids (and myself) to books written by non-white authors.

Meg Medina, like the title character of her book, is the American-born child of Cuban immigrants, and the characters (although not the plot) of Merci Suárez Changes Gears are largely drawn from her experiences growing up in a multigenerational extended family. 

Merci Suárez is a sixth grade girl who has managed (like her genius older brother) to get into a prestigious private school in Southern Florida on a scholarship. Which isn’t particularly fun - nothing like being the working class kind of immigrant parents in a school full of rich kids with doctors for parents and who take vacations to the Bahamas. On their own boats. The mean girls, led by Edna Santos, have it in for her ever since the tall and handsome Michael moved there from Minnesota. But the worst of it is that Merci’s abuelo, Lolo, has been acting increasingly strange, and her family won’t talk about it at all.

For Merci, the worst part of all of this is that Lolo has always been her confidant, her source for good advice and encouragement, and as he slips away from her into Alzheimer’s disease, she finds she has to improvise on her own - and even care for him like a child when he has bad days.

That’s the basic setup for the story, which alternates between school and domestic drama, both of which come at a time when Merci is changing rapidly from a child to a woman, and is already disoriented as to who she is and wants to be. 

Overall, I thought the book handled its themes with a delicate touch, refusing to make any of the characters into true villains or heroes. They are just people. And many are kids, all with insecurities, who make decisions like most kids - which is not always for the best. The adults are likewise human. For the most part, decent, ordinary people, and the stresses of the situations sometimes lead them to make questionable decisions as well. 

If I had to list my favorite parts of the book, I would say that the depiction of the multigenerational extended family, living semi-communally in the group of three houses they refer to as Las Casitas was one of the best. I knew people similar to that in the neighborhoods I grew up in, where grandparents or aunts and uncles were part of daily life. 

I also thought that the complex dynamics of middle school relationships were both accurate and hilarious. The parsing of the meaning of “maybe likes you” garnered a laugh even among the more cynical of my kids. I did not very much enjoy my Jr. High days, although they weren’t objectively horrible or anything. But, as a very short (I was praying desperately to reach five foot three back then) and hopelessly nerdy kid, I wasn’t exactly hot romantic material (well, that part hasn’t changed either - I have yet to experience women throwing themselves at me…) The adults liked me: I was polite and smart and functioned well in those circles. But among my peers, well, different story. I wasn’t bullied either, probably because I was scrappy, but I was assumed to be gay, or at least very odd, and patted on the head more times than I care to remember. (Maybe it’s a violinist thing, who knows?) But I wouldn’t care to repeat that time in my life. 

The most perceptive part of the book has to be Merci’s fury when she discovers that everyone in her family has withheld the truth about Lolo from her. She has been treated like her little cousins - who she has to babysit for free. She finally worms the truth out of her brother, who gives her a demonstration on his brain model. (He aspires to become a doctor or a scientist.) Merci’s simmering, then boiling, fury is completely understandable - and totally justified. She has been expected to take on adult responsibilities, and endure the adult consequences of Lolo’s decline - she is the one who had to forgo trying out for the school soccer team, and spend her afternoons babysitting rather than earning money for a bike. She is the one expected to keep an eye on Lolo, without being given the knowledge to understand what is happening. 

So hell yes, she is furious. 

The adults haven’t been intentionally bad, of course, but they have done the annoying adult thing of underestimating children, and trying to protect them from unpleasantness. And yes, I am sure I have been guilty of this as a parent as well. I have made an effort, though, to not do that. Looking back, for much of my childhood, my parents did the same - they tried to treat us as fully human, deserving of a right to participate in family things like that, to know the truth, to be a part of major decisions that affected us. It was really a good thing for us at the time. Unfortunately, that didn’t continue as we got older. The first decision I recall where I felt I was railroaded into something that profoundly affected me, against my will, was when we joined Bill Gothard’s cultic homeschool group. I think in retrospect, it was a turning point from which things have never recovered. Rather than things getting better after I grew up and moved out, I feel I mostly lost my place in the family, with my parents and sister unilaterally making decisions together, and imposing them on me, my wife, and my kids. Although the situations were obviously not the same, I understood Merci’s frustration that she was expected to take on adult duties without being respected as an adult. It’s the old “don’t trouble yourself with asking why, just fulfil your role in the family” thing. And I wasn’t 11 years old when this blew up in my own case. Unfortunately, this led to fatal damage to relationships that probably will never heal. You can see why, though. 

