At 3 SISTERS we laughed, we learned

An exuberant and telling production of Chekhov by the Portland Experimental Theatre Ensemble

Irina is happily swinging to and fro just inside the entrance to the Studio Theater at Reed College for Portland Experimental Theatre Ensemble’s version of “The Three Sisters.” She’s wearing a white party dress—it’s her birthday after all—and she’s so close to us as we file in that one of our number offers to give her a push. She accepts with joy.

We don’t pause in that “garden” space. We continue through to the great drawing room where Act One will take place. A long table is set up at one end for the cast/guests, and we audience/guests pick out seats around little tables scattered throughout the rest of the room. Sparkling pear juice is poured for us. We drink.

The set awaits the action/Owen Carey

The set awaits the action/Owen Carey

Actors filter into the space. The play begins.

Olga: Father died exactly a year ago, on the dot, May fifth, on your birthday, Irina. It was very cold that day, it snowed. I thought I wouldn’t survive it; you fainted and lay there as if you were the dead one. And now, after a year we can barely remember; you’re wearing white again, and your face is shining…*

So, yes, just like Chekhov’s “The Three Sisters.” But translator/director Stepan Simek, PETE, and the cast have some surprises in store. This isn’t going to be the melancholy demise of a once-proud provincial family that we might have expected since the great Russian director Stanislavski put his stamp on Chekhov’s play at the Moscow Art Theater back at the turn of the 20th century. The lines are mostly the same, the plot, the characters.
But the wonderful first act of this production might do for you what it did for me: Turn my thinking about “The Three Sisters” upside down in the most unexpected, telling, clever, and hilarious ways.

Maybe that’s not how you think you want your Chekhov? I think this Act One will convince you otherwise.


Where were we? Ah yes, we’d just finished off our beverages.

The actors start to speak. Some are at that big table at the end of the room, some are in the corridor outlined by rugs between the little tables where the audience is sitting, others are tucked into between those tables. Their exchanges are swift in and around and among the audience. It’s like a dizzying tracking shot in film, and Robert Altman-esque, a new exchanges seem to start before the old one is quite finished. We swivel around the space, glancing at the other audience members, past actors who are NOT speaking, before landing upon those who are. Those actors might be across the room, a mid-range “shot” or they might be right next to you for a close-up, hovering inches away. Well, maybe a foot or two.

Sometimes they address lines of exposition, like Olga’s above, directly toward us, which would have broken the fourth wall separating audience and cast in a typical proscenium stage version, if hadn’t already been demolished. It’s actually pre-party chatter (the celebration is later that night), and it’s funny, though sometimes in a bitter way. I’m thinking of the acidic way Masha says, “Who cares?”, when someone says it’s Irina’s birthday, before finishing her sentence more benignly. Beneath the jollity, there’s something else going on—the most corrosive unhappiness imaginable.

At it’s peak in this Act, as we assimilate the story and the characters, assess their states of mind, the actors throw us off the standard narrative highway we drive without paying much attention. So, Olga can seem to be the sweet center of things one minute, just a touch of hysteria to tip off her unhappiness, and then she’s hollering for a servant like a muleskinner.** She’s not all THAT fragile after all!

PETE's "The Three Sisters" includes a birthday toast by Cristi Miles (standing on the table) to Amber Whitehall (standing center)/Owen Carey

PETE’s “The Three Sisters” includes a birthday toast by Cristi Miles (standing on the table) to Amber Whitehall (standing center)/Owen Carey

The various plots unfold. Unhappily married Masha meets her lover-to-be, the new colonel of the army detachment assigned to the town, Vershenin. The Baron expresses his ardor for Irina while a vicious rival, Solyony, stalks her from across the room. Andrey and Natasha court each other. And though both Olga and Irina seem superficially happy, all they can talk about is how they’ll all finally be at peace and contented in Moscow, where dreamy men await them and a mythical professorship awaits the scholarly Andrey. Masha? Well, maybe she can visit in the summer?

It all rushes past us, unsettling our expectations minute by minute. The deep forward lean of the Baron. The dark angry eyes of Masha. The fluttery sing-song of Irina. The quacking of Solyony. Yes, actual quacking. It fits. I was laughing in my seat through all of this as I had never laughed at Chekhov before. I quite enjoyed my sparkling pear juice.


