Cal Shakes’ ‘Tale’ leans into Bard’s freaky side
William Shakespeare is a contemporary experimental playwright.
He can mine the worst of a baselessly jealous husband then about-face to a rustic frolic with buffoonish shepherds, all with only a “because I said so” transition. He can seek a distant oracle, pique the ire of Apollo, cast away an infant orphan, sic hungry bears on a softhearted lackey, fast-forward 16 years, bring a statue to life and still somehow inspire genuine human feeling, all on the same “Wizard of Oz” logic.
Such is the mania of “The Winter’s Tale.” And in the hands of California Shakespeare Theater, where the show opened Wednesday, Sept. 8, as the theater’s first in-person production since the pandemic began, the script becomes a world premiere.
Adapted by Eric Ting and Philippa Kelly, and directed by Ting, this show leans into Shakespeare’s weirdness with uncommon commitment and imag
ination. Where other productions might take audiences’ credulity for granted — assuming we can just roll with narrative veers and shrugs and dalliances because, well, it’s Shakespeare, after all — Cal Shakes says, “Hold up. What if we dig into, honor and maximize each idiosyncrasy?”
The wild result begins with a descent into the soul’s darkest places, as King Leontes (Craig Marker) suddenly suspects his wife, Queen Hermione (Safiya Fredericks), of infidelity only because she successfully persuaded his childhood friend Polixenes (Dane Troy) to extend a visit where Leontes himself failed.
Here, Troy brings a wistful, faraway quality to even his first lines, which cannily suggests the undoing to come. Marker is so open and earnest no matter what role he plays that he can make Leontes’ out-of-nowhere insecurities seem reasonable, even sympathetic. And Fredericks imbues Hermione with both joy and a thoughtful equanimity. You might wonder why she doesn’t react more to Leontes’ first accusations, but then it becomes clear: So self-possessed is this woman that she’s sure the truth will prevail.
Yet another star in these early scenes is Cathleen Riddley as truthtelling noblewoman Paulina. She can ward off the king’s much taller stooges with her mere bearing; she seems to wrest her words directly from the gods’ lips.
Then the show gets its freak on.
A boxy wagon trundles out, opening its doors to reveal a miniature stage, complete with footlights in clamshells. It’s a traveling sideshow, presenting cartoon melodrama. Ting is staging the show’s second half as a playwithin-a-play, and though that’s not how Shakespeare wrote it, by Jove, it more than works.
If previous productions have left you feeling whiplashed, unable to invest in the dashed-off love between Perdita (Sharon Shao) and Florizel (Troy), or not sure why Autolycus the pickpocket (Phil Wong) gets so much stage time, this “Winter’s Tale” hears you.
Ting has an actor bleat every time someone says “sheep” or “shepherd,” which somehow only gets funnier with time. Sheep puppets have googly eyes, while codpieces the shape of showpiece turnips wiggle from crotches. (Ulises Alcala’s costumes, which include poofy short shorts, Dalmatian-print cuffs and cone bras with removable cones, are a riot.)
A passing mariner (Shao) is rendered as a Halloween-costume pirate, complete with eye patch, peg leg and overemphasized “arrghs.” Wong’s Autolycus purrs with lounge lizard smarm; as he leads the cast in song, an unseen groupie tosses a hot pink bra toward him in tribute.
Some of Ting’s choices will look familiar to fans of his excellent “The Good Person of Szechwan,” also at Cal Shakes, and “An Octoroon” at Berkeley Repertory Theatre. (The use of printed placards, in particular, directly recalls the Brecht production.) But those old tricks are still good tricks. They trade the default for the otherworldly, inviting us to see the familiar as new.
As the show reunites us with Leontes, who has long rued his tragic whim, Ting fuses the darkness and light of the play’s two halves. The jealousy and zaniness melt together into one great big messy ball of human emotion. What’s left is not a dignified king but a pitiful, naked mortal, who is slave to his passing fancies and can only ask for the gods’ mercy.