In Merci’s case, when things do come to light, her family realizes it erred. Fascinatingly, it is Lolo who gets it first and best. And he tells the truth: he wanted to enjoy the way things were with Merci - his “precioso” - as long as he could, without casting a pall on the relationship before it was necessary. And, in his defense, he didn’t notice his own decline, because dementia does that. Eventually, though, Merci’s family does apologise, and return to the “no secrets” policy of days past. To see the first big step come from Lolo, the one person in the family with the best excuse (well, other than her brother, because he didn’t have much power either), was fascinating. 

This is where I am jealous of those families I know where extended families are functional - and new spouses can become true parts of the family. I have seen it. (To a degree, that is the case with my wife’s family, but geography means we only see each other once or twice a year, which isn’t the same as when they lived near us. You can’t really have that level of community closeness when you aren’t around each other.) I kind of had that for a while with more extended family, but again, geography and now Trumpism have made it out of reach. I do miss the past, before I found myself alienated from my religion and a mere visitor to my family. But shit happens, and happen it did in this case. 

Kind of a bizarre digression in light of the book, but I admit that I was moved - and a bit triggered - by this part of the book pretty deeply. The Suárez family isn’t perfect by any means, but family means correcting mistakes, and trying to repair damage, not doubling down on bad choices. I had a definite moment of grief over what might have been. (Exacerbated, for sure, by the holiday season, another in an increasing line in which there has been no emotional possibility of being together as an extended family.) 

I loved the way Medina let Merci vent her fury, too. This is a good development in modern books for kids - the way that “negative” emotions are allowed to be felt. This isn’t the moralizing of “be a good christian kid and always be happy even when shit is piled on you.” This is real, and the reader is encouraged to feel the frustration of being bullied by a mean girl you can’t really retaliate against because her father pretty much pays to keep the school in business and Merci is just a scholarship kid with a knack for getting into trouble. The reader is invited to judge along with Merci whether her family is sidelining her needs because she is a girl and because her brother is a genius who will do the family proud. 

But also, the way that individual instances of bad luck pile up to eventually create a shitshow is totally true. The family weathers so many setbacks. Tia’s husband deserts her when she is pregnant with twins. The family moves on, but this takes Abuela away from her job, so the overall income goes down. The twins cause trouble at school, and an extra day is lost dealing with that. When Lolo accidentally tries to take the wrong children home from school, horrid (and likely racist) assumptions mean the whole family has to deal with an extended police interrogation with Lolo cuffed in the back of a squad car. When Lolo needs to be watched, that means someone has to take on new jobs, from watching the twins to helping Papi with his painting business, to driving kids places, to...well, that final straw nearly breaks the family in many ways. But, because they are a (fairly) functional family, they pull together and find solutions. And part of the solution is to realize that Merci can’t just be a cog - she has to be a participant as she has come of age. 

Despite being a story about a middle schooler, this isn’t a light kids book. Shit gets real in this book, although there is nothing that I could see that would be inappropriate for younger kids. I work in elder law, so I deal with dementia and its effects all the time. I see no point in trying to “protect” children from the obvious. Far better to, as Roli finally does, be brutally honest: dementia is a progressive disease. It has no cure at this time. And it eats who a person is the way cancer eats the body. It sucks, bigtime. But knowing is better than not knowing, and children face reality far better than they are given credit for. 

I hope I haven’t created the impression this book is a downer. It really isn’t. There are a lot of humorous moments, from glitter “magic dust” as a means of occupying the twins, to an amputated set of eyebrows from a history project gone wrong. And ultimately, this is a story about people doing their best under difficult circumstances, and the possibility that we can make things right in the end. 

The audiobook was narrated by Frankie Corzo, who has acted in stuff, most notably Better Things. She also has a number of audiobooks on her resume, and did a fine job on this one. 

My Fair Lady by Lerner and Loewe (Empty Space 2018)

A solid two decades ago, I had the pleasure of playing in the pit orchestra for California State University Bakersfield’s production of My Fair Lady. For the most part, it was a great experience. The music is wonderful, the dialogue witty, and the accents delightful. The only downside was that I never did get to actually see the musical. Oh well, such is the life of a musician.

While The Empty Space had no room or budget for a live orchestra, their production of My Fair Lady was a blast - and it really was nice to see it live.