Chekhov and his director Stanislavski famously disagreed about Chekhov’s work, particularly his last play “The Cherry Orchard.” Here’s biographer/critic V.S. Pritchett:

Stanislavski and [playwright and co-founder of the Moscow Art Theatre, Vladimir] Nemirovich-Danchenko sent him long and enthusiastic telegrams. There was only one jarring note: Stanislavski had called the play “a truly great tragedy.” Tartly, and fearing Stanislavski’s possessiveness, Chekhov replied that it was not even a drama—”it is a farce.”***

Stanislavski’s somber approach won, though even he, at the end of his life, started thinking differently about Chekhov. Biographer Jean Benedetti quotes him: “After all we have lived through, it is impossible to weep over the fact that an officer is going and leaving his lady behind.” Which is what happens at the end of “The Three Sisters” (among others things).

Now, I don’t have an opinion about what the “right” way to do Chekhov or “The Three Sisters” really is. I’ve seen successful productions that were melancholy and touching, Artists Repertory Theatre’s 2009 “The Three Sisters” with a new translation by Tracy Letts, for example. Chekhov famously avoided explaining what he had written, and I doubt that he really MEANT that “The Cherry Orchard” should be played as farce. (If I were Stanislavski maybe I would have staged it that way in spite!)

Here’s Chekhov short story-writing prescription, written to his brother in 1886 (“The Three Sisters” was first staged in 1901). I think it describes his plays pretty well.

1) Absence of lengthy verbiage of political-social-economic nature.
2) total objectivity.
3) truthful descriptions of persons and objects.
4) extreme brevity.
5) audacity and originality: avoid the stereotype.
6) compassion.****

Again, he’s talking about short stories. “The Three Sisters” isn’t short, and we could debate what he means by “total objectivity” (which we won’t!), but maybe we understand it as a practical matter: He doesn’t want sentimental claptrap. What I like about PETE’s production is how it, mostly, emphasizes these points. When it doesn’t, it’s not quite so good, and maybe we’ll talk about that a little later.


I think I’m now at Act Two (technically, it’s Act Three): The audience leaves the party room for a 15-minute intermission. At its conclusion we are led down a hallway lined with portraits of 19th century military men (I think) and into the theater again. Our chairs form a square, one row deep, around a playing area, a “bedroom,” the walls of which are a white mesh scrim.

Rebecca Lingafelter as the oldest sister Olga in "The Three Sisters"/Owen Carey

Rebecca Lingafelter as the oldest sister Olga in “The Three Sisters”/Owen Carey

A fire has burned down a section of the city, and people are coming in and out of the room, Olga and Irina’s room (they’ve been kicked out by Andrey’s wife Natasha to make room for their children—almost three years have passed since Act One), first to fetch blankets, then to rest, and finally to explore their various reasons for anger bitterness, which are legion. At first the bedroom functions as a “safe room,” but it quickly becomes apparent that with velociraptors like Natasha snapping about, no room in the house is truly safe. Certainly not for the nanny: the eyes in the front of Natasha’s head have her measured to be tonight’s prey.

Olga attempts to deflect Natasha with a snarl of her own and then an explanation, but she encounters those horrible teeth (OK, this is just a metaphor!) of Natasha’s, her fury, her will to dominate. And as the Act progresses we see how badly things have gone, how out of hand Andrey’s gambling has gotten, how he’s been cuckolded by Natasha with his boss at the county council, how ill-equipped anyone is to deal with the fire, Natasha, their collapsed dreams.

Unlike Act One (and Two) in the drawing room, the audience is separated from the action by the scrim, even though we are only a very few feet away from the edge of it, astonishingly close, actually, to the heat generated in that crucible. Maybe the inferno in the town could be projected a bit more, but the Act is very effective, focused, savage.


The set design and the translation, which is in the current vernacular, with our “geezers” and “humongous”-es, are “audacious and original,” as Chekhov suggested. Or is it demanded, at least of himself? But so is the acting. I talked a little about PETE’s experimental approach to acting, codified by Tina Landau and Anne Bogart in “The Viewpoints Book,” a couple of weeks ago. One way to think of the actor training, ensemble building and composition creation in Viewpoints is as an alternative to the Stanislavski Method. Yes, him again.

The Method is a “naturalistic” approach to acting. Viewpoints, which was inspired by the Judson Church dance experiments of the 1960s and ‘70s, is more presentational, a more theatrical and expressionistic way of approaching acting. The quiet, somber, sad “Three Sisters” productions are Method-based. This one is far more raucous, unnatural at its best, expressive and rich with meaning, and moment-by-moment unpredictable. I’m thinking of Solyony’s quacking again.

