BTF’s Unicorn mines gold with 'Floyd'

By Ralph HammannPrint Story | Email Story
Reporters ’scoop the poop’ in “Floyd Collins.” From left to right are Jonathan Kay, Neal Mortimer and Sal Delmonte. (Photo by Kevin Sprague)
“Floyd Collins,” music and lyrics by Adam Guettel, book by Tina Landau, additional lyrics by Tina Landau, directed by Jared Coseglia. Berkshire Theatre Festival, The Unicorn Theatre, Stockbridge, through July 3. STOCKBRIDGE — Of the 1996 Playwrights Horizon production, New York magazine critic John Simon wrote that “Floyd Collins” was “the original and daring musical of our day, concerned with saying something in words and music, not merely bringing in da noise or paying the rent.” Referring to overrated shows like “Bring in ‘Da Noise, Bring in “Da Funk” and “Rent,” Simon was, as usual, right. Indeed, the current dean of American theater critics was rather prophetic regarding the decade that closed without much ado in the area of musicals about ideas. Seeing “Floyd Collins” today in the full-blooded production being given it in the Berkshire Theatre Festival’s Unicorn Theatre, one is struck with its timelessness and relevance to the ever-receding American dream. The often dissonant musical is based on the true story of Floyd Collins, a 38-year-old spelunker who crawled into a sinkhole that he hoped would lead to a majestic passage that would link all of the caves in his part of rural Kentucky. Collins reasoned that such a discovery would lead to fame and financial success through the tourist attraction that would follow. Little did he know that mere days after he became trapped over 125 feet underground in the winter of 1925, he would become the attraction as between 10,000 to 30,000 people journeyed to the site of his entrapment. While Collins, whose foot was caught in a small cave-in, was periodically visited by a cub reporter, Skeets Miller, a veritable carnival assembled aboveground for 18 days. The story was the basis for Billy Wilder’s acerbic film, “The Big Carnival,” which starred Kirk Douglas as the reporter who brought fame to himself and Collins. The film, told from the point-of-view of the reporter, was a brilliant satire on greed, the media and unreflective consumerism. Jettisoning that perspective, Adam Guettel and Tina Landau tell the story from that of the trapped Collins. It becomes an alternately rousing and rueful consideration of the literal depths to which a man will crawl to grasp his moment of fame and piece of the American dream. It is a paean to the durability of the spirit of the dispossessed, the people who envision more than their workaday lives provide. What first seizes your imagination at the BTF is Mimi Lien’s impressionistically impressive set depicting the lean subterranean passageway that will entrap Collins. Abetted by Matthew E. Adelson’s sly lighting, Lien invites our participation in Collins’ condition on a nearly visceral level. The music, sound design and acting complete the effect. From the outset, as Collins sings three songs accompanied by musical director Linda Dowdell’s versatile keyboard and director Jared Coseglia’s marvelous echo effects and sound design, we are swiftly transported to the underground world that Collins loved. We share in his joy of inhabiting a place never trespassed on by another human. And in Dalane Mason’s fully committed performance as Collins, we feel the rapture of a man on the verge of self-realization. In that trio of songs, Mason exultantly sings to and with himself and communicates with an immediacy and simplicity that are disarming. When, finally, Collins becomes wedged in the passage so that even his arms are deprived of movement, the effect is deeply empathic due to Mason’s earlier free and soaring movements (some choreographed by the estimable Julian Barnett). Cosegila has assembled a strong cast to support Mason, and the excellent designer, Marija Djordjevic, has costumed them in earth tones with rich veins of mineral deposits — the effect is that they have sprouted from the ground like outcropping rocks. Chief amongst the talented young cast are Rachael Bell, whose voice rings clear as her surname, slightly daft, and Colby Chambers, who makes Skeets Miller’s journey both dramatic and heartfelt. Given Chambers’ resonance, one wonders if there is another musical to be mined from this story or, perhaps, the Wilder film. A captivating, if vocally muddied, rendition of “Is That Remarkable?” sung and danced by three reporters also prompts this notion. As well, the plight of the rescuers attains an interest that almost rivals that of Collins. Occasionally lyrics are inarticulate, but this is a vast improvement over the noisily engaging but indecipherable work Coseglia wrought from last year’s “Tommy” in the Unicorn. Coseglia has also done admirable work in his staging by spelunking every stair and cranny of the quirkily engaging theater. Guettel’s music is not as infectious as that of his grandfather, Richard Rodgers, and audiences are unlikely to leave “Floyd Collins” humming the tunes that are diverse enough to seem disparate. But there is an earnest concern here about the human condition that underscores the best of Rodgers. Ralph Hammann is The Advocate’s chief theater critic.
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'Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune' Is a Sparkling Gem

By Alan PetrucelliSpecial to iBerkshires

The adult-oriented 'Frankie and Johnny' runs through Aug. 23 at Shakespeare & Company.
LENOX, Mass. — Talk about strangers in the night. There's lots of social intercourse between Frankie and Johnny. There's also lots of sexual intercourse. 
 
There's grunting and growling and grinding and puffing and huffing and moaning and groaning as Frankie and Johnny make love to the orchestrated orgasmic overture. You could almost smell the sweat. When climaxes are reached, lights go up and Frankie wishes she had a cigarette. (One of her funniest lines.)
 
Welcome to "Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune," now playing at Shakespeare & Company's Elayne P. Bernstein Theatre.
 
Terrence McNally's 1987 romantic comedy is sophisticated, sweet, sentimental and, yes, sexy. Post-coitus, Frankie wonders what she's gotten into. She and Johnny work at the same Manhattan greasy spoon. She's a waitress and failed actress with shattered dreams; he's a short-order cook and Shakespeare devotee with scarred hands.
 
On this Saturday night, they've crossed the line. Dinner, a movie and the move to become lovers in her one-room Hell's Kitchen walk-up. By three in the morning, Frankie is ready for Johnny to go back to his Brooklyn Heights apartment. No way. He declares he has found his soul mate. He suggests marriage and children. She expected a one-night-stand that probably wouldn't last a night. What she now wants is for Johnny to leave so she can watch TV and eat ice cream in peace.
 
What's love got to do with it? Everything
 
Stripped bare, literally and figuratively, Frankie and Johnny expose each other to their fears and frustrations. Nothing is simple or taken for granted. Frankie and Johnny hurl everything at each other; Frankie offers why they do not belong together, Johnny insists why they do. There are other times when she offers him food. She lets him stay. She gets into conversations with him. There are moments where she's genuinely interested in what he has to say. The play is a negotiation into intimacy.
 
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