The musical is based on George Bernard Shaw’s play, Pygmalion, which is in turn a reference to the Greek myth, wherein the sculptor Pygmalion falls in love with one of his statues, which comes to life. (By the way, the sculpture woman is named Galatea - that’s not a well known fact, for whatever reason.) The story of Pygmalion has been recounted and remade and reimagined for a few thousand years - Shaw was hardly the first. Rather, Shaw’s version was likely inspired in part by a real life Pygmalion: Sir Thomas Day, who in the mid 1700s adopted an orphan girl with the intent of sculpting her to become the perfect submissive wife. It didn’t work. A series of novels based on the tale became popular after Day’s death, and the idea remained in the popular English consciousness. In what is an interesting coincidence, I am currently reading about Sir Thomas Day - stay tuned for that review - and just finished Anthony Trollope’s Orley Farm, which contains a subplot based in the story.

Shaw’s play was performed in various formats over the years, but it was Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s musical version which became wildly popular. For most of us, we are most familiar with the movie version, starring Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn.

From the very beginning, though, there was a great conflict between Shaw and those who produced the play. Nobody liked Shaw’s ending. In the original, Eliza walks out - and Henry is left alone.

Now, let me be fair here: Shaw was following the original source material. Galatea doesn’t take too well to Pygmalion. And, for similar reasons, Eliza (in the original play) isn’t interested in being controlled by Henry Higgins. And that is the major meaning of the story: you can’t create a perfect human female so you can control her. Not that the story has stopped anyone from trying, apparently. Ditto for parents and their children - how many billions have been spent on formulae promising to make your kids turn out the way you want them to?

I wholeheartedly agree with Shaw on this, by the way. Higgins is an amusing character, but he is basically an abusive narcissist. There is nothing cute about a potential marriage between an unreformed Henry Higgins and a newly competent Eliza Doolittle. All the Broadway magic can’t save that relationship.

Well guess what? The Empty Space, and specifically director Ron Warren, went with the more liberating - if less romantic - ending. I am impressed - well done.

Actually, there was a lot to love about the production. Warren has a degree in linguistics, and had the cast well prepared. The actors also wisely avoided the trap of trying to imitate the iconic performances from the movie - and instead made the characters their own. One of the results of this was that some of the sexist attitudes which were accepted without much comment in the movie were treated with a more modern response. I’ll mention a few as I go along.

The lead characters are extremely important in any production of My Fair Lady, because their chemistry - or lack thereof - will make or break the play. In this case, a couple of Empty Space regulars took on the roles.

Tessa Ogles has appeared in a number of local productions, most notably in Romeo and Juliet last year, where she played an innocent and naive Juliet. This role was quite a bit different. Eliza may be pure and all, but she is anything but naive. Plus, she is loud, assertive, plucky, and proud. Ogles really did a fine job in bringing out her character. In addition to the acting, Ogles has a fine voice - I would say the best in this cast - and just owned the musical numbers she was in. I hadn’t heard her sing, so this was a pleasant discovery. 

 Tessa Ogles as Eliza Doolittle

TES publicity photo

Henry Higgins was portrayed by an equally talented young actor, Tevin Joslen. I have previously mentioned his fine work in Ragtime and Angels in America. Joslen has a seemingly rubber face, with scowls and smirks and sneers enough for a whole range of characters. They were on full display in this performance. He nailed the arrogance and misogyny of Higgins - and made you believe the character really didn’t realize what he looked like. Rex Harrison was, as is well known, very much like Henry Higgins in real life - and a pain in the ass to work with. I rather doubt Joslen is in that category, but he can sure make the character believable. From previous productions, I know that Joslen sings well. In this case, he mostly followed Harrison’s singspiel method, with more talking than singing in the songs. However, there were some moments were he correctly followed the real musical line where Harrison was all over the place. (Hey, I played those songs - I know…) Despite this similarity, Joslen was no imitation of Harrison. The character was his own version of Henry - a younger and less stuffy version, perhaps, with less of a gentelle edge. I should also mention that my kids thoroughly appreciated his ninja-level tea spitting. That was impressive. 

 Tevin Joslen as Henry Higgins

Ron Warren played Colonel Pickering. I have to say that the movie did have a decided sour note with this part. No retired military office of Shaw’s time would have gone clean-shaven. Really, the character looks more like a dandy than a soldier. Warren went with epic mutton chops and a suitably gruff and rough personality. Which is how it should be. 