Which is actually actor Chris Murray’s quacking, probably: Viewpoints puts the onus of each actor’s performance choices on the actor and the group. Each second can be interpreted in a variety of ways, with syllables or movements held over time, repeated, cut short, or manipulated in other ways. Bogart and Landau’s book is full of ideas and exercises to apply them.

The four core PETE actors have been using these exercises for a long time together, and their performances here are delightfully different. Amber Whitehall as the youngest sister Irina can dissemble in front of our eyes and hit ethereal places that would be difficult for a Method actor to locate…and any case would seem out of place unless everyone else was going for similar heights. I’ve already suggested how varied Rebecca Lingafelter’s approach to Olga is. Cristi Miles as Masha balances her ferocity with a shimmering calm in her romantic scenes with her lover, Vershinin, played by Michael O’Connell. And Jacob Coleman as the Baron is persistent in his courtship of Irina and then airily philosophical about…the importance of work, good hard work, which oddly is also a theme of Irina’s, nevermind that she finds real work oppressive and boring. For the Baron, of course, work means owning a brick factory.

Michael O'Connell enters the circle of "The Three Sisters," interesting Cristi Miles, behind him, greatly./Owen Carey

Michael O’Connell enters the circle of “The Three Sisters,” interesting Cristi Miles, behind him, greatly./Owen Carey

We never identify with any of these characters, at least I didn’t. I don’t think we are intended to feel sorry for them, exactly, or suffer alongside them. We are “objective.” We should laugh at their jokes and at their condition, which they bring on themselves, mostly. So, yes, they are comic, but before I took them all the way to grotesque, I’d check #6 above: “compassion.” And also the “truthful descriptions” rule. I thought Michael Chambers perfectly walked that border as the servant Ferapont; and Kathleen Worley’s nanny was dear, funny and interesting to watch without stooping either for laughs or sympathy. Nice.

This is a “mixed cast,” meaning that most of the cast are non-PETE actors. When they try to be sympathetic instead of creatively drawn, they don’t work as well in this production. Isaac Lamb’s Andrey, for example, strikes me as too warm and cuddly at first and then too pathetic—at the expense of finding truly original ideas about this weak character he plays. In another production his approach would be just fine and maybe better than fine, but not with Jahnavi Caldwell-Green breathing fire around him as Natasha. And I wanted John San Nicolas, another fine actor in the cast, to find something to play beyond passive acceptance as the husband Masha cheats on with Vershinin.

Of course, I have absolutely no idea how to do these roles in a more compelling way, I just think that the field is open to the actors to push further. And I bring it up to note the heterodoxy of the acting styles, which is a little confusing.


My only other reservation about this production—which, yes, I think is generally delicious, a technical term that means “I’d gladly go see it again”—is that Act Three doesn’t have the inventiveness of the first two. It’s a break-the-tents, denouement sort of scene, typical for Chekhov, and I find it amusing that he puts the duel in that section, off-stage, without serious consequences, at least to the Sisters in question. Well, I suppose Irina is spared a loveless marriage?

For that scene, the audience is situated around the action again, but this time the playing area is the “garden,” much larger. We are five year since Act One, now, the detachment of soldiers is headed out of town, Masha is heartbroken because Vershinin is among them. Irina and Olga, who is doing a job she declared she hated in Act One, are never going to make it to Moscow.

It ends in a tableaux:

Olga: The music is so happy, so full of life, and I want to live! Oh my God! Time will pass, and we’ll be gone forever, they’ll forget us, they’ll forget our faces, our voices, how many we were, but our suffering will turn into joy for people who will live after us, peace and happiness will come to earth, and they will have good things to say about us, and they’ll bless those of us who live now. Oh my dear sisters, our lives are not over yet. We will live! The music is so happy, so full of joy, and it seems that just a little bit longer, and we’ll find out why we live, why we suffer… If only one knew, if only one knew!

They play this scene “straight.” And I’d say this is wrong, based on the command against stereotypes, but maybe that one is countermanded by the law of compassion in this case?


The Studio Theater in the new Reed Performing Arts Building is a perfect location for this production. Technically “gifted” and almost icily cool, with high ceilings and a generous, open playing area, the place practically demands experiments of this sort.

So does the city. This particular one was a full year in the making, and that’s not counting Simek’s translation time. It was incredibly generous: The audience numbered only around 35; the cast, 14. The design team—Peter Ksander (sets), Mark Valadez (sound),
Miranda K Hardy (lights), and Jenny Ampersand (costumes)—did extraordinary work. So great a concentration of resources for such a good purpose. Simek’s conception and direction and PETE’s approach, well, as I said, they made me re-think the play, Chekhov, and the possibilities of a production of classic work in general.

