‘The Tempest’ ushers in magical new era
The once and future artistic directors of Pittsburgh Public Theater decided to measure themselves against the best. So for the last play Ted Pappas directed, he chose Shakespeare’s “Hamlet,” and for the first play Marya Sea Kaminski now directs here, it’s “The Tempest.”
Ironically, “The Tempest” is traditionally accounted Shakespeare’s last play, in which, disguised as the magician Prospero, he bids farewell to creating imaginary worlds with his inspired quill. Saying, “this rough magic I here abjure,” Prospero/Shakespeare announces his retirement; in contrast, Ms. Kaminski now starts a new career making Pittsburgh magic of her own.
She’s made a great start. In her imaginative hands, this remake of “The Tempest” is a witty pleasure with a moving, melancholy heart.
That’s remarkable, because Ms. Kaminski has had the chutzpah to enlist as co-playwright. Even though she estimates that what remains is 90 percent Shakespeare, her “Tempest” adds a new frame story, prunes the text considerably, alters some scenes and rewrites lines, including her own iambic pentameter.
But self-proclaimed purists can relax: No matter what you do with it, “The Tempest” is still there for another director to tackle, with reverence or not. Meanwhile, the only criterion for each new version is, does it work? Ms. Kaminski’s does.
It starts in the oncology unit of a Pittsburgh hospital as Prospero is admitted, suffering greatly. Doctor, nurses, interns and orderlies swarm, along with Prospero’s relatives and backstabbing colleagues. The wonder of this scene, taking the place of Shakespeare’s backstory, is that director Kaminski lets it play out. There’s time for those who know the play to figure what other roles everyone will play: Surely that cute nurse will be Ariel? The surly orderly, Caliban? The concerned doctor, Gonzalo? More important, this new, extended frame story feels serious, establishing Prospero’s despair.
It then requires no more than drugs and dreams to whirl Prospero to Shakespeare’s desert island, where the story of her revenge will work itself out.
Yes, “her” — Ms. Kaminski’s entire cast is female, and the characters seem female, too, with the possible exception of Ferdinand, whose garb suggests he’s male, and Caliban, who may be beyond gender. Some of Shakespeare’s lines gain punch in this new context: “misery acquaints a girl with strange bedfellows,” for one.
Admittedly, Shakespeare’s opening scene, the tempest itself, is no clearer than in most productions, with the dialogue unintelligible above the storm. But it’s brief, and its story is clear enough.
From here on, the play moves swiftly (it’s about 100
minutes, overall), aided by L.B. Morse’s flexible revolving set. Ms. Kaminski proves an adept storyteller who takes care of her audience, keeping the plots distinct: Prospero’s anger and manipulation of Ariel and Caliban, the virginal love of Miranda and Ferdinand, the drunken stumbles of Stephano and Trinculo, and the bewilderment of those backstabbing colleagues.
Perhaps the squabbles of those replacements for Shakespeare’s king and the dukes who have stolen Prospero’s duchy are not entirely clear. This is partly because their scenes have been condensed, but more, I think, because we’re not sure how they did Prospero dirt enough to raise her wrath.
Tamara Tunie’s Prospero compensates for this by making her anger and hurt very evident. She can twinkle when needed, but she gives Prospero the weight that makes “Tempest” more than a romp on a magic island. This is the story of Prospero’s wrath and learning to forgive. That and her inevitable return to the hospital stir our hearts.
Along the way, Stephano and Trinculo, who in some productions are as tiresome as any of Shakespeare’s comic relief clowns, are actually laugh-out-loud funny, thanks to Bethany Caputo and Jamie Agnello. The latter’s physical comedy is inspired.
Ms. Tunie aside, my favorite performance is Shammen McCune’s Caliban. As has become standard today, Caliban is no frightening barbarian, but the native inhabitant, enslaved by Prospero, who doesn’t even credit him with a language or aesthetic sense. Ms. Kaminski’s text emphasizes this, and Ms. McCune brilliantly plays angry, bewildered, scary and pitiful all at once.
The big cast of 13, most playing multiple roles, is enhanced by the magical addition of children from the Pittsburgh Youth Chorus. And speaking of magic: For Shakespeare’s scene where three classical goddesses sing blessings, Ms. Kaminski has Ariel and her two attendants appear instead as a circa-’60s girl group.
It’s a brave new world that has such goddesses in it. Then at the end, we remain the stuff that dreams are made on — and nightmares, too.