 Ron Warren as Colonel Pickering

Theater veteran Julie Gaines was excellent as Mrs. Pearce. It’s always a pleasure to see her in any role - she was hilarious in Arsenic and Old Lace. For this production, she was rather more feminist than in the original, with less of a silent servant persona. You can tell that she had no illusions about who Higgins was. 

 Alex Mitts as Freddy and Marti Hoyt as Mrs. Eynsford-Hill

I’ll just mention a few more. Alex Mitts gave an earnest and likeable turn as Freddy. Perrin Swanson (no relation, but I’ll take him) showed off his dance skills and more as the inebriated Alfie Doolittle. Marti Hoyt (another regular in a variety of roles) was positively poisonous as Mrs. Eynsford-Hill. As Mrs. Higgins, Cathy Henry had the gravitas to put her son well in his place. The rest of the cast filled in numerous other parts with aplomb - particular kudos for solid pitch, even when Alfie Doolittle went a little drunkenly off key. 

 Perrin Swanson as Alfred P. Doolittle

 Tevin Joslen as Henry Higgins, Cathy Henry as Mrs. Higgins, and Ron Warren as Colonel Pickering

My Fair Lady is in some ways a guilty pleasure. The songs are so funny. And so horrible. “Let a Woman in Your Life” is one of the most quotable songs of all time - but so very misogynist. Ditto for “A Hymn to Him” (better known as “Why Can’t a Woman be More Like a Man”). But we do quote them all the time at our house. In fact, the phrase “Why Can’t a Woman be More Like a Man” is a bit of an in joke for our marriage. Amanda tests consistently on the “masculine” side of personality traits - much more so than I do. (On a related note, she has been known to dance around the house singing “It Takes A Woman” from Hello Dolly after fixing the washer…)

So yes, some sexist humor, for sure. But ultimately, Shaw’s masterwork and its descendents are a brilliant satire of sexism. The Broadway glurge notwithstanding, the story is about Eliza - her hard work and triumph despite her impoverished upbringing, and the sexist nonsense of Higgins.

One more thing, though, that Ron Warren mentioned in his notes on the musical: Higgins is only half right. He places all of the responsibility for the class divide on the speaker. Eliza is held back by her speech, after all. But Warren notes that the fault lies at least as much with the listener. Those with privilege tend to dismiss those who fail to sound, look, and act like us. As he puts it, “Why do we allow the accent a thought is expressed in excuse us from taking the thought seriously?” It is a good question to ask ourselves on a variety of cultural issues. (One that comes readily to mind is the insistence that one “sound white” to advance. Food for thought.)

***

I should also mention that there is a fun personal connection here: my wife has been involved in our local knitting guild (yes, that’s a thing) and is the president this year. Ron Warren is the proprietor the local yarn shop, which also employs Perrin Swanson. My wife has taught classes there. So, there were various hand knitted items as props throughout the musical.

Coriolanus by William Shakespeare (Theatricum Botanicum)

By my count, I have seen 27 of Shakespeare’s plays live. That leaves me 11 to go. It will probably be more difficult to see those, as I am getting into the back catalogue. (Also not helpful is that the Utah Shakespeare Festival is doing the Henry VI plays this year and next, and, while my wife will be able to go, it’s not really feasible for the kids and myself to do so - it will probably be a while before they return to them. Possibly decades. Oh well.) Still, I have managed to add a few more obscure ones over the last few years. I also plan to see the plays I have seen again - the kids have only seen some, and will appreciate them differently as they get older as well. Shakespeare has something new to say each time - he never gets old.

Coriolanus is one of those rarely-performed plays. Every year, we check to see what the local colleges and small theaters are doing. But we also keep our eyes on a few others in Southern California. One of those is Theatricum Botanicum. This quirky outdoor theater has a habit of performing lesser-known works, along with their continually-running version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A few years back, that included All’s Well That Ends Well, and Moliere’s The Imaginary Invalid. When I saw that Theatricum was doing Coriolanus, I knew we had to go see it.

Coriolanus is not a particularly well known play. Many are at least familiar with the name, however, because of Beethoven’s fantastic overture. (See below.) Coriolanus was written right after the great tragedies, and it does suffer a bit in comparison. The characters are less fully realized, the protagonist is unlikeable, and the theme fell a bit flat at the time. It is not Shakespeare’s finest play - but it still has a lot to offer.