We haven’t seen much Bogart-influenced work in Portland, and perhaps that’s why PETE’s work has seemed so fresh and vital through its three full-scale productions. It’s somewhat paradoxical that the intricate exercises of the Viewpoints approach, carefully worked out and clearly the product of close analysis of performance elements and possibilities, generates creative work of this order, this unexpected moment by moment. But it does. And if you’re like me, you’re thirsty for more.

PETE’s “The Three Sisters” continues at Diver Studio in the Performing Arts Building at Reed College through August 17. Audience numbers are limited. Tickets are $20-$25, with discounts for working artists, students, and seniors.

* I’m quoting from the initial version of Simek’s script, which has changed some during rehearsals.

** Although I’ve actually seen real mules pulling real wagons in real life as a boy in Clay, Kentucky, I confess I’m using the expression rather abstractly.

*** in VS Pritchett, “Chekhov: A Spirit Set Free,” pp 220-221.

**** from VS Pritchett, “The Myth Makers: European and Latin American Writers,” pp. 47-48.

America, America: ‘Carousel’ and ‘Best Little Whorehouse’

A pair of summer musical entertainments at Clackamas Rep and Broadway Rose reflect today's headlines

“Legislating is only a hobby for members of this Congress,” Charles M. Blow wrote in a Monday op-ed piece in the New York Times bemoaning the simultaneous shenanigans and torpor of the current do-nothing Congress. “Their full-time job is raising hell, raising money and lowering the bar of acceptable behavior.”

As it happens, I read Blow’s depressingly rational screed the morning after catching that grand old flimflam of a musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas at Broadway Rose, and I couldn’t help thinking, What else is new?

The women's chorus in "Best Little Whorehouse." Photo: Craig Mitchelldyer

The women’s chorus in “Best Little Whorehouse.” Photo: Craig Mitchelldyer

Whorehouse first opened on Broadway in 1978, and is based loosely on real events a few years earlier when a crusading television reporter started a campaign that finally shut the doors of the Chicken Ranch, a century-old institution of widely if reluctantly tolerated repute outside the rural town of LaGrange, Texas. The resulting political fallout, at least in the fictionalized version onstage, is less a matter of actuality than of appearances, which in the topsy-turvy world of politics have a way of becoming reality. Life has been rolling along pretty much as humanly usual, with most of the human appetites being accommodated in some sort of agreed-upon manner closely associated to a wink and a nod and a turning of official heads in the opposite direction. But times are changing. Raise enough of a stink and eventually someone’ll be forced to do something about it, not so much to stop the stink as to stop the noise and keep the incumbents safely in office.

Whorehouse isn’t the best musical to come roaring down the two-lane blacktop of rural Americana, but it knows what it wants to do and it does it well, and as I hadn’t seen it in a number of years I was happy to make its acquaintance again, especially in this agreeable production directed (as was Broadway Rose’s pert and winning revival of The Music Man earlier in the summer) by the stage-smart Peggy Taphorn. Like most musical comedies it’s really mostly about its surfaces, but it does make a difference what’s underneath, and Whorehouse survives partly because its book latches onto some enduring American themes: a strong libertarian bent, an equally strong moralistic fervor, a thirst for fame and power and the various pleasures of the flesh, and the destruction derby that occurs when the soft tissue of human desire meets the driving metal of religious extremism and unshackled careerism. The resulting ruckus brings to mind such political and religious fast-shuffle hall of famers as Wilbur Mills and Lyndon Johnson and Aimee Semple McPherson, and the shenanigans of such latter-day politician/entertainer/perpetrator/scolds as Michele Bachmann, Elliott Spitzer, Sarah Palin, Anthony Weiner, Glenn Beck, and that comeback champ Newt Gingrich. Ooh, they love to do the little sidestep: It’s like watching Molière performed on a pedal steel guitar.


‘Love’s Labour’s Lost’: a stylish, over-eager suitor

Sleek and exuberant, Bag & Baggage's production hits its goals entertainingly – and sometimes a little too squarely

Sometimes just by watching a play, you can guess its producers’ priorities. Bag & Baggage’s Love’s Labour’s Lost is exactly that kind of show, hitting a few distinct marks so directly that its aims become transparent. This play clearly wants foremost to be: 1) stylish. 2) exotic. 3) accessible. 4) energetic. Last Saturday night, it was all of those things…some to its credit, some to a fault.

