No day at the beach
Beach House, Burnt Sienna
by Trevor Ferguson
directed by Guy Sprung
at the Village Theatre West, Hudson
Talented novelist and recent hit playwright Trevor Ferguson has a fine setting for his latest work out at Hudson's Village Theatre West. The former train station there was converted into a cozy theatre—seemingly perfect for his intimate family drama Beach House, Burnt Sienna—but the theatre's 2002 season ends unfortunately in this derailed production.
The play, coproduced by Montreal's Infinitheatre, contains a rich brew of possibilities—a blend of Southern Gothic with a Eugene O'Neill chaser. It has the return of the prodigal in the form of a rebellious granddaughter, a stifling, overbearing (and repressed homosexual) patriarch, a meek and dispirited son, and a meddling outsider who ingratiates herself into the family.
Thornton, the patriarch (Vlasta Vrana), presides over a jam-making empire. Vrana stikes a convincing pose as the expansive and gluttonous "master of his domain," while Gladys, the ghostwriter of his intended autobiography, trails in his wake.
Brian Smith's plain set of a beach house front is used throughout. Family members arrive and, as peeled layers of an onion, stories are revealed, wounds opened, and emotions made raw.
What could have emerged from these clashing neuroses is some real fire, but despite a few interesting twists, the familiar material is a catalog of overwritten drama and cliché—most of which could have been salvaged with generous editing and the aid of a diplomatic dramaturge.
"Why belittle the value of metaphor?" writes Ferguson. "It's a way to understand the world." And his words are holy scripture to director Guy Sprung—seemingly nothing is left out of the text, and what's there is included twice over, just in case you missed it.
Lina Roessler does an excellent job in the role of Rochelle, the emotionally warped girl bereft of her parents (killed in a car crash). Her personality and attitude are all scars, represented by her prosthetic ear (the real one lost in a kidnapping saga). The opening scene starts with a promising note: Alone on stage, Rochelle looks out over the beach, describing the sunset to an invisible friend.
Saddled with quite dreadful lines ("Our house was built on shifting sands..."), Carolyn Guillet didn't help matters in her odd rendition of ghost writer/concubine Gladys. Hovering around the action, her commentary gave an aspect of onstage subtitles to the play. Guillet seemed uncertain about which tone to settle on, or how to resolve her character's mix of sincerity and selfishness.
Brett Watson as Duncan serves mainly as foil to the battles between "Poppa" and his niece Rochelle—that is when he isn't strapping on hang glider gear or hiding under the porch—the "wanting to fly" metaphor laid on thick, here. And even Guillet's groaners couldn't compare with Duncan's solemn pronouncement, "Life is not a beach," which fell on stage with a thud.
And so on—the themes repeated over and over with jackhammer subtlety until they penetrated the thickest skull. I found myself giving the twirling finger "wrap it up" signal at about the two-hour mark.
Beach House, Burnt Sienna is Ferguson's second play. Only a hiccup, I hope, following the wide praise for his inaugural work for the stage Long, Long, Short, Long.
Beach House, Burnt Sienna continues to September 29
at Hudson's Village Theatre West
Info/tickets: 450-458-5361; fax: 450-458-3234
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