First, what is this play about? Like Julius Caesar, the story is drawn from Plutarch’s Lives. As with the other, Coriolanus quotes Plutarch (as translated by Sir Thomas North) nearly verbatim in places - North’s language was plenty poetic. However, unlike Caesar, there was probably no real life Coriolanus, at least as described by Plutarch. By that time, Coriolanus was more of a legend in the vein of, say, Robin Hood. He served Plutarch’s purpose by serving as a counter-example to the Greek Alcibiades.

In the story, Coriolanus (real name: Caius Marcius) is a war hero of Rome back in the early days. Rome was a mere city-state at the time, in perpetual war with its immediate neighbors. The previous monarchy had been recently abolished, and Rome was ruled by the Consuls, joint rulers appointed by the Patrician aristocracy. Marcius wins a famous victory (despite questionable judgment), and is expected to be one of the next Consuls as a result. But he has to win the approval of the commoners - the Plebeians.

Therein lies the problem. Marcius (now dubbed “Coriolanus” - the site of his victory), hates the rabble, and thinks he shouldn’t have to kiss up to them. After all, he deserves what he gets - he has bled for Rome. Things do not go well. Although he gets the vote, his condescension sours many on him, and the newly appointed Tribunes (representatives of the Plebeians) stir up the people against him. A cool-headed Patrician, Menenius, is able to prevent a lynching, but with a promise that Coriolanus will appear in person for a proper trial on the charges of treason (for his threat to strip the Plebeians of their liberty.) Coriolanus is spared the death penalty, but is banished. He sulks off, eventually joining forces with Rome’s biggest rival, and leads an army to sack Rome.

He is persuaded to come to terms of peace by his mother, but is then killed by his rival.

That’s your basic plot. However, as is typical for Shakespeare, the real action is in the psychology.

Coriolanus, like many a tragic “hero,” is undone by his fatal flaw of pride and arrogance. (Hubris, to use the Greek term.) It isn’t difficult to see how Coriolanus became the way he is, though. His mother, Volumnia, is the dominating figure of the play. She has raised Coriolanus to be a war machine, eager for glory in battle, and full of pride. He is, so to speak, the perfect Spartan - which is not a compliment. Early in the play, an exchange involving Coriolanus’ wife Virgilia is telling. Little Marcius Junior has been seen tormenting (and eventually tearing apart with his teeth) butterflies. And Grandma says he is just like his dad. Isn’t that nice?

Because of this upbringing, Coriolanus cannot find empathy in himself. He obsesses over his honor, and his rights, and cannot see other perspectives. This is particularly obvious in his approach to the common people.

At this point, a little background is also helpful. (Special thanks to Isaac Asimov’s delightful book on Shakespeare for the information.)

The Plebeians weren’t just the underclass. At the time of the founding of the Roman republic, they were made up of the peoples that the city-state of Rome had conquered. The “true” Romans were the Patricians, and the others were the Plebeians - the ones who did the dirty work of growing the food, serving as foot soldiers, and other lower-status jobs. The Patricians literally depended on the Plebeians for survival, while resenting them as “inferior” foreigners. The Plebeians weren’t too thrilled about the state of things either. Under the monarchy, they enjoyed some degree of protection. Not so much in the early Republic, when the Patricians reserved for themselves virtually all of the economic and political rights. The Plebeians were expected to render military service without compensation for the damage caused by war or absence to their farms. If they couldn’t pay debts, they ended up as slaves.

This was not, shall we say, sustainable. The Plebeians rose up and demanded representation. Which they got, in the form of the Tribunes. This wasn’t true political equality, but it was a start, and the Roman Republic survived (as have many modern democracies) by granting political rights to a greater proportion of the people.

Coriolanus is not a fan of these reforms, to say the least. He complains (and is overheard) that by granting the Plebeians rights when they demand them, they have made a mistake. Better, in Coriolanus’ view, to have used force and violence to beat them into proper submission.

Shakespeare’s handling of this idea is fascinating. Coriolanus is believed to have been performed, not at the Globe, but at Blackfriars, which was a smaller theater. Crucially, ticket prices were high at Blackfriars, so the audience was exclusively aristocratic - no commoners to contend with. This was also around 1609 or so, when King James I was on the throne. Students of history will recall that James was a big proponent of the Divine Right of Kings.

So, Shakespeare writes a play to be heard by the nobility at a time when monarchical power was on the rise. And he writes...this. Sure, there are some mean jabs at the riff raff. But overall, the theme is a rather pointed jab at aristocratic arrogance and violent suppression of dissent. Shakespeare had some huevos.