It should be noted that B&B artistic director Scott Palmer prefaced the evening’s performance with a short-but-informative presentation of director’s notes about Shakespeare’s inspiration for Love’s Labour’s Lost (the Bard’s successful attempt to curry favor with nobility through a slew of inside jokes), its original run-time (more than 4 hours, oof) and its checkered history (it was retired from the stage completely for some 250 years). More’s the wonder that Portland’s seen it twice this season, another version just having closed at Post5. Palmer explained his company’s very rational choice, in light of its liabilities, to hybridize Love’s Labour’s with a sprightlier, anonymous adaptation of the story The Students. Additional aesthetic inspiration came from the 1960 Fellini film La Dolce Vita.

La Dolce Labours: Luke Armstrong, Andre Beck, Chip Sherman, sleekly Italian. Casey Campbell Photography

La Dolce Labours: Luke Armstrong, Andrew Beck, Chip Sherman, sleekly Italian. Casey Campbell Photography

But now back to the key features of B&B’s treatment:

1) Stylish. Check. The women (Cassie Greer, Arianne Jacques, and Jessi Walters) ride into the The Tom Hughes Civic Center Plaza on Vespas and strut around in gowns with snug hips and flowy trains. The men (Andrew Beck, Chip Sherman, and Luke Armstrong) are resplendent with slick hair and aviator shades. Red-pompommed “Spanish dancer” costumes make a cameo, as do foreign soldier dress-uniforms. Bag & Baggage has a great knack for presenting period-inspired eye candy for window-shoppers, and the generally well-heeled Hillsboro crowd adores them for it.

2) Exotic, naturalmente! In keeping with Bag & Baggage’s Italian inspiration, a few characters have pronounced (non-English) accents. Spanish knight Armado (Gary Strong) and servant Moth (Adam Syron) lay it on thick, sounding more Italian than Spanish. Jaquenetta (Rachel Rosenfeld) inflects her lines with a Cousin Vinnie Italian-American bravado. The aforementioned styling also bears a “Euro” flair. When the men imitate Russians, they affect appropriate accents. They also hum Hava Nagila and goose-step (sending me scrambling to Wikipedia to verify that, yes, that tune probably originated in that region, and that Russian soldiers, not only Italians and Germans, performed that move. Phew.)

3) Accessible, completely. This play is committed to not letting us miss a thing. Of course, that’s an “individual results may vary” endeavor, changing with each show and every audience member, but the effort is extreme. Those with incredibly heavy accents take great pains to slowly enunciate each word. Many gesture along with their lines so much that it resembles sign language translation. (At least four times, for instance, an actor traces an hourglass in the air to indicate “woman.”) Overall, the actors seem keenly aware that they’re performing outdoors and must make everything “bigger.” That worry is generally well-founded; Portland Actors Ensemble’s Antony and Cleopatra earlier this summer in Laurelhurst Park saw such a turnout that the outskirts of the crowd had to strain to hear and see, and the actors had to bellow to be heard and over-gesture to be seen. But here, a contained crowd and echoey courtyard don’t demand such heroics. Hence, last Saturday at least, the cast seemed to overshoot the space.

4) Energetic, unflaggingly. There’s certainly never a stoic moment in this lively pageant. Expressive gestures punctuate bouncy blocking, everyone is scurrying and skirmishing, and there’s hardly a second of mere “standing around.” A surprising number of times, one character uses another as furniture. It’s a great romp, but its impressive indefatigability risks blunting its dynamic range. In other words, B&B has tuned the excitement to such a consistent pitch that last Saturday, after a while, it became a hum.

Over-exuberance, as problems go, is a great one to have, and for some of Love’s Labour’s audience, a little much will undoubtedly feel just right. But as of Saturday, when the play’s leading ladies admonished their suitors to be patient, the suggestion echoed back on the show itself. I’d rather be gradually courted through a story, than hotly pursued the entire time.

Acting in Yosemite 3: People

In his latest letter from paradise, Portland actor Phillips J. Berns considers the oddity of being surrounded by people while you get away from it all

[Editors' note: Portland actor Phillip J. Berns has been spending the summer at Yosemite National Park, playing the title role in Ranger Ned's Big Adventure, a kids' show for visitors produced for the park by Portland-based Traveling Lantern Theater Company. He's been filing reports to ArtsWatch on the astonishments of performing in one of the most beautiful spots on Earth. This is his third letter home. Read Part One and Part Two as well.]


