Child’s Play
The Forest Theater Guild’s Alice in Wonderland is a feast for the eyes, and the intellect.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Something happened during Forest Theater’s sumptuous production of Alice in Wonderland Saturday night – it split in two. One narrative is aimed squarely at kids; some of the characters are based on (and the story was originally written for) the young Liddell sisters – Lorina, Alice and Edith – with whom author, mathematician and Anglican deacon Lewis Carroll (real name Charles Lutwidge Dodgson) shared an affectionate friendship. The other narrative, though, is for the adults.
There’s a seemingly silly scene in which Walrus (Skip Kadish) and Carpenter eat live oysters (played precociously by little kids – cue the “awwww”). Tweedle Dum (Lane Edgington) tells Alice (Kay Akervik) that Walrus ate more than Carpenter.
“Then I like Carpenter more,” Alice tells him.
“But Carpenter ate all he could,” Tweedle Dum retorts. Maybe Walrus could have eaten more but stopped out of a sense of propriety. So who was the more egregious? Who was the more moral? This was a philosophical argument in the form of children’s “nonsense literature.” (It’s original title is Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, but even when Forest Theater founder Herbert Heron produced the work in 1912, its title had been abridged in adaptation.)
There is a trial scene, conducted mainly by the King of Hearts, played with mock-serious bravado by Drew Davis, in which the King applies inflexibly literal parameters of language and logic to the trial of the Court Knave (Tyler Vocelka); it plays out like a wacky early draft of Kafka’s The Trial. The Knave didn’t sign a list of charges, the King observes, and so must be guilty because an innocent man would not be afraid to sign his name.
So proceeds a masterful parable of adult reasoning broken upon the semi-logic of a child’s dream. It’s an animated and engaging fantasy while, at the same time, a discourse with adults on logical thinking, ethics and perception. That adult/kid parallel track of a story has been heavily gleaned by modern tales including Shrek, Spongebob Squarepants, and much of the Looney Tunes and Pixar oeuvre.
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The Forest Theater’s centennial staging of Alice is a visually impressive production. Designer Domini Anne has fashioned outlandish, thematically correct and artistic costumes, from the regal red and black of the King of Hearts (Drew Davis) and Queen of Heart (Ashley DeCarli) to the four-armed, tie-dyed gown of the Caterpillar (Allen Aston), from the slinky feline bodice of Cheshire Cat (Bailey Lee) to the Elizabethan excess of the Duchess (Teresa Del Piero). That triumph is matched by set designer Nicole Anne Bryant Stephens’ perspective-warping, art installation of a set, the centerpiece of which is a lazy-Susan-spinning hearth/throne/slide/teacup/living dwelling thing.
Pre-recorded music, including Edvard Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King” and a folksy “Would You Like to Swing On a Star,” adds dimension to the already multi-dimensional story, but in the first couple of instances, as the music starts to fade away, it abruptly cuts off, like a technical bump in the illusion. And when the White Rabbit scampers up the stairs and behind the audience, the actor saunters back down to the wings of the stage – within view and out of character, as if on break now. Maybe it’s for reasons of safety, but it still lets slip the mask. Elsewhere, director Mark Englehorn keeps up the creative ruse.
The Eaglet (Bailey Lee) does anthropomorphic bird movements and a squawk talk that, I could swear, is based on Kids in the Hall’s “Chicken Lady” sketch. If so, bravo. Except for Kay Akervik, who plays Alice with charming innocence and pouty indignation, and Legget, as the White Rabbit, all the actors play multiple roles. Skip Kadish plays three. His Mad Hatter, in particular, is scene-stealingly deft and daft.
Friday’s opening boasted a coup: a slew of local luminaries, including nearly all the members of the Heron and Weston families, and pre-show performances by Taelen Thomas as Jack London and Tanner Gray in a Broadway revue he’s honed at the currently running production at the Wharf Theater.
Adults take note: Sit up close and pay attention to the seemingly trivial dialogue. The actors are not using mics and Carroll played merrily and unrelentingly with the conventions of the English language and Western thought (the White Rabbit questioning the concept of time, for instance). And with its fantastical lighting effects, sets and costumes, zany action and sing-songy poems, including Carroll’s “Jabberwocky,” kids will eat up this show.
Just ask the parents of one little boy when they were coaxing him to exit the amphitheater. “I don’t want to leave! I don’t want to leave!” he hollered and pulled against his father’s hand. I hear you, kid.





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