In addition to his arrogance, Coriolanus suffers from a lack of self control, and a lack of an inner life of the mind. He reacts rather than think. He cannot control his mouth. He cannot see other perspectives at all. This makes him vulnerable to manipulation by his rival and enemy counterpart, Tullus. He is also manipulated by his mother. And also by the Tribunes, who know just how to push his buttons.

As I noted, this isn’t Shakespeare’s finest tragedy. But it actually has aged pretty well. (In many ways, better than The Merchant of Venice.) In fact, I think it resonates better in our time than in Shakespeare’s. While by his day, England was at least a fledgeling constitutional monarchy, it was far from the democratic nation it would later become. Or even the limited monarchy with significant freedoms it would become 80 years later after the Glorious Revolution. Shakespeare was looking ahead in many ways, as well as backwards to an earlier experiment in democratic government.

There are a few facets here that also seem particularly applicable to today. I think the recognition that the Patrician/Plebeian dispute was in part racially driven is interesting. In our own times, there is a common and egregious error made when speaking of our own political divisions: Trump voters are not the lower income classes. Rather, they are - statistically - above average in income, and, most importantly, overwhelmingly white. They are the Patricians of our nation, used to having  particular status and dominance, which they saw threatened by a black president and erosion of their privilege. And the Trump sorts are similar to Coriolanus, raging that they are not given the respect and status they believe they deserve by right of birth. Trump is no military hero. (He has succeeded at the American version though: he is rich. We worship money rather than glory.) However, like Coriolanus, he scoffs at protesters, and calls for violence to teach them gratitude. Rather than listen to the voices of the true Plebeians, they call to burn the political and social institutions to the ground in revenge. It’s something to think about.

Also thought provoking is a line near the very beginning of the play. The “First Citizen” is leading the rabble in a demand for the Patricians to share their grain hoards with the Plebeians. He seeks confirmation that they are united in their purpose:

You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?

This gets to the heart of it. Death by violence sucks. Death by starvation or privation is, if anything, worse. Particularly if you are watching your children die. Coriolanus fails to understand this. He figures he can just increase brutality until he gets submission. But humans will fight for their lives, and for the lives of their children. And the degree of brutality and hate necessary to keep them down will only increase, eventually to the breaking point. Our own Right Wing would do well to remember this, and seek rather the path of reconciliation.

I do want to mention a few lines. Coriolanus isn’t full of zingers like the best known plays. But it has some good lines. Unsurprisingly, in a tragedy, often the lines that stand out the most are the humorous ones. Unlike Richard II, which has zero comic relief, Coriolanus does have some moments of mirth.

One came fairly early in the play. Coriolanus’ mother and wife are talking about his imminent departure for the war. Mom is ecstatic: he will win more glory! Wife, not so much, as she is worried he might get himself killed. So, she decides not to leave the house until he returns safely. Mom retorts:

You would be another Penelope; yet, they say, all the yarn

She spun in Ulysses’ absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths.

My wife is a knitter (and a really good one.) I did give her a snarky glance at this line, though.

The second great humorous moment is at the opening of Act II, Scene III. The Tribunes have just finished their plot to stir up the crowd against Coriolanus. Three random citizens (Citizens One, Two, and Three) are joking about upcoming speech by Coriolanus as he tries to win their support.

First Citizen

Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him.

Second Citizen

We may, sir, if we will.

Third Citizen

We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a

power that we have no power to do; for if he show us

his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our

tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if

he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him

our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is

monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful,

were to make a monster of the multitude: of the

which we being members, should bring ourselves to be

monstrous members.

First Citizen

And to make us no better thought of, a little help

will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he

himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude.

Third Citizen

We have been called so of many; not that our heads

are some brown, some black, some auburn, some bald,

but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and

truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of

one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south,

and their consent of one direct way should be at

once to all the points o' the compass.

Second Citizen

Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would

Fly?

Third Citizen

Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man's

Will; 'tis strongly wedged up in a block-head, but

if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure, southward.

I certainly snorted at this one. But take a second look. Shakespeare’s “fools” are never as foolish as they might seem. These commoners are far more self aware than Coriolanus. They actually speak pretty knowledgeably about the interaction of sentiment and duty, of custom and its breaches. They know that if Coriolanus plays his part: talks of his sacrifices for Rome, shows his scars, and asks nicely for support, they would be breaching etiquette to refuse. They also are keenly aware of his condescending attitude, though, and consider alternatives. Again, unlike Coriolanus, they are also aware of the weakness: they don’t coordinate and act together all that well.