Photo courtesy of Yosemite National Park.




“People are strange when you’re a stranger.” – The Doors

It’s an amazing juxtaposition, when you take the time to think about it, that this place that has been here for time unfathomable is constantly being swarmed by tourists who will be here for a few short days, or employees (like me), who will be here for a few shorter months. Like tides, people come and go to certain spots daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly. And The Park, it remains more or less the same, changing imperceptibly with each tide of individual lives, just as those individual lives are changed ever so subtly by the intrinsic influence it carries.

The people of Yosemite fascinate me almost as much as the place itself. The tourists range from the entitled rich who have everything planned to the minute, guided tours each day (not too far, mind you), and dinner at the Ahwahnee Hotel each night. To the families who have been coming here for years, always camping at the same site, and creating or continuing traditions that have lasted, and will last, generations. To the visitors from other countries, possibly visiting the United States for the first time, and choosing (wisely) to see its most beautiful parts. To the transient climbers and through-hikers, not truly guests of  The Park, but easygoing enough to make friends with employees equally transient in their lifestyles to let them crash in their tent for a few nights in exchange for some weed or a six-pack of beer.

The employees are equally varied in everything but age and feelings toward the tourists. For some reason, about half of the employees here are 24. Not 24-ish, 24. I suppose 24 is that sweet spot when you’ve been out of college for a few years, still restless and eager to explore the world, but not yet settled into a job that expects or even promises fidelity, so you think “I’m going to go to Yosemite for a while, see how that is.” Either that, or it’s just a weird coincidence. In any case, it takes a certain type of mindset to choose to work here. I’m in a fairly charmed position where I know where I’m coming from, and I know what I’ll be doing when I return there. Most of the people I’ve met, when asked, “How long you here?” will anwer, “Not sure.” Some have been here for years and will never leave, saying, “Not sure,” as in, “Not sure when I’m going to die so I can’t answer that silly question.” Some are running away from an unhealthy life, and are hoping to start anew. Some are simply trying to find themselves in Yosemite’s wilderness. And some are just true wanderers, never at home except on the road.

When you really think about it, it must take a certain type of personality to come to a place like Yosemite to work. Miles and miles from anything like a city, yet constantly being surrounded by strangers. I mean, most of the employees here serve (in some aspect or another) hundreds of people a day, thousands a week, and they will (almost) all tell you they are not here for the job, they are here to spend time away from people. It’s being surrounded by people who hate people being forced to work with people on a massive scale.

This is all, obviously, some enormous generalizing I’ve been doing here. I have met some really remarkable people and great friends who do not fit this mold in the least. Still, the most overheard conversation in employee common spaces is, by far, how awful the tourists are.

I, however, have no complaints. I’ve said often since I’ve been here and will tell you, dear reader, the same: I have the best job in The Park. I get to do what I love and make kids laugh in the most beautiful place I have ever been, or will likely ever be again. What an awesome experience. What a marvelous opportunity.

I will end this post on a rather sad note. I was informed today that Greg Tankersly, who played Bob in the Ranger Ned show for years, recently passed away. Although I never got to meet him in person, his enthusiasm and lust for life shone though over the phone, and is even more apparent in the lives he touched. Sleep well, Greg. The loss is being felt deeply here in Yosemite.



CHILD (4 yrs.): When I was little, my dad had a beard, but now he doesn’t. I still like him though.

PETE takes the ‘Sisters’ to the lab

A new translation and experimental approach to Chekhov's "The Three Sisters" opens on Saturday

I counted myself lucky to see the Portland Experimental Theatre Ensemble’s first full production, R3, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Richard III. It managed to unsettle the play, moving it from a series of plots by the hungry and bloody Richard to a deeper consideration of his language, the flood of words—seductions, persuasions, commands—he spews to get his way.

In my review back in 2013 I concluded:  “R3 gets us back in touch with a lying liar and the lies he tells!”

Directed and adapted by Gisela Cardenas, the production focused on the women characters (the PETE ensemble has three women and one man); it integrated design (set, costume, sound) into the production in interesting ways; and the acting style wasn’t what we’d call “natural” at all. Maybe we’d call it “odd,” though then we’d have to add, “and effective.”

In short, I thought it was a brilliant debut, not least of all because it took on a central play in the Western theater canon and delivered the unexpected.

Amber Whitehall, Rebecca Lingafelter and Cristi Miles of PETE in "The Three Sisters"

Amber Whitehall, Rebecca Lingafelter and Cristi Miles of PETE in “The Three Sisters”

Beginning on Saturday (August 2), PETE is back with its third independent production, Anton Chekhov’s The Three Sisters, freshly translated and directed by Lewis & Clark professor  Stepan Simek, who taught two of PETE’s founders, Amber Whitehall and Jacob Coleman, at Evergreen State College. That’s doubling down on testing the group’s approach on the classics; Can they portray the familiar story of a noble Russian family’s disintegration in ways that make it strange and immediate?


When we met to talk a bit about The Three Sisters, the first question I asked PETE’s four founders—Coleman, Whitehall, Rebecca Lingafelter and Cristi Miles—had to do with that big word in the middle: experimental. Did they mean it in a general way or did they have a specific vector of experiments in mind when they started the company in 2011?

The answer was a name, really, Anne Bogart, and then an example: They had all seen the same Bogart-directed production of Room, a one-woman play starring Ellen Lauren, devised from the writing of Virginia Woolf, especially A Room of One’s Own. Miles, Coleman and Whitehall saw it on the Seattle stop of its tour; Lingafelter in New York, where she was studying theater at Columbia University and deeply interested in Bogart’s work.

“I’d never been in a room with a performer who was that present with me,” Miles said about Lauren’s work in Room. And then they spent several minutes talking about the way the show converted the audience into participants in the event, how gestural it was and yet very contemporary, how deeply embedded movement was in the action. And they all decided that they wanted to try to make theater that did the same things.

That meant approaching theater like Bogart, whose approach to theater is a critique (among other things) of traditional, Method-based theater acting in the U.S., and indirectly, the entire system of making theater here, with its ad hoc acting ensembles gathered for one show at a time for a relatively brief rehearsal period during which they attempt to latch onto the director’s vision of a play. Bogart’s approach is anti-hierarchical, distributing the “vision” of a play into many discrete, creative choices that her company of actors and designers participate in, workshopping different ideas until they find the ones that work.

All of this is worked out in a book, The Viewpoints Book, that Bogart wrote with Tina Landau (of Steppenwolf Theatre Company fame). It’s an analytical and practical approach to theater that Bogart adapted from choreographer Mary Overlie’s ideas about making dance. The “Viewpoints” (six in Overlie’s original formulation) consider the creative potential of nine physical areas (including shape, gesture, repetition, tempo, duration, spatial relationship, kinesthetic response, architecture, and topography) and five vocal ones (pitch, dynamic, accleration/deceleration, silence, timbre). The exercises that make up the bulk of the book are designed to investigate these possibilities and apply them to theater, either existing texts or ones the group is composing.

PETE, which like Bogart’s company (SITI) trains actors and designers in the Viewpoints methods and does collaborations with other companies (earlier this year, for example, the group worked with Portland Actors Conservatory on Opus 3, an adaptation of Strindberg’s Ghost Sonata), works from the Viewpoints handbook. That stretches out the time it takes to create and mount a production: Song of a Dodo, PETE’s second production took around a year to create, including a 20-minute excerpt staged in Seattle. And The Three Sisters started workshopping last summer, after Simek (who works with Lingafelter at Lewis & Clark) said, “You should do The Three Sisters—there are three women,” and offered to write a new translation for the company.


The delightful “strangeness” of R3 emerged from the workshops and exercises as the group attempted to figure out who they really were as a company. Song of a Dodo actually featured the cast playing the birds, soon to be extinct, so yes, good luck with your Method playing THAT. The play started with Coleman’s desire to bring the fruits of a “lamentation workshop” with Marya Lowry to the stage: specifically, the notion that lamentation and revenge feed each other. And it veered from comedy to tragedy, specifically Anne Carson’s translation of Hecuba, as it unspooled over three acts. “Why does Tragedy exist?” the narrator asks at the beginning of the play. “Because you are full of rage…Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.”

"The Song of the Dodo" was a PETE original.

“The Song of the Dodo” was a PETE original.

So, yes, lamentation, keening, wailing figured in Dodo, and so did bird hijinks, interviews with Nicol Williamson and Katharine Hepburn, and movements that repeated, changed tempo, and formed interesting gestures—just as Bogart suggested. But not that you’d ever actually notice. I didn’t think about it all until PETE pulled back the curtain for me a little bit. That’s because all that Bogart is REALLY doing is setting the stage for creative acts on stage, ones that the company itself discovers in the process of working together.