Plus, as is well proven by research, puns are associated with intelligence - and this trio comes up with three good ones. (Or bad ones, take your pick…) Shakespeare, arguably the greatest writer in the English language (or any language perhaps) in history, was a fantastic punner, and given his love for puns, placing them in the mouths of the commoners was a sign of his respect. And that “blockhead” one. Dang, that’s good.

It is worth mentioning a bit about the production. Theatricum is a mostly professional group, with at least half of the actors in any production members of the Actors’ Equity Association. However, their stuff always feels a bit quirky, rather than slick and mainstream. (Particularly intriguing was their version of All’s Well That Ends Well where they cast African Americans as the aristocrats, and whites as the servants. Since the play is about a cross-class romance and “bed-trick,” this made for some uncomfortable and thus perceptive frisson.)

This production was no exception. The theater is outdoors, and makes use of the topography of the canyon. In this case, various members of the large cast ended up on the roofs of the buildings - including the sound booth - and occupied the space all around the audience. It did make one feel in the middle of the battles, and also part of the Plebeian multitude.

As usual, the cast was excellent; professional, emotive, loud enough for the venue, and invested in the characters.

I specifically want to give props to certain characters. David De Santos was outstanding in the title role. His was not a sympathetic character, but he inhabited it in a highly believable way. His was no caricature, but a real - if flawed - human. I loved his rage and pride. I think the term “brutally handsome” applies here as well. 

 David De Santos as Coriolanus

(Publicity photos by Ian Flanders)

Opposite De Santos, as the leader of the rival tribe, was Max Lawrence, a regular at Theatricum, who showed real chemistry with De Santos. The two of them are mortal enemies, frenemies, and worthy foes in the militaristic tradition. It was easy to see both as the sorts that would inspire their troops on the battlefield.

Max Lawrence (center) as Tullus Aufidius

Ellen Geer played Volumnia, Coriolanus’ mother. And she owned the part and the stage whenever she was on it. Between the creepy Oedipal stuff and the malicious edge, she made sure the audience knew she was the fulcrum on which the play turned. 

 Ellen Geer as Volumnia and Michelle Wicklas as Virgilia

The two Tribunes, played by Tim Halligan and Alan Blumenfeld, were also perfectly cast. As petty demagogues, playing at populism while failing to anticipate its risks, they had the proper snide and unctious vibe. I felt like I knew them: you find their sort in every HOA or small town city council. (Blumenfeld was phenomenal last year as Shylock - I could watch him in any part.) 

 Tim Hallihan (left) as Junius Brutus and Alan Blumenfeld (center) as Sicinius Velutus

One final actor deserves special credit. Melora Marshall played the moderate politician Menenius. She has been in every Theatricum production we have seen, playing a rather astonishing variety of parts. In this one, the part has been switched to a female part. However, in past productions, she has played a male part with such veracity that my kids were fooled. In another, she filled in as an understudy, and I couldn’t imagine a better job. Seriously, I would pay to see her in anything. Humorous or serious, small part or large, male or female. She is simply a good actor who can command the stage in any role. 

 Melora Marshall (center) as Menenius

Coriolanus runs the rest of the summer, and I highly recommend seeing it if you get a chance.

***

For those who care, Shakespeare plays I have seen live at least once:

Henry IV Part 1, Henry IV Part 2, Henry V, Richard II, Richard III, Pericles, Coriolanus, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, King Lear, Macbeth, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, All’s Well That Ends Well, As You Like It, Comedy of Errors, Love’s Labour’s Lost, Merchant of Venice, Merry Wives of Windsor, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, The Taming of the Shrew, The Tempest, Twelfth Night, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, and A Winter’s Tale.

Still to go:

Henry VI Part 1, Henry VI Part 2, Henry VI Part 3, Henry VIII, King John, Measure for Measure (I’ve at least read this one…), Antony and Cleopatra, Cymbeline, Timon of Athens, Titus Andronicus, and Troilus and Cressida.  

***

Beethoven for the win. This was actually written for Heinrich Joseph von Collin's version of the story, not Shakespeare's. But few if any care about Collin's version. The harmonic language in Beethoven's version is fascinating - particularly in the middle section, which departs from the root key in a long digression which is only brought back to the center by creative and unexpected paths. Enjoy. 

***

Also, Cole Porter gives a mention to this play…