For The Three Sisters, PETE needed to expand far beyond its four core members—Chekhov’s play has LOTS of characters and subplots going (duels!)—so the company has been bringing its approach to a cast of prominent local actors. I’ll just list them all without comment: If you go to Portland theater much at all, the names will jump out at you. Isaac Lamb, Mike O’Connell, John San Nicolas, Chris Murray, David Meyers, Jahnavi Caldwell-Green, Kathleen Worley, Michael Chambers, Jake Simmonds, and Dustin Rush make a cast I’d love to see in a traditional version of The Three Sisters, let alone an experimental one.

Simek’s idea, according to Lingafelter, is to dispense with The Three Sisters as a play of high feeling, romance and lofty ideas and play it more viscerally and directly related to the circumstances of the play. I’m imagining fewer world-weary sighs, I suppose, but beyond that, I really have no idea what to expect, even after talking to the principals.

Part of the excitement of the production for me is also just to see whether and how the seed of Bogart and Landau’s Viewpoints germinates and grows here, how the community of practitioners that PETE hopes to create starts to affect non-Viewpoints productions, for example. And I’m also interested in how the longer rhythms of PETE workshops work out practically: Can they keep a company afloat if they are only producing a show or two a year and doing a lot of teaching? Or is this actually a better way to go at a time when the arts are marginalized because they are so difficult to make into easy-to-sell-and-consume products? Yes, I’ll be eager to see how that works out.


The Three Sisters previews on July 31 and August 1, then opens for its run August 2-17, in Diver Studio in the Performing Arts Building at Reed College. Tickets are $20-$25, with discounts for working artists, students, and seniors.

With female Hamlet, these 10 lines change meaning

Anon It Moves casts Hamlet as a woman, and her talk of whores, chastity, and the nunnery takes a different tone

First of all, let me say that Anon It Moves‘ new production of Hamlet is grade-A small-theater Shakespeare, and if you’re a Hamlet fan at all, you’ll probably enjoy this one. Solid choices in casting, staging, and interpretation combine into a strong production with all of the ingredients a good Hamlet requires, plus a few you didn’t realize you wanted, but they work.

Crystal Ann Muñoz as Ophelia and Erica Terpening-Romeo as Hamlet. Photo:  Jack Wells

Crystal Ann Muñoz as Ophelia and Erica Terpening-Romeo as Hamlet. Photo: Jack Wells

Spirited, coordinated sword-fighting. Gauze-draped ghosts in spooky white commedia masks. An Ophelia to swoon for; an evil King who acts more like a callous boss; a gracious, petrified, powerless queen; a righteous, dashing Lysander; a sympathetic, secretarial (female) Horatio; a grave-digger who gestures with his half-eaten sandwich; a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern who behave less like Hamlet’s friends than a two-person sales team—

On that note, the production is in repertory with Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, featuring the same cast—

and a gong!

Now then. It must be mentioned that AIM has cast a woman in the role of Hamlet. (Hey, if ArtsWatch hadn’t told you, you’d probably notice.) As I may have mentioned recently in the Mercury, Shakespeare plays as writ tend to be the proverbial sausage party, where leading men are borne onstage by entourages of supporting men, to spar eloquently about the relative worth, purpose, nobility and mortality of man. (Sword penis fight! Go!) Obviously, this imbalance of male and female roles creates social inequality behind the curtain, and forces excellent female and feminine actors to either win a beauty contest or don a codpiece if they want to fall in step with the Bard.


JAW new works fest: a play-by-play

Snapshots from the 10 works in progress at this summer's festival

In line at Portland Center Stage’s JAW festival, I bumped into a writing colleague. “Are you reviewing this?” I asked him. “Oh, no!” he replied. Rose [Riordan, the festival director] wouldn’t like that!”

Sure enough, as the fest progressed and each show closed with a talkback, Riordan repeatedly stated that it was too early in the playwrights’ process to hear opinions. She asked the inquisitive JAW audience to “put your question in a form that doesn’t reveal your opinion,” and seemed to bristle whenever someone disobeyed, even to give a compliment.

So let’s not call this a review; let’s call it a “re-cap”—of plays still in progress, still in flux. And let’s not call the ideas expressed here “opinions,” but rather “a sense.” ArtsWatch spent all weekend at JAW, catching the four featured plays and the six shorts by Promising Playwrights, and came away with “a sense” of each show. How could we do otherwise?


The whole crew of JAW gets some shade at The Armory.

The whole crew of JAW gets some shade at The Armory.



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